The door to Jimmy's bedroom flew open, and Superman walked in, carrying his unconscious cousin in his arms; he appeared to be straining with every step, fighting the effects of the radiation as he managed to cross the small room to Jimmy's bed and carefully sett the young girl on the rumpled covers. He panted hard as he backed away, turning to see Jimmy standing in the doorway, pale and shaking as he stared at Linda in silence. Superman couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his friend looking so lost and scared, but the hero knew he couldn't dwell on that.
"Jimmy," Superman said as he approached the teenager. Jimmy stared blankly at his bed, and Superman gently grabbed his shoulders. "Jimmy, look at me." Jimmy slowly looked up at the hero. "I need you to focus."
"It's my fault," Jimmy said softly, his voice laced with fear. "My fault."
"We can't worry about that right now," Superman said calmly. "You need to focus—for Linda. Can you do that?" Jimmy hesitated, but then he slowly nodded. "Alright, I need you to get a pair of scissors and get her shirt off while I get a knife." He ignored the panicked expression crossing Jimmy's eyes. "Do you have a pair of needle-nosed pliers?"
"Uh…yeah," Jimmy said, racking his brain; it was almost like he suddenly forget where everything was in the apartment. "I, uh, kitchen drawer—near the knives."
"Alright, get the scissors," Superman said before brushing past Jimmy, heading for the kitchen.
Jimmy glanced at Linda one more time before he took a deep breath and headed over to his desk. He pulled open the middle drawer and grabbed the pair of scissors near the front, before slamming it shut and hurrying over to the bed; he knelt beside Linda and stared at the blood soaked fabric. Hands shaking, he pushed all thoughts of modesty aside, using the scissors to gently cut the bottom of Linda' shirt, moving up to her collar; he put the scissors on his nightstand and gently pulled the shirt away, carefully removing the shredded fabric; he saw that Linda wore a white, lacy bralet with thin straps, allowing him to clearly see her wound while offering her a little modesty.
Jimmy had seen plenty of injuries in his life—more than he cared to admit—so he was surprised to see how 'normal' Linda's shoulder appeared; the only difference was the sight of veins of green poison radiating away from entrance. The photographer furrowed his eyebrows as he leaned over slightly, peering at the wound; his stomach tightened when he saw the wound was already starting to heal around the bullet—and he realized Linda had stopped breathing.
"Clark, hurry!" Jimmy shouted over his shoulder. "She's not breathing!"
"Jimmy, here!"
Jimmy looked behind him and saw Superman standing in the doorway, staring intently at a pair of pliers and a steak knife in his hands; the blades glowed brightly for a moment, and the photographer knew exactly what the hero was doing.
"You gotta hurry, Clark," Jimmy said as he got up and hurried over, "the wound's closing up; you gotta get it out."
"Jimmy, you know I can't be anywhere near her right now," Superman replied before he carefully handed the tools to his friend. "You're going to have to do this."
Jimmy stared at Superman in shock. "No," he said, shaking his head, scared. "I-I-I can't. I can't do it."
"You have to," Superman replied seriously.
"But I don't—"
"Jimmy, if you don't get that bullet out of her now," Superman interrupted, "she will die." He gently put his hands on Jimmy's shoulders. "You can do this; I have faith in you."
Jimmy wanted to protest, but glanced back at Linda, swallowing hard. He looked back at Superman, who nodded encouragingly; the photographer simply nodded in return before hurrying back over to the bed, kneeling on the sheets beside Linda. He set the pliers aside and positioned the knife in his right hand, his hand shaking. He glanced at Linda briefly, before he put the tip of the knife near her wound; he took a few breaths, gathering his courage, before carefully sticking the sharp end into her skin.
As the blade pierced deep into the wound, easily cutting her flesh, Jimmy was thankful Linda was unconscious, knowing how much pain she'd be in if she were awake. After a few seconds that seemed more like an eternity, he felt the blade hit something hard and small, and Jimmy knew he had found the bullet. He quickly removed the knife, ignoring the blood on the blade as he set it down and grabbed the pliers. He inserted the tips into the open wound, working the blades down and around the bullet until he managed to get a secure hold. He carefully pulled it out and briefly stared at it in disgust before jumping to his feet and hurrying to his bathroom; he dropped the bullet in the toilet and quickly flushed it before tossing the bloodied pliers into the sink.
