Chapter Two:
"What do you think you're doing?" the loud voice startled her. She gasped and took a step back, abruptly releasing her hold on his fingers. She looked up and saw Richard Graham, the team leader standing by the door, watching her.
"I was just saving the clean up crew some time" she replied in a quiet voice.
"That's not your job," he reminded her coldly.
"Maybe not, but I was curious about the subject" Graham came to stand beside her. He looked down at him.
"He's certainly unique. His skin is almost invulnerable. Heat, extreme cold, pain, nothing affects him. The only thing that does seems to be the green meteor rock" he indicated the manacles, staring pensively at him. She nodded. Green meteor rock, they didn't even know what it was called.
"How much more of this do you think he'll be able to withstand?" she enquired.
"Until we're satisfied. He's a treasure trove of information; his bodily make up is nothing like we've seen before. We have great plans for him" he announced with satisfaction.
"It doesn't bother you that he's obviously somebody's son? That there will be people out there who love him and are looking for him?"
"He isn't human Miss Vale. How could he be with all that he is capable of doing? How could something like that…exist and be classed as human?" his voice was heavy with scorn and she had to bite her tongue from delivering a blistering response and remember why she was on this team in the first place.
"He has a brain, a heartbeat, he walks and he talks, so I'm assuming that he has thoughts, memories, ideas and may even possess a conscience?" Richard Graham turned his full attention onto her, looking down on her as if she was an inconsequential nobody.
"You assume too much Miss Vale. If this project is beginning to affect you then it wouldn't be a problem to have you replaced," he threatened icily. She just stared up at him.
"I don't have a problem with anything Dr. Graham," she answered.
The institute was silent. She let herself out of her closet sized office and quietly closed the door behind her. She cast a furtive look up at the surveillance camera. She walked along the corridor. She didn't know the exact time but she knew it was late; everyone had gone home for the day. The only people left would be cleaning and security staff. She hugged her clipboard to her chest and ignored the nervous fluttering in the pit of her stomach. She knew where Clark was sequestered and was glad that she'd been given clearance to access him in his cell. For all intents and purposes she was just conducting further research. There was a security guard posted outside and she flashed him her security pass. He barely glanced at it and didn't even watch as she unlocked the heavily armoured door and open it. She slipped inside, locking it behind her. Automatically she looked up. Weak green light filtered from the light fitting that she also knew doubled up as a camera. Again, it wasn't strong enough to completely incapacitate him, but enough to keep him subdued.
She walked towards him. He lay on a mattress on the floor, his back to her and facing the wall. For a long few seconds she just looked at him.
"Clark?" she kept her voice as low as she possibly could. He had extra sensitive hearing, she knew that he could hear her but he didn't react. She crouched down beside him and reached out and laid a hand on his bare shoulder. She felt the muscle tense beneath her fingertips.
"You don't know me, but my name is Anna" she murmured. Gently she rolled him onto his back and looked at him. He didn't react. His wrists, as always were manacled, the chain fastened to the wall. She looked down at the fresh wounds scored into his skin, the memories of his screams reverberating through her brain. She sighed quietly, picked up her clipboard and began to write.
Anna. The name whispered through his brain like an incantation. His saviour was called Anna. These days his head was so pain filled, his eyes so heavy that the days passed around him in a blur. The pain all merged into one, flooding inside of him in fiery brutal waves. They all watched him, noted down his reactions on their little clipboards, finding pleasure in his suffering. Those early days he'd hoped to find an ally, someone, anyone who could help him, who would take pity on a boy undergoing torturous deeds but nothing, nothing prickled their cast iron consciences. They fed off his torment like vultures circling a dying animal. And then there was Anna. He caught glimpses of her from beneath heavy eyelids, fleeting glances. Her touch had been so gentle, it had reminded him of his mom. Grief filled him, its iron like grip tightening on his soul; he wanted his mom.