Uh, hi guys. I want to sincerely apologize for dropping off the face of the universe here. Anyway, I'm never one to leave a story unfinished, and this one has been bothering me for a long time. I'll post a link to the first chapter, as I'm sure many of you have forgotten what the heck this story is about. To try to avoid any confusion, I'm going to post a wham warning. This chapter hardly contains anything worse than the last, but Clark Kent is definitely a vampire and he's killed a few in his day. If you don't want to read about that, which I completely understand, go find a happy Christmas story.
There are quite a few good ideas
here. I want to extend a big thank you to both Jojo and Saskia for reading over this chapter and keeping me from making some seriously bad plot and characterization choices. And so, enough rambling on my part. The first chapter of this can be located
here. ________
It had worked.
After days of badgering the new guy, he had finally agreed to have lunch with her. It had been on that first, unsettling day that Lois Lane had decided Clark Kent was hiding a big lead. She wanted in. Lois Lane did the firing in the partnerships; to be cast aside by that greenhorn was an insult she could not so easily brush aside.
He was fixated on the serial killer ripping through Metropolis, but then again, so was she. The case was fascinating. The only discernable patterns in the deaths were the facts that they never happened to children and the method of murder. There was also the strange fact that all of the bodies possessed a certain kind of ethereal beauty: their bodies were flawless and their skin a milky pale more attractive than the ashy color of death. The deaths had been becoming more frequent, going from one a week to two, to three, and to eventually a new murder every night. Each day, Clark came to work a bit paler, a bit more irritable. They had reached an uneasy truce after their lunch date to possibly pool their sources, though Clark was more secretive than she would have imagined him.
The whole situation went against every fiber of her being. The thought of him taking her facts and stealing her story galloped through her mind at odd times, causing her heart to race and blind panic to master her. But she was drawn to him in a way that confused her, and she felt safer with him than she felt at any other time. They were walking outside the Daily Planet one morning when she confided that to him, blushing and peeking up from her lashes.
Nothing could have prepared her for the change the words wrought in him.
His eyes clouded over, becoming angry even, and his entire stance changed from one of easy relaxation to tightly wound fury. “Do not say that,” he said vehemently. “Do not ever even think that.”
He let out a sound resembling a growl and stalked off, leaving her confused and alone on the sidewalk in front of the Planet. She tried to follow him for a few moments before giving up. The man had disappeared. Feeling slightly bereft without his presence, something which she had slowly grown accustomed to, Lois headed to the police station, anxious to see if there was any report on a killing the previous night. There had been nothing on the news, but that made her rather more anxious than less. As she neared the precinct, she took a shortcut through an alleyway. The morning sunlight streamed down through the open gap between the buildings, illuminating the entire way. A lone dumpster was shoved haphazardly in the corner, but as she rounded the corner to complete her way, a strange blur in the shadow caught her eye.
The alleyway suddenly feeling much more menacing, more claustrophobic, Lois cautiously approached the dumpster. The blur became more distinct—the body of a man. A homeless man sleeping off the drink of the night before? Or something worse?
She called out loudly, whipping her head back and forth. She was alone in the alley. Well, her and the nameless man waiting in the dark of the shadows. He was slumped over, and Lois called out to him once more.
Finally, steeling her nerves, Lois pushed his shoulder. The man rolled back, lifeless, and stared at her with pale, unseeing eyes. Blood coated the side of his head and dripped down to his shirtfront. Her gaze swept downward, following the stream of blood, until she saw the stake protruding from his chest.
She stifled a wordless cry with her fist in her mouth, tears blurring her vision. Fighting back a gag reflex, she stumbled backward, scrambling to put distance between her and the macabre figure. Her back bumped against something terribly solid, and she let out a scream before strong arms turned her around. She caught a brief glimpse of Clark’s pale features before she let out a strangled sob of relief and threw herself in his arms.
-----
Startled at this contact, Clark’s eyes widened, and he unconsciously tightened his grip on her body. His sad gaze focused on the body—Miller Albright. He had met him once, long ago. The life of a vampire was solitary, true, but when one lived for endless ages, he amassed a large collection of knowledge about the other vampires. And vampires had long memories.
But there were more pressing issues at hand.
The woman who had her face buried in his neck, to name just one. It had been so long since he had held a woman so closely—decades. And this was not just any woman, it was Lois Lane. He found himself murmuring soft words of comfort into her ear, stroking her hair, and pulling her away from the body.
After a moment, she pulled back, her eyes red and miserable, with glistening tear tracks down her cheeks. “I cried on your shirt,” she mumbled out, keeping shaky hands around his waist.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “I’m sure I’ll return the favor someday.”