Jimmy grabbed a nearby towel before hurrying back into his room; he stopped short when he saw Superman sitting next to Linda, staring down at her with concern. The photographer swallowed before slowly approaching, and he was a little surprised to see the wound had already healed itself; the green veins had disappeared, and her skin was already a pale pink color.
"Is she breathing?" Jimmy whispered loudly.
"Yeah," Superman replied softly, watching Linda's chest rise and fall slowly, before he brushed some hair from her face, gently tucking the strands behind her ear.
"Clark?" Superman looked over, and Jimmy held out the towel. The hero took it and gently dotted Linda's wound, cleaning the blood from her skin; he noticed some of her blood stained her top, but didn't say anything as he handed the towel back to the photographer, who tossed it into the pile of dirty clothes in the far corner of his room. Jimmy grabbed the navy blue blanket draped on his dresser and handed it to Superman, who carefully covered his cousin with it.
"What happened?" Superman asked after a few moments.
Jimmy recognized the calm anger the hero's voice, and he knew better than to argue; he sighed. "Winslow Schott," he replied in a defeated voice.
Superman looked over, a mixture of shock and disbelief. "You two went after Schott?" he asked as he got to his feet.
"Look, Clark, this wasn't supposed to happen," Jimmy said. "I thought it'd be a good distraction for Linda; I didn't think he'd actually be at that warehouse…and I didn't know he had kryptonite."
"Where did he get the kryptonite?" Superman asked.
"He said Lex gave it to him," Jimmy explained, "in exchange for killing those people." He saw Superman closing his eyes in frustration, and Jimmy knew he was really trying to control himself.
"How did Schott know to use the kryptonite on Linda?" Superman asked calmly.
"He saw her using her abilities," Jimmy answered. "He figured out she was Kryptonian and that you've been hiding her for several months—and that she was the girl who threw that guy through the store window. He said he was going to turn her over to Lex…before I snuck up behind him and knocked him out with a metal bat; he should be out for a few hours."
"So, he never contacted Lex?" Superman asked. Jimmy shook his head. "Okay." He headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Jimmy asked.
"Well, first I have to go let Mom and Dad know what happened," Superman said, "and then I'll need to go to the warehouse." He shrugged. "Depending on things, I might have to reveal that Superman has been hiding his cousin on Earth for the past few months."
Jimmy blanched a little. "Clark, I'm really, really sorry."
"I know," Superman replied sadly. "Call Chloe; tell her to come over and keep an eye on things until I get back." He didn't wait for Jimmy's response before he walked out of the room.
Superman swooped through the sky above the Metropolis, trying to stay focused, but it was hard. He had just come from seeing his parents and informing them about what had happened with Jimmy and Linda. They had reacted…pretty much how the hero knew they'd react to hearing that the teenagers had lied about why Linda wanted to go to Metropolis—and that Linda had gotten shot in the process. The hero suppressed a shudder as he descended over Suicide Slums.
A group of officers stood next to police tape roping off a large section around an abandoned warehouse, keeping an eye on the crowd of reporters and civilians forming. Behind the tape, detectives and other officers were examining the building and gathering evidence. A familiar whooshing sound caused everyone to look up and see Superman descending; he landed on the other side of the tape near the officers.
"Is everything okay, officers?" Superman asked.
"Perhaps you could tell us," a female voice replied. Superman looked over as a familiar man and woman approached.
The woman had dark skin, eyes, and long hair pulled back into a ponytail of tight curls. She wore a bone-colored shaped jacket over a navy blouse, gray slacks, and sensible shoes; a police badge hung from her jacket pocket, and a police-issued firearm was visible under her jacket. She was slightly shorter than Linda, but Superman not to underestimate the woman's capabilities.
The man was well-built, about six feet tall, and he wore a brown business suit, the tie loosened and a kilter, and a long trench coat; brown hair was visible underneath a fedora, and he eyed Superman with a slightly condescending expression.
"Captain Sawyer," Superman nodded politely, "Inspector Turpin. What do you mean?"
"Why don't you come with us?" Sawyer suggested.
