Table of Contents
From Part 7:He sighed. “It’s a long story, Lois, but I don’t trust him. I never have. You may as well know - he was behind the tests on Superman not long after I came to Metropolis.”
“What?” She remembered that. Superman had actually disappeared for a couple of days... and, now that she thought about it, Clark had seemed quite down at the time too. Tests... Yes, there’d been some weird incidents - attempted suicides, but the victims had seemed perfectly okay afterwards. And a bomb with no apparent motive.
That had been *Lex*?
That was certainly food for thought. She rubbed her eyes; she really was too tired to think about all this right now. “If we didn’t have so much else to do, I’d want you to tell me more about that, Clark.”
“Later,” he said. “When you’re better, I promise, okay? And I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me too.”
When she was better. Yeah, right. But he’d even managed to sound as if he meant it, too. Where would she be without Clark today?
*********
Now read on...He’d even sounded as if he meant that. He was better than he thought at this false cheer business.
Lois was dying right in front of him and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
The blurred vision and the dizzy spell had been bad enough. But he could see that she’d been struggling to concentrate for the past hour. She’d been rubbing her forehead and moving her neck around, suggesting that she had a headache. And now she wouldn’t eat.
The feeling of sick dread that had been lodged in his stomach all morning intensified yet again.
He’d been hoping the blood tests would give them some clue as to what she’d been given. At least then the doctors could start treating her. But Luthor’s phone call had dashed that hope.
God! He wanted to march over and punch a hole straight through the wall of the building. But that would achieve nothing.
The phone rang again. He reached for it automatically, welcoming the distraction. “Conference room. Clark Kent speaking.”
“Ah, yes, Mr Kent. Is Ms Lane with you?”
The voice was familiar. “Dr Sutton?”
Lois’s head shot up. He passed the phone over to her, then listened while the doctor, clearly frustrated, apologised profusely for the problems with the lab. “I marked the lab request form ‘extremely urgent’. For all the good it did! It wasn’t until I called down to find out why I hadn’t had the results yet that I realised what was going on. One of the tests I’d asked for does take close to two hours, so I’d expected some delay.”
“Well, I managed to get something sorted out.” Lois’s tone was waspish. “I couldn’t get hold of you to let you know.”
“Yes, I’m afraid I’ve been tied up with patients all morning. Anyway, yes, I’ve been discussing the results with Dr Leek, and with Professor Jorgensen, who is an expert on poisons at Johns Hopkins. So far everything’s come up negative. Professor Jorgensen’s suggested a couple more substances to test for, so I need some more samples, and I also want to run some tests to see how you’re doing. So I’d like you to come in, as soon as possible.”
Clark caught Lois’s eye and deliberately drew an S over his chest. She looked puzzled for a moment, and then her eyes widened and she nodded. “Okay. We’ll be there in a few minutes.” Not waiting for a reply, she replaced the receiver.
“We’ll fly?”
“You bet. No more wasting time in traffic.” He grimaced. “I should have told you this morning - I can’t believe I let us take a cab from the hospital.”
An arrested look came over Lois’s face; clearly, she hadn’t thought of that before. “Why didn’t you?”
He shrugged, his mouth turning down at the corners. “Habit.” Standing then, he added, “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
Outside, in the newsroom, his attention was immediately caught by a tall, lean figure leaning over one of the desks assigned to the police team.
“Henderson.” Lois called to him before Clark could speak. “Any progress?”
The detective strolled over to join them. “We’ve managed to eliminate a number of suspects. Kemp’s been in maximum security since he was convicted, and he was sent to solitary about a month ago. All his mail is opened and he’s had no visitors or phone calls.”
“Guess that rules him out.” Looking exhausted, Lois moved to lean against the edge of the nearest desk. Clark watched her, the sickening feeling of dread spreading through him. She was weakening right before his eyes.
“Yeah. Can’t be Finn either - he turned State’s evidence before his trial and he’s busy putting away people I never thought we’d get our hands on. Trevino’s in maximum-security awaiting trial and the staff swear she’s had no opportunity to be involved in anything like this. As for that perfumes woman, she went crazy after she inhaled her own 100% solution. She’s in a psychiatric hospital - probably in a padded cell. And I’m thinking we’ll end up ruling out most of the other possibles you gave us, too.”
Lois was slow to react. It took several seconds before she nodded. “Okay. I guess we keep looking.”
Her face was pale, and the shadows under her eyes seemed more pronounced out in the bright lights of the newsroom. Why couldn’t he do something to make her better? All the powers he had, and he could do
nothing.
