Chapter Five
Several unbearably long, monotonous days had passed since Lex had interrogated Chloe about the scar on her hand and the taunt of ambidextrousness. Like other days, she was sagging against the cold floor, shivering very slightly in the chill of the little square room and losing herself in the grayness all around her. Losing her soul to the emptiness around her, to the dull ache where her heart used to be. She lay there, left ear pressed against the cold smooth floor, drooping unfocused eyes staring up at the locked door.
She did not know if it was night or day. She never knew. She slept when the time seemed right and ate when the guard handed her a portion of food—the only point at which she could tell if it was morning or evening because of the type of food. It had been a few hours, though having felt like a few centuries, since she had eaten, and that had been some brown porridge. Her dinner. Thus, she knew that it was evening or perhaps some time into the night.
At last her tired eyes slipped shut, and she began drifting off to sleep. But she was jarred awake moments later by the voice of the guard just outside the doorway. It seemed he had shouted angrily to someone farther down the hallway. Chloe pushed her ear harder against the floor and listened attentively. There was a soft rumbling rush of what sounded like wind, and a split second later she could hear gasping, gagging sounds from just beyond the door. Someone was being choked.
Apprehension thundered in her roaring heartbeat as she lay there, panic-stricken, wondering what sort of battle was occurring just outside the little gray room. Something was slammed against the wall, and then she heard the muffled thump of a body sliding to the floor. She had no time to ponder upon the victor, for the doorknob began to turn, making a gentle clicking sound as it stopped on account of being locked. The person turned the handle again.
Only this time, there was a grinding sound of metal on metal as the force with which the knob was turned crushed the lock. The handle turned all the way, and the door swung open.
Chloe could do nothing but stare from her corner. The person was tall already, but from the floor he appeared to tower over everything, fierce and strong and determined. The first thing she noticed was the bulk and sheer height of the person entering the room. Then she adjusted her eyes and spotted the glaring blue plaid shirt, a trademark that she recognized only faintly. Then she saw his face.
And oh, how she recognized that face.
It was the face that had haunted her dreams for years, never giving her reprieve from its strength and beauty and sadness. It was the face she had looked upon for comfort, guidance, and friendship. It was the face she had looked upon with disgust, fury, and pain. Hovering above her for the moment frozen in time was the face that had caused so many emotions to well up within her like a gushing spring, a flowing waterfall. This was the face she admired when it was strong, pitied when it was burdened, hated when it was cruel. But most of all, it was the face she had cared for since her eyes came upon it. It was the face that she would always care for.
Only now… now she was empty. No emotions could explode within her heart. There was only emptiness. Grayness.
When time picked up again, Clark Kent dashed forward and bent down over Chloe. She could see that his eyes were tormented at the sight of her, his face a mask of despair. Without hesitation, the muscular arms reached out and lifted her tiny frame, raising her up into his body. Her head fell against his shirt, and it felt warm.
Warmth amid the cold. Security amid the fear. That was what he was. That was what he had always been, what the face truly meant to her.
Clark turned to the doorway and then stopped, glancing uneasily down at the frail object in his arms. Chloe stared up at him through dark-rimmed eyes and distantly recognized the flicker of discomfort in his face. And finally she spoke.
"You can run."
He looked puzzled at first, either not comprehending her words or too upset by the frailty in her voice to understand.
"Superspeed. I'll be fine." She silently congratulated herself for stringing together more than a few words and continued. "Just… get me the hell out of here."
Clark stared at her for a moment, fear and confusion warping his features. But then resolution took over, and he gave her a small, obedient nod. Chloe closed her eyes and heard a deafening rush of air in her ears. When it stopped a fraction of a second later, her head pounded with dizziness at the ride, and her eyes slipped open.
What she saw made her stomach bottom out.
They had not made it out. Clark had stopped, yes, but not because they were safe. He had stopped because of the terrible pain that was shooting through his body as he fought to stay on his feet and hold Chloe steady. She could see the weakness in his slightly green-tinged face before ripping her gaze away and spotting the source of his suffering.
He was there. He stood in front of them with a look of satisfaction upon His face, for in His hand was a rather large, chunky, green rock about the size of His head. It had a faint glow to it, which was odd for a rock but not at all uncommon to Chloe. Clark staggered backwards, fighting to maintain his grip on Chloe.
"Did you really think it would be that easy to escape?" He sneered with a short, derisive laugh. "Clearly I've overestimated your intelligence. I knew it was only a matter of time before the chivalrous knight in shining armor returned to his kingdom and came to rescue the damsel."
Clark was trembling slightly and clutching Chloe tightly as he tried to hold onto her. But he doubled over and fell to his knees, releasing her slightly. He gently lowered her to the floor, afraid of dropping her, and looked back up at his old friend. Chloe was too exhausted to protest, so she allowed her body to once again greet the cold surface that met her bare skin, and she looked back up at Clark.
"Lex… why are you doing this?" he gasped out, silently pleading for the noxious green rock to be taken away from him. Lex merely stepped closer, a small grin on His face as He relished the power that was given to Him by holding the meteor.
