Two weeks.
Two weeks passed without any sign of improvement from Clark. He still wandered about the townhome in a mute, glassy-eyed state of confusion. He still ate whatever was placed before him, usually not stopping unless either Lois or Martha refused to give him another helping – they both worried Clark would make himself sick if he ate too much at one time. He still spent most of his time sleeping – either in the guest room bed or cat napping wherever he happened to be sitting at the time. And, though Lois and Martha made certain he spent as many hours a day in the sunlight as possible, there was no indication that his powers were returning, nor did he regain any of his usual, healthy, tanned glow to his skin. And yet, although Clark’s weight didn’t seem to change much, his cheeks appeared to be less sunken in. Lois assumed he must have put on a couple of pounds, thanks to the seemingly endless supply of nutritious meals and junk food snacks he’d been provided with.
Then again, she knew she couldn’t assume anything when it came to what should be considered normal. Nothing about what was happening was normal. Not the circumstances in which Clark had been kept, before he’d been found. Not the way in which his whereabouts had been discovered. Not even his anatomy was normal. And, although Dr. Klein had given the Man of Steel a physical examination when Clark had asked him to be Superman’s doctor, much of Clark’s unique differences were still a mystery. The poor doctor was flying almost blind when it came to treating Clark. Lois had to remind herself of that every time she called Dr. Klein with a question that he couldn’t answer or had to guess at the answer to.
Two weeks.
Two weeks of constant worrying over his condition.
Two weeks of wondering if he’d ever become the man he’d once been again.
Two weeks of waking in the middle of the night just to check on him and reassure herself that it hadn’t been just a dream, that he really was home and safe with her.
Two nightmarish weeks that stretched on without end as Lois lost much of her appetite, didn’t sleep well, stumbled through her day to day tasks, and lived with a constant dull headache that neither aspirin, nor food, nor sleep could vanquish. Her energy was perpetually low and she felt increasingly nauseous as she fretted over Clark. She didn’t need to be a doctor to know it was from the stress she was shouldering. But she refused to let that stop her. She would let the stress kill her before she gave up on Clark. She wasn’t worried about herself. It was Clark and Martha that she was concerned with. Although Clark’s mother was careful not to let on that she was dealing with similar symptoms, Lois knew Martha was having difficulties in dealing with the unexpected stress of caring for her unresponsive son. Dark circles were around Martha’s eyes and she often dozed off in the evenings when the three sat in the living room together, often waking with a start and a strangled cry. Her movements were stiffer than before too. Lois could see how the tension in Martha’s muscles plagued her.
Two weeks of hell, when they should have been euphoric from Clark’s return.
One night, toward the end of those two weeks, Lois awoke a little after two in the morning. Shivering a little, she tugged on her bathrobe and shoved her bare feet into her slippers. She checked on Clark and found him sound asleep in his bed. His foot was hanging off the side, so she gingerly manipulated his leg to get it back onto the mattress and under the warm covers. But, before she did, she took a moment to study his poor mangled toes and the unnatural way his ankle looked. Everything was gnarled and twisted beyond belief and she had to wonder what kind of miracle had allowed him to continue to walk at all. She kissed her fingertips, then pressed them to the top of his foot, as though she had imbued the kiss with some mystical power that would restore his broken bones to the picture of health again.
Clark rolled over in his sleep, his face twitching in some dream, but he did not cry out or whimper, so Lois left him to rest after placing a light kiss on his brow. For one, searing moment, she was struck with the thought that she’d been looking at him for two weeks without him wearing his once ever-present glasses. Did she miss the glasses? She wasn’t sure. On the one hand, they’d been an unneeded ruse that had been a barrier against her seeing him as he truly was. On the other, the glasses had been an integral part of Clark. The fact that he wasn’t wearing them was a constant reminder of how much of his life had been stolen away.
She shook her head sadly and left the room. Going back to bed would be pointless, she knew. Her stomach rumbled and she instinctively headed downstairs, toward the kitchen. A cup of tea and a cookie or two, she decided on as she descended the steps. That usually was enough to satisfy her middle-of-the-night snack needs. She found Martha already in the kitchen, a pot of tea on the stove heating. Clark’s mother was softly crying.
“Hey, are you okay?” Lois asked in a quiet tone, so as not to frighten Martha with her sudden appearance.
Martha looked up, wiping at her watery, reddened eyes with the heel of her palm. “I will be, dear.”
“What’s going on?” Lois asked, sliding into the seat opposite from Martha in the breakfast nook. She reached across the table and took the older woman’s hand. “Tell me.”