They were getting nowhere, and Lois was dying.
He wanted to yell at Henderson, at the other cops, at Jimmy and the Planet staff. Wanted to tell them to keep looking, to look harder, to get out there on the streets and hunt this person down. They weren’t doing enough. No-one was doing enough.
He wasn’t doing enough. What the hell were they doing standing around in the newsroom? Lois needed to be in the hospital getting tests done. The doctors needed to stop playing around and figure out what she’d been given. They needed to make her better!
He was about to reach for her, to draw her towards the elevator, but Perry was beside her, speaking to her quietly. And then Henderson was standing behind him, nudging him.
“Incidentally, Kent...” Speaking in a low voice, Henderson moved out of earshot of the others.
“Yes?” Impatient to be out of there, Clark followed. Henderson had better make this quick.
“Those bozos who were at Lois’s place this morning ran your prints through the computer after all. Seems like they decided they had to be thorough - though why they should start then is beyond me.” The inspector’s scorn was as apparent in his facial expression as in his voice.
“And...?” Surely that wouldn’t be a problem? His prints weren’t on the police computer.
“The computer found a match.” As Clark stared, Henderson continued, his tone casually off-hand. “It’s often surprising who you find in the system. People get pulled in for something minor - a traffic offence, maybe, or violating an injunction - and they forget that means their prints are on record. Permanently.”
Violating an injunction. His stomach lurched. Superman’s fingerprints were on the police computer. Oh g-
“As it happens,” Henderson continued, his tone still casual, “I was standing right by the computer when the match came up. Did I ever mention that I’m useless with computers?”
“Uh...” Clark floundered. What was he supposed to say?
“I was leaning over, trying to see the screen better - my eyesight’s not what it used to be - and I must have hit a couple of keys. I have no idea what I did, but seems the other file disappeared. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t find another match for your prints anywhere in the system.” Henderson shrugged. “I guess the department will just have to send me on another computer course.”
Relief flooded through him. The tension disappeared, leaving him feeling almost light-headed. His secret was safe. Well, okay, one more person knew but, if Clark hadn’t already known that Henderson was the most trustworthy member of the MPD, he did now.
“I guess,” he said slowly.
“Anyway, I told Halloran and Menendez that I’d vouch for you and that they have no grounds to keep your prints in the system. There’re enough criminals on the streets without tagging innocent citizens.”
Doubly saved. “Thanks, Bill.” The words were heartfelt.
“Just save Lane’s life. If you ever repeat it I’ll deny it, but I’d miss her.” And, abruptly, Henderson turned on his heel and strode off to talk to his officers.
********
“Clark? What is it? You were talking to Henderson and you looked like you’d got some sort of a shock.”
They were on the Planet roof, Clark having mostly carried her up the stairs after she’d eyed them doubtfully. She was beginning to understand what Sutton had meant when he’d warned her about her body giving up on her. Her legs didn’t seem to want to obey many of her brain’s commands any more.
He met her gaze, and she could see the worry in his eyes. Worry for her. He was afraid that it was hopeless. That she was going to die.
God. If even Superman thought she couldn’t be saved...
Lois swallowed. She was
not going to get maudlin again. There was still time, and while she was alive there was hope.
“Clark?”
“Oh, sorry.” He shook his head. “It’s not important.”
“Clark...”
“No, really. We have to get you to the hospital. I don’t want to waste any more time.”
“It’s
my time - don’t you think it’s my choice whether this is wasting it or not?”
The stunned look on his face told her that she’d spoken a lot sharply than she’d intended. He made a kind of helpless, apologetic gesture. “Really, it’s not that important, and you know the doctor wants you there as soon as possible...”
“Yeah.” This time, she’d give in gracefully. *This* time. “Let’s go.”
He was right. They didn’t have time to waste. But all the same... He kept promising ‘later’. They’d talk later. He’d explain later. This wasn’t important now. That could wait.
But what if she didn’t have a ‘later’? If tomorrow never came...
No! Getting defeatist wouldn’t help. She
was going to get through this. They were going to find a cure. And then she’d darn well make sure Clark Kent lived up to all his promises of ‘later’!
He stepped back from her. He’d said he’d fly her to the hospital. As Superman, presumably. So what did he do? How did he become Superman? Did he just snap his fingers to make the Suit appear?
Then she had to blink rapidly because her eyes couldn’t keep up with the blur of colours and movement in front of her. Her head was swimming and she was swaying... tilting... losing her balance... Breathing heavily, she put out her arms to steady herself.
