They found Chloe's car half hidden in the woods off the side of a barely-there maintenance road used only by the park rangers. Bug dropped Clark off and went to find another place to park the hearse in case they were spotted. Clark knew exactly where they were, and even before Bug got back he was working his way down the grassy road. It was when he had to leave the road and go into the woods that he stopped to wait. Bug was panting a little when she finally arrived and her glasses were fogged.
He chuckled at her. "My Lana jogs every morning before school."
Bug huffed. "This Lana is not a morning person." She peered off into the woods. "In there?"
"In there."
In Clark's world there was a small dirt path that snaked off toward the caves. In this world no body knew the caves were there and the path was non-existent. Tangled undergrowth and downed trees were all that could be seen. There wasn't even any evidence of Chloe making her way through, but then she might have gone in a different direction.
"Clark, are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes."
"Okay, but take it slowly."
There wasn't really any other way to take it but slowly. Bug went first, carefully picking out the best path before coming back to help Clark navigate it. Pure, stubborn determination guided Clark's way through every obstacle and the pain that started to dog him with every step. Beneath the top layer of dry leaves was a damp, rotten layer, and once Clark's crutch slipped sideways on him. His full weight came down on his right leg and the pain nearly blinded him. Bug helped hold him up while he gathered himself once more.
Her face was crumpled with worry. "You've gone pale. Hurts?"
"Like mad," Clark cleared his throat. "Give me a second. We're really close."
Bug looked around. "Some people say this place is haunted."
"Don't the Kawatchi live nearby?"
"The last Native Americans left Lowell County years ago," Bug replied. She produced a water bottle from one of the pockets of her long black overcoat. Clark drank gratefully. Despite the chill in the air his efforts were making him sweat. "It's their ghosts who haunt this place."
"I can deal with ghosts at this point. Shapeshifters - probably not."
Nervously, Bug looked over her shoulder. When she saw Clark watching her she blushed. "It's funny that your - friend - is named Lana. That was my mother's name. Nell changed my name to Potter when she adopted me. My parents were Lana and Henry Small."
"Was it...the meteor shower?" Clark asked softly.
Bug shook her head. "No," she replied, as she stood up and dusted leaves off her coattails. "It was a couple of years afterward, on my sixth birthday. We went to see Sesame Street Live in Metropolis." Turning her head, she presented her profile to Clark. Her expression was wistful, sad, and full of pain. "We were on the way back to the car after the show. It was late, dark. A man tried to rob us." She took a deep breath before continuing. "My parents were gunned down in cold blood, and all the guy got were a few dollars and a maxed out credit card."
"I'm sorry," Clark whispered.
She shrugged, and gave him a wry smile. "Some birthday, huh?"
Clark beckoned her forward. Leaning down, he gently kissed her on the forehead.
"Thanks." There was a pause, as if she were going to say something else. Her eyes spoke volumes behind her glasses. Clark waited, but she only added: "We'd better go."'
"Sure."
Turning away, Bug set off once again through the woods. Clark struggled along beside her, counting his blessings.
The first rock out-cropping appeared out of the forest like a shipwreck out of a deep, dark sea. One really didn't expect it. Nothing but trees surrounded you and then all of a sudden there was a large black rock. Clark guided Bug around it until they found the cave opening.
"Chloe?"
"Here!" Her voice echoed slightly from the depths of the cave. "Come down! Be careful though, there looks like there's been a bit of a cave-in near the entrance."
From another pocket in her large overcoat, Bug removed a flashlight. Gingerly making their way over the debris littering the floor just inside, Clark and Bug progressed deeper into the cave. Once inside the floor was sandy, easier to navigate, and Clark took the lead. He felt a sense of "home" here. Moving into the main cavern and seeing all the familiar glyphs upon the walls reinforced that feeling.
Chloe stood in the middle of the cavern, the beam of her flashlight trained on a series of glyphs just above her head. When she heard Clark and Bug approaching she spoke, but did not tear her gaze away.
"These are beautiful, like nothing I've ever seen before."
Clark nodded. "It is beautiful." He reached out a hand to touch the nearest drawing. "The Kawatchi made these, but they tell the store of visitors from another planet. My ancestors." His voice grew wistful. "I wish I could read them."