Martha sighed heavily just as the tea kettle started to whistle. Lois got up wordlessly and turned the stove off. Then she poured them each their tea as she silently waited for Martha to respond. She didn’t push for a response. One thing she’d learned during all the long years of looking for Clark was that Martha would answer at her own pace after gathering her thoughts. Or, maybe in this case, after wrestling back the tears she’d been shedding when Lois had walked in.
After fixing both mugs of tea, Lois brought them to the table along with a box of chocolate chip cookies. She pushed the box toward Martha in an open invitation as she sat down. For a moment, both women sat in a fragile, expectant silence, until Lois could bear it no longer.
“I don’t want to pry but…Martha, what’s wrong?” she repeated carefully, not wanting to upset Clark’s mother.
“Nothing. Everything,” Martha replied, and it was plain that she was struggling to find the right words. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I couldn’t sleep,” she tried explaining. “So I peeked into Clark’s room. I…” Her voice hitched and wobbled. “I’m still having trouble…I can’t…” she stammered uncertainly.
“I know,” Lois reassured her. “I do the same thing most nights. I’m still having trouble accepting his…condition too.”
Martha looked relieved that Lois understood. “I know we’re helping him in the only way…the best way…we can. But I worry that it’s not enough.”
Lois nodded. “Me too.”
Martha took her mug in both hands and stared into its light-colored depths as though peering into the heart of eternity. “For so long, I prayed for his return. Every morning when I awoke. Every night before I closed my eyes to sleep. Every Sunday at church. Every time I lit a candle. Every time I saw something – anything – that reminded me of him. Every time the phone rang. For twenty years I hoped he was still alive. But sometimes, in the middle of the night, I would lay awake and wonder…what if he’d been hurt or killed? What if I never saw him again?”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Lois told her, reaching over to take Martha’s hand in comfort, noting the way the other woman hung her head as though to hide from her confession. “I think we all had thoughts like that. It’s natural to consider all of the possibilities. We had no way of knowing for sure that he was alive,” she gently reminded her.
“I know. But, looking at him now…there’s a part of me that wonders…” Martha looked away, looking horrified by her own thoughts. She cleared her throat before speaking again. “Wonders if it’s for the best that he’s still alive. God forgive me. I love my son, Lois. The bigger part of me is so, so happy he’s home. But…at what cost? Is it such a blessing for him to be living life the way he is? Not knowing who we are?” A tear slipped down her cheek and she pulled her hand from Lois’ to wipe it away. “Not knowing who he himself is? Not…being able to appreciate or remember all the things that used to bring him such joy?”
She shook her head as more tears welled up in her eyes, then broke from their dam to spill down her cheeks. “Of course, I‘m thrilled to have him alive and not gone forever but…it hurts to know how much has been taken from him.” She looked at Lois. “I sound horrible and ungrateful,” she added apologetically.
“No,” Lois said, shaking her head slightly. She cupped her mug in her hands, in a perfect mirror of Martha. “No, you don’t. You sound like a grieving mother. It’s okay to be afraid for Clark. Of what his future may or may not hold. For what he’s lost and whether or not he’ll ever get it back. It’s okay to wonder what’s going on in his mind and if he’s aware of his situation.”
She took a drink from her mug, then set it back down and looked Martha straight in the eyes. “True be told, I guess a part of me has wondered the same thing. For all intents and purposes, the Clark we know and love is gone. He’s not who he once was. It’s not easy to accept. I don’t want to accept it. And I’m so glad he’s alive in one moment, then I see him struggling to move around or staring into space when confronted with something he once loved and it’s like…like I’m looking at nothing but the shell of a man whose spirit died a long time ago. And I’m not entirely convinced that it’s a good thing because I don’t know if we can resurrect that spirit.”
“All we can do it press on,” Martha said, the weight of the cosmos in her words.
“Press on and love him,” Lois echoed.
“He’s lucky to have you, Lois. He always was.”
“No, I was the lucky one,” Lois argued softly. “I just wish I’d realized it sooner. I would have embraced…the potential we had. Maybe if I had…maybe if I’d chosen to give him a chance instead of Lex…maybe he never would have disappeared in the first place. Maybe he never would have…become what he is now.”
This is my fault, she admonished herself.
But was it, really? There had been no way to know what was going to happen. No way of preventing the hurts Clark had suffered. No way to avoid whatever indignities he’d endured. No way to stop him from vanishing without a trace only to turn up twenty years later as a virtual stranger.