“I’ve got you.” She opened her eyes to see Superman in front of her, his arms around her. “Let’s go.”
And then they were in the air and she was cradled tightly, but with immense gentleness, against his chest.
Clark really was Superman. She’d known it, but seeing him actually
become the Man of Steel was something else again.
He was, quite literally, awe-inspiring.
What also awed her was what he was doing for her. That time, earlier, when he’d told her he wasn’t answering a call for help hadn’t been the only time Superman had been needed. She’d noticed him faintly tilting his head, an intent expression on his face, at least twice more - and now she knew, finally, just what that look of his meant. Each time, he’d simply got back to what he was doing within a couple of seconds.
Superman was taking the day off, just for her.
She should feel guilty about it. After all, even if he was her best friend, why should she have primary claim on his time? Why was helping her more important than saving someone’s life? Yet he’d insisted that she was his priority today... which gave her a warm, cherished feeling inside, even if any hope that she’d come out of this alive was fast dissipating.
She was going to die. And they still had absolutely no idea who had done this to her.
“I was so sure it’d be someone like Trevino. Or Kemp,” she said, speaking close to Clark’s ear.
He turned to look at her, his expression sombre. “Yeah, I thought Trevino was a good bet too. Or Finn.”
“You sure Henderson’s right to rule them out?”
Clark seemed to hesitate for a moment before answering. “I think so. I mean, it doesn’t sound as if they’ve had any opportunity to talk to anyone on the outside - not unsupervised. It’d be incredible if one of them had managed to mastermind something like this in those circumstances.”
“Yeah.” Lois laid her head down on Clark’s shoulder again. Then, as a thought struck her, she leaned up to speak in his ear once more. “There’s still Kyle Griffin. I
know he hates me.”
“He was before my time but, you know, the cartoon mask does sound kind of in character.” Clark spoke slowly, at the same time reducing their altitude. Looking down, she realised they were above the hospital. “Didn’t he use practical jokes to cover up his thefts?”
“Yeah.” She’d pretty much ruled Griffin out in her mind, even though his had been among the files passed to Henderson’s team for detailed checking. After all, he was in a maximum-security prison too. And she didn’t think he knew too much about chemistry. But then, he seemed to be the sort who could always find out what he needed to know. And he did have grounds for wanting revenge against her, or so he would think. She’d single-handedly put him away for five years for illegal arms dealing.
When they got back, she’d have to look into Griffin properly. Maybe Clark could fly to the prison and see what the guy was doing - what conditions he was being held under. Listen in to his conversations or something. Right now, Kyle Griffin seemed to be the most likely candidate, though Henderson’s team still had to check out Bertoli and a couple of others.
Clark landed behind some dumpsters at the back of the hospital and let her slide to the ground. By the time she’d straightened, he was wearing his business suit and glasses once more. He offered her his arm and they hurried around to the ER entrance.
Dr Sutton, hair badly rumpled, presumably evidence of his busy morning, wasted no time once he had Lois on an examination table, Clark standing beside her holding her hand. Her blood pressure and pulse were taken, she was attached to a heart monitor and other tests she was barely aware of were done and the results noted on a chart by an attentive nurse. She was given a plastic cup and sent to the bathroom. Then, when she came back, she had to face a barrage of questions about any symptoms she’d been experiencing since leaving the hospital. She tried to answer as fully as possible, listing the dizziness, confusion, blurred vision, double vision, shakiness, lassitude and weak limbs.
Once all that was done, Lois gritted her teeth as four vials of blood were taken from her by the same nurse. Why did the medical profession always have to claim up front that this kind of stuff wouldn’t hurt? Didn’t they realise that patients would know in a matter of seconds that they were being lied to?
Speaking as he was labelling the vials, Sutton said, “I’m having two of these taken straight down to our lab here - a senior technician is waiting for them and he’ll get right on it. Two more are being sent to LexLabs - Dr Leek is ready and waiting.”
Clark’s head shot up. “Do you need Superman to take them over there?”
“Is that possible?”
“I can call him.” He released Lois’s hand. “I’ll be back soon, okay?” And he hurried out of the cubicle.
She nodded. Much as she missed his comforting presence, what he was doing was helping her far more. In seconds, he was back, this time in the red and blue Spandex. He greeted Dr Sutton; even lying flat on an examination gurney and feeling a bit light-headed, Lois could detect a difference in his manner with the doctor as Superman.
