All was quiet, calm, and peaceful. It was just as it should be, Lex thought to himself as he shifted in his tall backed, leather desk chair, the color a deep mahogany that perfectly matched his desk. Only the crackling of the warm, cheerful fire in the hearth broke the silence, as well as the barely audible ticking of the grandfather clock on the opposite side of the expansive room. And, of course, the satisfying scratch of his favorite chiseled-tipped Mont Blanc pen as he glided it effortlessly over check after check. It was music to his ears as he thought about all of the businesses – both local Mom and Pop shops and nationally recognized giants – he was conquering and bringing to heel under his own empire.
“Sir?” Nigel announced stiffly as he poked his head into Lex Luthor’s office. “Miss Lane is here to see you.”
Lex looked up from his checkbook, but only after signing his name on the appropriate line. He capped his expensive pen, not wishing the ink to dry up. He could easily afford more, but why waste things unnecessarily? He gently tore the check along the perforated line and stuck it into the envelope he’d set aside. He held it out to Nigel.
“Excellent,” he said, as Nigel came into the room and accepted the envelope. “Ensure this gets to where it needs to, would you?”
“Of course. Shall I see Miss Lane in?” Nigel asked, sticking the envelope into the breast pocket of his jacket.
“Have her wait ten minutes, then escort her in,” Lex replied coolly. “Waiting that long is the least she can do after running from the altar the way she did.”
“Indeed,” came the flat, emotionless response. Nigel turned and took a step toward the door.
“Oh? And Nigel? Be a friend and tell Chef Andre that I’m hosting a business dinner here this weekend. I’ll be expecting six very important guests. He is to prepare a seven-course meal of his best dishes. But I’ll be selecting the wine.”
“Of course,” Nigel said, turning back to Lex and giving him a short, formal bow. A wry smile crept over his face. “All this time and he’s still oblivious to your ‘guest’ in the wine cellar, hmm?”
Lex chuckled slightly. “One of the perks of affording servants who do exactly as they are told and who never ask questions.”
Nigel nodded. “I’ll see to Miss Lane now.”
Lex waved him away with one hand. “As you will.”
***
Lois’ stomach was in knots as she trailed behind Nigel St. John, one of Lex’s most trusted friends. Of course, she’d met Nigel before, if only briefly. She knew him better by his reputation than by talking to him; that is, she’d listened intently to all the stories Lex had told her about Nigel. It had seemed that the man was constantly busy; every time she’d asked about him, Lex had informed her that Nigel was in London tending to a business matter, or in Nicaragua inquiring about a new business venture, or in Zaire picking up samples of some new product or another that Lex was contemplating incorporating into his business empire.
Now that Nigel was here, in front of her, Lois found herself liking it better when he’d been nothing more than a shadowy ghost-figure in Lex’s stories or the occasional formal, aloof manservant she’d sporadically had dealings with. There was something intimidating about the elder British man, though she couldn’t place her finger on what it was. Her was perfectly polite to her, if not a bit stiff and gruff, but who could blame him, really? After all, she’d jilted his friend at the altar. And it wasn’t like she wasn’t used to intimidating people. She was a reporter, after all. She’d met plenty of people who made her nerves stand on alert. But Nigel was different, somehow. Like he was a man who would do anything for those he was loyal to and it disquieted Lois to know that Lex would befriend such a man.
She said nothing and stood a good two paces back from Nigel as he led the way through Lex’s home, as if she wasn’t already intimately familiar with the lavish maze of rooms. But at last, they reached their destination. Nigel’s knuckles gently rapped against the thick, dark wood of the door leading into Lex’s study. Lex was inside, his back to the door, prodding at the blazing fire in the hearth with the iron poker. A piece of burning wood snapped and a swirl of red and orange sparks were tossed up, only to die out a heartbeat later. But the fire burned brighter for the sudden influx of air into the space where the wood had been a few seconds before.
The billionaire looked up a moment later and beckoned Nigel and Lois in. “Come in, come in,” he encouraged.
Lois tentatively stepped into the room, still at war with herself. She hadn’t spoken to Lex since just after their aborted wedding, and she felt like an intruder now, coming back into his home, not to seek forgiveness for her actions but to ask for his help. Her stomach was churning in apprehension and she felt goosebumps springing up on her arms. She had a weird feeling like she was being watched and judged. But she also felt a sense of determination and purpose. She had to do this. Not for herself, but for Clark.
“Lois. I was surprised when I was informed me that you’d asked to see me,” Lex said, his expression giving away nothing.
