The seasons changed. Spring gave way to summer. Summer faded into autumn. Autumn died in winter's grasp. Winter yielded and fled before spring. Boys came into the halfway house. Others left - some to Clark's great relief and others who left sadness in the wake of their departure. Not much changed in the house. There was always some chore to be done. There was school to attend. Homework to help the others with. Meals to cook. Errands to run.
It left Clark busy but content. He used his unnatural speed to get through what he could as fast as he could, but only when he was sure no one would catch him. He took to doing his homework alone in his room, right after school, while the others were typically grabbing a snack to tide themselves over until dinner. But he was bored with his classes. They offered him no challenge, so he begged and pleaded with the school to let him advance. With great reluctance, they agreed and after he'd proven that he could handle himself in the advanced classes, they allowed him to skip a grade level. It made Clark happy because it allowed him to be one step closer to his goal of becoming an investigative reporter.
As he'd promised Grandma Tildy, he kept writing. Every night, after lights out, he would sit in his room and write - even if it was only a few sentences. Some nights he wrote in the dark, having discovered that his night vision was getting better and better all the time. So long as there was moonlight or starlight coming in through the windows, it was enough to let him see almost effortlessly in the dark room.
For the first time, he felt like the power he was gaining wasn't a threat. He couldn't accidentally hurt anyone with enhanced night vision. It was nice, to not have to worry about an emerging ability. And even though he was still growing stronger and faster as well, he'd long since developed a tight rein on his abilities. He only very rarely lost that tight control and broke something accidentally.
It was all too good to be true.
He should have known it wouldn't last.
His powers - dormant for over a year - began to emerge once again.
It started late one night. Clark was helping Chen in the kitchen, as they prepared lunches for the other boys to take to school the following morning. They'd boiled up a large pot of eggs for egg salad sandwiches. Clark helped his friend peel the eggs and dice them up. As Chen went to the fridge for the mayonnaise, Clark grabbed the black pepper. The little glass shaker was nearly empty, so Clark went to the cupboard to get the large container of pepper they'd recently purchased. Carefully, he began to pour the pepper into the smaller vessel, but some spilled out, making a little cloud that tickled his nose. He sneezed, hard.
The blast that came shouting out of his mouth sent the pepper shaker flying clear across the kitchen. Chen had his back to Clark, so Clark chanced using a burst of his extraordinary speed. He plucked the pepper shaker out of the air just centimeters from where it would have smashed into the wall and broken. He sneezed again, just as hard, but managed to catch this one in his elbow, stopping it from causing any other potential disasters.
"Bless you," Chen said, blissfully unaware of what was happing at his back.
Clark sped back over to his place at the kitchen island. "Thanks."
No other incidents happened that night, but it was enough to put his nerves on edge. Every move he made for the rest of the night was made with fear and the utmost care. It took a long, long time for him to fall asleep, his mind spinning with fresh worries. What if Chen had seen something? What if he couldn't hide it next time? His roommate's snoring didn't help matters either. In fact, it only made Clark's worries deepen. What if he snored so harshly the bed fell apart?
When sleep came, it was plagued with bad dreams and he woke more exhausted than he'd been before his eyes had finally slid shut of their own accord.
For weeks, Clark walked on eggshells, careful not to breathe too hard or sigh too deeply, lest there be a repeat of the incident with the pepper shaker. Nothing happened. Gradually, he grew somewhat more relaxed. But people noticed - Grandma Tildy and Chen in particular. He brushed off their concerns and made excuses that he knew they only mostly bought. After a while, they stopped prying, especially once he started to feel more confident and began to act more like his old self.
Things settled back down for a while, but Clark had learned his lesson. He tried to stay hyper-vigilant about any signs that there might be more powers to come.
When it did happen, it caught him unaware, with no warning signs, as all the others before had done.
