3 Old Wounds

He heard her run – heard the fearful footfalls echoing through the endless hallways. He stood in a single shaft of light and tried with all his might to find her. The cackling grew louder then softer, her whimpers tearing at his heart as he listened. Desperately he turned, searching for a sign of some sort – showing him the way to where she was. And there it was: a dim spark in the distance before him, moving slowly. He cried out for her – but he knew she would not hear him – would not be able to hear anything above her terror.

So he ran; ran towards her – always towards her and her light – following the cackles and fearful footfalls. He in turn was chased by darkness – a looming darkness that never left him alone. And just when he thought he would never reach her, he turned a corner and found her huddled against a door, desperately trying to claw it open. He knew she sensed some of his presence – only she had mistaken it for whatever evil had been following her and shuddered in fear. He reached out to her and upon touching her flesh – her hand that was placed on the doorknob, he felt a shiver run through him and the cackling disappeared. She never turned to him, but allowed him to guide their hands to open the door.

The light that came streaming through the new opening was blinding, but a strange, new warmth entered his body – intoxicating him and making all the more aware of the woman with him. Almost entranced, he found himself faced with an endless field of beautiful sunflowers swaying gently in the breeze. Letting go of the doorknob but keeping the woman's hand in his firm grasp, he led the both of them through the opening and into this wonderfully scented sea of yellow and brown. This vast field sloped gently upwards and at the peak, he and the woman with him stood together, basking in the beauty around him.

But even as he focused on his environment, he began to become all too aware of the woman with him. Unable to help himself he twisted her around to face him, closing his eyes before he got a glimpse of her face. He touched his lips onto hers – lightly at first, as if asking if she didn't mind and then with more fervour, plunging his tongue into her orifice and tilting his head to intensify the kiss they shared. Someone moaned in arousal – who it was, neither could tell – and he began to slide his hand up her arms to plunge his hands into her soft tresses.

When his hand reached the hairline, he felt her slump against him, her mouth stop battling with his. He pulled back and found himself staring at a decomposing corpse in an old and decaying yellow dress. Horrified, he pushed it away from him and found that all the sunflowers were wilting and rising beneath them was a vast pile of human bones. In the distance, thunder rumbled threateningly, causing him to look above him. Clouds were quickly formulating above him. He felt a drop upon his head and brought a gloved hand to touch it. As he brought his arm down, he noticed that what was raining down upon him was blood. Oddly enough, he felt himself become just as intoxicated with this downpour as he had with the field of sunflowers.

He lifted his hands and welcomed the droplets upon him. A slight tug upon his pant leg brought his attention back to the pile below him and he saw the decomposing body of the woman he had just saved and kissed was staring up at him almost pleadingly.

"Help me," she said in a faint but diamond voice. "please…"

His eyes widened and he reached out for her but she was slowly sinking into the sea of bones. Her body was re-establishing itself and she was sinking lower and lower; just like the volume of her voice… "Please… help me…"

"CHLOE!"

Lex howled her name as he reached out fervently into the darkness of the bedroom. With heaving breaths and fresh tears pouring from his eyes, he shot his gaze about disoriented for a moment before he realized it was all just a dream. As his panting slowed to normal inhales and exhales, he fell back onto the bed's soft embrace. He didn't want this. He'd thought he had gotten over the pain of the beauty he had lost. But there it was again – just as intense; or perhaps even more so than it had been the first time he had experienced it. With a dejected look at the book placed beside his body, he pushed the object away from him, causing it to slide across the silk and fall onto the floor. And as it hit the floor with a loud clatter, the spider began to skitter across his heart again – the spun web grasping its prey like a vice.

(Kal-el)

Sitting at my work desk at the Daily Planet, I go over events that have happened – things that have changed my goals and ambitions… and caused me to drop friendships along the way.

Thoughts of a small-town girl I had loved for so long causes a fresh helping of bile to rise from my throat. Oh how the world can corrupt beauty is a terrible thing to witness… and yet she could have prevented this slow weathering; could have stopped the corrosion of the natural beauty she barely grasped… but she was never strong enough. In the years I had known her she was always searching for someone's help even when she was trying to do it all on her own. And then when she was finally given the chance to prove her independence and her capabilities, it transformed into a way to show that she was weak and defenceless. And she died the same way… no wait, add in insane, selfish and vengeful to the list as well.

It's a wonder I was blinded for so long by such a weak spirit when there was someone clearly more worthy of my attentions – but who had come slightly – or rather far later than everyone else. Old friends have teased my about the old 'Lex Luthor' complex I seem to have – as the woman I have come to care greatly for – even more so than

(weak, defenceless, insane, selfish and vengeful)

Lana Lang – had a brown mane. But they forget about the flaxen-haired one; the one that had been so willing to walk through fire for us, her friends because we were who she had and she cherished us even when we didn't return the sentiment as equally… the similar spirit of Chloe Sullivan lives now in Lois Lane.