Turning to look at him, Chloe shook her head slightly. "Clark, if I didn't believe you before, I'm definitely beginning to think there's something to all this."
He laughed. "Thank you!"
She turned her flashlight off. "Come with me."
They moved deeper into the caves. Bug flashed her light around the ceilings and walls. "That's strange," she said quietly.
"What is?" Clark whispered back.
"There are no bats. There are no signs of any wildlife at all."
"That doesn't surprise me," Chloe turned her head toward them. She looked excited, but at the same time, somewhat nervous. "These caves are unearthly. Here. Look."
The three of them came to a halt before a fissure in the rock face of one wall. It was just wide enough for a man to pass through. It was not dark, as one would have thought, instead its interior glowed with a strange white light that did not broadcast itself any further than the fissure itself.
Stooping, Chloe picked up a rock from the cave floor and tossed it toward the fissure. It vanished without a sound.
"What is it?" Bug breathed.
Chloe and Clark exchanged glances. He voiced what she was trying not to say.
"I think it's a crack, a crack between worlds."
With a flip of her finger, Chloe turned on her flashlight. She pointed it toward the floor where there were footprints in the dust. There were two sets, one went in and then came back out of the fissure. Clark moved his foot up next to that set and made a comparison.
The were the same.
"If I'm in this body," he said quietly. "Your Clark must be in mine, and he's discovered this portal."
"But there are two sets of prints," Chloe said. "Who made the others?"
Clark looked at the prints. He thought he recognized the size and shape of them, but was puzzled by the fact they did not seem to come out of the fissure. They only went into it.
"I may be wrong, but I think they belong to Lex Luthor."
"But he's dead!" Bug protested. She moved slightly closer to Clark. "Isn't he?"
Clark stood at the bottom of the loft stair looking up into his sanctuary. The visit to the caves had brought more questions than answers. Besides the odd fissure, which none of them dared to investigate further, and the footprints, they'd found nothing. Now he wanted to play a hunch, and that hunch was entirely dependant on him getting up into the loft. The only way he was going to be able to do that would be to climb, or fly. Since the latter was impossible it looked like he was going to have to do some climbing.
He had a little water left in the last bottle Bug had given him at the caves. He also had a bottle of his pain killers, two of which he swallowed down with the last of the water.
"Here goes nothing."
Bracing his arms on either side of the railing, Clark pushed himself up the first step, and then the next, trying to keep most of his weight on his arms instead of his feet. It was similar to what he was doing in physical therapy, only there he didn't have gravity working against him.
And the travel distance is shorter.
Every step hurt. Every time his full weight came down on legs still mending he thought his head would explode. The pain was as bad as being exposed to meteorite fragments, only that was temporary. Since the day he'd awakened in the hospital Clark had felt pain to varying degrees. It dogged him day and night. It didn't go away. And this...was agony.
Step by step by step he dragged himself upward. His arms felt like jello. His legs hurt so badly he imagined he could hear the bones grinding together. It certainly felt as if the breaks had rebroken and the shattered pieces were grinding themselves to dust under the abuse.
One more. Come on, Clark, just one more.
His palms were sweating, threatening the precarious grip he had on the railing. He didn't dare look down nor cease his upward momentum for very long lest vertigo claim him. The last thing he wanted to do was fall and reinjure bones already as fragile as eggshells. He curled his fingers tighter around the wooden railing. Had he been himself it would have been crushed to splinters.
But I'm not myself.
Frustration fueled a second wind. Gritting his teeth he gave one last heave, pulling himself up the last few steps and into the loft.
He collapsed to the floor, and there he lay panting and shivering, listening to his heart beat fast in his chest. The air was chill, and his hair was damp from sweat. Sweat ran down his back and dampened his shirt beneath his jacket. As he watched, a small bead of it ran down to the end of his nose and dripped onto the floor.
He wiped his face on his sleeve and sat up.