Clark had been living at Grandma Tildy's for a little over two years. Everything had been going well for him. He hadn't even had any further incidents with his breath, like he had that one scary night in the kitchen. Oh, he'd privately worked on it when he could, blowing leaves and the like across the large pond on the very edge of the property. As he'd worked on controlling it, he'd learned that not only could he blow gale-force winds if he wanted to, he could also freeze things and hold his breath for a good twenty minutes at a time. The more he learned about this new power, the more at ease he grew. He came to accept it as just a part of who he was, that it was just another thing that set him apart as unique from everyone else.
He'd slipped back into his normal habits, his normal personality, more and more as each new day put the kitchen incident further and further behind him. He focused on his studies, easily passing even the accelerated classes he was in. He helped the others with their own school work, even those who were older then he was. He kept up with his writing, filling the original book Grandma Tildy had given him and two others she gave him as replacements. He devised new ways for the halfway house to bring in money to help offset the costs of running the place. For two Christmases, he saw the other kids beam with delight over the gifts Grandma Tildy was now able to afford for them. He felt like he was really making a difference, and could scarcely wait for school to begin again in the fall, though the summer had only just begun. With his advanced classes, he would be considered a senior, and would have his diploma at the end of the school year.
It was an exciting prospect for him. He could hardly wait to have the freedom to pursue journalism as his career. He couldn't wait for the challenge of college. The only problem was money. He was only just fifteen now, and would be sixteen when he attained his high school diploma. He couldn't yet access the bank accounts left behind when his parents had passed away. And, at only fifteen, he had limited options for working. He needed to do better than unpaid internships and minimum wage jobs.
Of course, there was the chance he could get a scholarship, based on his academics or his sports prowess. But it was still a bit too early to tell and that worried him. He really, really wanted to get started on his college degree. He could scarcely wait to have his degree and have the freedom to start really making a difference in the world.
All of his plans shattered one bright, hot afternoon.
Clark woke up early that morning feeling good. He was well rested and didn't even entertain the notion of trying to go back to sleep. No one else was awake yet in the house - a quick scan with his enhanced hearing told him that. He slipped quietly out of his bed and dressed swiftly, careful not to wake Doug, his new roommate for the last three weeks. Then he went downstairs and fixed himself a bowl of cereal and a grapefruit after retrieving the paper from the front stoop. He read the paper as he ate, using his super speed to read every last word of it in less than the ten minutes it took him to finish his breakfast.
He sped through his chores as well, then fixed a lunch to take out to the pond. Grandma Tildy's husband had been an avid fisherman, so there were several rods and reels out in the shed that the boys could use if they wished. Clark selected his favorite rod - a black and icy blue one - and got to work digging up worms, which he placed in a well-worn old butter tub. He grabbed a small tackle box of lures as well, and set off for the pond. He planned to catch and release the fish, so he didn't bother taking a bucket with him.
He got to the pond within minutes. Usually, he came with Chen or one of the others, but today it was nice to be alone. He'd grown up as an only child. It was what he was used to, even after two years of living at Grandma Tildy's house. Sometimes, he still got overwhelmed by the sheer amount of noise and people that were all under one roof. It made him savor the moments when he could just be alone all the more.
"This is more like it," he said to himself as he settled down on his favorite rock.
It was a large, flat stone that stuck straight out over the water, about four feet above the surface. A lot of the boys liked to use it as a place to jump out into the water when they went swimming. For Clark, it was a perfect place to settle down with his fishing gear.
"You'd like this place, Dad," he said to himself. "It's teeming with fish. You know, I miss that...going fishing with you. We had some great times...and some great talks, all those times we'd go down to the creek for the day."
Clark sighed. If only he could see his parents one last time. If only he could hear one last piece of imparted wisdom from them. If only he could hug them once more, and tell them how much he loved them, and hear it in return. He thought it was supposed to get easier, as time passed, not harder. Oh, the grief in his heart was more bearable now, but he missed them more and more as time went on, not less.
"Well," he said, in an effort to pull his mind away from his sad thoughts, "let's see what we can catch today."
