Hate Myself For Loving You
Folc4evernaday
Chapter 20: Fire Away
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The Physician’s Plaza at Metropolis General had been lit up by the sunlight coming in from each window surrounding the long corridor earlier in the day. Now that the sun had set, the plaza was nothing but darkened corners and narrow hallways furnished with the occasional lamp to light the floor. Dan Scardino used the darkness as a cover as he waited for his opportunity to move in on Dr. Wilder’s office.
After his first meeting with Dr. Wilder, Scardino had grown increasingly suspicious of the doctor and even more suspicious of her when he saw Lois Lane and Clark Kent had darkened her doorway. The recent rumblings of Ticeon coming into the States by way of Munour and his black market deals only fueled his suspicions, but he still wasn’t entirely sure what the doctor could be involved in.
All he knew at this point was his gut was screaming at him to dig deeper, and his gut had never steered him wrong before. He wasn’t about to start ignoring it now. He waited in the corner of the corridor, watching as the door to Dr. Wilder’s office opened, and the doctor, followed by an older woman and a man with long blonde hair from earlier exited the office leaning into one another in a conspiratorially way as they disappeared down the hall.
Scardino waited patiently for any sign that the subjects might return after forgetting something, but after ten minutes of waiting in darkness, he stepped out of the shadows, stepping into the hint of fluorescent light coming from the floor. He crossed the hall to where the door Dr. Katherine Wilder had exited from was located and fished out a pocketknife from his jacket pocket, pulling the blade he needed and inserted the pointed blade in the keyhole. He pulled a long pin out from behind his ear and inserted it into the hole above the doorknob where the lock’s mechanics were carefully hidden. With a quick jiggle and expert amount of pressure, he heard the lock give away, and with ease the door opened.
He smiled to himself, tucking the pin back behind his ear and pocketing his pocketknife before entering the office. He approached the front desk and reached his arm over, pressing the green access button to release the lock on the door that led to the doctor’s office, letting out a yawn. Overall, he was mildly unimpressed with the security the hospital had in place, but for the moment, he was grateful for their lax in judgment. He reached the end of the hall and turned the knob to the office that had the name ‘Dr. Katherine Wilder’ painted in gold across the glass of the door. The door opened with ease, and he held out his arms as if to welcome the invisible applause that was to come his way.
He immediately went for the file cabinets, propping them open with the same expertise he had displayed on the office door and searched for anything – a clue to give him the next direction on what Dr. Wilder could possibly be mixed up in. He skimmed through the patient files finding nothing of importance. He then moved to her desk drawers, fiddling with the locks until they gave away. He smiled to himself when he found himself feeling his way to a false bottom on one of the desk drawers.
“Eureka,” Scardino whispered to himself as he pulled out a file jacket that looked to be at least thirty years old. The stains on the worn heavy paper stock were riddled with cup rings, and signs of liquid and what he assumed were food residue. He reached over and pulled the jacket open, noting that the string that had once held the jacket together was long gone.
Inside he found a thick file with a military seal on the cover. The cover of the file had a name printed on the cover that sent a chill down his spine.
‘Valhalla.’ “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding. It can’t be this easy…” Scardino muttered under his breath. He opened the file and flipped through it, reading the case studies from the former Dr. Wilder’s original work with a Dr. Alan Golden at Fort Truman – detailing the tests performed on infants to one day program them into unwitting assassins.
A chill ran down Scardino’s spine as he read through the file, feeling as if he was reading through a science fiction novel rather than an actual secret government project. He set the file down, unsure if he could stomach much more. Files like these were normally redacted – never shared with departments outside the military. The fact that Wilder had this in her possession told him not only was she neck-deep in this project, but she was probably related to the Dr. Wilder mentioned in the file.
He pushed his hand through the false bottom again, searching blindly for what else might be hiding in the bottom of Katherine Wilder’s desk drawer. He frowned when he found another file jacket sitting in the bottom of the desk drawer and pulled it out. Minus the worn-out appearance and stains, the file looked almost identical to the one he had pulled out. It appeared to be much more pristine in appearance. The only stain was a dark red blot on the corner of the file jacket.
Scardino narrowed his eyes as he ran his hand across the file in his hands. Why would Wilder have two of the same file? He flipped it open, wondering if one might be a dummy, but he was greeted with the same data he had read through before. He flipped through it just to be sure, feeling a numbness run through him as he stared at the printed copy of the treachery the government had attempted to inflict on the country. He reached the last of the file and stopped when he saw three smaller files tucked away in the back of it. Inside were patient files with the patient’s photos stapled to the back. He took in a sharp breath when he saw the photo on one of the files.
‘James Olsen.’ He reached his hand over to pick up the other file he had been flipping through earlier and skimmed through to the back, and sure enough, he found the original intake files for the patients with photos of each of them as toddlers.
Another sharp breath escaped his throat as he read the names.
‘Gregory Edward Mallow.’
‘Sarah Goodwin.’ His gaze shifted to the photo of James Olsen once more. He then turned his attention to the photo of the fully grown patients.
Sarah Goodwin was a young woman who looked to be in her early twenties with dark curly brown hair.
Gregory Edward Mallow had in parenthesis
‘G.E. Mallow’ and a photo of a tall man with dark hair. Scardino felt his jaw clench as he stared at the photo in front of him.