“Lex…I…” Lois began.
Come on, Lois, you’ve practiced this a thousand times at home, she admonished herself.
“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now,” she forced herself to say, feeling more and more ill at ease in her heart.
“That remains to be seen,” Lex replied coldly. But then his expression softened in the slightest degree. “Come, have a seat.”
“I’d rather stand,” Lois gently refused. “To be honest, I’m not looking to take up a lot of your time. I’m sure you have plenty of other business to attend to.”
“Suit yourself,” Lex said with a shrug. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“I wanted to apologize, for the way I acted after I realized that I couldn’t…” She swallowed hard, then began again, rephrasing what would have sounded awful. “For avoiding you after I…ran out of our wedding. I wasn’t ready to face how much pain and embarrassment I must have caused you.” She looked down at the floor, her cheeks reddening just a bit. She could feel the heat beginning to burn there. She hated apologizing, especially when she didn’t particularly feel like she was completely in the wrong. “I’m sorry.”
“Yes, well, I would have preferred a bit of a warning that you were having second thoughts,” he answered, and Lois got the impression he was just trying to save face by being polite about it. “Was that all you came to say?”
Lois toed the carpet for a second, then resolve settled over her. “Actually…no.”
“Come to ask for a second chance with me?” A steeliness was in his eyes.
“I can’t, Lex,” Lois said by way of apology.
“I see.” His voice took on a stony quality.
“I…need your help, Lex.” The words came out strong and unwavering; she refused to beg.
“Another interview for your newspaper?” he nearly scoffed. “I’m afraid I must decline.”
“What? No!” Lois gaped, shocked that he would think he was merely a story. “It’s actually a bit more…personal. You remember Clark?”
Lex nodded, then turned his attention back to the fire. He used the poker to push a wayward piece of burning wood back into the heart of the flames, rather than off to one side as it had fallen away from the rest of the log it had come from.
“Of course,” he said, leaning the poker to the side of the hearth, against the rich marble façade.
“He’s missing, Lex.”
“So? That’s a matter for the police, is it not?” he inquired, sounding the slightest bit annoyed that she seemed to think he was able to help her.
“They’ve been working on the case, yes,” Lois admitted. “But I thought…since you two knew each other, you might…”
“Might what?” he coaxed out, putting his hands into his pants pockets.
Lois tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Clark disappeared around the day of our wedding. I’ve been organizing search parties, chasing leads all over the place, looking for any sign of him.”
“And…what? You think I know where he is?” Lex lifted an amused eyebrow.
Lois shook her head. “No. I know you and Clark weren’t exactly friends. But you did know him. I thought you might…help,” she finished lamely. “You’re one of the most powerful and influential people in this city.”
Lex didn’t respond right away. He seemed to be thinking things over. The silence left in the wake of Lois’ request seemed to stretch on into eternity. The only sound to be heard was the popping and snapping as the wood in the fireplace burned. Then, he nodded to himself, as though reaching some inner agreement that only he was privy to.
“Kent and I were never on friendly terms, though I’m not sure why,” he finally replied. “He had some kind of problem with me. Undeserved, I might add. But, he’s your friend. And, even though you broke off our marriage at the last moment, I still find myself unable to deny you anything. So, I will help you. There is a reward for anyone who knows of his whereabouts, or who can provide a lead that will bring you to him, yes?” he prodded.
Lois nodded and swallowed hard; her mouth suddenly bone-dry to the point where her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “That’s right.”
“How much is the reward set at?”
“Five thousand,” Lois said, feeling like a pauper under the eyes of the world’s third richest man. “It might not be a lot, but it’s all I have.”
“I’ll publicly pledge an additional forty-five thousand dollars to whoever can help you find your friend, for a grand total of fifty thousand,” he promised. Then he shrugged. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the same contacts you have as a reporter. My place is in the business world, not out on the streets. My informants know of mergers and sales and corporate takeovers, not crimes or runaways or other such things.”
Was Lois imagining it, or was he putting down her career? His voice was devoid of any accusation or snark, and it was the truth; reporters often dealt with the seedy underbelly of society and the most unsavory characters imaginable. But theirs was also a noble profession, without which, society would crumble into lawlessness, even with the police keeping tabs on criminals. And yet, Lex appeared to be merely stating facts, rather than any opinions. Either way, it sent a jolt of revulsion through her that she carefully hid.
“Thank you, Lex. That’s more than generous,” she said instead, feeling grateful for his offer, even if it meant enduring a little criticism from a man she’d once tried – and failed – to love.
