Lex Luthor grinned a private grin as he poured himself a tall glass of very expensive imported wine. He poured until the glass was nearly full of the deep red wine, then he reinserted the cork into the bottle. Picking up the wine glass, he gently swirled the dark liquid around before inhaling the heady aroma. To his highly trained nose, the vintage smelled perfect, just as it ought to for the price he’d paid. A pittance for someone with as much money as he did, but which would easily put the average man into debt. He took a small, experimental sip and held it on his tongue, letting the flavor infuse his mouth before he swallowed it down.
“Excellent,” he proclaimed, before turning around to his old friend, Nigel. “Are you certain I can’t tempt you, Nigel?”
The older man shook his head slightly. “Thank you, sir, no.”
Lex shrugged. “Well then, let’s get down to business, shall we?”
“Let’s,” Nigel agreed, taking a seat at a gesture from Lex.
Lex held his glass in one hand, as he meandered about the room, letting his feet take him where they would as he talked. He was in too high spirits to be still. And his anticipation was bubbling over. He could hardly wait to tell Nigel his plans and set them into motion.
“Now then,” he began grandly, gesturing wildly. He took a sip from his glass. “As you know, a little over a week ago, I captured Superman in a cage in my wine cellar. The bars, of course, are coated in a special mixture of Kryptonite. I can control whether or not the alien is exposed to the deadly rock, rendering him completely powerless.”
“Yes, so you’ve mentioned,” Nigel replied evenly, his voice and facial features giving none of his thoughts away.
Lex nodded. “I’ve spent the last week deciding what to do with my rival.”
“You want me to…finish the job? Is that it?” Nigel asked, raising a questioning eyebrow, his eyes gleaming just a bit at the idea of ending Superman’s life.
Lex grinned over the rim of his wine glass. “Not quite. We’re going to end his life all right, but not quite in the way you’re thinking.”
“Oh?” Nigel sat up straighter in his chair, silently relaying his intrigue with his posture.
“I’m going to make his life disappear. I’m going to make him disappear right before his very eyes,” Lex explained as he began to divulge the plan that had slowly coalesced in his mind over the past two weeks.
He inhaled deeply, enjoying the way Nigel inched himself a little closer to the edge of his seat. A satisfied grin slowly unfurled across his face as he exhaled again, and a rush of adrenaline surged within him. He turned to Nigel in an almost playful manner as he let a dramatic pause reign before continuing.
“It might interest you to know that Superman has been operating under an alias,” Lex nearly purred.
“Oh?” Nigel said again. “You know this for certain?”
Lex nodded as he swallowed another mouthful of his expensive wine before setting it down on a small table. “Yes. I had an…encounter…with him in his alter ego not too long ago.”
Lex gestured vaguely, reliving the night before his waking eyes. The sound of the gun cracking as it went off. The acrid smell of gunpowder. The blinding pain as the bullet shredded his shoulder. The disbelief that someone – some common thug at that – had had the gall to shoot him, Lex Luthor, the god of Metropolis! Reflexively, his clenched his fist, then slowly relaxed his muscles.
“I witnessed things that can only be explained as otherworldly. There is no other way to describe it. He made up a flimsy cover story about some medicine man’s cure, then used his heat vision to cauterize my gunshot wound.”
“Who?” Nigel asked, curiously, but Lex cut off his question before it could be voiced, too caught up in his monologue and high on the dramatic build up to his revelation.
Lex paused and took a deep breath, letting it all out again through his nostrils before forcing the next words out. “He thought I didn’t notice; that the pain I was in would numb me to what he was really doing. And perhaps I would have overlooked things and chalked it up to the agony I was already in, if my life hadn’t been hanging in the balance. Did you know, Nigel, how much your senses heighten when you’re certain you’re about to die?”
“I can’t say that I’ve ever been in that position, no,” Nigel dryly replied.
“Yes, well,” Lex said, brushing off Nigel’s remark as his tone grew darker. “As much as it pains me to say, I might have died if not for him blowing his cover, though I’m sure he was too full of his own misguided ego to think that a lowly human such as myself would figure it out.”
Lex began to move around his office as Nigel rubbed at his chin, letting his fingertips caress some of the priceless treasures he’d accumulated over the years until they at last came to Alexander the Great’s sword. He picked the weapon up with practiced ease, studying the blade just as intently as they first time he’d ever held it in his hand. He pointed the sword at Nigel as though challenging an enemy commander to one-on-one combat.
