Chapter Six

The graveyard caretaker walked from grave to grave, surveying everything. He heard a rumbling near him. He looked from headstone to headstone, looking for the source of the disturbance. The caretaker stopped at a headstone for someone named Clark Kent. The caretaker noticed the dates.

So horrible that he died so young, the caretaker thought. He was about to turn away when a hand erupted from the earth in front of that headstone. The caretaker jumped back a few feet and stared in horror. The hand grabbed onto the ground as if the person the hand was attached to was trying to pull himself up. Another hand came out of the ground, and grabbed hold of the grass. Two elbows emerged and a man pulled himself up. His head came out of the ground and he pulled himself onto the grass. He pulled his legs out and knelt on the ground taking several deep breaths.

"Kid, are you okay?" the caretaker asked cautiously.

Clark heard the caretaker talking to him, but paid him no heed. All he could concentrate on was the fact that he had just pulled himself out of his own coffin. Clark spun around and looked at his own headstone. Clark stared in horror as he realized what had happened. Clark looked down at his black suit, tears rolling down his face. His suit was torn in several places and it was filthy. The corsage on his lapel was withered and torn to pieces. Clark ripped it off and flung it away. He felt something in his hand, and looked down at the octagonal key. As Clark stared at it, his vision flashed to his own visitation.

"Clark, I wanted you to know that…we couldn't have asked for a better son than you," said Jonathan. "We love you. We'll always love you, and we have something that belongs to you."

Jonathan pulled the octagonal key out of his pocket and buried it in Clark's hands so that no one could see it. "Goodbye, son."

Martha started crying as Jonathan pulled her away from the casket.

Clark came out of this vision with more tears. He looked back up at the tombstone and his eyes started to burn. Clark took one swing at it, tearing it to shreds. He turned towards the caretaker to find a surprised face staring back at him. Clark ran out of the graveyard towards a familiar place: home.

Pete walked over to Clark's grave, dreading the moment. What would it be like to see his best friend's tombstone? As Pete approached it, he stopped dead in his tracks. The ground in front of Clark's tombstone was dug up as if someone had pulled something out of the ground. Pete looked up at the torn up tombstone.

"Clark, what have they done to you?" asked Pete. He rushed off to the Kent house to tell them.

Clark ambled along aimlessly towards his house. He reached the edge of the woods and entered a field. By now, he had torn off his suit jacket and his tux shirt was ripped to pieces. He tore the rest of it off and looked up at the farm at the other end of the field. He saw the huge red barn and the pale yellow farmhouse. He was home.

Clark rushed off to the farmhouse, instantly going into superspeed. He ran into the loft in the barn and stopped. He looked around at everything. There were packing boxes everywhere with all of his stuff inside them. Tears started rolling down his cheeks again.

Pete ran into the barn, and looked around.

"Mr. Kent!" he yelled. "Mrs. Kent!"

Pete rounded the corner of the stairs, and ran into someone.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Kent," said Pete. He looked up into his face and was astonished to be looking at Clark. Pete stared up into Clark's face as he watched Clark tremble in shock.

"Clark?" Pete asked. Clark's face twitched at the mention of his name. His eyes darted this way and that. His breathing was short and irregular. He held his hands in front of his chest, wringing them.

"Clark?" Pete asked again. He looked down at Clark's clothes. Clark was still wearing the black pants that they had buried him in, but his shirt and jacket were gone. Clark was wearing the white T-shirt that had been under his tux shirt. It was ripped in some places, and there was soot on it. Clark's feet were bare, and he was inching away from Pete. Pete saw all these things and remember what he saw at Clark's grave. Pete then connected the dots.

"Oh, my gosh," Pete remarked. "Clark? Are you okay?"

Pete reached a hand out towards Clark, but Clark pulled back suddenly, alarmed.

"Clark," said Pete, holding out both of his hands to soothe Clark. "It's alright. It's just me. Everything's going to be okay."

Clark inched further and further away. His head darted this way and that, then Clark turned and took off at a run.

"Clark!" Pete called.

Martha and Jonathan walked down Main Street in town. They had just come out from the Talon, and turned toward the place where their truck was parked. They stopped when they saw a small crowd gathered in front of the jewelry shop. There was a man at the center of the crowd, raving about something.