I was starting to fall for him and he never even knew, she bemoaned internally.
Love. She hadn’t been willing or able to acknowledge that fact twenty years ago. But she had been falling in love with her best friend and partner since…when had that started? she wondered.
Probably since Smallville, she admitted to herself. When I got to see Clark for who he really is.
She thought back with fondness to their time in Smallville and way in which they’d started that assignment as work partners and ended it as friends. That was when Clark had broken through her defenses and slipped into her heart. She thought back to the red gingham dress she’d purchased during the Cornfest, just because she’d known it would earn her that blindingly brilliant smile of his. Everything else that came after, especially when she’d thought the world was as good as dead during Nightfall, had only cemented his place in her heart.
And then I lost him for real, for twenty years and it was like I’d lost a piece of my soul, she lamented.
No. She refused to despair in front of Martha. She, more than Clark, needed Lois to keep a brave face. Lois would not fail either of them.
All I can do is help him now. And if he ever gets better, I swear I won’t ever let a day go by when I don’t tell him how I feel about him.
***
Early the next morning, Lois was awakened by the sound of her phone ringing. Groaning in sleepiness and irritation at having been ripped from the dreamless void she’d been floating in, she yawned and picked up the phone. She squinted at the bedside clock as she did so. It wasn’t even 6:30 yet.
“Hello?” she half asked, half growled.
“Lois, it’s Jimmy,” came a chipper voice on the other end of the line.
“Jimmy, it’s my day off,” she reminded him unhappily.
“Is that any way to speak to your editor?” he teased.
“How about ‘call me this early again on my day off and I’ll go work for the New York Times’ instead?” she shot back jokingly.
“That’s a step too far,” Jimmy mockingly warned. “Anyway, I know you’re supposed to be off but you’re gonna wanna know this,” he said in a sobering tone.
Lois instantly sat up straight in her bed and clutched the phone a little tighter. “What do you have for me? And why isn’t Tanya the one calling me?” she asked, thinking of the research assistant she’d been working closely with for the last couple of years, who was good, but would never be as good as Jimmy had once been.
“It’s…sensitive. It’s about Clark. Well, the doctor that held him at the Arkham Asylum, at any rate,” Jimmy replied gravely.
“Dr. Fulton?” Lois asked, her curiosity piqued now. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of him since Clark got rescued. Between the police and him just holing up at home and not returning any calls…” She left the implication to hang in the air unvoiced. “What about him, Jimmy? Is he finally willing to speak with us?”
“Not exactly,” Jimmy hedged. “He’s dead, Lois.”
Lois blinked. “Dead?” she repeated. “How? When?”
“At least a week. His neighbors reported not seeing him around for a while and sent the police to do a wellness check,” Jimmy explained. “The guy was in his bathtub and already pretty ripe, from all accounts.”
“How?” Lois asked again, grabbing for the pen and pad of paper she kept on her nightstand.
“Phenobarbital OD.”
“In English, please.”
“Sleeping pills. Enough to take down a horse,” Jimmy clarified. “Factor in the bottle of Jim Beam…” There was a shrug in his voice.
“Yikes,” Lois replied. “Someone really wanted to make sure they didn’t wake up.”
“Yep,” Jimmy agreed.
Lois thought for a moment. “The police were really grilling him over the patients held on that basement level of the asylum. Maybe the pressure got to him?”
“Could be,” Jimmy agreed. “Look, Lois, I know you have your hands full with everything at home…and I know you’re a bit close to the case, with Clark being, well, as important to you as he is. But, if you’re willing, I’ll let you handle the…”
“Consider me on it,” Lois interrupted. “I want answers. And I want them now.”
***
“Commissioner Gordon, please,” Lois said into the phone from the comfort of her desk at the Daily Planet. She twirled her pencil in her fingers as she waited for the receptionist to either argue with her or connect her to the Commissioner.
“I’m sorry, Miss Lane, but the Commissioner isn’t taking any calls right now.”
So, it was to be an argument then.
“Look, I need to speak with him and it needs to be now,” Lois commanded. “It’s in regards to a high-profile case and…”
“I’m sure it is,” the bored-sounding woman replied dryly. “But the Commissioner isn’t fielding requests from the press for statements at the moment.”
Lois rolled her eyes so hard she could swear she could see her own brain. “It’s in regards to the raid on the asylum. And I’m not looking for a soundbite here. I need to discuss…”
“Miss Lane!” the woman admonished irritably. “I’ve already told you…”
From somewhere in the close distance, Lois heard another voice. “Transfer her to my office, Linda.”
