PART FOUR

"So you think this...Chris read your mind?" Jonathan asked, a look of disbelief on his face.

"I don't know, Dad." Clark sighed as he sat down at the dining room table. "One minute, we were shaking hands. The next, he's asking who Jor-El is?"

Hearing that name made Jonathan's lips press into a tight, grim line. That always happened when the subject of Clark's birth father came up. Thoughts of Jor-El didn't make Clark feel warm and fuzzy inside, either. It was hard to believe he'd once dreamed of knowing about his birth parents, and what they were like. He guessed the old saying was true. Be careful what you wish for.

"Maybe he's a telepath, like Ryan," Martha suggested. "Only, Ryan couldn't 'read' you, Clark."

"Which might mean Chris's powers are stronger than Ryan's were." Frowning, Clark folded his hands atop the table. "I just wish I knew how much he saw."

An anxious silence filled the room. If Chris had read Clark's thoughts and found out about Jor-El, how much else had he seen? Enough to put Clark in danger?

Clark's remembered the moment before Chris passed out. He'd stared at Clark like he was looking at something he'd never seen before. Something...alien. It was the way Clark feared everyone, even his friends, would look at him if they knew the truth. Like he was a freak. A mon--

"He's been out for so long," Martha said as she glanced towards the ceiling. Her brow puckered in concern. "Maybe we should take him to the hospital."

"No!" Jonathan shook his head. "Except for passing out after whatever happened when he touched Clark, you said he seemed fine. And the last thing we want is for him to wake up surrounded by strangers and start telling anyone who'll listen what he might know." Then, he let out a resigned sigh. "But, if he doesn't wake up in a few hours, we'll get him to the hospital."

Martha nodded approvingly. Then, she took a long, deep breath. "I think I should tell you...Chris has been effected by the meteors. That's where his powers must come from."

Clark frowned thoughtfully. "What makes you think that? I mean, Ryan's abilities had nothing to do with Kryptonite."

"I know, but…Well, remember how I told you Chris pulled me out of the way of a pickup truck?"

Clark nodded as a knot formed in his stomach. And his father looked the way Clark felt. He guessed they were both trying not to think of what could have happened if Chris hadn't been there.

"Well, he didn't exactly pull me out of the way. Instead, he...teleported me out of the way."

Clark's eyes flew wide with shock, both at the fact that his mom had lied to him, and at what she'd just revealed.

Teleported? Clark's thoughts were filled with memories of Alicia. How happy he'd been to think there was someone else like him, someone he could confide in. It was like a dream come true, that turned into a nightmare in the blink of an eye.

"That explains how he was able to do whatever he did," Clark said. "But what if...what if he knows? What will we do?"

"There's not much we can do," Jonathan said, not looking happy about it. "We'll try to explain why it's important he keep the secret, and hope that's enough."

Clark's heart sank. Once again, his fate was in the hands of a stranger.


The two demons threw him to the ground.

Chris grunted once, then stubbornly clamped his lips shut. He wasn't about to let them know how much they'd hurt him. And, under the circumstance, he was lucky. They must've been told not to damage him…on purpose. Of course, that didn't keep them from "accidentally" slamming him into walls, etcetera.

Their task complete, the demons shimmered out, bodies blurring before vanishing into nothing.

"Where are they?" asked a cold, emotionless voice.

Chris winced as he glanced up. The man towered over him, an imposing figure dressed all in black. Long, blond hair fell to his shoulders in waves, and seemed to form a halo around his head.

Yeah, right, Chris thought with a snort of bitter amusement. "Where's who?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"Don't play games with me, Chris," Wyatt warned. "You know I don't like it."

"Really?" Chris said in mock surprise. "I remember you loving a good game of orb and seek."

Wyatt wasn't amused. Eyes darkening, he clasped his hands behind his back. "Tell me where they are. Now."

Feeling at a disadvantage lying prone on the floor, Chris struggled to his feet. It didn't help much. Chris was tall at 6 foot 1, but Wyatt still towered over him. "You know, I don't really feel like sharing right now."

Wyatt took a sudden step forward, invading Chris's personal space, a classic intimidation tactic. "Tell me where they are, and I'll..."

"Have them executed?" Chris asked, resisting the urge to step back. "Yeah, I know the drill."