He busied himself with choosing a lure, then carefully knotting it on the line. He'd never been fond of the floating bobbers that would alert him to any nibbles at his bait - his hypersensitive body would do that job for him - so he opted not to attach one to his line. He chose the biggest, fattest worm he'd found and deftly set it on the hook. Cautiously holding back his strength, he cast the line out as far as he dared. Then he simply waited.
Nothing happened, so he reeled in a bit, jerking the line to try and mimic natural movements of the worm in the water. It didn't work. Nothing was attracted to his bait. He kept at it, until the line was completely reeled in. Then he repeated the process, sending the line out slightly more to the right, a little closer to a natural pile of rocks that stuck up out of the water like a barren little island. He had better luck there. Within seconds of the lure hitting the water, he felt something nibbling at the bait, but not enough to even attempt to set the hook in the fish's mouth. He tried reeling in a bit, but once the hook was out of the water he saw that whatever had been sampling his bait had eaten almost all of the worm. Only one tiny piece was left on the hook.
"Well played," he said lightly, as if the fish could hear him.
He reached into the old butter tub that was serving as his bait bucket and selected a huge, fat grub he'd come across. He easily baited the hook again and cast off, trying the opposite side of the miniature rock island. He got a solid hit this time. With a swift jerk of the rod, he set the hook and started to reel in. The fish felt big, and it was definitely a fighter. Clark was forced to carefully wrestle with it, ensuring that he steadily drew his catch in without overly stressing the fishing line, lest it break and lose both the fish and the lure in one fell swoop.
It took nearly five nerve-wracking minutes before the fish was finally just below the rock where Clark was sitting. Quickly, he laid down flat on his stomach and, using his hands, pulled the line up out of the water until he could reach the fish. Hooking his fingers into the gills, he hoisted his prize up onto the rock. He gave a low whistle as he finally got the fish completely onto the rock and got a good look at how large it really was.
"Wow," he breathed in awe. Then, upon a second glance, "Roy? Is that you?"
Clark inspected the fish a little closer. Yes, he was certain of it. The distinctive flare of red on the dorsal fin meant that this was a fish Clark knew. He'd caught this particular fish four times now. The first time, Zack had been with him, and had affectionately named the fish Roy, though Clark had never found out where the name had come from.
"Wow, you've really grown since last summer," Clark commented, eying the fish. "I can't wait to tell Zack later...maybe at dinner. But for now, let's get you back in the water."
With nimble fingers, he removed the hook from Roy's mouth. Then he gently released the fish back into the water, feeling satisfied as the huge fish darted away once he realized he was free. Clark watched, a smile ghosting over his lips. It was kind of fun, seeing how much Roy had grown since he'd last caught him. And it was thrilling to have the kind of dumb luck it took to catch the same fish multiple times.
He prepped the hook again with another grub and cast out. As the morning wore on, he had five more hits. He hauled each one up onto the rock, looked his catch over, and released it again. After a while, he ran out of bait, but he wasn't yet ready to leave the pond. He merely sat on the rock, enjoying the warm sunshine and the calm quiet that encircled him. He let his mind wander as he sat, not realizing that his gaze was fixed on a maple tree about thirty feet away.
Suddenly, he smelt smoke. It pulled him out of his thoughts immediately, though it confused him. Why was he smelling smoke? Then, as his eyes swept the area, he saw it. Two smoldering holes in the bark of the maple tree. Panicked, Clark looked around. All he had that could help was the small butter tub he'd had his bait in. It was good enough. He rushed to fill it and flung the water at the tree, extinguishing the heat and smoke. To be on the safe side, he doused the entire area several times, then used his icy breath to ensure than the danger was truly snuffed out.
Standing back, looking at what he'd done, he began to tremble.
He knew he'd caused the blaze, even though he didn't recall exactly how it had happened. He knew he'd been looking at the tree, without really even seeing it, and somehow it had begun to smoke. It terrified him to his very core. What if he'd been in the house when it had happened? What if he'd actually harmed one of the other boys, or Grandma Tildy? And how? How had he summoned up heat - presumably from his eyes - like that? Could he do it at will? Was it a random fluke? Was it something that would happen without warning from now on?