Lex cracked a thin smile. “Perhaps, if he’s found, Kent will think better of me going forward,” he said in a mildly hopeful tone.
Lois gave him a matching smile in return. “I’m sure he will.” From within her purse, her cell phone started to ring. As though on autopilot, she reached inside, found the phone, and checked the number on the screen. She gave Lex an apologetic look. “That’s Perry. I should go.”
Lex nodded and gestured to the door. “By all means. But…Lois? Should you ever decide to give us another shot…” He left the invitation open and hanging. Lois hesitated to respond. When Lex saw her indecision over what to say, he nodded again. “I see. Well, if I do happen to hear of anything, I will let you and police know.”
“Thank you, Lex. I appreciate anything you can do to help bring Clark back home.”
***
Something was wrong.
Completely and utterly wrong.
Clark’s hands immediately flew up to cover his eyes against the harsh assault of actual light hitting his once-blind eyes. It hurt so very, very much and he wanted nothing more than to shrink away from the unwelcome intrusion on his unadjusted eyes. He forced himself to sit up, leaning against the accursed bars of his prison, thankful that the Kryptonite was shielded at the moment. After languishing in the dark for so long, with barely enough food to sustain his life and less sleep than he’d ever imagined it was possible to survive on, he barely had any strength left to do more than sit up and blink slowly as his mind lurched into motion.
The recording was gone. Other than the sudden influx of light, that was the first thing he should have noticed. But it had been playing on a loop for so long that Clark barely even noticed it anymore. It was simply always there, the soundtrack to his imprisoned life, whittling away at what remained of his mind. As it was, the message replayed over and over in his brain. It was an all-consuming thought. It forced out any attempts to remember what his life had once been like. He couldn’t recall if he’d ever been anything other than Superman. If he tried to think back on his life, he found nothing but vast stretches of blankness, like an unpainted canvas, pristine white. Just as the canvas had never known the touch of paint, his mind had never known life outside of Superman.
Then there was the problem with expending the energy to even try to think past the walls where his memories no longer existed. It required focus and energy, and he had neither. He didn’t know when he’d last slept without being jarred awake by some hideous, terrifying noise. He didn’t know when he’d last drifted off without shapeless night terrors haunting his mind while it attempted to gain some of the rest it so desperately called out for. He didn’t know when he’d last eaten a meal that had given him more strength than it took for him to chew it and swallow it down.
Clark’s eyes slid closed against the light, half in an effort to protect his sensitive eyes, half because his eyelids were remarkably heavy. But he wasn’t allowed to rest, as usual. There was the sound of a throat being cleared, and Clark’s eyes snapped open out of habit more than curiosity.
“Do you remember me?” crooned a smug Lex Luthor. “I know it’s been years. But do you know who I am?”
“I…” Clark stammered. The man before Clark looked so familiar, but his brain felt like it was misfiring as he struggled to recall the name that went with him.
Luthor smiled in a creepy manner than made Clark’s hackles rise. “Good.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Tell me, if you have no idea who I am, do you know who you are?”
Clark’s voice croaked as he forced the words out of his throat, past his dry, cracked lips. His vocal cords felt rusty from disuse. But his answer was immediate and his conviction was there.
“I’m Superman.”
“And what about Clark Kent?”
“What about him? He doesn’t exist. Never has. I am Superman.”
***
“Nigel?” Lex Luthor asked as he swirled a glass of deep red wine lazily in one hand.
“Sir?” his old friend asked, his curiosity already piqued by the sound of his voice.
“I think we may be ready for phase two of my plan.”
“Phase two, sir? Might I ask what that is?” Nigel inquired.
Lex grinned as he looked up from his wine. He gestured to the glass he’d poured for Nigel. The Englishman nodded, sat down in the armchair across from Lex, and took the glass. He waited for Lex to drink, then indulged as well. Lex appraised the drink for another moment before speaking again.
“Phase two,” he mused darkly. “We destroy that which we’ve created.”
“And just what is it that we’ve created?” Nigel asked over the rim of his glass. “You’ve had a lot of successes over the past ten years. LexCorp is more profitable than ever. You’ve expanded to – and absolutely dominated – the global market. Almost all of your competitors have been either swallowed up by LexCorp or been crushed completely.”
“They have,” Lex confirmed with a self-satisfied nod of his head.
“You’ve long ago left the world of tens of billions of dollars in your pockets to hundreds of thousands of billions,” Nigel continued.
“A modest fortune,” Lex replied, holding back his delight.
