This is my first entry on FanFiction. If you like what I have so far, more chapters will follow. Enjoy.
Prologue
The air was still and sticky with humidity, pale moonlight finding it hard to break through the hot air and light up the darkness of the night. Perspiration plastered hair to the heads of Smallville's population. All around the city fans were going and air conditioning was blaring. Even the animals seemed bothered by this uncomfortable torture of nature. Grasshoppers weren't chirping and the scurrying creatures had all retreated to cool down in their dens. Despite this, one person drove the quiet dirt roads without so much as a droplet of sweat or heated squint. He was Clark Kent and he was a boy with the world on his shoulders.
The rusting sea blue Ford pulled up the dirt road slowly, its driver preoccupied in an ocean of thoughts and his face was not trying to disprove so. Shadows from the sun blocker in front of him and unkept black hair hid his eyes and furrowed lines of concentration decorated his forehead. He still had on the dirty jeans from chores around the farm earlier that morning. A flannel t-shirt clutched tightly at his chest and a faded jean jacket wrapped over it, giving Clark unneeded bulk.
The farm boy could feel something in the air, could almost touch the ominous cloud that pricked at the hairs on the back of his neck. He could hear the low rumble of an old Chevy a couple miles behind him. It was the same rumble that had been with him for twenty minutes now. Clark had taken nearly every back road in Smallville to test the stranger, and every time he heard the vehicle continue after him. Either he was being followed, or he was involved in one elaborate coincidence. Clark increased the pressure on the accelerator. Worn tires kicked up plumes of dirt as the speedometer whipped past the sixty miles-per-hour mark.
The stranger kept on despite Clark's desperate efforts. Though his legs were more reliable than his truck, ditching it for a maniac to pulverize was something he was sure his parents wouldn't be too happy about.
"Mom and Dad...." The worried boy thought aloud.
Should he continue on or lead the stalker away from his house? If this person knew Clark as well as he suspected, he was sure his house would be the stopping point. He wouldn't let anything happen to his parents. Not them. Deciding to continue home, Clark made the last turn down the dirt road that led to the farm. Already he could see the two giant silos of feed in the distance. Nearly next to them was the blood red farm house he had cleaned and repainted so many times in the course of his life, nestled on dark grassy hills. Seconds later he saw the wood work of his house. No lights were on and not even the ember of his power-conservative mother's lamp from nights of sleepless bill reviews lit up the windows.
Good. That would make this go much smoother.
Arriving at his house with narrowed eyes, Clark jammed the wheel to the left and slammed on the brakes. The cry of screeching tires filled the air and a shower of dust and tiny rocks splashed against the delicate door that granted entrance to his humble abode. Almost immediately he was out of the truck. Off in the distance he could hear the car approaching ever closer. Within only a minute or two he saw the black van that would come to be the nightly host of his tormenting nightmares. Mostly innocent, one could mistake it for an FBI vehicle or another of those government agencies that worried Clark. Its approach was casual and calm.
All would have seemed well had it not been for the metallically masked man Clark saw hidden behind the tinted windows. Surprised, he found his eagle gaze unable to pierce the facade over the stranger's face.
"Lead..." Clark said, breaking the eerie silence.
From the build and frame he could tell it was a man. He was cloaked in loose black flushed over with a slight red that hinted at a lead paint Clark had run into before. The man (boy?) was scrawnier than him and a couple inches shorter than the six foot farm boy. He had the classic bank robber look to him.
"That's right Clark. Couldn't let you see the face of your murderer. Not as fun that way. And this," he said, pointing to a baseball bat lined with odd green gemstones that had begun to emit a soft glow, "should also prove interesting to you."
Clark couldn't make out the voice either. It buzzed and rattled as it shot through a voice changer. Yet, the voice became less and less intriguing as Clark felt his mind start to cloud and his step start to sway. Beneath his steel shell was blood that was boiling from the green toxin. Unable to keep his stance, the boy fell to his knees.
"What's the matter? Where's the big bad wolf?" The robotic voice mocked. The figure drew closer, steps like a nervous shuffle towards him.
With a sickening crack the bat rammed into the side of Clark's awaiting skull. He tried his best to keep some sort of coordinated awareness as he completely collapsed onto the dirt, but focusing his eyes only made them roll back into his head further. Mixed with the feeling of hot tea coursing through his veins, the nausea forced in by the bat's contact was too much. Aching fingers clutched needlessly at dirt as the quivering Clark tried to get back up. The moment he got his bearings and managed to put some weight on his elbows, the bat slammed into the back of his head and forced his face back into the dirt.
"W-why are you d-doing this?" Clark's voice trembled in unison with his body, ferocity burning in his eyes like a bonfire. His teeth were grinding so tightly together he was sure they'd crumble and snap. The assailant said nothing. The silence of the night was broken only with the Kryptonian's harsh breathes. As if the bat wasn't enough, the man withdrew a switchblade that flicked out a pulsing green edge. Laughter rumbled through the voice box as the robot-man cut open Clark's shirt and his jacket, revealing lean muscles beneath. The blade made one deep, sadistic cut above Clark's heart. Blood trailed down his abdomen and began blackening around his waist, bubbling like lava as a small green gem was placed in the wound. The next few moments were stolen in midst of the seizure now wracking the boy's body. Noise, whether from Clark's half-gurgled screams or the initial sound of the bat, made it to the occupants of the small farm house.
Shouts.
"Get away from him!"
A shotgun blast hitting only the dirt.
A pistol clacking.
Screams.
"Johnathon! Look out!"
"Martha! My God! Martha! I'll get you, you sick son of a—"
Another shot fired.
Silence.
"Clark! Oh my God!" The voice soothed his ears, eased his mind as it drifted back into consciousness. He felt the kryptonite slide with a sickly squish from his chest and heard it bounce off into the distance.
Lana...it was Lana. He had completely forgotten about their history cram tonight. Thank God she was here. With her presence and her embrace the pain had stopped, he was warm again. He wasn't sure where the bastard that had brutalized him had run off to, but he didn't care. He needed to tell his parents what was going on before he could explain the sealing wound to Lana. He had to make sure they were safe...and then her arms left him.
Sobs.
He sat up groggily and looked at Lana, her hand trembling weakly in front of her face. Following her gaze, he caught the view of a hand hung limp over his porch stairs.
No. A dream. Just a sick nightmare. Eyes squeezed shut; Clark fought back a tsunami of tears.