The loft was the same as when he'd left it. Nothing was different in this world from his own, save for the picture sitting on the desk. Without the benefit of his crutches, which he had left at the bottom of the stairs, he was force to virtually crawl across the floor on his elbows. His arms were so weak it took him a moment to drag himself up into the chair. He rested again as he examined the photograph.
"Corbin," he whispered.
It was another picture of the two brothers, each with their arm around the other. Both were smiling Clark's brilliant smile. They were identical save for the obvious bump on the other Clark's nose, and the scar on his lip. Clark stared at the picture for a long time before setting it aside. Methodically he began searching the desk.
He found nothing, at least nothing that he wouldn't have found in his own desk at home. There were old term papers, sheaths of astronomy notes, magazines, photographs and a few old childhood mementos ranging from Matchbox cars to Happy Meal toys you wound up and let race.
"Damn!" Clark put a fist down on the desk and defeated, he slumped down in the chair. "Now what?" He sat there in silence for a while, listening to the old barn creak. Down below he heard a cat rustling in the hay, scrounging around for mice.
Idly he wound up one of the toys. While he tried to organize his thoughts he let it turn around on the desk top, bumping into his hands. "Where would I have put it? Not in the house. It has to be here!"
He looked around, and in doing so let the toy fall from the desk top. His gaze followed it as it righted itself and raced across the floor only to have its race cut short by the presence of the coffee table. Clark watched it as it backed up, turned and slammed into the table again, and again, and again.
Bump.
Bump.
Bump.
His eyes traveled upward to the horse blanket he had thrown over the top of the table.
Table.
It wasn't really a table. It was an old steamer trunk.
Clark pushed himself out of the chair with a grunt, and using the loft railing to hold himself up, he moved from the desk to the couch. There he sank down into the floor again and pulled the blanket off the trunk. His fingers fumbled at the latch. Within seconds he had it opened.
From within he removed more blankets, a sweater, old cassette tapes and a broken radio. A final blanket covered the bottom.
And on the bottom, beneath the final folds of the blanket, was what he'd been looking for.
It was a large metal box, an old tool box, and it was locked with a small padlock. Clark moaned in frustration. He had no idea where the key was, nor any clue where this world's Clark would keep such a thing safe. Clark had no need of locks on his side of the crack, and locks had never before kept him out of anything. Angrily he banged the box on the floor, hoping to break the lock. It did not work.
Frantically he looked all around - and spotted a hammer hanging off the edge of one of the bookshelves. Again he used the furniture to maneuver himself around until he could reach his weapon. Once in hand, he went back to the box determined to get it open.
It took several solid blows. Clark was panting again by the time the lock finally gave way and he could pry it off. He sent it skittering across the floor. His fingers shook as he opened the box.
Inside were articles and clippings about the Luthors, candid pictures obviously taken by an amateur, and what looked to be a computer disc. Clark looked through it all and picked out a picture of Lex.
It IS Lex, except for the hair.
Replacing that photo he with drew another. Lionel stood with his arm around his son, smiling and looking proud. Lionel was exactly the same, except for the smile. Clark had never seen Lionel Luthor smile; smirk, yes, smile, no.
What were you like? Clark wondered. Could we have been friends if the outcome of the accident been different? You have my gifts. Would you trust me enough to tell me your secrets?
With a melancholy air, he continued to dig through the box. Besides the photographs and clippings there was a notebook, filled with pages and pages of his own barely legible scrawl and a small wooden box. Clark leafed through the notebook. His eyes widened as he read some of the entries.
He knew!
The other Clark had known Lex's secret. He'd been gathering information regarding the Luthors for over a year. His primary focus had been on the fertilizer plant and it's operations. He had notes regarding everything from day to day operations to the exact chemical formulas that made up the product. He had discovered the space ship story, and how Lionel had suppressed it. He'd actually interviewed a witness who swore he saw a child walk out of the downed ship.
And he'd seen some of the things Lex could do.
Clark's eyes darted to the small wooden box in his hand. He flicked it open. It was lined with a thick layer of lead, but the stone it once held was gone.
And what does this mean? On the other side of the void is it possible that Lex knows - about me?
"Oh my God," he breathed.
In the next instant he looked up sharply as he heard someone step up into the loft.
"I wondered when you would figure it out."