"For the good of mankind, of course," He replied, His voice slightly sarcastic. He stepped closer still, the rock's emerald luminosity brightening significantly as it came in closer proximity of its victim. Clark panted and let out a small grunt as he fell forward onto his elbows, bowing his head under the pain. "I have a feeling that you can give me answers to things I've only ever dreamed of questioning. Chloe hasn't been a terribly compliant subject—but you, Clark—well, I don't see how you could possibly defy me with this rock in my hand."
Clark gasped again as a wave of pain overcame him, and Chloe watched helplessly as his face screwed up in agony. She felt a rush of life invigorate her as her heart welled up with emotions, and she knew that she had to get up. With His cruel, beady eyes focused on Clark, she was able to sit up without drawing attention to herself. Now came the hard part. She forced herself up onto wobbly legs, stumbling out of His peripheral vision so that He wouldn't spin around and drive her back to the floor. But He was so engrossed in the power at His fingertips that He had no idea she was even in the room.
Taking a breath, Chloe threw herself forward at Him, wrenching the rock out of His unsuspecting grip and toppling over onto Him as they both collapsed. With one last effort, as her body fell to the floor on top of Him, she chucked the meteor rock as hard as her deteriorating arm muscles would let her. It arced gracefully through the air, the green glow diminishing as it flew, and landed with an echoing crack on the hard tile across the room. Drained, Chloe fell forward limply as Lex regained His bearings and grabbed hold of her angrily.
But then two strong hands lifted her away from the beast on the floor beside her, hauling her back up into the air once more. Everything whirled around her for a moment, and then she was outside as Clark slowed to a jog and then to a walking pace. The lab was nowhere in sight, and neither was Lex Luthor.
Allowing herself to relax in Clark's arms, Chloe leaned into his chest and gazed up at the sky. It was early evening. The dome above her was inky black but was dotted with tiny pinpricks of white light. Stars. And in that instant, it fully hit her that she was seeing the sky. The air was cool, but refreshingly cool, not the uncomfortable bitterness of the little gray room. Chloe drank in the air, feeling the quiet breeze ruffle her papery robe and listening to the soft rustle as it sighed through the leaves of surrounding trees. She was outside. And she was looking at the sky.
"Clark," she choked out, looking up into his face. His eyes turned down toward her, filled with regret. But she would deal with that later. For now, there was something she needed to do. "Let me down."
"What?" Apparently, he hadn't been expecting that. "Chloe, you're weak—I have to get you home."
"I know," she mumbled. "Just let me down for now. Please?"
He couldn't refuse her demand, not Chloe, who had been locked up, who hadn't been able to experience the outdoors during her stay at the lab. Tenderly, he lowered her to her feet while still keeping a firm hold on her arms. Chloe's bare feet lightly touched down on the sidewalk, still somewhat warm from earlier in the day when the sun had splashed its heat down upon it. She turned back to Clark with a small nod, and he let go of her arms.
For a moment, she was standing. The breeze softly blew her gown against her thighs and teased her matted, greasy hair. She felt free—completely and utterly free. But then her knees turned into the cold oatmeal that she usually had for breakfast, and she felt her legs crumple. Before she came into contact with the sidewalk, Clark seized her out of the air and pulled her back up to her feet, keeping a hold on her arms this time. Chloe turned around so that she was facing him and looked up into his face, which was masked in shadow. Despite the darkness, she could make out the shine in his eyes. There was a strange feeling inside of her, rising to her throat; yet it wasn't the remorse that she often felt. This was something different. She felt her eyes burning, but she did not understand why there would be tears when there was no sadness, no pain.
Without understanding, she allowed the tears to silently descend her cheeks and leaned forward, resting her forehead on the warm chest in front of her. The sobs rose, and her tears were no longer silent as she cried uncontrollably into the front of his shirt like a lost child. She barely noticed when Clark lifted her up again and walked, quickly as he could without disturbing her more, in the direction of her house. She didn't notice that when Clark looked up into the sky, the moonlight reflected off two glistening streams that graced his own cheeks.
x-----x-----x-----x-----x
Chloe blinked back the memory and looked up again at Clark, who was still seated across from her at the table. He seemed to be reliving the memory with her, gazing mournfully down at his own hands.
"I guess I knew I was too late by then. Even though I managed to get you out of there, I knew I was too late. You'd been hurt too much for me to save you," he murmured, finally looking up into Chloe's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Chloe. I should have been there. I should have gotten you out before it came to this."
Chloe turned her eyes up to him. Of all her visitors, she responded to Clark the most. Even when her own father came, she remained distant and impassive. But there was something in Clark that brought her back to the present, brought her out of her tortured mind. There was something in Clark that healed her, however slightly. But nonetheless, it healed her enough to allow her to speak. "It wasn't your fault, Clark."
"I wish I could believe that," he replied, looking away again.