“But he underestimated me, Nigel. I noticed it all.”
A light of understanding dawned over Nigel’s face. “You’re talking about the night you were held hostage at the Daily Planet.” There was a little awe and wonder in the elder man’s voice. He sat up a little straighter in his chair as his interest was piqued.
Lex nodded grimly as he lowered the weapon. “That’s when I put it all together. Superman was arrogant enough to think he could infiltrate normal society by playacting as a human. A pathetic weakling of a man at that. All this time, my great enemy was hiding under the guise of my other hated rival, Clark Kent – a mild-mannered nobody who wrote tedious stories for a now-extinct newspaper.” He slashed outwardly with the sword as his temper got the better of him. The thought of that alien in a man’s clothing made him seethe with barely contained rage.
“Kent? Really? Seems like an…unlikely alias,” Nigel replied thoughtfully, his fingers steepled together as he took in what Lex was saying.
“Unlikely? Perhaps,” Lex allowed, replacing the ancient sword on its display. “But not, in retrospect, all that strange. No one ever really cared to look twice at Kent, except, maybe, for my wayward ex-fiancée. In theory, pretending to be Clark Kent would have offered him a perfect cover. He could keep abreast of the news and know where to stick his nose. He’d blend in. No one ever questions the average nobody walking amongst them.”
“Indeed,” Nigel agreed with a slow nod. “But are you certain he was merely pretending to be Kent? After all, he’s got a full history of a life lived as Clark Kent – parents, adoption records, school records, a litany of newspaper articles written for papers around the globe. Whereas Superman only appeared a year or so ago, give or take a few months.”
Lex scowled and balled his hands into fists. He slammed his right fist into the wall next to the sword’s display case. “Does it matter? Kent…Superman…neither one is human. Both only pretend to be. And both have been a thorn in my side for far too long.”
Nigel dismissed the argument with a wave of his hand. “Fair enough. How do you want me to dispose of him?”
Lex grinned malevolently. “We’re going to destroy him piece by piece until he is absolutely no one at all and the world has forgotten both of the men he pretended to be.”
Nigel cracked a hungry, deadly smile. “Do go on,” he encouraged.
Lex drained the rest of his wine with a flourish. “We’re going to erase him from history, so thoroughly that even he won’t remember who he is. And then, in time, when I tire of my game, I’ll consider slitting his throat. But first, I’m going to enjoy tearing him down.”
Nigel cracked his knuckles in anticipation. “When do we begin?”
Lex smiled as he set down his wine glass on a nearby table. He spread his arms wide as if to encompass the entire world. “There’s no time like the present.”
***
Pain.
It wasn’t the same intense, searing, engulfing pain that had made even death seem preferable to the unending torment of the Kryptonite poisoning. It was a dull ache that would not cease, one that had settled deep into Clark’s bones and made any movement unwelcome. It was the shame that burned in his heart, knowing how stupid he’d been to get himself captured. He’d been too overconfident, too reliant on his powers. He’d known, with unshakable certainty, that he could outthink, outwit, and overpower Luthor.
But the billionaire had surprised him. Luthor had gotten his slimy hands on Kryptonite.
Of course.
Why wouldn’t he have? He would have read about it in the papers, back when Bureau 39, under the direction of Trask, had stormed Smallville in search of a stone he – correctly, unfortunately – believed could kill Superman. And although Lois’ article had never confirmed the existence of Kryptonite, even the chance that it might be real would have proven to be irresistible to Luthor. After all, Luthor was made of money. No price could ever be too high, if it meant he had a chance of bringing Superman to his knees.
And Luthor had.
Clark was helpless in his cage. Weak, in residual pain, and powerless, he’d tried everything and anything he could think of to break free of his prison in the days since his capture, whenever he wasn’t being tortured with the Kryptonite. He’d been thwarted at every turn. The steel bars were too thick – he didn’t have a prayer of bending them. The key that Luthor had so arrogantly and tormenting left in plain sight was out of reach. Clark had no super breath with which to try to suck in enough air to create a sort of vacuum in the hopes of dragging the key any closer. Nor could he use the cummerbund to reach it. The silky material simply didn’t reach that far, and even if Clark could, somehow, stretch the material far enough, there was no way to hook the key.