“But!” came the protest.
“Miss Lane is working closely with me on the case,” the Commissioner replied sternly. “Always put her through. We both have a vested interest in working together.”
“Please hold while I transfer you,” Linda said to Lois with fake sweetness.
“Thank you,” Lois said cheerfully, not bothering to hide her smugness.
There was a brief silence, then she heard the sound of the phone being picked up.
“Lois,” Commissioner Gordon greeted her gruffly.
“Commissioner,” she replied in turn.
“Jim, please,” he corrected her. “After what we saw in Gotham, I think we’re on a first name basis,” he said, his voice troubled.
“Ah…okay. Jim,” Lois allowed. “I need to talk to you about Dr. Fulton.”
“So, I take it you’ve heard about his suicide then,” the man said unsurprised. “Shocker from the great Lois Lane,” he teased.
“Yeah, what can you tell me about it?” she asked.
“Not much. The guy took a lethal dose of sleeping pills and washed it down with half a bottle of Jim Beam,” the Commissioner replied. “Forensics think he did it about a week ago. The scene…it was a mess. The guy was practically a hoarder. There was garbage and roaches everywhere. You couldn’t even tell there was a smell of a rotting body in the house. That’s how bad it was. I had guys puking inside of their hazmat suits.”
“Lovely,” quipped Lois.
“The heat was turned pretty low in the house. The tub was practically frozen when my guys found the body,” Jim elaborated.
“Any suicide note? Motivation? Anything at all to give us more context?”
“Nothing,” Jim said. “At least, not yet. But, as I said, the house was an absolute pigsty. Who knows if he wrote a note and it just got buried under a pile of stuff?”
“So…no motive,” Lois said as she scribbled notes on her legal pad. “Nothing…unusual at all?”
There was a loaded paused, then Jim cleared his throat. “Off the record?”
“Of course,” was her immediate answer.
“I think his suicide might have been because of our investigation into him,” the Commissioner confided. “He was facing a long list of charges once we finished up our work. We had undercovers shadowing him to make sure he didn’t disappear on us.”
Lois jotted the information down for her own, personal use, in case she needed to check back with the Commissioner on something in the future.
“I see,” she said as she wrote. “So, the undercovers saw nothing out of the ordinary? Did they see him buy the sleeping pills?”
There was another awkward pause. “No,” Jim admitted. “But that doesn’t mean they weren’t already in the house.”
“True,” Lois allowed.
“There’s one thing that’s bothering me though, just between you and me,” Jim said in a low tone as if to hammer home how important it was to keep the information confidential. “According to everyone we spoke with, the doctor didn’t drink.”
Lois’ eyes went wide. “You’re sure?”
“He regularly underwent random drug and alcohol testing at the asylum. All the staff does. He’s always been clean. People we’ve been talking to don’t recall him ever imbibing, not even a virgin Pina Colada.”
“So why would he have a bottle of Jim Beam?” Lois wondered aloud, tapping the eraser end of her pencil against her notepad.
“That’s what I’m wondering too,” Jim agreed. “And none of my guys saw him enter any liquor stores. His house is around the corner from one and he never even went that way when my officers had eyes on him.”
“And none of them thought him leaving his house for a week was weird?” Lois inquired.
“We suspected that he was catching on to the fact that he was being watched. He loaded up on groceries and some DVDs from a local discount place just before he died. We figured he was getting ready to stay under the radar as much as possible. He probably knew we were closing in. We’d already heavily questioned him,” Jim explained.
“About that,” Lois said, switching gears for a moment, “can I ask about what you found out?”
“I’ll email you a copy of the transcript,” Jim told her.
“Any chance I can see the tape?” Lois asked sweetly.
Jim exhaled noisily as he mulled it over. “Can you come into the station?”
Lois checked her watch. “It’s a two-hour drive. Can’t you send me a video file?” she asked nicely.
“I’m afraid not. It’s too high profile a case. I can’t risk it leaking.” The Commissioner’s voice clearly brooked no argument.
Lois pinched the bridge of her nose in thought. “Okay, okay. You win.”
“I’ll make sure Linda doesn’t give you a hard time this time,” Jim promised.
“She’d better not. Dead or not, this so-called ‘doctor’ is responsible for hurting my best friend, and I’m gonna find out why,” Lois vowed in turn.
***
Lois was silent and contemplative as she drove home that evening. She’d watched, and rewatched, the taped questioning of Dr. Fulton three times, trying to glean any insight into the man who’d tortured Clark and stolen his memories. But there wasn’t much to learn after the first viewing. Mentally, Lois ran down the list of truths she’d come to discover from the tape.