G.E. Mallow was not a new face to him. The name had been a constant on his tongue during his days of fieldwork when hunting down McCarthy eight years ago Mallow had been his star witness and informant during his initial investigation into McCarthy – back in his field agent days. His testimony had brought McCarthy down once and for all and helped solidify Scardino’s reputation within the DEA as a reputable agent. Now here he was, forced to face a ghost he thought he’d buried long ago, and hopefully, save Mallow before Dr. Frankenstein here had a chance to initiate this Valhalla project, and turn him into a mindless assassin for hire along with the other subjects in front of him.
He let out a deep breath and pulled out his camera, filling the room with flash after flash as he took photo after photo of each page, unwilling to chance that the file might disappear when this was all over.
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Lois toyed with the wrapper on the water bottle she had been given, listening carefully as the detective in front of her. She hadn’t had many interactions with the police on this side of the table outside of a few spats she’d gotten into with Bill Henderson and of course, the fiasco with Arianna Carlin when she was framed for stealing her old engagement ring out of lockup. Even then, her interactions with Detective Ryder had remained professional, and he didn’t appear to be rushing to judgment.
She scanned the room for a sign that Henderson would be returning soon but unfortunately found no sign of him. She let out a heavy sigh as she tapped her hand on the water bottle in front of her. “I’m not sure how else to say it, Detective, I wasn’t there.”
“You’ve mentioned that Ms. Lane, but unfortunately you’ve yet to provide an alibi for exactly where you were during the time the hours of eleven p.m and one a.m for last night’s bombing,” Ryder informed her, tapping his pen on the table irritably.
“Asleep,” Lois responded with a weary sigh. “Sort of.”
“Uh-huh,” his brow furrowed, and he looked back at her with a questioning gaze. “Anyone see you sleeping…or whatever ‘sort of’ thing you were doing?”
Lois folded her arms over her chest and responded with a sigh, “Clark.”
“Anyone else?”
“Well, I don’t make a habit of planning out sleepovers,” Lois responded with a defeated sigh.
“Well, if you had kept your detail on you we wouldn’t have to go through this, Ms. Lane,” Ryder responded with a sigh. “The fact of the matter is we have a witness placing you at the scene of the bombing and your only alibi witness is your partner who is probably motivated to cover for you.”
“That is ridiculous!” Lois fumed irritably. “I never even left the apartment from the time we got …”
“Got what?” Ryder attempted to pry out of her.
“Back to Clark’s apartment,” Lois grumbled, slightly miffed at how her story was sounding. “I do have a serial bomber threatening me. I didn’t want to stay at my apartment.”
“You’re
really not making this any easier for me, Ms. Lane,” Ryder said, running a ragged hand across his face.
“So, what now I can’t even stay at a friend’s …”
“…boyfriend.”
“Whatever.”
“It looks bad when we’re trying to validate whether this witness is telling the truth or not and you can only offer up your boyfriend as an alibi.”
“It’s the truth.” Lois snapped irritably, “And Clark doesn’t lie.”
Ryder hung his head, shaking it from side to side as he seemed to be struggling to find the words he needed to respond. “Look, I’m not saying either you or Mr. Kent are being dishonest. I’m saying in the eyes of a detective looking at this it’s not a rock solid alibi because people are motivated to lie, cheat, steal and even commit the unthinkable when it comes to the ones they love.”
“Do you seriously think I would do something so heinous?” Lois challenged, biting her lower-lip.
“No, I don’t,” Ryder responded, “but we do have to follow every single lead we’re given.” He pointed to the door, “You’re free to go. Just…make sure you have communication with the security detail Henderson gave you. It’ll help all of us out.”
“Is that an order or a request?” Lois asked.
“Take it however you like, Ms. Lane,” Ryder shrugged his shoulders. “Just don’t go on any cruises across the Atlantic for now, okay?”
“Goodnight, detective.”
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The high beams moved through the winding roads with precision, giving just enough light to see the street below. Sean McCarthy puffed on the cigarette in his mouth as he followed the car from a safe distance, keeping his lights off through the fog and using the night vision helmet he’d been furnished by Rollie Vale to keep his tabs on Amir Munour. The terrorist was just the type of target Albie Swanson would move in on and try to make his move with.
The tabs he had kept on Munour had proved useful and now he would finally see the fruit of all his labor when he finally had the satisfaction of taking Albie Swanson out and making it look like a drug bust gone wrong. He smiled to himself as he reached for the M16 strapped to his back. Albie really should be more careful where he decides to meet terrorists to sell illegally gained formulas. Espionage certainly wasn’t the career it had once been years ago.
McCarthy put out his cigarette and crouched down on the ground, waiting for just the right moment to fire….
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A foggy mist hovered over the water, creating a blanket of cover. A perfect setting for if one was about to engage in something illegal and more than likely dangerous and possibly deadly... Yet, here he was, salivating over his moment to finally cash in on his years of service to an organization that was as cutthroat as they came.
Albie Swanson patted the pistol in his jacket pocket and let out a shallow breath, tightening his grip around the cold metal barrel from inside the fabric of his jacket. A fluorescent beam of headlights moved through the fog, cutting into the darkness and sending a chill down Albie’s spine. He felt the panic within him begin to rise up and looked over his shoulder, reassuring himself he was indeed alone.