If only he had a fraction of his strength. If only he could summon up some final blast of heat vision – just enough to destroy the lock to his cage. If only he could freeze a couple of bars so that he could shatter them. If only…
Clark’s head immediately swiveled in the direction of the stairs leading down into Lex Luthor’s wine cellar as he heard the door above open. How long had he been down here? A week? A month? Time stood still in that endless twilight of the dimly lit room. He’d long ago lost any sense of time, unable to judge it even by the meager meals that were left out for him from time to time, all of them delivered while he lay on the floor, unconscious, after the Kryptonite coating on the bars was exposed and allowed to drain the life from him.
So far, he’d seen no one since his capture, however long ago that may have been. Not only hadn’t he seen a single soul, he’d heard no one else either. Not a whisper in the darkness. Not a squeak of a show on the floor. Not a sneeze. Nothing. He’d been in total isolation.
For a time, he’d sent up silent prayers begging for Lois to find him in his cage. He wasn’t ashamed to have been tricked and caught like an animal in a trap. He wasn’t afraid to show her his vulnerability. He didn’t fear what she might think of him or that she might figure out his secret. All he wanted was to live and to whisk her away from Luthor.
Had she married him? Clark wasn’t sure. When Luthor had first come to gloat over his perceived victory, taunting Clark with a choice of what color cummerbund he should wear to the wedding, Clark had been able to hear the organ music some floors above. They’d all sounded like traditional wedding songs to his aching ears; the kind of music one would play while the guests waited for a wedding to begin. And he knew Lois too well. As much as she tried to prove that she was a one-of-a-kind, think-for-herself, break-the-mold woman – and she was, in the best way, he lovingly admitted to himself – she was also a traditionalist when it came to things like weddings. There was no way she would walk down the aisle to anything other than “Here Comes The Bride.” And she would definitely walk out to “The Bridal March.”
Clark furrowed his brow in concentration. He’d heard “Here Comes The Bride” - he was sure of that. It had shattered his heart and made him want to get sick all at the same time. But had he heard “The Bridal March?” His head had been swimming in residual Kryptonite poisoning at the time. It had been difficult to stay conscious, let alone focus on the absolute sin going on above him.
“No,” he whispered to himself now. “I only heard ‘Here Comes The Bride.’ There was no more music after that.”
Something had happened. The wedding hadn’t gone as planned. Something – or someone – had put a stop to it. Jimmy? Perry? Jack? Had they somehow been able to prove what a criminal Luthor was? Had they brought down the entire MPD on Luthor’s evil head?
Footsteps started down the steps.
Clark held his breath. Had Lois finally found him? Had Perry connected the dots between the wedding and the fact that Clark Kent had been missing for as long as he had? But even if Perry had, he’d be looking for Clark, not Superman. Unless…had Perry ever figured out his secret? Clark wasn’t sure but he’d sometimes suspected that the Chief knew more than he let on. Clark pulled himself to his feet in anticipation.
Elegant Italian leather men’s shoes appeared in his line of sight and all of Clark’s hopes died in that instant. Terror welled up inside him and he found himself wishing for the complete isolation once again. This could only turn out poorly for him, he knew, and a second later his fears were confirmed as Lex Luthor entered into the wine cellar. Still, Clark would put on brave airs. He would not let his adversary see his weakness. He would show no fear. He was Superman, after all. And Superman was the epitome of calm collectedness, even in the worst situations.
A second set of footsteps followed Luthor down into the cellar and Clark wasn’t entirely surprised to see Luthor’s henchman, Nigel St. John, following his master’s heels like a loyal dog. Still, it gave him pause. What was Luthor up to? Why would he want – or need – Nigel there?
“Ah, here we are!” Luthor exclaimed gleefully, clapping his hands together once in excitement. “Our pretty little bird in his gilded cage.”
“What do you want, Luthor?” Clark asked, crossing his arms before his chest.
Luthor stepped to the side so that Nigel could stand next to him on his right side. The older English gentleman stood silent and motionless, merely regarding their captive. Luthor, however, seemed barely able to contain his delight over whatever scheme was parading through his head.