I heave a weighty sigh and lean back on my chair, only to topple backwards quite ungracefully and fall straight onto the ground. I hear the snickers around me and know that this was no accident. Getting up as dignified as I can I smile at the crowd, push my useless glasses up the bridge of my nose before picking up the remains of my chair. Lois comes up behind me and clucks disappointedly.

"You're just so damn easy to pick on, Kent," she berated as she shook her head. "It's a wonder you're still willing to come here every day with the stunts they keep pulling for their own kicks."

I smile to myself as I lift the pieces from the ground and bring it to the large garbage nearby. No, I don't like Lois by her looks… those are just perks. Her gung-ho attitude, so like her cousin's is what ultimately got me. Perhaps I was in love with Chloe all these years… but, no, that's not true. Chloe was a friend – a good and always loyal friend, even when I doubted her – but that's how she stayed.

Past tense… it's strange to have her actions dubbed as in the time before because it doesn't feel right… seeing her there as she fell to the floor didn't feel right. Seeing Lana with her sword and wild brown eyes made more sense than Chloe's passing. There was something odd about it – but that was her pale face staring sightlessly at the ceiling with her dull hazel gaze; those were her dry and cracked lips slack and hanging open; that was her limp dirty blonde hair fanned around her face… I saw it.

"Kent? Hey, Clark!" Lois's impatient voice snapped me out of whatever stupor I was in.

With my usual confused gaze I turn my gaze to her, wondering what it is that has her so worked up. She's always like that with me – always spouting about how slow I am to react or how I'm so thick-headed; Anything to prevent her from connecting me to the sure, level-headed saviour of Metropolis, Superman. Now, however, I note that there's something edgier to her; like there's something weighing on her. I quickly drop the stuff in my hand inside the bin and turn fully to her. She knows I'm concerned. As Clark Kent, I make it a point to show as much as possible without giving away my alter ego.

"I need to speak with you privately, Kent," she said in a low murmur gazing at him with hard brown eyes. "It's really important…"

Cocking my head to the side, I frown in further confusion. "Okay…" I draw out the word, knowing it would sound out my uncertainty. "What do you want to talk about?"

I see her gaze waver then – see the telltale quiver of her chin but she purses her lips in confidence. "My cousin," she answers in a strained tone.

I look at her for a moment – my thoughts coming to a screeching stop. We never talked about it… not in the few months we reacquainted ourselves to one another. Then I heave that great weighty sigh I had just moments before.

(You knew it was coming – that impending, dark train in the distance – only now it's at the station and ready to unload its passengers – each one carrying a heavy load.)

"Very well," I concede before glancing at my watch. "This will take a while, though… we'll talk after working hours at the deli just down the street, okay?"

She nods her head in a very curt manner then leaves. I watch as she disappears around the corner. It is later when we are seated before each other silently looking at our drinks that I feel contained and trapped. I didn't think about what I would say – just that I would say something; something to ease that painful curiosity as to why her cousin suddenly disappeared and showed up one day in a graveyard with a tombstone six feet above her. I know that she probably blames Lex for the Loss, but she's got it all wrong – he, too, feels the Loss just as intensely or even more so that it causes him to avoid it and hide behind his new misdeeds and bad business choices.

"You know, you'd think that when someone dies, that should be it," Lois suddenly says in a low voice.

No one else hears this but me.

"She, on the other hand, defies all the natural laws and ends up alive after the explosion of that safe house… only to die again for reasons beyond me." She looks at me then her eyes piercing. "You know some of what happened to her, Clark. And I need to fill in the blanks – I need to know if she's really gone or if it's some damn scheme again. I need to know who the villain is in her story."

It's hard for me to look at her now but I keep my eyes on her slowly twisting her words around in her head weighing them and the voice that she says it in. She's out for answers. That's all. And I know that I must give it to her before she digs up the dangerous ground I tread upon; before she can find information that could lead her to discovering who I am – who I hide from the world that isn't satisfied by a seemingly one-dimensional hero. I lean back in my chair and push the glasses up the bridge of my nose before gazing down at my cup of green tea.

"I won't allow you to publish anything I say about him," I warn her. She knows who I'm talking about. There is no need to say names.

Her eyebrows shoot up in incredulity. "Why the hell would I –"

"Because where he's involved you're always ready to jump to the conclusion that he's the bad guy when actually he's not," I interrupt in a low voice bringing my hard gaze up to hers.

"I saw her tombstone with his damn name on it!" she whispers fiercely leaning close to me. "How is it that he always ends up living and she has to turn out dead? If he had nothing to do with her death –"

"He didn't murder her," I shoot back in a fervent, but hushed murmur. I feel my irritation rise at her stubbornness and her rather narrow view on my old friend. Chloe never did that; she always kept her options open. "Look, would just shut up and listen to what I have to say or would you rather I leave you hanging with nothing but what you've got right now?"

It's the first time I've actually done anything so aggressive – and that is strange and new to her when she thinks of Clark Kent… I'm sure of that. Her open mouth closes before she slumps back looking like a girl who was denied any ice cream for dessert. A grumbled 'fine' is all I need before I sip my drink then launch into the story of what came to pass between the Shinomoris', Luthors' and Shishio's entourage.

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to be continued...