"What is this?" asked Martha.

"I'm not sure," commented Jonathan. They both started toward the crowd and could make out what the man was saying.

"I'm telling you: I saw it!" he yelled.

"What did you see?" asked Jonathan. The man turned to Jonathan.

"The kid!" the man yelled. Jonathan could tell by the way the man was dressed that he was the caretaker of the local cemetery.

"What kid?" asked Martha.

"The one that came out of the ground! He was about eighteen years old. You gotta believe me!"

Jonathan and Martha exchanged a glance. "Go on," said Jonathan, and thought, We've seen stranger things before.

"I was going through the headstones, keeping the grounds up and running, you know. I walked by this kid's tombstone, and then a hand shot out from the ground. The kid crawled right out of his grave! He…he looked a little disoriented. Then he knocked his tombstone over…with his bare fist! He just swung a punch at it and it crumbled to pieces!"

"Do you know where he went?" asked Martha.

"Not a clue," said the caretaker.

"Well, did you see the name on the tombstone?" asked Jonathan.

"Oh…I forget what it said," said the caretaker. "But the name started with a 'C,' I think."

Jonathan and Martha turned away, but stopped as the caretaker said something else.

"Oh, before he smashed the headstone, he pulled something out of his hand," said the man. "It was a small disk of some sort."

Jonathan and Martha stopped dead in their tracks, and turned back to the man.

"What did you say?" asked Martha.

"What did it look like?" asked Jonathan urgently.

"It was the size of my palm, it had weird symbols; I didn't get a good look at it, so I don't know what kind of symbols," said the man. "It was, um…octagonal."

Jonathan and Martha froze. "Are you sure?" asked Jonathan.

"Why?" asked the man. "Did he steal it from you or something?"

The man turned and walked away as the Kents stood there, transfixed.

"It couldn't be…" said Martha. She looked up at Jonathan, giving him a look.

"Clark," said Jonathan.

Clark ran up to his door, and stood outside it. He put his hand upon the knob, but it was locked. Clark jerked his hand a little, just enough to break the lock, but not enough to tear off the handle. He opened the door and entered his house. The atmosphere was tainted with sorrow; Clark could sense it. His family was mourning that he was gone. A tear slid down Clark's cheek when he thought about it.

He was still trembling as he made his way through the kitchen to the living room. As he went, he looked around at all the memoirs of his life…his family's life. Clark got to the middle of the kitchen and stood there, transfixed.

"I've got to do something," said Pete. He ambled to the Kent house to grab a phone. He opened the door, which gave way under his hand. Pete stared at it, but then saw the reason for the broken door: Clark was standing in the kitchen, surveying his house. Pete closed the door partway and sat on the staircase. He watched as Clark shakily looked around the kitchen.

"He could be anywhere by now," said Jonathan, as they pulled into the driveway.

"But it's impossible," said Martha. "Could it really be him?"

"You heard what the caretaker said. He had the key in his hand. Who else would it be?"

"That could've been any disk."

"But he smashed the tombstone to pieces."

"That still could be anyone."

"The caretaker said he was eighteen years old and his name started with a 'C.'"

By now, they had approached the kitchen door. Martha looked down at the open door, specifically at the doorknob. The lock had been broken off, and someone had entered the house.

"Believe it now?" asked Jonathan. Martha gave him a look, and opened the door.

"Clark?" Martha called out.

Pete saw Clark spin around when the door opened, and could see the terrified look on his face. Before Martha could call out his name, Clark ran out at superspeed. The Kents entered the house.

"Clark?" Martha called out.

"Clark, are you here?" asked Jonathan.

"He just left," said Pete, letting the Kents know he was there.

"Pete," said Martha. "Um, he was here?"

"Yeah," said Pete. He saw the look in Mrs. Kent's eyes, and confirmed. "He is alive."

"I don't believe it," said Martha.

"If you don't believe it, you should see his grave site," said Pete. "It's totally demolished."

"Oh, he must be so scared," said Martha.

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it right now," said Jonathan. "We just have to wait for him to come home."

Chloe drove up to the Kent house and got out of her car. She entered the barn, looking around for Jonathan Kent.

