Author's Note: The first two paragraphs of the last chapter pertaining to Luthor are derived from Neal Bailey of the Superman Homepage. Consider this due citation ;)
Author's Note 2: Now then, here is what seems to be the final chapter. This story's taken me considerably longer to construct and edit than 'Il Principe' ever did, but it was worth the wait. Or so I hope. In any case, here is the final installment, and thanks to you all for being steadfast readers, editors, reviewers and spell-checkers over the past few months.
The bullet had left a bloody, mutilated tear through Jesse's lumbar—probably severing the spinal cord and paralyzing him. A shallow puddle of blood, if it could be called that, formed on the floor. Superman started to walk past me.
"What are you doing?" I asked hastily.
"Move, Allen. I can save him."
Superman moved past me. I held out an arm, and stopped him.
"What do you think you're doing?" I asked.
"I'm saving him, Allen. You object?" For a moment, I could have sworn, Superman's eyes flashed red.
"I object to you causing more damage."
"I wasn't the one who shot him, Allen," Superman said pressingly. Almost…offended. Yikes. "Let me save him, Allen. I understand your fears, but Ican save this boy. You have to let me."
I lowered my arm slowly, and Superman hovered past me. I turned around to see Superman hunched over Jesses' body.
Superman…wanted to save Jesse. Did he have to?
"Can we move him?" I managed. My voice was barely a whisper.
Shadows stretched across the breadth of Lex Luthor's office, high atop the skyscraper bearing his name. He stood before the panoramic window, wrapped in darkness, staring at Metropolis at-twilight. Combined light from across the city seemed to leak into his office through the windows, nothing it in a dim yellow.
He lowered his arm to the desk beside him and picked up a goblet of Merlot, sipping once. Merlot was a softer wine; dry and rich in texture, easier on the palette. Few things were so easily…digestible in their ways…than a simple glass of Merlot.
Just moments ago, Lex Luthor had shot Jesse Wright. A friend of his young would-be ward, Allen O'Neill. Just to prove a point to Superman.
You can't save everything, Man of Steel.
"Gains," Luthor said quietly, polishing off the wine. "Losses…"
He inhaled quietly, held it, and released. What was the point?
Retribution.
The hospital room was blackness. Yellow latticework from the window shades coursed its way across Jesse's bed. Dr. Anderson stood at the foot of Jesse's bed. He lifted Jesse's legs, adducted them and pedaled them slowly for three rotations. Anderson laid Jesse's legs down, pulled the blanket back over his feet.
"The bullet just missed his spine, Allen. We'll keep an eye on the kidney, but it looks like he'll be alright."
"Are you sure? What about the kidney?"
To my surprise, Superman had flown Jesse to the hospital, come back for me, and then stayed with us while the surgeons removed the bullet. Much to my surprise.
"Very," Dr. Anderson said. "Though the bullet came dangerously close to his right kidney. Depending on how the next few days shape up, he may or may not need a transplant. On the other hand...he might just get through this, providing he can handle the year and a half of physical therapy ahead of him."
Superman stood at Jesse's bedside, silent. I stood on Jesse's left side.
It
was all coming together now. Why didn't I see it before? I should
have. Stupid. I took it for face value, this crap with Lex. So much
for skepticism.
Lex used me. He uses everyone…or so the legend goes. But why was I so special. Was I somehow more deserving than some other person? What made me so viable to Luthor? Why my life? Why try and ruin my life to suit his needs? He wanted control. Yeah. That's what it is. He had to run interference.
Superman's eyes narrowed to a scowl, his jaw muscles tightened. He was scanning Jesse's body with his x-ray and microscopic vision.
"Are you sure, Doctor?"
"Yes, Superman. For the third time. You can do all the scans you want, but the evidence is there. Whoever shot him is either lousy enough to miss or good enough to hit just close enough to a problem area. Like I said…the physical therapy, but he'll live."
"Doctor, can I have a minute with him?" I asked.