From the distance, he could hear the engine of the car cut off and the slamming of a car door. A beam of light aimed its direction in his eyes, and he blinked back, holding his arm up to block the beam of light from blinding him.
A rough voice with a thick Middle Eastern accent called out to him, “Mr. Swanson, I take it?”
Albie nodded his head, wondering if Munour could even see him and gave a loud grunt that came out as more of a screech as he hollered, “Yes, sir. Albie Swanson. A pleasure to do business with you!”
“Get in the car, you idiot!” a voice came from the left of him and he felt a hand grab him from his shoulder and forcibly push him to where the car Munour had arrived in was parked.
He could make out the silhouette of a man standing in front of the car with his arms crossed and swallowed hard, preparing for the final meeting he had been both anticipating and dreading all at the same time. As he approached the sound of shots being fired could be heard in the distance.
A mutter came from the man gripping his shoulder as he accused Albie in a low hiss, “You low-life weasel. You will regret double crossing Amir Munour.”
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Lois waved to the officers sitting outside her apartment as she made her way up the steps leading into her apartment building. Her mind raced through her conversation with Detective Ryder over and over again, unsure what to make of it. One minute he seemed to be accusing her and the next reassuring her of her innocence. Still, she wouldn’t have been pulled in for questioning without someone pointing the finger in her direction and as much as she hated to even think it she had an inkling on exactly who that might have been.
“Lois?”
She whirled around, jumping in surprise when she saw Clark standing in the doorway of her apartment building. She let out a shaky breath and shook her head, “I thought you went home already.”
Clark shrugged, shaking his head. “I finished up the patrol earlier. Wanted to make sure you got home okay.” He gestured to the security detail outside, “I heard Henderson wasn’t too happy about giving the guys the slip the other day. Sorry about that.”
“Apparently, if I would have just kept them around, I wouldn’t be in this mess,” Lois rolled her eyes as she unlocked the door to the apartment with her passcode and sighed.
“Yeah, I got a similar story from Henderson.” Clark flashed her an apologetic smile. “He didn’t seem to take his witness statement too seriously.”
A familiar expression crossed his face, and he looked at her with a wince, hanging his head. “I’m sorry. I’ve gotta…”
“I’ll be fine,” Lois reassured him, leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek. “Go. Keep the city safe. You can’t be my bodyguard 24/7.”
“I can try,” he leaned in to kiss her before disappearing into a blur of red and blue down the corridor of her apartment building.
She let out a sigh, shaking her head as she called out, “Be careful.”
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Albie Swanson let out a gut-wrenching shriek as he felt the burning sensation spread from his side and send a piercing pain through all his nerve endings. The weight pressing into his back threatened to crush every breath out of him as his assailant threatened to break him in half. In that moment, Albie wished for his end to be quick so as to not prolong the torture.
He lifted his head up, scanning his surroundings through the fog through his blurry vision. The car Munour had arrived in was long gone along with any chance he had of escaping his fate. It didn’t matter if he was able to make it out of this by the skin of his teeth. He was still a marked man. His last chance to escape had disappeared already.
“Let him go!” a booming voice came from behind him.
“Superman, I’ve heard of you.” A sneer escaped the throat of his assailant as he lifted his foot off of Albie. “I must say, I’m unimpressed.”
A split-second later a loud crash echoed in Albie’s eardrums and he lifted his head to the side only to see the burly man that had been towering over him moments ago confined to a steel barrel with the lid rolling on the ground next to it.
“I can’t say I’m impressed either,” Superman’s response came as he approached the assailant. He turned to Albie, placing a hand on his back. “Don’t move. You have a few cracked ribs that could puncture your lungs. Help is on the way.”
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Mayson skimmed through the screen in front of her tapping on the side of her monitor when the light flickered as she searched the report for something other than ‘following up on leads.’ She let out a frustrated growl when she saw the status of the investigation was still marked as ‘pending’ and slammed her laptop closed, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest.
The door to the interrogation room opened and she looked up, relieved for an update from the detectives. She let out a deep sigh and smiled when she saw Bill Henderson with a file folder in his hands as he reached behind him to close the door.
“I take it you have an update for me?” Mayson asked, gesturing to the empty room. “I’ve been waiting here for hours.”
“You’re the one that insisted on waiting until we completed our interview with Lois Lane,” Henderson reminded her.
“Well, excuse me for caring if you’re going to bring in the person responsible for Michael Clemmons’ death and destroying City Hall.” Mayson huffed, casting a sideways glance at him.
“Mayson,” Henderson took the seat across from her, “Are you sure it was Lois Lane you saw outside the steps of City Hall.”
“It was her.” Mayson growled irritably. “I know it was her.”
She felt her voice catch as the flash of fragmented memories flooded through her mind. Things were still jagged and unclear, but she knew she had seen Lois Lane outside City Hall that night. The fight with Michael Clemmons was all she could think of since she had woken up. He had lost faith in her. He didn’t trust her, but she would prove him wrong. She would prove to him she wasn’t crazy, and he had been wrong to try and fire her. A fact she would take to the grave with her. She was struggling enough as it was with convincing everyone to look into Lois Lane and her involvement in the bombing.
It sounded crazy.
It sounded absurd.
But she knew what she had seen.
Lois Lane had been there.
