It was surprisingly easy. It hadn't taken much convincing at all to round up an impromptu group of men willing to wield heavy artillery and ask no questions. He hadn't expected a problem—since there were few that couldn't be solved with large amounts of cash—but still, he always found it surprisingly how easily some men could be bought. For his purposes he was grateful, because time was extremely limited. He stood in front of the five men, asked only to bring themselves, their own black clothing and the ability to fire a machine gun. They stood there looking at him impassively, awaiting instructions. He neglected to mention this part of the plan to the Kents. He wasn't sure if the addition of five armed men would make them feel safer or much more nervous, so he decided to remove it from the equation. He told the men briefly what they were expected to do, and gave them pictures of the people they were to protect and not harm under any circumstance. His father's picture was not among the photos. That was one issue he'd been pushing to the back of his mind since all this began—how to deal with his father;more importantly how far was he willing to go. It wasn't pure altruism that prompted him to rescue Clark, though it made him ill to think of what may have happened to him already. It was a chance to win and important battle against his father. He'd treaded too far into Lex's territory now, and he felt forced to draw his sword, and it was a fight he didn't intend to lose.
Once the men were debriefed, Lex left and headed back to the Kent farm. The Kents looked anything but ready for what was about to take place, but their smiles were genuine if wavering. Jonathan was dressed in a black jacket—an old one of Clarks he said—and dark jeans. Martha seemed to understand the need to keep a low profile and dressed in dark colors as well. Lex almost smiled knowing the fiery red of her hair would never go unnoticed by anyone. But she wasn't going anywhere near the building, so he felt it made little difference. No one would see her enter the penthouse. They would park in the underground garage and take the elevator straight to his place from there. The three of them silently piled into Lex's black Escalade. The helicopter was ready for them in Metropolis if they needed it. Lex felt it best to go towards the situation as quietly as possible.
Clark counted the distance from the tub to where he lay. It was only have the distance he'd already traveled. He smiled at his small triumph. His legs felt raw from being dragged across the rough floor, but every time he tried to stand, his head swam and his limbs felt leaden—he was much better off lying on the floor. The goal was to somehow get into the bath. He hoped the warm water would soothe his aching wounds. At least the bathroom tiles would feel cool against his skin; he was really looking forward to that—only four more feet to go. Beads of sweat fell into his eyes, making them burn slightly. His body shook with fever, making it harder to control his limbs. Even the thin bands of kryptonite around his ankle were too much to take. They were slowly incapacitating him, and he began to wonder if he would make it to tell Lionel in no uncertain terms to go "fuck himself" two days from now. He took another sharp breathe and begin to continue his journey. He stopped suddenly shocked when he saw his mother suddenly standing in the doorway. His heart nearly lept out of his chest with excitement as he reached out to her. All he felt was warm soft fingers entwined in his, and a gentle hand on his forehead, smoothing his hair back. Her voice was a soft caress in his ear, and he smiled, so relieved it was finally over. He shut his eyes and relaxed against her lap. His eyes flew open with the shock of pain when his head hit the hard floor. He looked around the dark room frantically, trying to find his mother. She was gone. It was like being cut open again when he realized it was only a hallucination. He stifled a sob, and sucked in his breath, wincing from the pain. He felt sick, and disoriented, but kept going. That's how he'd get through this he thought, one tiny goal at a time.
The night air was cool in Metropolis, and the dampness rising off the stagnant water of the downtown river gave off a curious old stench. Jonathan Kent wiped absently at his eyes, not used to the dank stifling air of the city. He felt like silent bolts of electricity were buzzing throughout his body. Each nerve ending pulsed in anticipation of what was coming. He felt his stomach drop as Lex slowed down the SUV as he neared a tall unassuming building just off the north bank of the Metropolis river. Lex drove past the building, going further north. Jonathan was about to protest when he realized they couldn't exactly just drive up, park, and go through the front door. They left the car a few blocks away. They walked in silence, the only sound being the clicking of their heels against the pavement. As they approached the building, two men emerged from the shadows. Jonathan instinctively moved to step in front of Lex, but Lex stopped him and whispered to him. "I'm expecting them." He motioned for the men to move into the darkness of an overhang, and Jonathan followed them. There were five men waiting, holding guns, and Jonathan knew immediately what Lex had done.
"Why didn't you tell me about this?"
"I didn't know if you'd approve. And before you protest further, this is the only way I could ensure we'd even get to where they're keeping Clark. An informant told me exactly where Clark's being held and he'll be the one on duty near the main entrance. We still have two rooms to get through, both I imagine are heavily armed. Morals aside Mr. Kent, if you want your son back, we have no choice."
There was no time for regrets about the choices he'd been forced to make. He nodded quickly at Lex and moved to join the men.
Clark sat draped over the edge of the tub. Despite all his efforts, the final one of climbing over the short porcelain edge, proved to be too difficult. He let the water run into the tub, and he threw whatever warm water he managed to reach over his aching wounds, bathing them as best he could. It was getting harder to continuously remind himself, that the tub was located in some remote location far away from everything, and not the water trough he used to quench the cattle's thirst. With a start he realized he'd forgotten to feed them. He went to move, and the pain reminded him sharply there were no cattle anywhere near. He'd almost gotten used to seeing people from his life, walk into the room, or try and soothe him. Even if he knew they weren't real, he talked to them. The sound of his own scratchy tired voice seemed to fill the dark space. Thin green spider webs crawled up his calves and his skin had taken on a sickly pale greenish color. Clark felt his stomach lurch again, and his head nearly hit the porcelain. Noting the danger if his head ever met with the rim of the tub, he pushed his body away and began his slow crawl back towards the room. He pulled himself up against the doorjam of the bathroom. The pain was great, but even stumbling was quicker than crawling on the floor. He took a few steps, but stumbled against the wall, falling on the floor. His arms worked frantically to push his weight forward, but he was too heavy, and they were too weak. He rested his head against the cool floor, as his eyelids grew heavy. He swore he heard the faint sound of gunfire just before he passed out.