Chapter 4
“Should I call you Clark?”
The seemingly innocuous question seemed to ring in Clark’s head as the colour drained away from the world.
Luthor knew.
His worst enemy- the one person that he could honestly say he hated, and who hated him- knew.
He tried his hardest to appear impassive and undisturbed but knew he was failing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he bluffed.
“Oh, but I think you do. How ironic that someone who lives his life by deception should be so poor at it,” Luthor sneered. “Let us cut to the chase. Unless I’m mistaken, you would do much to keep your little secret quiet. After all, consider the alternative. A life constantly, permanently, in the public eye. Every move observed, analysed, reported on.”
“What do you want, Luthor?”
“Simple. You keep out of the way of my business interests- as Kent and as Superman- and I don’t let your secret slip.”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
“I think you should reconsider. After all, you are not the only one keeping your identity secret, are you?” Luthor observed Clark’s face keenly. “I think we understand each other.”
“Yes.” Clark drew himself up to his full height. “Like I told you when I first came to Metropolis. One day I will see you dethroned and behind bars- and I think that day will come sooner than you think.”
He turned and launched himself into the sky.
***
Luthor watched Superman’s ascent, joined by the portly figure of Nigel St John.
“Somehow, sir, I don’t think that Superman will accept your deal,” Nigel observed.
“Regrettably, neither do I.”
“You have rather tipped him off in the process.”
“On the contrary. He will now undoubtedly attempt to hide Ma and Pa Kent, thus confirming his identity and removing what I imagine being a considerable source of support to someone of his… sentimentality.”
Luthor moved to the desk and flipped open the ornate rosewood box containing the Kryptonite, revealing the dull metallic surface of its lead lining. “Keep watch on the Kent farm.”
“Indeed, sir. Once we have confirmation, shall I assume you want the problem taken care of before the first shipment arrives?”
“No, Nigel. It occurs to me that the death of Superman now would result in a massive outcry and an exhaustive manhunt. Far better to destroy him first, to discredit him to the point where the world will no longer care what happens to the alien.” He gently replaced the toxic crystal in the rosewood box.
“Sir, it seems to me that Superman's strongest champion has been Lois Lane. Perhaps-“
His employer turned on him, the glint of fury in his eyes, and Nigel knew instantly that he'd overstepped the mark.
“Ms Lane is not to be harmed. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal, sir,” Nigel responded at his driest.
“Besides... I have my own plans for Lois Lane.”
***
Clark flew away from Lex Tower, his thoughts in turmoil.
To have anyone find out his secret was bad news, but this- this was the stuff of nightmares. His family and friends in danger, himself at risk of exposure- no, it was more than risk, he acknowledged. It was a certainty. The only question would be when Luthor chose to destroy his life. He gulped, fighting for air as the panic he felt made him start to hyperventilate. The bustle of Metropolis below him seemed threatening instead of exciting; a thousand sounds impinged on his hearing as he struggled for control.
Changing course, he swooped upwards, racing away from the noise until he reached that point where he wasn’t really part of the sky or part of the stars but somewhere in between. It was quiet there, and peaceful, and he felt some of the jangle in his mind start to recede. No one could find him here- even most aeroplanes didn’t fly this high. He hung there for a while until he felt able to think things through more clearly.
The first thing he had to do, he knew, was warn his parents. After the fiasco with Jason Trask, they’d instituted a warning system. All he had to do was call the emergency cell phone number his parents maintained- registered to a fake identity, untraceable to the Kent family- and leave a coded message. Within minutes, his parents would melt away from the farm and reappear in a place unknown even to him. Using the fake papers he’d acquired for them, they’d live undercover until he gave them the all clear.
Anything else would have to wait. He had to get his parents out of danger. And he had to keep his call to them as untraceable as possible.
Reasoning that all LexTel payphones were suspect, Clark left Metropolis behind him, choosing instead to drop into a deserted alley in Manhattan. Spinning into his street clothes, he blended into the crowd and stopped at the nearest unused payphone.