"Mr. Kent?" she called out. She turned the corner and saw a figure huddled in the corner. She walked over to him, seeing how distraught he was.

"Excuse me?" she said tentatively. "Um…sir? Are you okay?"

The man had his head in his knees with his arms wrapped around his legs. His black hair was matted down in places, and he was crying. He was shaking uncontrollably; he seemed more terrified than hurt. Chloe approached him slowly, trying not to scare him. She reached a hand out towards him as the man took another deep breath. Chloe touched the man's arm, and the man jerked back violently, pressing himself further into the corner. As he did so, his face became visible before it disappeared behind his arms again. Chloe's eyes shot open as she recognized him.

"Clark?" asked Chloe. She was shocked. How could Clark be there? How could Clark be anywhere? It was impossible. It was Jor-El, thought Chloe. He brought Clark back. "Clark, it's me. It's Chloe. Are you alright?"

Clark was still shaking uncontrollably. Chloe touched Clark's arm again, and once more, Clark jerked away. But this time, Chloe held on, forcing him as best as she could to keep still. Clark calmed a little, but his breathing was still irregular.

"Clark, it's going to be okay," Chloe soothed. "It's me. It's you and it's me, and it's going to be okay."

Clark's breathing became calmer. He looked up at Chloe with a tear stained face. He took another deep breath, and looked Chloe in the eyes.

"Chloe…" Clark said. Chloe nodded and wrapped her arm around Clark. Clark leaned into Chloe, embracing her as well. He took another deep breath and let it out. Chloe placed her hand on his head and pulled his head towards hers. "I didn't know what was happening."

"It's alright," said Chloe. "I know. It must've been horrible." Chloe paused. "How did you get back?"

Clark paused for several moments. "It was my father…my real father. He…He came to my grave, and…and brought me back…like I used to be…"

"With your powers?" asked Chloe. Clark nodded. "Does anyone else know you're back?"

"No," said Clark. "Well, the cemetery caretaker. He was there when I pulled myself out. And Pete saw me here earlier. And, possibly my parents."

"Well, I saw your mom in the house when I got here," said Chloe. "Your dad's probably in there also. What do you say we head on up there?"

Clark paused for a minute. "Sure, Chloe."

Chloe helped Clark up. Not that he needed help physically, but he was so traumatized that Chloe thought it would be better if someone was close to him right now. Together, they walked toward the house, arm in arm. They approached the steps and walked up them, Clark still shaking a little from the trauma. They opened the kitchen door, and walked in. Clark's parents were in the dining room with Pete. When they entered, his parents spun around and their eyes went wide.

"Clark!" Martha yelled. She rushed forward, and Chloe gave Clark to her. The two of them embraced for several minutes, and then pulled apart. "I'm so happy that you're alive!"

"I'm back, Mom," said Clark. Jonathan hugged his son and Clark's eyes closed as he cherished the moment.

"We thought you were dead," said Martha.

"I was," said Clark.

"It was Jor-El, wasn't it?" asked Jonathan.

"He returned your powers, didn't he?" asked Martha.

"Yeah," said Clark. "It's typical of him, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" asked Martha. "He brought you back to life."

"Right in my coffin," said Clark bitterly.

"What?" asked Jonathan.

"I woke up…inside my coffin," said Clark. "I had to tear my way out of it. Then I had to pull myself out of the ground. That was when the caretaker saw me. Is that how you knew I was back?"

"Yeah," said Jonathan. "We heard him ranting in town."

"We're so sorry that you came back like that," said Pete.

"No, it wasn't your fault," said Clark, then he winced against the pain.

"What's wrong?" asked Martha.

"It's nothing," said Clark. "I'm just still getting used to being…alive. How long was I gone?"

"Two months today," answered Chloe.

"Oh, everyone's going to be delighted that you're back," said Martha.

"No!" Clark exclaimed.

"What's wrong, Clark?" asked Chloe.

"I don't want anyone to know I'm back," said Clark. "Not until I get used to being back."

"Alright, Clark," said Pete. "We won't tell anyone, will we?"

"Not a soul," said Chloe.

"No one," answered Martha while Jonathan shook his head, smiling.

"Thanks," said Clark.