Wyatt's jaw popped as he clenched his teeth. He never had liked being interrupted. Obviously trying to control his temper, he turned and walked towards the massive desk that took up part of the room, a strange combination of an office and a throne room.

"They were plotting my assassination, Chris. Is that what you want? Me dead?" Wyatt almost sounded sad.

Chris flinched. "You know it's not. And I had nothing to do with that."

Wyatt turned to give him a thoughtful look. "Yet you protect them?"

Chris raised his chin in defiance. "I won't let you kill more witches. Good witches!"

"Who refuse to join me. Who defy me…"

"Who are tired of living in fear, waiting for you to hunt them down." Chris's eyes burned with anger and sorrow. "You don't have the right...!"

"I'm the most powerful being this world has ever known," Wyatt interrupted, his voice filled with conviction. "That gives me the right."

Chris's mouth snapped shut, and frustration lodged, like a tangible thing, in his chest. How could you argue with someone so certain of their own superiority?

"I know you created the cloaking spell that shields them. You were always good at that sort of thing." A small, almost proud smile quirked Wyatt's lips. "Tell me how to break through it, and prove you can be loyal to me again." The coldness in his eyes was replaced by earnest sincerity. "It's not too late. I can still forgive you for your betrayals. And you can rule by my side, the way it was meant to be."

Chris stared at him in disbelief. After all this time, all Chris had done to defy him, was it possible Wyatt still thought...?

Sighing, Chris shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not really interested in the empire you've been building on the bodies of innocents."

Wyatt's eyes narrowed in warning. "Careful."

"Or what?" Chris demanded. "You'll punish me? I think I've learned to handle it by now."

"Really?" He eyed Chris with something like contempt. Or maybe pity. "Poor Christopher. So stuck on those old, antiquated ideas of good vs. evil. So determined to fight me, to be the hero. When we both know you'll never be strong enough to defeat me."

Chris took a sharp breath as the words struck home. Old feelings of inferiority and self-doubt reared up, boiled to the surface. Ruthlessly, he forced them back down. Instead, he let all the anger he felt for the other man shine from his bright green eyes. "Go to hell," he said, voice barely above a ragged whisper.

And Wyatt raised his hand, clenched it into a fist. Chris's eyes widened in panic as he suddenly found his airway cut off. Clutching at his throat, he tried, in vain, to breathe.

"You first," Wyatt said, voice as cold as ice, "little brother."


Feet heavy, Clark made his way up the stairs. Since there wasn't much they could do until their 'guest' woke up, everyone had gone their separate ways, relying on everyday tasks to take their minds off of their problem. Jonathan went out to work in the barn. Martha went to the kitchen to start dinner. And Clark decided to start the report that was due in a few days. No matter what crisis or weirdness he was going through, what mystery he was trying to solve, there was still homework to get done.

As he walked past the spare room, he heard a loud, strangled cry from inside. Alarmed, Clark opened the door, and found Chris writhing in the bed, head thrashing from side to side on the pillow. He was obviously caught in the throes of a nightmare.

Forgetting what happened the last time they touched, Clark hurried across the room. Grabbing Chris's shoulder, he gave it a shake.

"Chris," he said. "Chris! Wake up!"


Chris woke with a start, heart pounding in his chest. And the nightmare lingered. The memory of not being able to breathe. Of invisible hands wrapped around his throat.

He opened his eyes to find someone leaning over him. And, in that moment, he didn't see that the hair was short and brown instead of long and blond. That the eyes were concerned green instead of cold brown. All he knew was that there was a tall, imposing figure towering above him.

"No!" Chris exclaimed, waving his arm at the figure.


One minute, Clark was shaking Chris's shoulder. The next, he was sailing through the air. It was like a giant hand grabbed him, yanked him up to within inches of the ceiling, pulled him across the room, then dropped him. And it all happened in an instant.

Clark landed atop a chest of drawers, which collapsed into kindling beneath his weight. The house shook as he slammed into the floor.

For one long moment, the room was silent and still. Even though he wasn't hurt, Clark was too stunned to move. Finally, he sat up, pushing pieces of splintered wood out of the way.

Chris, fully awake now, was sitting up in bed, looking at Clark with a combination of surprise and chagrin.

"Um," he began with an apologetic smile. "Oops."

[TO BE CONTINUED]