Her shaky laugh transformed into a sob as she glanced back at the body and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She stepped back into his arms, her throat thick and hoarse from crying. “I don’t care what you said,” she mumbled into his shoulder. He stiffened—had she just placed a kiss there? “I feel so safe with you.”
This time, he merely pulled her tighter against him, refusing to let her twist away when she decided to give in to the impulse to examine the body again. “I won’t let any harm come to you, Lois,” he said softly against her hair. A breeze ruffled their hair. Then, in a voice so low she could never tell if it had been him or the wind, he spoke again. “I’ll be your angel.”
------
He had no idea when he had mastered the bloodlust. Lois Lane had been an insistent thorn in his side, genuinely pushing her luscious, delicious body in front of him at all hours of the day. After studiously avoiding her, he realized it just set her off even more. He discovered after a short while that she believed him to have a major lead in the serial killer case. At first he did nothing to dispel her thoughts because it caused him mild enjoyment to watch her, fiery and spirited, blazing past him in the newsroom, logging on his computer and digging into his personal files without a thought to what his reaction would be. Most humans had a natural aversion to him; on some subconscious level, they recognized his dangerous nature.
Lois seemed to lack that basic, self-protective instinct.
And he was an essentially selfish creature. He found himself enjoying her company. After that first night that she'd caught him unaware in the newsroom, he'd made sure that he never came to work thirsty. That, in addition to his growing tolerance, meant that when she'd fallen into his arms minutes ago, feeding was the last thing on his mind. Instead, he comforted and soothed, drawing strength within himself from Lois’ sheer need for it.
After a few more moments, Lois recovered enough to head to the station to report their discovery. The police took their statements, and though Clark tried to convince Lois to head home, she would hear nothing of it.
The next morning, her first article about the killings hit the front page of the Daily Planet, much to Clark’s chagrin. He caught her at her desk, and slammed the newspaper down.
“What is this, Lois? How did you slip that past Perry?” His eyes blazed with a cold fury as he stared down at her. “You insinuated that you know who the killer is! You have no idea! Perry would have never agreed to this.”
Lois rolled her eyes and turned back to her screen. “You know, I think I like you better when you pull the gruff ‘don’t look at me, I’m a big, bad, reporter shtick.’ It’s called tossing a little carrot, Clark. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about it.”
“That mad man is going to go after you, Lois!” Clark yelled, ignoring the stunned expressions of his coworkers. Right now, he could barely contain the sick feelings of dread icing their way up his insides. “You saw what he’s been doing to those men and women!”
“That won’t happen to me.”
“You have no idea what might or might not happen to you!” Clark leaned down, hardly even noticing her scent through his red fury. He lowered his voice slightly, but it grew no less passionate. He twitched internally at the odd feelings coursing through him. What did he care if Lois placed herself in danger? Almost immediately after the thought had struck him, he rejected it, a panicky feeling clawing from within. No, she needed to be safe. “Back off of this case, Lois. Please.”
He retreated to his desk, staring blankly at his screen. He saw Lois look at him, unsure, but the fierce scowl on his face sent her back to her seat. The phone on his desk pierced the tense silence, and he answered it with a brusque “what?”
His expression changed after a moment, as he knocked over his pencil cup in his haste to grab a pen. He started furiously scrawling on a page of notebook paper, nodding every so often. After a few moments he thanked whoever was on the other end of the line and stood from his chair. He noticed Lois looking at him curiously, but he forcibly drew his eyes away from her. “I’m going out to meet a source,” he said in clipped tones, the unfamiliar anxiety for another’s safety still rolling uneasily in his stomach. He tried his best to shrug off the feeling. “I’ll be back later.”
After exiting the newsroom, Clark hurried onto the street, hitching his jacket high around his neck and slipping on his shaded sunglasses. The sun burned when it touched his exposed skin, but he shrugged away the discomfort. There were too many important things at hand to twinge at a little sunlight. He had Robert looking into the case for him, because besides being a regular Don Juan, the man was sheer genius. He could charm the pants off every girl he needed information from—behavior Clark did not endorse, but could tactfully ignore—and had finally struck pay dirt. Robert hadn’t been explicit on the phone, just demanded he come over right away. After living for ten decades, it took quite a lot to thrill a vampire. This in mind, Clark quickened his step, anxious to meet his old friend.
Robert Livingston lived only a few blocks from the Planet, in the type of elegant apartment usually only afforded to the rich and famous. Clark took the steps leading to the entryway two at a time, and then rapped firmly on the thick, mahogany door. An impatient minute passed and Clark knocked again. Another moment and Clark yelled through the door. “Come on, Robert,” he shouted after a long minute of silence. “I’m not getting any younger out here!”