“To talk,” Luthor replied simply, though his tone of voice suggested there was something more sinister than that lurking beneath the surface.
Clark arched an eyebrow, giving his best pretense of bravado while his heart beat madly in his chest. He felt like he might have a heart attack from the way it was racing. Because if Luthor was here, in the wine cellar with him, it could mean only one thing; Clark’s suspicions about the wedding had to be true. The ugly thought that had constantly invaded Clark’s mind over the past…how long had it been? Weeks, perhaps? It couldn’t be true. Days or weeks, it had been far too short a time for a honeymoon to take place – especially the lavish kind he knew Luthor would have insisted upon, even if Lois hadn’t divulged the details to him. Now confident that Lois had escaped the bleak future that had awaited her as Mrs. Lois Luthor, he couldn’t resist a smirk.
“Isn’t a bit early for these visits? Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon? Did your bride get bored of you already?” he hurled at his enemy, wanting to wound the man with his words. After all, his wits and words were the only weapons left in his arsenal against Luthor.
He snapped his fingers and let out a low chuckle. “Oh, I know! She didn’t even let you get that far, did she? What happened, Luthor? I’m guessing Lois finally saw you for who you really are and left you standing at the altar, all alone and looking like a fool. Didn’t she?” he pressed. “I mean, why else would you be down here, wasting your time with me?”
Luthor spread his hands as though absolving himself of whatever accusations Clark wanted to throw at him. “Ah, ah, ah. Careful. One might think you have a vested interest in her. Not that she could ever love an alien like yourself.” The glare he shot at Clark was so bitter it could have curdled milk, and Clark knew he’d struck a nerve. “Don’t worry your extraterrestrial little head about what may or may not have transpired at my wedding.”
“She didn’t marry you.” It wasn’t a question. Clark was confident that the wedding hadn’t taken place.
“Why so interested…Clark?” Luthor responded slyly, tossing the name out with such casualness that it was almost as if he didn’t want Clark to notice. But a flash of malice shot through his eyes anyway, confirming Clark’s suspicions.
“Clark?” Clark asked, feigning confusion.
How? The word shot through his mind like an icicle, leaving raw, frigid fear in its wake. His brain instantly started working overtime, trying to construct a way out of things.
“Don’t play coy with me,” Luthor snapped. “I’ve seen past your flimsy disguise for quite some time now.”
“Disguise? You’re crazier than I thought,” Clark coolly replied, brushing off Luthor’s words while secretly wondering what had tipped the man off. He bored an unwavering stare into his nemesis’ eyes that screamed ‘drop it.’
But Luthor was more stubborn than Clark had imagined. He gave Clark a tsk, tsk and a wave of his finger. “Oh, come now, Clark. We’re going to be together for a long, long time. Trust me. Things will be so much easier if we don’t keep secrets from one another.”
“You’re delusional,” Clark scoffed with a sneer, dismissing the threat Luthor had laid before his feet with a confidence he only partially felt.
“On the contrary,” Luthor smoothing and calmly replied, “you are the delusional one. Thinking you could hide out amongst the real humans, pretending you could be just like us, trying to woo the perfect – and very human Lois Lane.”
“Wow, her rejection must have been a doozy. It’s been…what? A couple of weeks now and you’re still licking your wounds,” Clark said, gritting his teeth against his rising anger. If he could provoke Luthor into a rage, perhaps the billionaire would make a crucial mistake and Clark could seize an opportunity to get away. Besides, throwing Luthor’s failure in his face felt good, even if Clark had been raised better than that. “Well, guess what? If she rejected you, you pushed her into it. I’m guessing she finally saw through that façade of yours and discovered who you truly are.”
But Luthor didn’t rise to the bait. He shrugged casually as if Clark’s words were nothing more than harmless wisps of smoke. “I’m bitter. That’s rich. Sounds to me like you’re upset that you never even had a ghost of a chance with her.” He paused a moment, then began to pace. “But we’re not here to discuss Lois. We’re here to discuss you.”
Clark’s eyes followed as the billionaire continued to move. But his lips remained closed.
“Now then,” Luthor said after a moment. He quit moving and look sharply at Clark. “I’m tiring of this little game with you. Either admit to me that you’ve been living as Clark Kent or…”
“Or, what, Luthor?” Clark interrupted impatiently. “You’ll turn on this cage again?” he scoffed with faux bravado.
