Here’s the next part, were halfway done.
Part 5 will be up tomorrow.
*** Part 4 Broken Dreams***
He had lost her.
That single sentence echoed through his mind as his feet touched the ground. Its weight yanked the metaphorical rug from beneath him. Despite his superpowers, his legs faltered, unable to bear his body's weight. He sank onto the wet, cemented surface. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, his mother's voice urged him to rise, seek shelter from the rain, change into dry clothes.
But Superman couldn't fall ill, and soon Clark would cease to exist—so no need for pretense.
He'd witnessed Lois choosing another man. The mere thought of her in his arms was torment. She'd picked another man because Clark had pushed her away, lied to her, let her down. A man who could offer her everything Superman never could.
The reality he'd shaped through his actions now pressed upon him. Its weight crushed his heart, constricted his chest. The air felt thin, as if he still hovered above the clouds, in the outer reaches of the atmosphere. Ragged breaths offered no relief.
Then, a shrill ring tore him from his inner turmoil.
The phone...
He dragged his weary body inside, staring at the offending device and the mangled extension. With a swift motion, he ripped the cord free before the answering machine could intrude.
He couldn't bear it—couldn't listen to anyone, couldn’t muster the energy to speak.
Just couldn't.
The answering machine blinked, a message left during his absence. Few people called him at this hour. Usually, it was Lois—discussing investigations or venting about his actions. Had she called to tell him about her and Dan?
No. Lois would deliver such news in person. She wouldn't truncate her time with Dan just to inform her former friend that their chapter had closed.
As he pondered, he concluded that it must have been his parents who left the message. Briefly, he wondered about their whereabouts—they had promised to visit later. Oddly, he felt a strange relief that they weren't here now. Their presence would force him to talk, to revisit the horrors of this day. They needn't know about the lawyers' greed, Lois's pain, or the vacant stares of countless nameless victims he'd pulled from the mud.
Calling them back lacked appeal. As farmers, they retired early, and he didn't want to disturb their rest. Tomorrow would suffice for pouring out his heart to them.
Shuddering, he fought against the images of catastrophe that were threatening to resurface.
What now?
The answer seemed painfully clear. Piece by piece, he’d stowe away his life. Clark Kent would soon vanish. Souvenirs from his travels—each laden with memories—awaited their fate.
There was the photograph of a peculiar causeway in France, submerged twice daily. He'd helped a stranded family push their car to safety when its motor failed.
Next, the handmade puppet from Romania—a gift from a little girl whose father he'd aided after a farming accident.
And the old tea cup from Taiwan, bestowed by a struggling family grateful for his assistance during their tea harvest.
These items had shaped the man behind the hero. Now, wrapped within old issues of the Daily Planet, they sealed Clark Kent's fate.
What about Superman? A little voice of reason asked in his mind. Could he stay super without the normal guy that was Clark Kent? What would happen to Superman if he lost the lawsuit?
When he didn’t find a lawyer? When his case was lost? If he did, that meant effectively killing Superman as well.
He would be neither the mere mortal nor the honorable hero.
Outside, wind rattled the windows, a harsh reminder of the tempest within. His gaze shifted to the screen doors of his balcony—never before closed. Within moments, rain pelted down, a deluge of frustration and uncertainty. He shut out the world.
The view held a melancholic allure. Rain-soaked weather, perfect for curling up on the couch together. But the mental image of Lois with Dan clung to him. They'd surmounted their last obstacle, and Lois had dealt Clark three strikes. Now he was out.
He sighed, forcing his mind away from unwelcome images. Instead, he focused on the sliver of hope—the chance to avert catastrophe. Perhaps another attempt with the lawyers could yield a fresh strategy, force them to abandon their scheming.
Yet, he shook his head. These people wouldn't change. The only lawyer he could trust, Constance Hunter, had refused to represent him. She believed Superman must prevail, and she was right.