“People associate you with honesty, integrity, and quality products,” Nigel added. “You could probably run for President and win with ease.”
Lex smiled and held up one finger off his wine glass. “Ah, yes. Something to consider, perhaps, in the future. But, for now, I’m focused on Superman.”
“Superman?” Nigel’s eyes crept up his brow in interest.
Lex sipped his wine, then nodded. He crossed one leg over the other in a relaxed manner. “We’ve reached the point where we can do no more with him. At least, not here, in the wine cellar.”
“So, by destroy what you’ve created, you mean it’s time to execute him,” Nigel said with bland confidence.
“No.”
“Sir?”
“Nigel, my old friend, we have a golden opportunity before us.” Lex made a broad, sweeping gesture with his hand held like a crossing guard calling for a stop. It was as if he was painting a picture in the air for Nigel.
“And that is?”
“We’ve erased Clark Kent from the world. He exists nowhere other than a few, select memories. His parents. Some of his former coworkers. Lois Lane. Other than that, no one on this planet recalls him. Even the police will have long since stopped looking for him. It’s been ten years. Ten years without even so much as a rumor of his whereabouts.”
“Ten years too long, if you ask my opinion,” Nigel grumbled. “Every day that we keep him alive, we run a risk.”
“Of what?” Lex asked, his arms flung wide to embrace all of the invisible possibilities. His wine sloshed inside his glass but did not spill. “Not a soul knows he’s here, or he would have been rescued by now. Not even Lois has poked her nose around here and she’s been a bigger driving force in the search for him than even the police. Superman can’t escape. He’s completely helpless. And, even if he did make an attempt at this point, I control the Kryptonite in his cell. He’ll fold like a ragdoll, just as he always does, the second I activate it.”
“So…what then? We let him continue to languish in the basement until one of you dies?” Nigel asked sourly.
“Of course not,” Lex nearly purred in his excitement. “Now we begin phase two. We’ve destroyed Clark Kent. We’ve fully transformed the alien into Superman. Now, we destroy Superman.”
“And how do we do that?” Nigel asked with passive shrug.
Lex’s eyes lit up with a twisted spark of hunger. “The same way we broke him from pretending to be Clark Kent. We reduce his mind to ashes.”
Nigel set forward in his seat, clearly intrigued. “Go on.”
Lex’s grin grew even bigger. “What we have in the wine cellar is nothing more than an average man who believes he’s Superman. He’s vulnerable. He has no powers. He can barely string a coherent sentence together that isn’t about him professing how he’s Superman. He’s, in every sense of the word, insane. And there are places that lock away people like that.”
“An asylum?” Nigel guessed stoically.
“Not just any asylum, but one with a certain…reputation,” Lex said, his glee bubbling over past his typically more controlled expression. “One with a penchant for dealing with the worst of the criminally insane. One where greased palms will do whatever is asked of them without asking any annoying questions of their own.”
Lex set aside his glass and stood, energized by the mere thought of getting closer to his goal. “No one is looking for Clark Kent anymore. You will escort one of my associates to the asylum, with the story of having found this poor, unfortunately, gibbering soul on your doorstep, professing over and over that he’s Superman when he’s clearly not. The associate will then offer the doctor assigned to his case a hefty amount of money. All the doctor needs to do is keep the homeless drifter’s presence in the asylum quiet and to erase the idea from his mind that he’s Superman, whatever it takes. And I do mean whatever it takes, even if it’s illegal or against the normal course of treatment. Make it clear that the lunatic ranting about being Superman is to never set foot outside the asylum again, for his safety and that of the public.”
“More torture?” Nigel asked, sounding a little disappointed to not be the one getting his knuckles dirty anymore.
Lex shrugged with a flourish. “If need be. They can lobotomize him for all I care. And, just as the world has been slowly forgetting the ‘hero,’ he himself will forget until he has no identity left and dies with nothing, not even a name by which to call himself.” As he spoke, he made his way to his desk.
Nigel thought it over and nodded his approval. “And which institution will be the lucky one to wipe Superman from his memory?”
Lex merely grinned as opened a drawer and took something out. He held it out to Nigel, who stood, crossed the room, and took it. The older Englishman’s eyes swept over the barely filled out admittance form. He eyebrows arched in approval and a ghost of a smile crossed his lips.
“Perfect,” he said.