Clark had been brought to the asylum late one night approximately ten years before Batman had discovered him wasting away in that tiny cell, which, if she was being honest with herself, wasn’t news.
He’d been brought in, ranting and raving that he was Superman, which had made Lois shudder with dread that Clark had been spreading that information around, even if no one had believed it.
His name had been unknown at the time, though it was clear that something had happened before his arrival in Gotham to make him fear the word “Clark” so much.
His scars and brutalized fingers, wrists, ankles, toes, and other areas had been apparent even then; he hadn’t gained them from the asylum. If the doctor’s word could be trusted.
Dr. Fulton had given Clark countless sessions of the electrotherapy shocks in order to purge the ridiculous notion of being Superman from his brain, and to calm his, “violent outbursts,” though Lois sincerely doubted that the Clark she knew and had begun to love so long ago could ever be violent.
His last “therapy” had been roughly seven years ago after Clark had slipped into his current, nearly vegetative state.
For the last seven years, Clark had been mute and lost into his own world of blank hopelessness.
For the last seven years, Dr. Fulton had almost ignored Clark’s continued existence, choosing, instead, to focus on new and more dangerous patients.
That was it. Never once did Clark’s torturer mention being paid off to hurt Clark, though Lois suspected that he had, based on the way he fidgeted and tried to skirt around those questions. Never once did he suggest that someone wanted Clark’s memory erased. Never once did he allude to having an affiliation with anyone who might want to see the prisoners of Arkham Asylum dead. It had appeared to be his own, sick, twisted, perverted sense of “medicine” that dictated whether or not he sent electricity into the minds of his captives, as Lois saw it.
She sighed as she honked her horn at an SUV that cut in front of her without signaling. She felt no closer to finding justice for Clark than she had when she’d gotten up that morning and now she was in a foul mood.
At least the weasel hadn’t tried to proclaim his innocence in the whole thing. He’d been only too willing to share the details of what he’d done. That had made Lois shiver. He’d sounded so proud of himself as he’d admitted to the horrific things he’d done to Clark. Not only proud, but he’d sounded so convinced that what he’d done was a good thing; that he’d helped Clark, rather than destroyed him.
Which made it all the more perplexing that the doctor had committed suicide. If he’d been so proud of his work, why would he kill himself, even with the police building a case against him? It was clear he believed strongly that what he’d done to his patients was good and necessary. He seemed like that type of man who would argue that point passionately in court, not to win over the jury, but because he wholeheartedly believed in his actions. Lois knew the type. They would rather rot in jail than run from their fate, simply because they were so certain of their own innocence.
The alcohol was nagging at her brain too. Why would a man so dedicated to sobriety throw it all away in his final moments? Had Dr. Fulton truly flipped and wanted to ensure that the sleeping pills took his life? Had he, like her own mother, just been that skilled about drinking in private and only when he was sure not to be tested for sobriety? It was possible, she knew. Her mother had found ways to avoid flunking her own drug and alcohol tests for years, even in the worst depths of her addiction.
She’d shared her thoughts on the matter with Commissioner Gordon, who’d agreed with her suspicions. He’d vowed to look into it all, giving Lois some peace of mind. She would continue to investigate on her own, of course, but it was nice to have the Gotham Police Department on her side as well.
But for now, all she wanted was to get home, get into sweat clothing, and be with Clark. She’d spent the better part of the day worrying about him, even though Martha had been there with him. She felt, somehow, that taking care of Clark was her job. Maybe it was just from the residual guilt she felt for pushing him away during her ill-fated engagement to Lex. Maybe some part of her felt like she needed to make amends for not finding him for twenty years. Or maybe it was because, even with him in his current state, she found the embers of her emerging feelings for him being stirred up once more.
It’s not fair to start down that path, she warned herself. It’s not fair to him. It’s not fair to me. I can’t allow myself to love him in that way right now. Maybe not ever. Not if he doesn’t recover.
But even as she told herself these things, she knew it was fruitless. She’d been in love with Clark since before he’d disappeared. And seeing him now, stranger though he was from his brain injuries, those feelings were growing with each day.
***
Lois distractedly picked up the phone the following morning, half expecting it to be Jimmy, or Henderson, or even the Commissioner. She muted the football game on the television. Clark didn’t seem to even notice. She grabbed the phone without looking and brought it to her ear after hitting the button to allow the call to go through.
“Hello?” she asked.