“So?” Mayson prompted, “What are you going to do?”
“Mayson, she has an alibi. She was nowhere near Metropolis Square when the bomb went off.” Henderson explained calmly.
“I
know what I saw, Bill.”
“And I know you just woke up from a traumatic experience and have refused treatment again from medical professionals, Mayson.” Henderson replied in an eerily calm tone. “You could have a concussion. You could have brain damage. Hell, you could have internal bleeding…”
“I am
fine.” Mayson argued, waving him off. “Quit trying to excuse your inability to see what’s going on here with my mental state.”
“Mayson, she wasn’t there.”
“How do you know?” Mayson asked.
“She
has an alibi.”
“An alibi that would probably help her commit murder, right?” Mayson asked.
“I don’t know that Riley and Conner would go that far to protect someone,” Henderson cocked an eyebrow at her as he added. “Lois Lane has had a police escort for a few weeks. Her life was threatened by Sean McCarthy.”
“No,” Mayson shook her head in disbelief. “I know what I saw. I’m not crazy, Bill. I know this happened.”
“I’m not saying you are crazy, Mayson. The mind can play some horrible tricks on you when you’re under stress and….” He let out a shaky breath as she stood to her feet and began packing up her things. “Mayson, please don’t go. Let’s talk about this…”
“I have nothing to talk to you about.” Mayson shot back, shoving her laptop in her bag and zipping it up. “You think I’m crazy and refuse to investigate. I got it.”
“Mayson…”
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Bill Henderson watched through the glass windows as Mayson disappeared from his line of sight. He let out a heavy sigh, sinking back into his chair as he ran his hands over his weary face, wondering what to do next. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.
There was no rationale to Mayson’s accusation against Lois Lane other than the fact that she refused to admit she might not be recalling things as they happened. But admitting that would mean Mayson would have to admit something was wrong.
To top it all off, he had the very real possibility that in Mayson’s weakened mental state, she could be the other stalker sending threats to Lois Lane. Still, as convenient as the theory was for his investigation, he couldn’t allow himself to rationalize the hard-nosed ADA he had come to know and respect had become someone capable of committing a crime against someone or even going so far as to purposefully give a false statement.
Even when the evidence was brought in against Mayson, he could tell neither Lois nor Clark full-heartedly believed Mayson was behind the threats, but it was clear they were concerned – as was he – with her bizarre behavior. That was the piece that left him second-guessing the gut he had relied on for all twenty-three years on the force. He knew all too well when it came to mental illness or even temporary mental instability; the rules went out the window.
Something was going on here.
Something didn’t add up, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.
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Lois reached her arms up over her head, stretching her shoulders and back as she watched the last few drops from her coffee maker dribble out into the coffee pot. She reached for he coffee mug and poured herself a cup.
She took a sip of her coffee and turned her attention to her living room where her bag and purse had been tossed across the loveseat after she had thrown them across the room, unwilling to even think about anything but sleep. Her evening that had started out with a flight abroad to watch the sunset over Buckingham Palace and enjoy a genuine basket of fish and chips ended with her being grilled by the police and Clark being called away. It had been disappointing to say the least. What had started out as a romantic evening had quickly sobered into an evening of high tensions and uncertainty.
She finished up her mug of coffee and rinsed it out in the sink before turning her attention to her purse and satchel, working to gather her things up and make her way out the door. She glanced at the time, smiling to herself at the time, noting she wouldn’t have to rush in order to make it to Perry’s staff meeting this morning. She could probably even stop for a croissant at Joe’s before the morning rush wiped him out.
She readjusted the bag on her shoulder and unlocked the set of eight deadbolts on her door, humming to herself as she finally reached the last lock and swung the door open. She let out a short gasp when she saw Dan Scardino standing on the otherside of the door, arm raised to knock on the door that had just been opened.
“Practicing those psychic skills, I see,” Dan Scardino smiled back at her, pointing to the apartment behind her. “You might want to take a seat. This is probably going to take awhile.”
“Actually, I’m on my way out,” Lois pointed to the hallway Dan Scardino was standing in.
He shook his head, stepping into the apartment and making himself comfortable on the loveseat as he pulled his leg up over the other, propping it up on his knee as he stretched his arms out against the back frame of the sofa. “I know you thought you were on your way out, but I think you might want to hear this.”
“Hear what?” Lois asked, crossing her arms over her chest, mildly perturbed at the interruption.
Scardino looked around, “No Kent?”
“What do you want Scardino?”
“Please, call me Dan,” he grinned back at her. “Hey, I just assumed…you two appeared to be joined at the hip.”
“I believe you were getting to the part where I would want to hear something out?” Lois prodded, motioning for him to get to the point.
Scardino nodded, pulling out a briefcase he had entered the apartment with and set two large file jackets on her table with a large white 8 x 10 envelope on top. She frowned, staring at the stack of curious looking files he had placed on her coffee table and ventured toward the couch to explore its contents.
“What would you say if I told you I found the unredacted files on Valhalla from the military?”
“I’d ask who you had to kill in order to get such classified information?” Lois opened one of the file jackets and pulled out a large file, fingering the corner where the discolor of red and brown was reminiscent of dried blood. She looked back at him in surprise. “Okay, I was just joking. Did you seriously…”
“No, no, no, no,” Dan Scardino shook his head adamantly. “I found it like that.”