***
The wind was whipping fiercely as the storm came inexorably closer. The sky was a bruised purple-black, tinged with orange, even at this late hour. A far-off rumble of thunder rolled in the distance, but Nigel thought this one sounded quite a bit closer than the last few he’d heard. He watched from the tinted windows of the unremarkable black station wagon as Tito stood before the asylum doors. Beside him, the remains of what had once been Clark Kent looked around with wild eyes, a crazed expression on his face. The man sported a new and cheaply made Superman costume, the type one would find in a pop-up Halloween shop for under thirty dollars and branded as “SuperGuy” to avoid any potential copyright infringement. The blue was the wrong shade – too sky blue and flat, not at all the deep, vibrant, almost shimmery blue of the Man of Steel’s uniform. The boots were nothing more than pleather shoe coverings that went halfway up his calf. The yellow belt fit poorly over the fire engine red briefs, and the thin cape was tied around his neck, rather than attached to the inside of the unitard’s shoulders. It even lacked the S logo on the back and the one on the front was too small and slightly lopsided. Plus, it was filthy, as though the wearer had been homeless and living in the gutters for a long, long time.
Nigel grinned. The costume was perfect. There would be no mistaking it for the real thing, which meant that, even with the passing resemblance the seriously underweight and frail-looking man had to the hero, no one would believe his outrageous claim of being the real Superman. Or so Nigel hoped. He’d tried to talk Lex out of moving Superman to the facility. It was too much of a risk. Not that Nigel didn’t trust the shady doctors and nurses within. Even here, outside of Metropolis, Lex’ influence ran deep. A full half of the city’s criminal circuit was under his command, and that included the sadistic medical staff housed within the asylum’s walls. None of them would ever breathe a word of Superman’s residency here, even if they made the connection. They all knew only too well how much torture they would suffer before the release of death if they so much as breathed wrong.
It was everything leading up to Superman’s admittance into the building that had Nigel on edge. It was no secret that the – admittedly mostly dead – search for Clark Kent was out there. But it was also whispered that certain other super-humans were still out there searching for the missing Superman, even if the Man of Steel had slipped from the public’s consciousness. He feared that one of those irritating meddlers might happen to glimpse the asylum’s newest charge before he could be ushered into the last building he would ever know in his lifetime. Especially in this city. It was no secret that this wretched place was under the protection of Batman, and that the lunatic in the latex mask operated under the cover of darkness. So, moving Superman in the middle of the night wasn’t without risks, however slight it might be that the Bat would be in the area.
Nigel sighed. He admired Lex’s ambition, and it was true that the billionaire couldn’t house Superman in his wine cellar indefinitely. It was enough that the alien had been imprisoned there for the past ten years. But it was still unsettling to bring the broken hero out into the open, even though the average citizen wouldn’t be around to notice. Yet, despite his misgivings, Nigel knew his duty. And that was to execute Lex’s commands to perfection. He was very, very good at his job, Nigel thought to himself with a smirk. He’d never been linked to a crime yet, and he’d been on the outside of the law for the vast majority of his life.
Nigel scratched his chin and adjusted the night vision goggles he was wearing. Carefully, methodically, he slowly scanned the rooftops, looking for a caped figure in black. But the buildings were lifeless and nothing could be seen, not even a brooding stone gargoyle left over from a time when the city’s architecture had taken a fancy to more classical themes. But Nigel dared not breathed a sigh of relief. Every nerve ending was on high alert for any threats. In his ear, a tiny speaker lay nestled, picking up the heavy, nervous breathing of Tito as he waited for someone to answer the asylum’s door.
“What if they don’t answer?” Tito asked in a light whisper.
“They will,” Nigel coldly replied into his microphone. “Ring the bell again.”
A few seconds later, Nigel heard the faint sound of the buzzer ringing, letting whoever was supposed to be at the front desk know that there was someone at the door. Nigel waited silently, every muscle coiled like a cobra waiting to strike. He didn’t wish to get out of the car and approach the door himself, but he was ready to do it if need be. But a minute later, the door cracked open just a bit. Whoever it was stayed just out of sight, inside the doorway, perhaps due to the threatening weather.
“Visiting hours are over,” the unseen man’s voice growled suspiciously.
“We’re not here to visit,” Tito challenged back.
“Oh?” The door opened a little wider, but whoever was on the other side still couldn’t be seen from Nigel’s view point and he dared not risk moving the car and drawing attention to himself.
Tito jerked a thumb at Superman. “Got room in the inn for one more?”
The door fully opened and the man stepped out a bit. Nigel could see that he was a lanky Caucasian man in his early to mid-twenties, dressed casually in a pair of blue scrub pants and a white t-shirt, with a lanyard and badge around his neck. He stood and appraised Clark for a moment.