No one can ever find out about you, Clark heard his dad say in the back of his mind. Some scientists will hunt you down, put you in a cage, and dissect you like a frog.
Involuntarily, he gulped hard. You were half right, Dad. Only my captor isn’t a scientist. Just a psychopathic billionaire.
“Well, yes,” Luthor answered with an eerily dismissive tone of voice that sent a shiver down Clark’s spine. The billionaire shrugged. “That and…I have my private jet standing by.”
“Oh, very impressive,” Clark said with a yawn.
Please, please don’t mean what I think you mean, he inwardly pleaded.
“Don’t play stupid with me,” Luthor snarled. “I have but to say one word and I’ll be flying to a certain pathetic little Kansas farm. Do you understand what I’m saying? I’ll kill your parents right in front of your eyes. And if that doesn’t break you…Lois Lane’s death just might.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Clark growled.
In his mind, he saw himself back in his parents’ kitchen, fretting about Lois’ relationship with Luthor.
You love her? his father had asked.
Yes.
Then tell her, Jonathan had urged him.
What? That I’m Superman?
He remembered the gripping fear that had accompanied the thought of Lois finding about his alter ego. He hadn’t wanted Lois to love him for his powers. He’d wanted her to love him for who he really was. But it had been more than just how Lois would respond to the news of his super side that had given him pause and had frozen the confession on his lips. It had been the fear that someone would discover that she knew who Superman really was and hurt or kill her for that information. Now it appeared that his worries had been misplaced. Luthor had already somehow discovered his secret, but Lois’ life was still being threatened.
Luthor locked his piercing gaze on Clark. A malevolent fire burned in his eyes and Clark knew the man wasn’t bluffing.
“Wouldn’t I?” came the icy response.
“Leave them out of this!” Clark roared before he even realized he was speaking.
“I will, if you do what I’ve told you to do.” The condescending smirk in Luthor’s voice was unmistakable.
Clark said nothing as his mind whirred and his stomach lurched. Admitting his secret filled him with paralyzing fear, but so did the prospect of watching Luthor kill his parents. The choice was obvious, and yet, he found himself speechless.
I have to protect the people I love at all costs. Even if it costs me everything. It’s the bargain I struck when I decided to take on the identity of Superman. This is all my fault.
“Nigel? The phone,” Luthor said after half a minute of silence had passed.
Clark saw Nigel reach into the pocket of his suit jacket. A heartbeat later, a phone emerged from the dark brown material and a fresh burst of panic propelled Clark’s tongue into motion.
It’s now or never. Save Lois. Save Mom and Dad.
“Wait!” he cried out, reaching futilely toward the two men. “Fine. Have it your way, Luthor. I am Clark Kent. But you’ve got it all wrong. I’ve never pretended to be Clark. Superman is the disguise. Happy now?” he challenged.
Luthor’s face split into a grin that sent a bolt of pure dread into Clark’s heart. “See, was that so hard to do?” He chuckled darkly. “I appreciate the honesty. But you’re wrong. Clark Kent never existed. You are Superman. You are not and have never been Clark Kent.”
Clark wrinkled his brow in confusion. What was Luthor getting at? Why would he demand Clark admit to his true identity and then insist that Clark was wrong about it? What sick game was Luthor playing?
“Do you understand?” Luthor asked, the words coming slowly as though speaking to an idiot.
“No,” Clark admitted as he set his jaw in defiance. “Clark is who I am. It’s who I’ve always been.”
“Not when I’m through with you,” Luthor promised.
Suddenly, something Luthor had said on the day of he’d been set to marry Lois struck Clark. It hadn’t really registered in Clark’s mind at the time. He’d been too busy thinking over his options as he’d tried to formulate an escape plan.
Strange to hear you say my name and know it’s probably for the last time. Luthor had paused then, looking contemplative. Is this a mistake? he’d wondered aloud. Will the pain of losing the challenge you represent be worse than the discomfort of constantly losing to you?
Fresh fear washed coldly over Clark as he realized that Luthor wasn’t going to grant him a quick, clean death. Whatever the man was scheming, Clark knew he would be suffering for a long, long time to come. In that moment, the terror of living far outweighed the dread of death and the worry about whatever might or might not come after a person passed on.