Anderson looked at me puzzlingly for a second, then nodded his head slowly. He turned to leave. Superman gave me a curt smile, and followed Anderson out. I watched them go, listened for the door to click shut, and turned back to Jesse. He looked….eerily peaceful sitting in his hospital bed, furnished with hospital sheets, in a hospital gown.
"Jesse," I said silently.
His eyeballs flickered briefly underneath his eyelids. I repeated his name.
"Can you hear me?"
"Allen," he whispers, his lips parting slowly. "Where…?"
"Take it easy. What do you remember?"
"Hope…she busted into my room. Beat me and tied me up. Waltzed right out of the University with me."
My mind imagined the muffled screams coming from the trunk of Luthor's Rolls-Royce. Shiver.
"Then what?"
"Her and Mercy hauled me down to the lab. Went…Apollo Creed on me. Took….a hammer to my knees. Thoe gals...they're like Amazons..."
My hands formed into fists, and I mashed them silently into the bed sheets. Injustice. Yeah, that's the only word for this. "I'm sorry, Jess…"
"No," he said. "This wasn't your fault…"
"I wasn't there to save you."
"You didn't have to be," he whispers. "But I'm glad you were...don't let go of that."
"Allen?" Superman's hand was warm—heavy—on my shoulder. We were sitting outside of Jesses' room, in those ugly beige-colored waiting-room chairs straight from some hospital drama.
"What?"
"Are you going to be alright?"
"Yeah," I said, exhaling. "I will be. I only worry about Jesse."
"I'll tell you what," Superman said. His hand slipped off my shoulder and I turned to face him. He held a small off-white business card in his hand—outstretched to me.
"What is this?"
"Tell Jesse to call him when he gets a free minute. This man can help."
I took the card from Superman's hand and stared at it, confused for a moment. I heard a familiar whoosh, and by the time I looked back to where the Man of Steel was standing before…he's gone. One of the windows was open.
I snickered, impressed and surprised, and looked down at the card.
Clark Kent
Daily Planet, Editorial Staff
1938 Sullivan Street, Apt. 231
Office: 419-1986
Home: 419-3823
That night, I took a taxicab out of town. It cost me an arm and a leg, but it was worth it. For what I had in mind.
The neighborhood was familiar eneough. My parents had since moved to Keystone City, but..there was still one part of my old life still around here.
Sara.
I went for the front porch. I slowed my pace, slid a hand into my pants pocket, and stepped up onto the porch. My finger lingered in the air for a brief moment before pressing the doorbell.
Inhale. Slowly. Let it out.
It was my luck that she answered.
"Allen," she said, half-surprised. "This is a welcome surprise." She crossed her arms, and leaned against the door frame.
My throat suddenly dried, and my voice cracked. "I uh…I don't know quite how to say this, so…here goes."
After a lengthy pause, I start speaking again: "I'm sorry. I said and did things…that I now regret."
"Allen…" she said.
"A few months ago, I made some…wrong choices. I said things that I didn't mean. Did things I didn't want to. But I did them anyway." My voice quieted. "I was an idiot."
"Allen," she said humbly. "You don't have to worry about it."
I bowed my head slightly. My eyes rolled up in their sockets to see Sarah. I was half-looking for a fist in the nose. God knows I deserved it.
"I love you, Allen. Don't ever think any different. We all make mistakes. Best we can do is learn from them. Become better people. Don't try to hide yourself, Allen," Sara said. "And don't let anyone else try to either."
In another time, Superman had spoken those words to me. Now...they had new meaning.
"What is it?" Sara's voice brings me back to reality.
"Nothing," I said reassuringly. "Nothing at all."
"Mr. Luthor?"
"Miss Teschmacher."
"I've got some good news."
"I could use some."
"The checkouts are complete at the Planet and at the hospital. And there's someone on line three named 'Wilson'. He says it's important."
"Outstanding."
The (actual) End
