|4|
"Please mommy! Please don't! I won't do it again, I promise!"
Clark was seconds away from Gotham when the screams reached him. Stopping mid-air, he took a moment to focus and find the source of the sound. The snick of the gun reached him next, and the understanding that this was something he would have to stop for despite Bruce's warning was barely processed before he plunged back down. Clark slipped into x-ray vision to find a small child curled into the corner of an old tenement building, long since abandoned to the rats and homeless. Above him, a woman stood gripping a gun.
"Mommy, please!" The little boy couldn't have been more than six years old, his mother not even twenty.
She fired the gun with shaking hands, aiming high above the child's head as Clark moved in to catch the bullet, not really registering the small sting caused by its impact. The child was secure in his arms an instant later, and Clark sped away. He left the little boy seated opposite a startled Commissioner Gordon before going back for the mother.
Clark stopped several feet back from the crying woman, taking note of the gun flung away and to the left from where she had folded over to her knees. "Why?" he asked, voice softer than he'd intended.
She looked up at him, eyes bloodshot, and hands trembling as they reached up to push long strings of dingy blonde hair off her face. "I'm sorry. I wasn't going to… I never would have – but he paid me. I needed the money to feed us." Her voice hitched on a sob. "I'm so sorry."
A quiet shuffle behind Clark drew her attention, causing her green eyes widened in fear. "Run," she whispered an instant too late.
Clark tried to turn when he felt the effects of the kryptonite, but he wasn't fast enough. A net shot out, glowing green as the material fell over and around him, sinking him to the dirty cement floor. The vicious blow that followed cracked his skull, just above the right temple, and pushed him into oblivion. He never heard the gunshot that killed the young mother.
o
Shadows from a dim red light casting shadows on rough stone walls was the sight that greeted Clark as he forced his eyes open. His head ached fiercely, and an exploratory hand found a sizable lump and dried blood matting his hair to his skin. Beneath him, cold seeped into his boxer-clad body through the hard-packed dirt floor. Registering his lack of clothing with a start, Clark struggled to sit up but a wave of dizziness sent him crashing back down. He grunted as his elbow hit the ground and the impact tingled through his arm from the point of contact. Inhaling stale, musty air, Clark held the breath before letting it out, gathering himself together enough to push back up to sitting and then to his knees. Head down, hands planted on the ground for support, he made it to his feet after a several minutes and a few failed attempts. A slow circuit of the room revealed four walls that formed a six-foot square space broken only by a smooth steel door which appeared to open only from the other side.
Frustrated, Clark pounded his fist against the door. "Hey!" he shouted. "Hello? Is anyone out there?" He hit the door again when there was no response from the other side. Closing his eyes and trying to focus his hearing yielded no results. He banged again, wincing when the blow stung his hand. Turning, Clark pressed his back against the cold metal and let his body slide jerkily to the floor. The exertion had left him flushed and trembling.
"Where in the hell am I," he whispered. There was no answer, only the sound of his panting and the thrumming of his pulse in his ears. He wasn't sure how long he sat there before the shivering forced him to shift away from the cold door and into the centre of the room. He couldn't seem to shake the lethargy or the fuzzy feeling in his head, and before long he curled onto his side and let the desire to sleep take over.
The camera was nestled high in the corner of the cell, camouflaged by the stone surrounding it. The equipment whirred quietly as it settled on the still man, sending images back to his captor on the other side of the lens.
o o o o
"He should have been here by now," Bruce growled. He paced the length of the computer console, agitation evident in the stiff line of his body and the way he glanced compulsively at his watch every time he turned to move back in the opposite direction.
Alfred spoke from the shadows, keeping well out of Bruce's path. "Have you tried tracing him through his communicator?"
"There's no signal. Someone turned it off."
"You are quite positive that Master Clark did not turn it off himself?"
Bruce turned a glare in his direction. "He doesn't turn off his communicator. Ever. Arrange for a car, Alfred. I'm going to Metropolis."
o
Bruce strode through the wide double doors of the Daily Planet early the next morning. He met with Perry White, spoke to the senior editors, and made the rounds of the bullpen. Finally he stopped in front of Chloe and nodded politely.
"Ms. Sullivan. I hear the expose you and Clark wrote regarding the resurgence of criminal activity in Edge City is short-listed for a Pulitzer. Congratulations." He lowered his voice so that only Chloe could hear. "Have you seen or heard from him since yesterday evening?"
Chloe's frown was fleeting. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne," she said in a normal voice before offering him a slight shake of her head.
Bruce slipped her a piece of paper when she shook his proffered hand. It read simply, back alley as soon as inconspicuously possible. Chloe raised her eyes from the paper to Bruce's retreating back as worry began to churn in her gut.
Six minutes later, Chloe made her way out of the bullpen. She took the elevator down to the second floor before switching to the little used emergency stairwell in order to exit closer to the service doors along the back of the building. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Chloe slipped outside and walked intently towards the waiting gunmetal grey sports car. Bruce nodded at her as she pulled the door open and slid into the passenger seat. Chloe returned the gesture but didn't speak, waiting for Bruce to take the lead.
They drove for ten minutes before Bruce pulled into the underground parking garage of a condo complex, taking the corners at a speed faster than the posted signs suggested until they reached the far corner of the last level. Throwing the car into park and shutting off the engine, Bruce indicated Chloe to follow him. He stayed silent through the elevator ride to the top floor, waiting until they were behind the locked door of a penthouse suite before facing Chloe with serious eyes.
"You know, don't you?"
"Know what," Chloe responded cautiously.
"I don't believe Clark would have told you something that wasn't his to tell, but you're smart and you've had more dealings than most with those considered to be super heroes." Chloe heard the hint of scorn in his voice as he spoke those last words.
"Mr. Wayne, Clark is the most trustworthy person I know."
He regarded her warily for a moment. "And he trusts you with his life, doesn't he."
"Yes."
"Then I need to trust you with mine." Chloe raised her eyebrows in question, waiting for him to elaborate. "His life depends on it," Bruce finally finished.
"Something bad happened."
"I received a ransom demand. Six hundred thousand dollars to be delivered by Batman tomorrow night at eleven o'clock in exchange for directions to where he is being held. The money isn't an issue; it's ready and waiting for the drop. It's the fact that I think Clark may be dead by the time I can get to him."
Chloe had paled considerably, but her voice didn't waver. "What makes you think that?"
"The ransom demand was delivered to me personally rather than Batman. It cited Clark by both his real name and as Superman. Whoever has him knows who he is and how to contain him. Which means they also know how to kill him. With that kind of knowledge, leaving a witness behind is a very unwise move on the kidnappers part."
"He knows who you are as well," Chloe said, acknowledging his admission.
"It would seem so, but I'm not making any assumptions."
"What are you planning to do?"
"That's why I'm here. You've proved yourself invaluable in the past under the guise of Watchtower, and I need your assistance in tracking Clark's movements prior to his disappearance. I've also contacted Oliver."
Chloe understood the gravity of his words; Batman rarely asked for help from anyone. She agreed without hesitation, taking it in stride that Bruce was aware of her role as Watchtower. "Let's go."