“And he is?” the young man prompted in a bored tone.
“You don’t know me? I’m Superman!” Clark puffed out his chest, showing off the logo ironed onto the costume.
“A drifter,” Tito said. “My brother found him squatting on his property. Guy’s a complete lunatic. But, well, you can see that for yourself.”
“I’m Superman,” Clark pressed with urgency. He jumped a little as if trying to take off and fly away, an impressive feat with ankles that were ten years fused in the wrong positions.
“We were told a Dr. Fulton would be capable of handling this. But, I gotta warn you, this guy? He might look frail but he’s dangerous. Broke my brother’s jaw when he tried to escort him off the property,” Tito lied easily.
The man looked uneasily at Clark. “Yeah?”
Tito shrugged. “Why else would he send me and not come himself?”
“And what about the police?” the man inquired cagily.
Again, Tito shrugged. “As it so happens, I am an officer,” he replied, flashing a fake badge quickly enough to avoid too much scrutiny of it. “Look, is Dr. Fulton there or not?” he finally asked in an annoyed way.
“Yeah, yeah, the doc is here,” was the answer.
“Good. Now go get him. And tell him to bring whatever he needs. This one ain’t gonna go quietly.” He jerked his head slightly in Clark’s direction, but Clark was more interested in staring at the building, as though he could blast holes in the walls with his heat vision.
Nigel smiled to himself. Superman was digging a bigger and bigger hole for himself. He definitely appeared to be out of what was left of his mind. This was almost too easy.
The young man pulled the walkie talkie from the waistband of his scrub pants and used his thumb to press down the talk button. Nigel heard a hiss of muffled static in his earpiece.
“Dr. Fulton? It’s Jeremy from the front desk. There’s a new patient up here. Potentially violent.”
“No, no! I’m a hero!” Clark slurred, swaying on his feet from the severe lack of sleep Lex Luthor had imposed to make him even more unstable before the transfer to Arkham Asylum. “Superman is a friend to all! I would never hurt anyone!” His words drowned out whatever Dr. Fulton was saying over the walkie talkie.
Jeremy frowned. “He’s really gone around the bend, hasn’t he?” he whispered in Tito’s direction.
“Poor idiot must have hit some hard times,” he replied.
“Or some hard drugs,” Jeremy joked.
“I’m perfectly fiiiiiiiiine,” Clark declared, his words sloppy and loud. “I’ll prove it. Hit me. I’m invulnerable.”
“Yeah…I don’t think so,” the younger man said warily.
“Hit me!” Clark demanded.
“Not a chance.”
“Hit me!” Clark roared.
He stumbled forward, but the young man mistook it for an act of aggression. Jeremy tensed and balled his fists, delivering a blow to Clark’s face. Clark’s nose broke, blood gushing from the fresh wound and running down over his lips to his chin. Clark staggered back, truly seeming surprised that his invulnerable aura hadn’t protected him. His own fists balled and his stance stiffened, ready to fight.
In the doorway behind Jeremy, an older, white-haired man appeared and for a moment, as Nigel looked on without the benefit of his night vision goggles, it was impossible to tell what was paler; the doctor’s ghostly complexion or his wispy, barely hanging on hair. But, old as the man appeared, he was spritely. He dove at Clark, preventing the lunatic from sucker-punching Jeremy. Clark was tackled to the ground and the straight jacket the doctor had held was knocked off to one side. He struggled to get the upper hand, and after a long, tense scuffle, he succeeded in stabbing Clark in the neck with a syringe. He depressed the plunger and Clark immediately went limp, almost as if he’d died.
“Jeremy, give me a hand,” the doctor said with a scarcely-there glance over his left shoulder. “Grab the jacket, would ya?”
Jeremy did as was asked and, together, the two men bundled Clark into a secure self-embrace. Dr. Fulton checked and tightened the straps one final time. Then he nodded at Jeremy.
“Thanks. Take him downstairs, please.”
“On it, doc,” the man said with a grim nod as he called for another nurse to help him move Clark’s unconscious form.
Dr. Fulton changed his attention to rest it on Tito as Tito handed over a manila envelope stuffed thick with cash, as well as a note promising a yearly bonus if the man purged Superman from the patient’s mind.
“For your troubles,” Tito said gruffly. “My brother thanks you.”
“Don’t worry, sir. ‘Superman’ won’t be causing anyone else any trouble at all,” the doctor promised, gripping the envelope tightly.
To Be Continued…
Last edited by Deadly Chakram; 01/03/20 10:00 PM.