"Oh God," he moaned, placing his head into his hands. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw flashes of color. "Why is this happening to me?"
For a long time, his thoughts kept running in turbulent circles. Eventually, however, he came to one blinding conclusion, though he was loathe to make it.
"I can't stay here," he whispered, as if saying it with actual words somehow made it more real. "It's too dangerous."
This time, he knew it really was true. This wasn't a case of just getting caught and having his secret exposed. This was a matter of safety for everyone else in the halfway house. He couldn't trust himself not to burn down the place without meaning to. Leaving was the best way, in his mind, to ensure that everyone else stayed safe. He didn't want to leave - he'd grown to like it at Grandma Tildy's house - but he saw no other way.
"Tonight," he whispered into the light breeze, letting it bear away his promise, even if it couldn't take away his regret.
It was an effort to get through the rest of the day without raising anyone's suspicions. He lingered at the pond as long as he could, but slipped off when he heard a group of the older boys making their way over for a mid-afternoon swim. He met Zack at the shed as he was putting away the fishing gear he'd borrowed. As he'd promised the fish, he told the other boy about catching Roy and of how big the fish had grown. Zack looked and sounded excited, and babbled on about maybe trying to catch Roy again in another week or two. Clark stayed mute, but the other boy didn't notice.
When it was time for dinner, Clark savored every last bite of Grandma Tildy's cooking. The woman was a talented chef; he would truly miss the meals she prepared. And, he thought to himself with a mental sigh, he did not know when he might eat again. So he devoured everything, even going back for seconds, once he saw some of the others doing so. He made pleasant small talk with his friends, forcing himself to keep a feigned veneer of happiness in his words and over his features. But he pretended tiredness when they invited him to play some games afterward, saying that he was going to turn in early for the night.
"Awww, come on, Clark," Chen pressed. "Just a couple of Nok Hockey games."
He shook his head. "Maybe another time," he forced himself to say. "I think I was out in the sun too long today. I'm beat."
Chen nodded slowly. "Yeah...I guess. That usually makes me tired too. And gives me a headache. Probably not the best combo for playing knock hockey with." He shrugged easily. "Okay, feel better."
"Thanks, Chen. Goodnight," Clark said as they parted ways at the stairs which led up to the bedrooms.
"Night," Chen said over his shoulder as he continued on to the rec room.
Clark sighed deeply as he watched his friend's retreating form. This was going to be a lot more painful than he'd bargained for, he knew. And yet, he'd always known that, even if everything had worked out with his powers, he couldn't stay in the halfway house forever. Sooner of later, it would be time to move on. He just wished it would have come later, rather than sooner.
He ascended the steps, steadily making his way to his bedroom. Doug was still downstairs; he'd overheard the other boy talking about watching a new game show that was airing on television that night. Not willing to take any chances though, Clark allowed himself to pack up this things at super speed. He stashed everything under his bed, letting the overhang of the comforter hide it all from view. He thought about writing for a while as he waited for lights out, but his heart was hammering too fast in his chest and his hands were shaking as the enormity of what he was about to do set in. He considered at least writing a note to leave behind, but he was at a loss for words.
He laid down and stretched out under his blankets, trying to will the time to pass by. He kept his eyes studiously shut, in case the weird heat ability should kick in and set the ceiling ablaze. After a while, he must have dozed off. The next thing he knew, the room was completely dark and he could hear Doug snoring lightly. A glance at the clock told him it was five after two in the morning; well past the time when he'd planned on being out of the house.
He slipped out of bed and tugged on his sneakers. He'd never bothered to change into pajamas when he'd gone up to his bed. Laying on the floor, he retrieved his bags, taking a moment to double check that he had everything. Quietly, he went to the door and opened it, listening with his powerful hearing. No one was awake, much to his relief, though it came as no real surprise. He slipped out of the room and shut the door behind him.