He expected Robert to yank open the door and slap him jovially on the back for his words—Clark was never one to joke about his immortality—but the door stayed firmly shut. Clark extended his hearing into the dwelling, hoping to whatever higher power was out there that his promiscuous Casanova of a friend hadn’t gotten sidetracked by a woman. It would be unlike Robert, but probably not outside the realm of possibility. The man was a hopeless bachelor, but he tried to be a friend first and foremost. Clark’s hearing suddenly detected two sets of shallow breathing and his heart sank, anger flooding through his veins.
The nerve of him to be so inconsiderate! It was rather unlike Robert, and… Clark’s inner diatribe died away at the new sound, a sharp cry of pain. Stiffening, Clark heard the sounds of a struggle inside. Without a second thought, he slammed his fist through the door, splintering it open. He pushed it wide and darted in, becoming a mere blur as he raced through the spacious apartment.
When he reached the kitchen, he saw Robert grappling with a tall man dressed commonly in jeans and a sweatshirt. The scent alone told him what he would have to have been blind to miss—that the man was vampire. Clark let out an instinctive snarl at the sight, and the tall man turned. When he spotted Clark, he cursed and then bolted, apparently deciding two against one odds weren’t going to cut it. In a split second decision, Clark decided against going after him as he turned back to Robert. The man was sinking to the floor, groaning in pain. Fearfully, Clark sprinted across the kitchen, catching his friend as he fell. His gaze quickly swept his body, wincing at the numerous cuts and bruises. Thankfully, his heart was wholly intact and in his chest. Robert squinted up at him, looking a little cross eyed.
“Hey buddy,” Clark said, reverting to his previous days as a doctor. He checked his friend over and then helped him up. “You’re going to be a-okay, Robert. Luckily, you happen to be a vampire. Those cuts and bruises will heal themselves within the hour.”
Robert shook his head, his golden hair falling in his eyes with the movement. “Thanks for the sympathy,” he tried to take a step, but stumbled. Clark caught him by the arm and helped him hobble to the couch. “I was being sarcastic, you know,” Robert said.
“If you go out now, before your bruises heal up, you can get all the sympathy you want from those poor girls you lead on every night,” Clark said patiently. He gave him a look. “Now do you care to explain what the hell just happened here? Is that why you called me? The guy was in your kitchen trying to kill you?”
Robert grimaced and glared at Clark, revealing his still-sharp fangs. “I could have taken him.”
“Like you were doing such a great job,” Clark said, giving him an equally toothy grin back. “You’re kind of a wimp, you know. Now tell me what happened.”
“All right, all right. Anyway, I was looking into some things for you downtown, trying to see if I could catch any clues the police missed. I walked past an alleyway and discovered another body,” Robert held up a hand to stop Clark from interrupting. “It’s not important who it was, just listen. Anyway, the scent was still very fresh. I tracked the rogue’s trail across the entire city until I finally figured out where I believe he’s living.”
A smile slid onto Clark’s face, and he clapped his friend on the shoulder, ignoring him as he winced. “That’s great, Rob! Really brilliant work. Do you have the address?”
Robert grinned at him, and his blue eyes twinkled. “You’re going to love this, Clark. He lives in the boiler room of that abandoned Trinity building on the outskirts of downtown. Spooky vampire, huh?”
Clark’s eyebrows rose clear into his hairline. “Excuse me, he lives in a
boiler room?”
“That’s what I said,” Robert said, rubbing a bruised arm that was already beginning to heal. “But it’s true. I didn’t go inside, but my bet is that the guy’s newly turned. It’s a fairly common practice for a newbie to go on a killing spree if he’s not reined in.”
Clark frowned at this, leaning back against the couch as he thought. “Yes, that is true, but newbies usually cannot control their lust for
human blood. A vampire is nothing to him.”
“Exactly my point. He’s got some twisted self agenda, and if he can be this in control as a newborn vamp, I’m terrified to see what the fellow will come up with after a few hundred years of practice.”
“How did he get here?” Clark asked, after a moment of thinking. “All of the other attacks have been outside.”
“He must have followed me home, after he caught wind that I was following him.”
A thought dawned on him and Clark bolted upright. “If he knew you followed him, he’ll probably want to change his location. I have to get down there right away!”
Without another word, Clark was gone. Robert made his way painfully to the window just in time to see a cab containing his overzealous friend peal out of the street. If he had looked a few moments longer, he might have seen the silver jeep that pulled out as well, silently following the bright yellow cab.
_______
As you can see, this plot is moving relatively quickly. This entire story was meant to be an introduction to the idea of Clark being a vampire. I think it's a pretty interesting concept, but I wanted to test it out on you guys. Anyway, I'm quite aware that this is extremely unChristmas-y! If I can get my stupid, writersblock frozen mind to thaw, I'd love to write a L and C Christmas story. But you guys might see that sometime in January or something.