Superman followed the two officers into the warehouse and stopped short when he saw the damage inside. Broken and singed parts of robots littered the area, and an unscathed life-sized green nutcracker stood off to the side, its musket raised in a firing pose. Officers examined and photographed the area, while paramedics tended to a barely-conscious Winslow Scott, wrapping his head with bandages as the criminal mumbled incoherently.
"So, mind filling us in?" Turpin asked.
Superman couldn't decide if he was more shocked or impressed by the condition of the room; it almost reminded him of the destruction Linda had caused during her confrontation with Rudy Jones. "I think this speaks for itself," he said slowly before glancing at Schott as he was being loaded onto a gurney. "What's Schott have to say?"
"Only bits and pieces," Sawyer replied, "but what he has to say is very interesting."
"Oh?" Superman asked.
"He kept repeating 'he never plays fair,'" Sawyer answered, "'it was too dark—that's why he won.'"
"And he hits too hard," Schott mumbled as he was wheeled by on the gurney.
Superman raised an eyebrow, momentarily confused, then he inwardly smiled when the realization hit him. Good girl, Linda.
"You wanna let us in on the joke?" Turpin asked, seeing the flicker in the hero's eyes.
Superman shook his head. "No joke, Turpin," he replied before taking a deep breath and letting it out, feeling a huge weight off his shoulders. "Well, if you two have everything under control, I'll be on my way."
"No so fast," Sawyer said. "We still have a few questions."
"Yes?" Superman asked cautiously.
"For starters," Sawyer replied, "how did you even know where to find Schott?"
"I'm sure you've had plenty of hunches you can't explain, Captain," Superman replied casually. "I've been piecing together information about Schott and was checking on a hunch."
"Did you know he was in possession of kryptonite?" Sawyer asked, lowering her voice.
"Not until he tried to use it on me," Superman answered, trying not to sound annoyed.
"Then where's the missing bullet is?" Turpin asked bluntly.
"Excuse me?" Superman asked.
"We recovered two bullets from the nutcracker," Sawyer replied, "and they will be secured, but the gun had been recently fired."
"And there's no sign of a third," Turpin said, folding his arms.
"Why do I have a feeling that you two think I'm hiding something?" Superman asked, no longer hiding his annoyance.
"Okay," Sawyer said slowly; the gloves were apparently coming off, but she still wanted to tread carefully. "For starters, you're usually fast enough to avoid security cameras, but the one outside was melted—as if the person who did it didn't want to be seen. Second, the door we came through had been picked, but we couldn't find any prints—period: the door and knob had been completely wiped clean. Third, the scene is a bit more chaotic than what we've usually seen during your particular confrontations."
"Including a Louisville Slugger found at Schott's feet," Turpin added. "Had his blood on it, but—surprise, surprise—wiped clean of any prints."
"Fourth, a missing kryptonite bullet," Sawyer continued, "but there doesn't appear to be a scratch on you."
"But what's most interesting is what Schott told us," Turpin said.
"You don't believe his side of the story?" Superman asked.
"Not sure," Saywer answered. "When a couple of my officers were interrogating him, he said he'd already told 'the other cop' everything; gave us a generic description—talk, well-built, dark clothes—but we've already confirmed through dispatch that my officers were the first responders."
"Maybe someone forgot to check in," Superman replied.
"Or maybe someone knows something he isn't telling us," Turpin retorted.
"And what would that be, Inspector?" Superman asked, frowning.
"Oh, I don't know," Turpin answered, his tone sarcastic. "I'm thinking female, blonde, average height, and a similar penchant for primaries."
"How many times do I have to tell you I don't know anything about that girl?" Superman replied, undeterred as he folded his arms.
"And we don't buy it," Turpin retorted.
"Dan," Sawyer warned her partner, who stayed silent before Sawyer faced the hero; her expression softened a little as she dropped her voice. "Look, Superman, if you know anything, we can help—and it won't go beyond us—but you have to be honest with us"
"Schott's already told you what happened," Superman replied curtly. "If you choose not to believe that, then I can't help you. Good day." He brushed past the officers and headed out of the warehouse.
"He's hiding something, Maggie," Turpin said.
"I know," Sawyer answered, "but unless we have proof, our hands our tied." Turpin muttered under his breath, but he left it at that as he and his partner went back to their investigation.
(End of Chapter 15)