With infinite care, he crept down the steps, stopping every couple of feet to listen and ensure that he hadn't woken anyone up. He made it down to the first floor without incident and left his bags on the floor by the stairs before darting to the kitchen. There was no need for him to turn on any lights as he rummaged around, grabbing what he could and shoving it all in couple of plastic bags. He didn't know where he was going and when he would find food, and didn't want to take any chances of starving to death, though there was a part of him that recognized that he didn't require food in the same desperate way that normal people did. Clark didn't take too much of any one item, not wishing to deplete Grandma Tildy's stock too badly.
When he thought he had enough - or, at least had taken as much as he dared - he went back to the living room and gathered his things. For one heart-stopping moment, he froze in place, fearing he'd been caught as he heard footsteps overhead. But as he listened, he realized that it was just Reggie shuffling off to the bathroom, yawning sleepily as he did so. Less than two minutes later, Clark heard the toilet flush, even without the use of his powers. The footsteps followed their path back to bed and Clark felt himself relaxing a bit. But he remained still, just to be sure.
Five minutes passed and Clark heard no more noises. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and inched his careful way across the room to the door. With glacial speed, he unlocked the door, pulled it open, and slipped out into the night. He still had his key, so he gently locked it again before he melted into the shadows and walked into homelessness.
At the end of the long driveway, he stopped and turned back for one last, lingering look at the place that had been his home for two years. It stood silent, dark, and lifeless in the moonlight. Nothing stirred within. Night insects and frogs gave voice to the night. Nearby, an owl hooted, making Clark jump and his heart thump even more wildly. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and he nervously chuckled to himself.
"Just an owl," he admonished himself in a whisper. He turned his attention back to the house and sighed sadly. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, this time to the occupants of the halfway house. "I really am. But I can't risk hurting you. Still...I won't forget any of you. I'll find a way to make it up to you all. Somehow."
His heart breaking, he put his back to the house and began to walk.
At first, all he could do was walk, his heart too heavy to let him do much else. But as the night grew old and Clark realized how little distance he was putting between himself and the house, he began to jog, then run. He knew he had to find a place to lay low during the day. He knew Grandma Tildy would be worried and look for him. He knew a search party would be formed, police and all. And if he was found, he would be brought back to the halfway house. Grandma Tildy would be angry with him and would keep a close eye on him to ensure that he didn't sneak off again. That was something he couldn't risk.
So he ran through the night.
By dawn, he was at least half a day's journey by car away from the halfway house. There was little to no chance that a search party on foot would be able to find him. He found a wooded area with a little stream running through it and figured it was a good place to pass the daylight hours in. A shallow, natural cave in the cliff near the water's edge would screen him from sight from the north, east, and south. The stream would allow him to drink his fill, and after running all night long, he was parched.
When he was done drinking, he unwrapped a Twinkie and ate it silently, watching the sky grow ever lighter. He wondered where he was. He hadn't thought to take a map with him, not that it mattered much. He'd neither taken the time to take note of what direction he'd raced during the night, nor had he counted the miles as he'd blindly fled from the halfway house. In the end, Clark admitted that it probably didn't matter much where he was. He could never go back, lest he put Grandma Tildy and the others in harm's way. And when he'd left, he'd had no particular destination in mind.
Once he was done eating, he drank a bit more from the stream and splashed some cool water on his face and neck, not because he was sweaty - he was never sweaty, he'd come to realize the summer before when it had rarely dropped below ninety degrees each day - but because it felt refreshing, like it revitalized him somehow. Then he retreated back to the cave, stretched out on a blanket, and slept in a pool of sunlight.
It was late afternoon when he woke. Clark pulled out an apple and ate it slowly, along with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The meager meal somehow left him feeling emptier than before, mostly because he was already feeling homesick, though he wasn't just longing for the halfway house and all of his friends. He missed Smallville terribly, but even if he'd known how to get there, he knew in his heart that he couldn't go back there. He had to avoid anywhere he might be recognized, lest he be forced to return to the halfway house.
"Maybe east," he said to himself as he nibbled the last bite of his sandwich. "Lose myself in a big city somewhere. Yeah," he said with a nod. "East."
To Be Continued...