“That’s usually what the killer says when he’s being sentenced to death row,” Lois reminded him with an unamused expression. “Why would you bring this to me? Why not take it to the police?”
“I take it to the police, and it stops being about how to stop some very dangerous people and then becomes about how to cover up what the government did…or almost did nearly twenty years ago.” Dan explained solemnly. He shook his head, “I can’t trust anyone with the DEA, and I can’t trust anyone with the police department until I know more.” He reached over and flipped the file in her hands to reveal a slim file folder with a photo of Jimmy on it. “And something tells me you and Kent would be motivated to help me and your friend.”
Lois stared at the picture in front of her, unsure how to process the newly revealed information. Whatever this Valhalla was, it involved Jimmy, and Dan Scardino was right. She and Clark would do whatever it took to protect him from whatever this threat was.
A knock came from her front door, and she jumped, startled from the noise. Scardino looked at her with a bemused expression. Lois stood up and placed the file folder on the table and answered the door. She felt a wave of relief rush over her when she saw Clark on the other side of the door with a bag from Joe’s Bakery.
“Hey,” he smiled, stepping into the apartment. “I figured you might …” Clark stopped when he spotted Scardino seated in the living room.
“Long story,” Lois said, waving the silent question on Clark’s face off as she pointed to the couch. “Remember that Valhalla from our, uh, source?”
Dan Scardino gestured to the table in front of him, “Voila, meet Valhalla.”
Clark closed the door behind him and followed Lois to the couch, taking a seat next to her as Lois fished a golden croissant out of the white pastry bag.
“Thanks for breakfast,” Lois smiled back at Clark.
“I was hoping to celebrate,” he shot a glare in Scardino’s direction. “Superman apparently rescued Albie Swanson from a drug exchange gone bad last night. He’s in custody now.”
“Well, there’s some good news,” Lois sighed in relief.
“Yeah, I guarantee you that was not a drug bust gone bad though.” Scardino commented with the shake of his head. “He probably tried to make a deal with the devil.”
“Why do you say that?” Clark asked.
“I get my hands on a drug that criminals can use to break out of prison I’m not going to stick around with corner drug dealers I’m going for the big fish which is more than likely how Albie got caught.” Scardino reached his hands up, pointing to the bag in Lois’ hand. “Hey, you bring me any?” Scardino reached his hand out for one. Lois let out a groan and tossed the bag to him. Given the story he had just brought them she could spare an extra croissant.
“Well, that’s one of these guys behind bars at least,” Lois said with a sigh, then gestured to the files in front of them. “But more keep popping up.”
Clark reached over and flipped through the file folder, skimming through the first page. His brow creased when the name on the file caught his eye. “Wilder. Like Dr. Katherine Wilder?”
“His daughter.” Scardino supplied, shaking his head. “Seems like she’s just as crazy as her old man.”
“What makes you say that?” Clark asked as Lois flipped through the file in her hand, finding a similar set of slim file folders in the back of the file with the same patient names. “What is this?” Clark asked, his brow furrowed as his forehead creased with worry lines.
“The government’s dirty secret from a little over twenty years ago.” Dan Scardino said solemnly.
“Clark, Jimmy’s one of the patients for Valhalla.” Lois said, handing him the patient file for Jimmy.
“Why bring all of this to us?” Clark asked, pointing to the files in front of them. “You seem to have the answers to everything right here.”
“I bring this up with the feds it turns into a military investigation and I’m in the brig for the next two to three months waiting out military courts. This is way too big for me to take on myself and if what I think is going on really is taking place then we have to stop it before anyone in the military finds out or a whole lot of people and evidence will start to disappear.”
“Why are there
two files?” Clark asked.
“I think one of them was Wilder’s and the other…” Dan Scardino shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Our first priority is helping Jimmy,” Clark instructed.
“Understood,” Dan Scardino nodded. “People first then the terrorists.”
“Terrorists?” Lois asked.
“Wilder is trying to resurrect this project and market it to the black market terrorist organizations. Intergang. The Resistance out in the Middle East. You name it. Every last one of them would be chomping at the bit for something like this.” Dan Scardino said solemnly.
“Well, who wouldn’t want an assassin making drug?” Lois muttered in disgust.
“One of the leaders of the Resistance is here in the States. I saw him at the hospital.” Dan Scardino explained cautiously. “I think he’ll be looking to make a deal with Wilder, but he’s going to want a demonstration. Which means Jimmy and every one of those patients there are in danger.”
“Which means we need to tell Perry,” Lois said, flipping through the file on her lap, feeling her skin crawl as she read through the clinical description of just how dark the government had gone nearly twenty years ago in an attempt to create an army of assassins, controlled by a drug they would never know had been administered to them at birth.
“Can you trust him?” Scardino asked.
“With our life,” Lois affirmed.
“Until we stop Munour everyone on this list is in danger,” Scardino explained. “And more than likely anyone that knew anything about Valhalla.” He pointed to the patient file for Gregory Edward Mallow. “In the spirit of being transparent. This G.E. Mallow was a star witness in the case against McCarthy a few years back. If I had to place bets I would say the connection isn’t a coincidence.”
“If it is, it’s an incredibly creepy one.” Lois agreed, shaking her head.
“McCarthy isn’t going to stop until he’s dead or behind bars. He’s psychotic.” Dan Scardino added in disgust.