“Lois!” came an overly bubbly female voice.
Lois blinked as she was brought out of her thoughts and into the present. “Lucy! Hi. What’s up?”
“Just checking in with you, sis. And I’m finalizing my preparations for Christmas. Can I still count on you being there?” Lucy asked.
Lois would have laughed if she’d been in a better mood. Trust Lucy to get right to the point without beating around the bush.
“I…uh…” Lois stammered.
“Lo-is,” Lucy whined, and for a moment, the way she said it reminded Lois too much of the way Clark used to draw out her name when he was teasing her or exasperated by her. Lois swallowed around the sudden, unexpected lump in her throat. “You promised me months ago that you’d come up for the holiday. You can’t back out now. Christmas is in a week.”
“I know, Luce,” Lois placated. “But that was before.”
“Before,” Lucy prompted with such flat disdain that Lois flinched.
“He needs me, Lucy,” Lois said softly, her eyes flickering briefly to Clark.
“So bring him with you,” Lucy replied in a tone that suggested she was talking to a complete idiot. “The more, the merrier.”
“I can’t, Luce,” Lois protested mildly. “It’s…complicated.”
Lois could practically hear her sister rolling her eyes as she huffed. “What’s so complicated, Lois? Just bring him along.”
“Lucy, I can’t. He’s still in bad shape after his ordeal,” Lois explained hesitantly, mildly annoyed that her sister was even attempting to argue this with her.
“Lois, the girls haven’t seen you in like four months,” Lucy argued gently. “They miss their aunt. I miss my sister. And if Mom finds out you aren’t coming…” The casual threat was left hanging unvoiced.
“Like Mom is the picture of family togetherness,” Lois hurled back bitterly. “Look, Lucy,” she said after a sigh and pinching the bridge of her nose, “I wish it was a simple matter of you putting up an extra guest but…” She paused. How could she make Lucy see what an issue it was without divulging everything that had happened to Clark?
“You should go. I’ll be with Clark,” Martha whispered from the seat next to Lois.
“Lois? Who was that?” Lucy asked.
Lois sighed again. This was getting messy fast. “Martha. Clark’s mother.”
“Bring her too if you want, there’s plenty of room at the table.”
“Lucy…” Lois said in a tired voice.
“You’re coming and that’s final,” Lucy said firmly. “I don’t care if I have to send my husband to pick you up and drag you here.”
“Lucy…” Lois warned again.
“No. I won’t hear any objections. You’ve put off the last three holidays with us,” Lucy admonished. “You owe us.”
“But Clark…”
“Clark has been occupying your every thought for the last twenty years, Lois,” Lucy pressed. “You found him. Now celebrate for once.”
Lois shook her head, knowing that her obstinate sister would never let her get away with staying home. “Fine but…I think Clark should stay here.”
“No way,” Lucy argued. “After all this time, hearing you pine over his absence, he’s coming with you.”
“Lucy…he’s in..” She lowered her voice, stood up, and quickly left the room. “Really bad shape,” she admitted once she thought she was out of Clark’s earshot. She knew she didn’t have to worry about offending Martha.
“You keep saying that,” Lucy said with another imagined eye roll. “Spit it out! Is he missing his arms or something?”
“Or something,” Lois muttered. “Listen, you cannot breathe a word of this, to anyone. None of you can. Because, if it got out, it would be a media circus. Got it?”
“Fine, fine, I swear. I won’t say a word,” Lucy replied, clearly annoyed.
“Clark…whatever he endured…part of it included torture.” It was best to keep it simple and truthful, without spilling the whole story. “His fingers, wrists, feet, and ankles have all healed improperly. I don’t know if it will scare the kids,” she warned. “And mentally? He’s not really here at the moment. It’s like…he’s locked away, Lucy. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t seem to know what’s going on around him.” A tear slipped from her eye. Even after half a month since his rescue, it still hurt Lois to admit the extent of Clark’s injuries. “I don’t know if dragging him out of the house is the best idea right now. He’s only just seeming to get comfortable in his surroundings.”
Lucy was silent on the other end for a long moment. Then she cleared her throat. “I…see,” she stammered, embarrassed.
“Look, I know you like to host at your house. But maybe we can do Christmas Eve here and then you and mom can enjoy Christmas Day at your place,” she offered, hoping to appease her sister.
“All right,” Lucy finally acquiesced. “But I’m helping you cook. You still can’t make the candied yams correctly to save your life.” There was a grin in her voice now.
Lois chuckled a little. “Deal.”
To Be Continued…