Scenes like yesterday’s would repeat unless he emerged victorious. He and Lois had sat in a street café near the Daily Planet, their lunchtime conversation accompanied by an unexpected presence: Calvin Dregg. The woman from the fair—presumably a relative or his wife—accompanied him. Clark observed the other man’s self-centered behavior, bordering on verbal abuse.
The woman handed Calvin a handheld TV device, and he swooned over his own interview. Lois's commentary mirrored Clark's thoughts as she, too, listened in. The host, known for bias and manipulation, formed a perfect duo with Calvin.
Eventually, Clark's patience snapped. He surreptitiously fried the device with his heat vision, triggering another tirade from Calvin. Clark pitied the woman but couldn't intervene—Lois's attention had now shifted to him.
In an accusatory tone, Lois demanded clarity on their relationship. Her patience had worn thin, and she left no room for excuses. She was right; he owed her more than flimsy justifications.
Yet fate intervened. Nearby, brakes screeched, and a man screamed for help. Superman's duty called, and he excused himself, leaving Lois behind, yet again. Her anguished voice followed him, daring him to abandon her.
Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he heard her voice break as he rushed toward the emergency. Another failure to add to his list. Their café lunch had felt like a last chance, and he'd squandered it by leaving her for yet another rescue. Stopping the car, he faced a swarm of fortune seekers, all claiming injuries, all threatening lawsuits.
Frustrated, he rushed back, desperate for a chance that Lois might still be there—furious, but perhaps willing to unleash her anger on him. The café waitress handed him a piece of paper upon his return, and his heart sank. The words "FORGET IT" stared at him, branding themselves into his mind. The paper bore faint moisture, Lois's tears clinging to it.
He’d left the paper at the restaurant, but even now his eidetic memory called up the vision to torture him, and his mind spun again at the number of things that seemed out of control in his life right now.
His gaze shifted to the phone he'd inadvertently smashed earlier, the torn cable dangling. He should call his parents, but the emotional weight held him back. Talking was necessary, yet he bypassed it, collapsing onto the mattress. Changing out of the Superman suit felt insurmountable.
He curled up, avoiding conversation. His insistence that they leave now seemed foolish; he'd believed he'd be fine. But this day had become the worst of his life, and sleep offered the only respite. Tomorrow couldn't worsen this misery.
Laying atop the covers, he listened to the blood pulse in his ears, drowning out the city's sounds. Sleep eluded him. Instead, he shifted—stomach to back, side to back—seeking comfort. Hours passed until, finally, sleep arrived in the wee hours.
In his dreams, Clark stood before the courthouse, kissing Lois. Her lips pressed against his, her body leaning closer, almost melding with his. His hands steadied her during their embrace. But behind him, an angry, disappointed voice intruded. Then something else—a mechanical click, followed by the engine's roar. Above the noise, a regular beeping, like a... countdown.
In that fleeting moment, he pivoted, heart pounding, and sprinted toward the car, dread gnawing at his insides. But fate had already dealt its cruel hand.
As he reached the scene, the silver vehicle blazed with an infernal intensity, flames dancing hungrily along its contours. The acrid smoke veiled his vision as he wrenched open the driver's door, the heat searing his skin.
His hands worked with desperate precision, tearing at the stubborn seatbelt until it relented. The body within was limp, life hanging by a fragile thread. Gently, he cradled her, laying her on the unforgiving asphalt.
Her trembling hand sought his torn shirt, fingers pulling apart the fabric. And there, emblazoned in crimson and gold, lay the unmistakable 'S'—Superman's emblem. A secret identity revealed in the face of impending doom.
Her breaths came in ragged gasps, eyes locking onto his. Brown irises, fading like twilight, held a mix of accusation and understanding. "So that's what you've been hiding," she whispered, her voice a fragile echo.
And then, with a final exhalation, Lois surrendered to the void, leaving him alone with the weight of truth and loss. The hero unmasked, vulnerability laid bare—a sacrifice made for love and duty.
TBC