“Well, it takes a special kind of evil to blindly kill people the way he does.” Clark growled in agreement. Lois reached her hand over to squeeze Clark’s. He reached his arm over her shoulders, holding her close to him. The trio turned to the files in front of them, preparing to dig into the case before them and determine a way to protect Jimmy and find a way to stop Wilder and project Valhalla from coming to fruition.
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Jimmy looked over his shoulder, craning his neck to look around the tall glass floor length windows in the Lexor conference room. Most of the cases in progress had been transferred to other cities or relocated to continue proceedings. It seemed taking witness statements was one of those. When he had given his statement last night the police had quickly gotten him in touch with ADA Wright by phone to have his statement taken. He wasn’t sure exactly what he could offer other than Dr. Golden’s last words.
He turned his attention back to the ADA. He was a tall man in a dark blue suit and trimmed goatee. Though he dressed the part Jimmy could tell by the way he kept referring to his notes mid-question he wasn’t any more familiar with the process than Jimmy was. Jimmy let out a long breath, looking to where ADA Wright sat across from him, firing off question after question as he took down notes, trying to piece together the events from last night’s phone call.
“Well, I don’t know what he was referring to,” Jimmy shrugged his shoulders as he reached over, scratching his upper arm, wincing when he saw the familiar reddened rash staring back at him. “Something about Fort Truman and an experiment was all he was able to get out before…”
“Before what?” the man asked, interrupting Jimmy again.
“Before I heard shots fired over the phone line.” Jimmy explained for what felt like the twentieth time in the last ten minutes.
“And then?”
“Then what?” Jimmy asked, letting out a breath as he raked a hand through his hair.
“You said the caller threatened you?” Wright asked, flipping through the notes in front of him.
“Yes,” Jimmy nodded, shaking his head. “I’m sorry but why do I need to keep going over this? It was a five-minute phone call.”
“You’re the last one to talk to Dr. Golden, Mr. Olsen,” the ADA explained. “I am just trying to get all the facts.”
“Is there a reason the DA’s office is involved in the investigation?” Perry asked, clearing his throat to interject. “I mean, don’t get me wrong we’re glad you’re taking this seriously, Mr. Wright, but isn’t this a bit preemptive? There isn’t even a suspect yet.”
Wright shook his head, “I’m not sure. The Mayor wanted our office to run this investigation personally. Now about this caller….”
________________________________________
Detective Ryder flipped through the file box in front of him, taking each case file and placing it in a stack of importance for the Police Chief. The bombing had put a crimp in many cases and many of the judges were being understandable on the current circumstances but as of this afternoon there had been three motions filed by defense attorneys attempting to take advantage of the situation in hopes of getting their client’s case pushed ahead with an inexperienced ADA.
After the influx of motions began to trickle in, Police Chief Carter had ordered the entire department to review each of their case files and categorize them by importance so the new dockets could be scheduled. Rumor had it the Annex building on 8th was being rented out and turned into a makeshift courtroom to get the city through this bump. The cases would see their day in court but combing through the many cases DA Clemmons had been working and trying to classify them for a bunch of politicians felt cheap. Each case was important. Each victim deserved justice just as much as the next.
“Detective Ryder?”
Ryder looked up, pulling himself out of the reverie he had been drawn into and saw a young man with a clipboard and large manilla envelope and stack of boxes behind him. He ran a hand over his face, grumbling just loud enough for the tech to hear, “Dear God, no more files.”
“Oh, sorry,” the tech pointed to the boxes behind him. “These are the first of a few from the bombing site. Bill Henderson asked they be shipped here to you when we were done.”
“Oh,” Ryder’s face fell, recalling the request from the day before. He pointed to the large conference room in the corner, behind his desk. “You can put everything in there.” He stood up and followed the tech in the conference room, helping open the door for him.
The tech dropped box after box onto the table with a loud thud, ripping the tape off each box for Ryder to inspect before handing him a clipboard to sign. “They’re all yours.”
“Thanks, anything stand out?” Ryder asked curiously.
“Nothing really,” The tech responded, shaking his head.
“Thanks,” Ryder said with the wave of his hand. He pulled open the first box noting the map on the inside of the box lid with a red ‘x’ on the section of what had been City Hall’s blueprint to indicate where the debris and contents had been rescued from. He sighed, noting the contents came from Michael Clemmons’ office.
Inside, he found a desk phone that appeared to be melted to the handset, a computer hard drive that had to be fried and broken picture frames with cracks in the glass. He slammed the box shut and moved to the next box. Looking at the lid, he deduced the contents had come from Mayson Drake’s office. Inside were similar contents. A desk phone – no nearly as damaged as Michael Clemmons’ – and several file boxes and a fireproof safe. He made a mental note to check with Mayson Drake about the contents of the safe and set the phone aside. As he placed the handset on the table, the earpiece to the handset sprung open.
He frowned when he spotted a black and white device attached to the inner circuitry, he was sure was not standard issue. He spotted one of the patrolmen coming in from their shift and called out to him, “Hey, Lee? Henderson get back yet?”
“No, he’s still out. What’s up?”