Her eyes gazed on again, on into the fathoms of her mind, into a place that nobody else could see. She opened her mouth and closed it, and then she tried again. "Maybe it's better… that I'm here." Her mind was tumbling away again, crumbling like bits of rock falling away from an ancient wall, slipping back into the darkness of the past.
Clark glanced at the grayish room around him skeptically. "Here? In Belle Reeve?"
But Chloe did not respond. Her mind was sinking, drifting, losing the room and the present and reality and Clark. She was sliding away again, away into another memory, this time at the end of that one-week period of freedom after Clark's rescue…
It was dark, but at least she was home. The luminous letters of her digital clock informed her that it was a little past two o'clock in the morning, but she couldn't sleep. If she closed her eyes, she would envision that she was back in the lab once again, back in the grayness and emptiness of the little square room, back on the Table with Him and the green syringe. So she didn't close her eyes. She knew her father was worried about her. So was Clark. So was Lois. So was Lana. She had been far away ever since she arrived, her mind never fully sticking to the present. She knew they were scared for her.
She turned over in bed, trying to keep her mind blank, trying to fight off the oncoming rush of memories that fought to overtake her fading sense of reality. She kicked off the sheets, her body feeling too warm. Imagine that! Two months of feeling nothing but coldness, and now she was uncomfortably hot. She had always hated irony.
Deciding that she could calm herself by getting up and having a glass of water, Chloe pulled herself out of bed onto legs that were still weak from her experience and stumbled into the hallway. She forced herself to walk despite the dull ache in her legs from muscle and bone decay. Gripping the walls for support, she eased herself toward the kitchen, fumbling for the light switch as she arrived. But she couldn't find it. Her hand only met smooth wallpaper.
Frustration welled within her. Two months really wasn't that long to be away from home, but she had already forgotten where the light switch was. Just as her fingers snagged onto it, she heard a faint creak from down the hallway. Panic fluttering in her heart, she refrained from turning on the light and filling the room with a bright yellow glow. Instead she remained where she was, gripping the doorway with one hand while her other hovered over the light switch. Her breathing was harsh and ragged, and she listened intently for another sound.
There it was again, the creaking sound. Her stomach jolted horribly as she heard the footsteps. It was Him, she knew it. He had come to take her back to the lab, back to the little square room, back to the grayness. The emptiness. The solitude. The pain. Had the light been on, her vision would have been obscured by the blur of tears escaping her eyes. But the light was not on. She was encased in darkness.
As quietly as she could, Chloe tiptoed through the kitchen until she managed to find the wooden block that held the large knives. Grasping the handle in her right hand, she slid a knife out from its case and held it up. Her legs trembled with fear and the effort of keeping her upright with no other support. She backed up until she was all the way on the other end of the kitchen, watching the doorway from a distance. A window in the next room allowed the moon to shed pale light onto the doorway, which gave her the advantage of being able to see a figure step into the kitchen before it saw her.
The knife shook horribly in her hand. Her mind reeled through painful memories, but hopelessness could not take over her, for she had power. She had a weapon. The knife was the pipe from the equipment table, only this time she had not thrown it across the little square room and slipped into unconsciousness. She would change things. This time she would stay alert and be prepared for when He would enter, and she would use the pipe in defense. Then she could take his key and escape. She could escape!
The slow pit-pat of footsteps became louder as the person approached. Chloe gripped the pipe as she tried to see through the little window in the gray door, the tap, scuff, tap filling her ears. She didn't even realize that this wasn't the sound she heard. The footsteps she heard were not so authoritative or haughty. They were slow and sad. But she didn't realize this. Her mind was too busy telling her that she was really back in the little square room waiting for Him to enter.
There was a dark figure in the open doorway, blocking the dim silver moonlight. The door of the little square room swung open, and He stepped inside. Trepidation leapt into her throat, and Chloe gave a deafening scream as she dashed forward, the pipe held up over her head. Her legs carried her to the door, and the figure instantly flipped the light switch, filling the room with a bright glow, blinding Chloe for a moment, confusing her. Where was the grayness? Where was the room? Where was He?
The sharp edge of the knife came down on the wall just to the right of the doorway, slicing through the wallpaper, slipping from her grasp, and sliding down to the floor where it clattered loudly against the tile.
"Chloe!"
She looked up, startled by the familiar voice. "D-dad?" Her own voice cracked as she whispered it, seeing her father in the doorway looking frightened and bewildered. Her eyes fell to the floor. A knife? What happened to the pipe? Where was she? Where had the room gone? Where had He gone?
But she couldn't voice any of her questions. All she could sputter was, "W-what… what's going—what happened—?" The tears began to fall again. "Where am I?" Her father wrapped her in a tight embrace as she collapsed forward into his chest. As she crumpled to her knees, her father followed suit and held her in the kitchen doorway, rocking her back and forth as she cried into his shirt and wondering what had become of his daughter.
Her father made the call the next day. After a lifetime of exploring the strangeness of Smallville and writing about freaks who ended up in mental institutions, she was finally becoming a subject worthy of an article for the Torch. After a lifetime of searching for her mother, she had finally found her—within herself.
She was being sent to Belle Reeve.