I’ll never give him the satisfaction of breaking me, Clark thought determinedly, but he knew the neutral, unreadable mask of Superman had slipped in the same moment.
Lex must have seen the fear light up in Clark’s eyes. He grinned devilishly as he looked over to Nigel. “Go on.”
Nigel nodded stiffly and then advanced toward the cell. It took a great effort for Clark not to shrink away at the murderous look in Nigel’s eyes. Luthor produced a key from his pocket – a twin to the one he’d left out to torment Clark with - and unlocked the cell door, then relocked it once Nigel stepped inside. Clark mentally ran down a list of his options in his head and found it disappointingly limited.
“What is your name?” Nigel asked in a deadly even voice.
“Clark,” Clark threw at him. Now that his secret was out, there was no sense in pretending he wasn’t Clark, and it was clear that it was not the answer Luthor wanted from him.
In a stunningly fast move, Nigel kicked Clark in the groin, sending shockwaves of pain throughout his body and sending him instantly crashing to the ground, his hands uselessly cupped around his freshly injured area.
“What is your name?” Nigel asked again.
“Clark,” Clark maintained, panting this time as stars continued to explode before his eyes.
Nigel reached out and grabbed Clark’s right wrist. Before Clark could react, the man took hold of Clark’s middle finger and, with a single jerking motion, snapped the finger bones. A blinding pain seared through Clark, flooding his vision with a white-hot haze, and he screamed out, despite his earlier decision not to let Luthor see any weakness in him.
“What is your name?” Nigel asked again, his tone of voice flat and unchanging.
“Clark,” Clark wheezed determinedly.
I’ll die before I give you what you want.
This time, Nigel reared his fist back and struck Clark in the jaw, hard enough that Clark’s teeth clacked together painfully. Clark wondered if his jaw, like his finger, had been broken. He was grateful to when he ran his tongue experimentally over his teeth and found none to be shattered, loose, or missing.
“What is your name?”
“Clark,” he managed around his aching jaw.
The fist hit him again, this time in the nose. Blood gushed from the wound as his nose crunched and broke. Clark cried out again, but he refused to back down. If Luthor wanted Clark to deny his identity now that it was out in the open, he had another think coming.
When the abuse finally ended, more than an hour later, Clark was left bruised, bloodied, and with a few cracked and broken bones. But, beaten as he was, he was determined to continue to fight to keep his identity. For whatever reason, Luthor didn’t want him to be Clark. And that was all the reason Clark needed to maintain that he was, indeed, Clark Kent.
***
Lois’ hands shook as she dug through her purse and extracted the special keychain hidden within its depths. Holding it tightly, she clutched it against her chest for a long moment, then she inserted the key into the lock. Turning it, she swiftly opened the door to Clark’s apartment. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find inside, but she was determined to uncover any clue as to her friend’s whereabouts.
She pocketed the key as soon as she was inside, and patted her jeans over it for good measure, taking comfort from the fact that it was safe. Unbidden, the memory of when Clark had given her the key flashed through her mind. Clark had still been new to the Planet…
It had been an ordinary, boring morning. Nothing had been even remotely special about it. They’d been in the break area, fixing cups of coffee before tackling the day’s To Do list. Clark had seemed uncharacteristically nervous, which she’d only really noticed in retrospect.
“Lois? With Perry’s decision to keep us as permanent partners…and now that I have an apartment instead of that…less than ideal hotel room, I thought you should have this,” he’d finally said, breaking the fragile silence between them.
Lois hadn’t slept well the night before, obsessing over the fact that Perry had saddled her with a permanent partner. Clark had been meant to be paired with her only for the duration of his first assignment! She’d grudgingly babysat him as he’d learned the ropes and they’d investigated the sabotage of the space shuttle. But that had been meant to be the end of things. Why was Perry torturing her? He knew she didn’t play well with others and did her best work alone.
“What is it?” she’d grumbled, carefully measuring out the small amounts of cream and sugar she allowed in her coffee.
He’d reached into his pocket and pulled out a single, shining key on a hand-carved, painted wooden gecko keychain. It wasn’t until months later that she’d finally asked him about the lizard and he’d told her the story of how he’d found it in a little mom-and-pop shop during his travels through New Zealand, and how he’d bought it with the intention of giving it to a friend one day.