Ryder held up the small device in his palm, “I’m not sure but I think someone’s been spying on the DA’s office…”
________________________________________
Dr. Jenet Klyburn had long since exited the field of psychology after leaving medical school to focus her attention to neuroscience which as luck would have it had her working side by side some of the most renowned specialist in the world at S.T.A.R. Laboratories. It was here where she had made astounding discoveries in how not only the brain of a human worked but that of a Kryptonian. Her work with Professor Hamilton and many others like him had earned her the respect of her colleagues and even many in command at the Metropolis P.D. Including, Bill Henderson.
She watched as Bill Henderson wrung his hands nervously, seeming to try and pick away the problems that were eating away at his mind with each movement of her hands. He took a pause from the hand wringing to look up at her and finally vocalize the anguish he was harboring internally.
“It’s just so out of character for this friend of mine. She wouldn’t do these things. She wouldn’t act this way.” Henderson gave her a pleading look, “I’m desperate for some kind of rationale explanation as to what could be causing this.”
“The only real way to know is for your friend to be assessed by a professional and get the treatment she needs,” Dr. Klyburn explained carefully. “Now, I understand there have been attempts for her to see a professional but refuses to take the help.”
“That’s right,” Henderson nodded.
“Well, in that case, you have two options.” Klyburn reasoned carefully. “You can try to reason with her and hope she will see treatment is the best course of action.”
“I’ve
tried.” Henderson insisted.
“If you feel she is a danger to herself or others you can have the courts intervene to force treatment on her.” Klyburn explained.
“I don’t know that she’s crossed that line just yet, but I am afraid she might if she continues to refuse treatment,” Henderson explained with a sorrowful expression.
“Unfortunately, we can’t force a patient to get the help they need unless they prove they are a danger to society or themselves,” Klyburn explained carefully. “It’s a blessing and a curse. Many patients could be treated more easily had they seen a professional sooner.”
“But if they refuse your hands are tied.” Henderson nodded, understanding. “Let me ask you something, is it possible for someone to be perfectly healthy and have hallucinations or false memories?”
“With the right amount of trauma, anything is possible. Though I do challenge your term of
healthy. One can be physically healthy and still suffer from a mental illness. We all come across challenges physically, emotionally, and mentally that can cause the mind to play tricks on us. The mind is a powerful organ that is capable of anything when motivated enough.”
“That’s the scary part,” Henderson mumbled to himself.
“I wish I could help more,” Klyburn offered as he stood up from his seat.
“You’ve been very helpful, doctor. Thank you.”
________________________________________
Mayson flipped her hair to the side as she skimmed through the screen on her laptop, biting her lower lip as she navigated her way through the digital case files for the cases. She had set herself up inside the local coffee shop to work through the overloading case files that seemed to be multiplying. She felt a pang in her chest as she saw the last note Michael Clemmons had made on the case. Just six hours before the bombing.
The mayor was supposed to announce his replacement here in the next few days, but until then, the remaining staff were scrambling to continue Clemmons’ cases while simultaneously trying to continue work on their own heavy caseloads. She scrolled down to read the list of witnesses on Clemmons’ latest case against suspected Intergang lieutenant, Raul Borges. She briefly recalled the name from when Lionel Darryl and Vasili Savchenko—Lucky Leon—were brought into custody. Her brow furrowed when she saw one of the names on the witness list.
Christopher Gomez.
“He certainly gets around, doesn’t he?” Mayson muttered under her breath.
She skimmed through the case details in front of her, noting the suspicions Gomez had of Borges working with an unknown party to help smuggle drugs inside the prison he was being held at until trial. An unknown witness was noted in the file as having heard a confession of Borges’ ties to the actual head of Intergang.
She scrolled to the next page, frowning as the screen blinked back at her in protest.
“Come on,” she let out a frustrated growl. The screen flickered and she scowled when she saw a ticker run across the bottom of the screen. ‘No Named Suspects in City Hall Bombing.’
Even after her eyewitness account of Lois Lane being there at the scene just before the bomb went off there was still no active effort to even look at her as a possible suspect. She let out a frustrated growl, startling the surrounding patrons and even herself as she stared at her screen in disgust.
<<“Mayson, are you sure it was Lois Lane you saw outside the steps of City Hall.”
“It was her. I know it was her.”>>
<<“Mayson, she wasn’t there.”
“How do you know?”
“She has an alibi.”
“An alibi that would probably help her commit murder, right?”>> Through her initial check in the system this morning, she had found numerous complaints on Lois Lane’s meddling in active investigations, but along with each complaint was praise for her contribution and help in solving the case. She wasn’t sure what exactly she was looking for. She had worked with Lois and Clark enough times to know what to expect as far as official reports from her fellow officers in blue that came in contact with the investigative reporting duo. Yet she found herself pondering what could be hidden between the lines.
Was there even anything there to help prove to Bill Henderson what she knew to be the truth?
<<“I’m not saying you are crazy, Mayson. The mind can play some horrible tricks on you when you’re under stress and….Mayson, please don’t go. Let’s talk about this…”
“I have nothing to talk to you about. You think I’m crazy and refuse to investigate. I got it.”>> She wasn’t crazy.
She knew what she had seen.
The more she scoured through the old case files the more cemented in her hypothesis she became. It wasn’t a random hit by a random bomber. It was an assassination attempt. Lois Lane knew she was a threat. Now that she couldn’t sway Mayson to look the other way by manipulating her supposed friendship with Clark to her will. She knew it would only be a matter of time before Clark would see past the games and manipulation Lois Lane pulled and left her for someone that was worthy of him.