***
Martha Kent cleared away the lunch dishes, humming to herself as she did so. She’d clean up the kitchen, then spend a couple of hours tending to the vegetable garden before heading into town for her life drawing class.
The ringing of the phone broke into her cheerful humming. Behind her, she heard Jonathon stop stamping his feet into his boots and moved to pick up the phone, letting him finish preparing to head back out to the fields. She lifted the handset of the phone that was fixed to the wall and frowned when the ringing noise continued.
Realisation dawned. Turning, she stared at the *other* phone. The cell phone that Clark had insisted they acquire. The only time it had ever rung before was when Clark had tested it, just after they’d gotten it. They kept it charged, primarily because Clark had been so convinced that it was necessary, but neither she nor Jonathon had ever used it. It was only for emergencies- a very specific type of emergency.
Martha reached out to pick it up, annoyed to see that her hand was trembling slightly. She opened the flip and answered the call with a brief ‘hello’.
“Code red. Repeat, code red.” The caller clicked off after the terse message, but Martha still recognised the voice. He’d sounded strained, but it was still undeniably Clark. That meant the message was genuine.
‘Code red’ was the worst code they’d come up with in the aftermath of Bureau 39’s invasion of their sleepy Kansas town. It meant that someone knew about Clark’s secret- and that Martha and Jonathon were in danger.
The phone slipped from Martha’s shaking hand and landed with a clatter on the bench.
“Martha? Is everything alright?” Jonathon’s concerned voice came from behind her. He spotted the phone lying on the bench in front of her. “Was it…?” His question petered off.
“Red. It was red.”
She saw him swallow hard, then take a deep breath. “Okay. You grab the bags, I’ll get the other stuff, and we’ll go see Wayne Irig.”
Martha nodded and moved to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time like she’d always told Clark not to. Reaching the upper storey, she caught sight of Jonathon heading for the barn and knew he was going to retrieve the hidden package of documents and traveller’s cheques from their hiding place in the root cellar. She’d pack the bare necessities for each of them- they had enough money to make small purchases on the road- before they went to Wayne’s.
The next few minutes were a blur as she crammed clothes, shoes and toiletries into two duffel bags unearthed from under their bed. As she moved through the kitchen, she grabbed the emergency phone and its charger, stuffing them deep into one of the duffels. For the foreseeable future, it would be the only link they possessed to Clark- a tenuous link, at that. It would be too dangerous to contact him directly; instead, all they could do was wait.
Almost before she knew it, she was sitting next to Jonathon in their old farm truck as they bounced down the driveway. At the gate, Jonathon stopped and looked back at the farmhouse. He’d been born in that house, as had his father, and his father’s father. It was the only home he’d ever known, and now they were being forced to leave. Wordlessly, Martha reached out and covered his hand with hers where it lay on the gearshift. He gave her a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes, then put the truck back into gear.
***
Wayne Irig heard the truck coming down his driveway while he was in the barn, tinkering with the tractor’s engine. Wiping his hands on an oily rag, he walked out to see who his visitor was. His face creased into a rare smile when he saw it was Jonathon and Martha. A loner by nature, especially since his wife died years earlier, he was closer to the Kents than he was to just about anyone else on the planet. Their friendship had only grown closer since their son, Clark, had saved his life earlier in the year- and Wayne had admitted to the Kents that he knew that Clark was Superman.
Wayne realised quickly, however, that this particular visit wasn’t a social call. The duffel bags in the bed of the old pickup and the look of strain on both of his old friends’ faces made that obvious.
“Trouble?” he asked Jonathon as he climbed out of the truck’s cab.
“Yeah. Look, Wayne, we need your help. Someone knows about Clark.”
Wayne swallowed. The last time someone had found about Clark, it had almost cost the lives of Clark, Martha and Jonathon, as well as his own.
“Well. You’d better come inside.”
***
When the Kents left a half hour later, Wayne had agreed to look after their farm. As he watched the taillights of Jonathon’s old truck disappear down the driveway, he wondered if he’d ever see his old friends again.