“A spare key to my apartment,” he’d told her simply, expecting nothing from her in response – not a word of thanks, not a key to her place in return.
Warily, she’d taken it.
“Why?” she’d asked.
Clark had shrugged casually. “I just figured it made sense with us being partners and all. We’ll probably have a lot of late research sessions and there’s no sense in staying in the bullpen until all hours of the night. You might need to get into my place when I’m not there.” Then he’d smiled that goofy, endearing – though at the time it had been more irritating to her since she hadn’t wanted to befriend him – grin of his at her. “Besides, I trust you not to make off with my good silverware.” He’d chuckled lightly and it had forced her to crack a small smile of her own.
“You never know,” she’d tentatively joked. “I may decide yours is better than the hand-me-downs that I have.”
He’d laughed then and his eyes had sparkled with his amusement. “Well, in that case, what’s mine is yours.”
She’d rolled her eyes at the cheesy line back then but now she knew that Clark had meant it. She could have purloined all his silverware and he wouldn’t have even mentioned it, let alone gotten upset with her. He’d been so trusting of her, even though they’d barely known each other and she’d been actively trying to avoid becoming his friend. But he’d opened his heart to her without a second thought. How stupid she’d been to fight against his gentle, easy charm and freely-given friendship. The thought brought a tear to her eye and she brusquely wiped it away with the back of a hand. Clark had always treated her like the center of his universe and she…
No. I won’t go down that path.
“There has to be a clue around here somewhere,” she muttered to herself as she shut the door behind her and went down the steps into his living room.
Placing her purse on the couch, she stood still for a moment, just taking in the familiar sight of his apartment. But something about it felt off. There was a musty, neglected feeling to his home, even though it was barely more than two full weeks since he’d disappeared – now confirmed by Perry, who’d seen Clark just a scant twenty-four hours before Lois’ aborted wedding. She’d seen his mailbox on the way in – a sticker from the post office had been plastered onto it, informing him that they were holding his mail until he could clear out his box. A layer of dust could be seen on his bookshelves and tables. There was a faint smell in the air. She followed it to the fridge and cautiously opened the door, immediately regretting her choice as a putrid stench of moldering and rotting food slapped her in the face. She slammed the door shut as she gagged. That, more than anything, was proof to her that something bad had happened to Clark. He wouldn’t take off to parts unknown and leave behind food to spoil in his fridge.
She checked the bedroom next but found nothing of note there. His bed was perfectly made, which came as no surprise. Clark was probably the neatest, most organized person she knew. She checked his dresser and found the drawers full nearly to the top. He definitely hadn’t packed any bags. And his closest was the same way, with no evidence that he’d taken anything before he’d vanished. Frowning in thought, she padded to the bathroom and found that to be in immaculate condition too. A check of the hamper showed her that Clark hadn’t even done his laundry before he’d gone missing; another sign that he hadn’t disappeared by choice.
Sighing and feeling slightly defeated – though she hadn’t really expected to find anything that would tell her exactly where Clark had gone – she went back out into his living room. Without any true hope, she checked the closet by the stairs and then the one closer to the kitchen, but nothing seemed out of place. Except…
“What’s this?” she asked herself as her fingertips brushed against what felt like a barely-there opening in the back of closet as she rifled through the coats Clark kept there.
Curious, she pushed the coats aside. There was definitely a gap between the back of the closet and the wall. She furrowed her brow as she slipped her fingers into the crack.
“I wonder,” she said, just before attempting to open up the gap a little more.
To her surprise, the faux panel slid noiselessly to the left, without much effort at all. And behind the panel…
“What the hell?” she gaped.
An entire hidden rack of Superman suits hung neatly in a row, and several pairs of the hero’s red boots were perfectly arranged on a low shoe-rack. Lois ran her fingers over the fabric of one of the unitards. She’d flown with Superman more times than she could count. She’d been the only person on the planet that he’d allowed to get close to him. She’d touched him so many times – a hand on his chest, a caress of her hand down his arm, even a hug when she’d been rescued from a close call. The moment she felt the silky Spandex beneath her fingers she knew, without a doubt, that they were the real thing, not some home-made knockoff to fulfill some weird fetish. She checked the capes too, which were hung separately from the main part of the uniform. She shook her head in wonderment as she realized that the heavy material was also the real deal.