A slow smile spread across her face as she allowed her mind to drift to the possibility of reclaiming her life from a time before her world has shifted into this unrecognizable swirling chaos filled with pigments and shapes that left her feeling numb after each encounter. Despite everything she knew Clark still cared about her. She knew she hadn’t just invented the relationship in her head despite the easy dismissal everyone around her appeared to give her when she dared speak up over how she was treated.
She knew she wasn’t crazy.
She knew Lois Lane had tried to kill her.
She just had to prove it.
“Drake!”
She looked up from where she was seated in the coffee shop and smiled when she saw the barista setting a paper cup on the counter with the name ‘Drake’ printed on the cup. She looked down at her monitor and sighed when she saw it flicker once more. She really needed to get the IT team to look at that. She pressed the lock key and then walked to the front to retrieve her cup of coffee.
“Thanks!” Mayson placed a few dollars in the tip jar and turned back to return to her table. She bumped her shoulder into a tall gentleman who was standing by the register, “Oh, I’m sorry…” she quickly apologized, thankful for the plastic lid that kept the coffee from spilling over.
“Not a problem, Ms. Drake,” the stranger responded, tipping his hat as he ran a hand across the white hairs of his goatee.
She frowned, not recognizing the stranger as he stared back at her. “I’m sorry…do I know you?”
A reassuring smile crossed his face, “It’s perfectly fine, Ms. Drake.” He took the coffee cup the barista handed him and moved along. “I’ll be seeing you.”
She bit her lip, watching him leave and then turned back to the barista to ask, “I’m sorry. I hate to bother you, but what name did that gentleman give?”
“St. John.” The barista answered, not looking up as he wiped down the counter.
“Huh,” Mayson frowned, unable to place the name. She returned to her table, taking a sip from her coffee cup before turning her attention back to the laptop she had opened. The backlight flickered as it unlocked and she pulled up the New Troy database to run a query for the name “St. John.”
As with any name that proved to be common she found several hundred results but there at the top was the blinking red open warrant file with the name ‘Nigel St. John.’ She clicked on the link and gasped when she saw the photo matched the man that had just exited the coffee mug. She stared at the name in the system as the one that had filed the warrant application, trying to understand what was happening.
How could she forget someone she had investigated?
How could she forget the name and face of someone she suspected of being a lieutenant of Intergang and with known connections to Lex Luthor?
She couldn’t even picture his face in her mind.
‘What’s wrong with me?’ ________________________________________
Outside the coffee shop, Nigel St. John confidently walked down the streets of Metropolis, feeling an invincible veil over him as he dialed the familiar number into the phone he was carrying. “I hear Superman’s just finished cleaning up the mess you made on the bay. Is the apartment ready?”
Rollie Vale chuckled from the other end of the phone line, “It’s perfect. Micro chip has been planted and message has been sent.”
“Perfect,” Nigel purred as he reached the corner of the crosswalk. “Our test run was successful. No recognition from Mayson Drake.”
“How soon before we can test the other subjects?” Rollie asked, pleased with the news.
“I’m not quite done with Mayson Drake yet,” Nigel responded dryly. “I’ll meet you back at the subway station.”
“I’ll call McCarthy.”
“No.” Nigel responded with a harsh growl. “McCarthy’s becoming more of a liability than an asset. Let’s not poke the bear.”
“Understood.”
________________________________________
Clark flew through the sky, checking the city for any signs of further trouble as he returned from dousing a fire on the bay. Most of the morning had been spent scouring through the confidential case files with Lois and Agent Scardino. The call for help had been a blessing for him as it gave him time to think and process the heavy weight of the information they had uncovered. He had to admit, thought Scardino was a bit unorthodox the DEA Agent did appear to have a good heart. The fact that he was breaking rank and pulling in two reporters to help him investigate this case on Valhalla instead of his fellow agents that could possibly cover up what had happened twenty plus years ago, showed just how dedicated Scardino was to finding the truth.
How everything would end and where the pieces would crumble when this all came to a head was anyone’s guess at this point but for now, they were a team. A team that worked well together to both stop Stanley Gables and his fellow underlings but also put a stop to the sale of black-market drugs to terrorist organizations.
He reached the balcony of his apartment, preparing to get a quick shower to remove the overwhelming scent of smoke from his body before meeting Lois and Scardino back at the Planet. When he landed, he noticed the window was cracked open.
He frowned when he stepped inside, feeling a sense of dread set in as he took in the disarray of his apartment. He quickly raced to the closet where the false back had been installed to hide his Superman suits and sighed in relief when he saw they were still there.
‘Lois Dies!’ was spray painted on the closet door in red spray paint. The floor was covered in cotton stuffing from what he guessed were the pillows from the bedroom. He carefully floated above the floor, ensuring he wasn’t touching anything as he scanned the apartment for a sign of who could be behind this.
He finally stopped at the front door where he found pinned to a glossy photo with what appeared to be a bloody thumbprint on the corner of it. The photo showed Lois checking into the Metro hotel with the security detail a few feet behind her.
Etched in the photo with what looked to be a sharp object of some kind were the words,
‘Lois Lane Will Die!’ ________________________________________
TBC...
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