“Clark?” she whispered to herself in amazement, unable to keep the words confined to her mind. “Could it be…?”
She wished she could ask him directly, to have him either confirm or deny that he was Superman. She needed to know. But even as she stared, wide-eyed, at the evidence before her, second-guessing the conclusion she’d come to, she knew it had to be true. Because not only was Clark missing, Superman was suspiciously absent from making rescues as well. Neither man had been seen in weeks.
She staggered back a few steps as the pieces of the puzzle fit together in her mind and she felt like the wind was knocked out of her.
Clark was Superman.
Superman was Clark.
“Oh, God, it’s true,” she whispered again as the two men in her mind merged seamlessly into one.
But what to do with the costumes? She couldn’t leave them here, where they had a chance of being discovered if the apartment was broken into. But she couldn’t very well bundle them all up in her arms and carry them out to her Jeep. Late though it was at night, she dared not risk the random passerby happening to see the uniforms. Suddenly, an idea struck her, and she hurried back to the closet near the door. A beat-up old suitcase was on the bottom of the closet. She smiled as she ran her fingers over the faded light blue material, picturing Clark traveling the world with his meager possessions stowed away within the suitcase.
And then she began to cry.
She sank down to the floor, sobbing and heaving with the effort to get enough air into her lungs. All her terror for Clark came shooting to the surface now that she knew he was Superman. His disappearance was all the more dire to her with that knowledge – not because the world needed its greatest hero, but because he was Superman. His powers should have gotten him out of whatever situation had arisen. The fact that he was still gone meant that he was probably gravely hurt somewhere or – and here she gave a strangled cry of realization – possibly even dead.
“No,” she choked out between sobs. “He’s not dead. He’s alive. I just need to find him,” she repeated as she took the suitcase over to the hidden compartment in the other closet.
I’ll find you, Clark. I promise. If I have to travel to the ends of the Earth, I’ll find you. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll find you. If it takes every last cent I have, I’ll find you. There’s nowhere I won’t go. There’s nothing that can stop me.
She began to lovingly take the Superman suits off their hangers, fold them, and store them inside the battered piece of luggage.
Don’t worry, Clark. I’ll make sure these stay safe for you, she thought with a watery smiled as she lovingly ran a hand over the bold S design on one of the unitards, as though it would help her feel more connected to her missing best friend.
But…how to find him? He could fly around the globe within minutes. He could be literally anywhere – deep in the Amazon rainforest, in the Swiss Alps, on a glacier in Antarctica, on the beach of a deserted island, exploring some vast network of caves, even brooding inside the caldera of a volcano. How could she ever hope to find him?
“Think, Lois,” she reprimanded herself as she forced away her tears. She squared her shoulders and huffed away the remnants of her instinct to break down again. “You know Clark, his little secret aside. You know how he thinks. You know his likes and dislikes. You know the way his heart works. What makes sense?” She paused and thought. “Perry said he and Jimmy were working with Clark to prove that Lex was The Boss. But all their leads wound up pointing to Bill Church and his son. Clark disappeared in the midst of their investigation. I need to talk to Jimmy and Perry and find out exactly what leads Clark was looking into before he vanished. But first…I need to do something else…something that I hope helps me find him.”
She was about to start packing away his boots when she realized something that made her stop short.
“Wait a minute. There’s a suit missing,” she said to herself out of habit. Living alone for as long as she had, she’d gotten into the habit of talking to herself out loud, just to feel less lonely.
She quickly counted the suits and capes, then the number of hangers. Both pieces of the uniform each had an extra hanger in the closet that now hung empty, and there was an empty space on the shoe-rack where a pair of boots should have been.
“Clark’s too tidy to have extra hangers around. He would have had a suit on every single one. It would have driven him crazy to have extras in there for no reason. And he would have spaced the boots differently to fill in all the unused space.”
Realization hit her and she could feel the blood rushing away from her face. She felt simultaneously cold and hot and she broke out into a clammy sweat.
“Whatever happened to him, it didn’t happen to Clark. It happened to Superman. I need to track his last known whereabouts.”
With a new determination brought about by finding her first clue – meager as it was – she set back to work and packed away the rest of the boots.
“I think I know where to start,” she told herself with a resolute nod.
To be Continued…