“Dr Leek knows what to do with these,” Sutton said. “I’ll be standing by as soon as he has any results. This time we should be able to compare with the results from the lab here, too, Ms Lane, which will be useful.”
With a gust of wind, Clark - Superman - was gone. And then the doctor announced that he wanted to perform one more procedure. A spinal tap.
“Just in case,” he said. “It’s a long shot, but this is another possibility that Dr Jorgensen suggested.”
A spinal tap, he explained, was also known as a lumbar puncture. And, as she discovered, it was darned uncomfortable.
It took about fifteen minutes for the fluid to be extracted, and a further ten minutes of lying on her back, her clothes back in place, before she was allowed to move. Lois forced her concentration back on track and, turning her head to the side, caught Sutton’s gaze. “Okay, Doctor, tell me the truth. What’s going on? What are the chances of my being cured?”
Sutton perched on the edge of a small table. “I wish I could give you a straight answer, Ms Lane. It really isn’t that simple. We need to find out what you’ve been given before we can work on administering an antidote - ”
“Yes, so you’ve said.” It took considerable effort not to snap at him.
“The first round of tests came up negative, which was disappointing. I was hoping it would turn out to be something like lithium or organophosphates. But I was wrong, and that lost us time we can’t really afford.”
“That’s what you tested for?”
“That, and a couple of other chemicals and drugs.”
The curtains parted then, and Clark reappeared. “Superman tells me it’s safely delivered,” he said as he crossed to stand beside Lois again. She caught his hand, and his fingers closed around hers.
“So what are you testing for this time?” she asked the doctor.
“Professor Jorgensen recommends that we test for biological agents. He’s suggested a couple of antibodies which would have the kind of symptoms you’re experiencing. I hadn’t tested for those because we would normally expect it to be a few days before symptoms start to show, and you were exhibiting some loss of functions within a couple of hours of being injected. Plus, if your attacker is serious in his estimate of the time-period, it doesn’t seem very likely that he’d have used a biologic agent. At this stage, though, it doesn’t seem sensible to leave anything out.”
“So what kind of things are you testing for now?” Clark asked.
“Ricin is one possibility. Some of the symptoms of ricin poisoning certainly fit with what Ms Lane is experiencing - breathing difficulties and tightness in the chest, for example.”
Ricin? The stuff terrorists used? “Why didn’t you test for that to begin with?” Lois demanded.
Sutton sighed. “Because, typically, ricin takes between 36 and 72 hours to lead to death. It’s simply not as fast-acting as your attacker claims whatever he injected you with is. Still, Professor Jorgensen’s right: we shouldn’t rule it out.”
“What about anthrax?” Clark’s voice sounded taut.
Anthrax. God. This was beginning to feel like some god-awful Cold War spy movie.
“No, that’s one we certainly can rule out.” Sutton sounded quite confident - this time, at least. “Where anthrax is absorbed through the skin or bloodstream, it shows up on the skin itself, as a raised lesion. It would feel itchy. Then, after a couple of days, it becomes a vesicle, and you would also feel swelling in the lymph nodes. As you can see, the symptoms are quite different. At that point, the ulcer is readily identifiable as being caused by anthrax, and it’s very treatable. Survival rates are in the region of 80%. And, of course, the time-span is considerably longer than Ms Lane’s attacker predicts.”
“That’s good.” She was straining not to sound weak, frightened.
“So, anyway, this latest round of tests will include biologic agents, as I describe. We’re also testing for phenytoin and a few other substances.”
“And how long will the results take this time?” Her tone was waspish, but Lois didn’t care.
“Probably a couple of hours. And, given some of the tests being run, that’s fast. Some tests do take a few hours to run and there’s nothing that can be done to speed them up.”
She nodded. It was about as bad as she’d expected. By the time the results came back, it would be mid-afternoon and she’d be lucky if she could see straight. “Come on, Clark, we’ve got work to do.” She slid off the gurney, glad again of her partner’s steadying arm.
“You really should stay here, Ms - ”
“What, and lie around waiting for you to tell me that the next batch of results are a big fat zero too? Wait for you to keep guessing and coming up with the wrong answers? Not a chance. My partner and I are going to find the guy who did this and
make him tell us what it is and how to fix it.”
Adrenalin, and a bravado she didn’t feel, carried her through the curtains, Clark right behind her. But, as she took his arm to walk to the ER exit, the sliver of doubt that had been getting progressively more insistent all morning reared its head again.
But what if you can’t find him? What if it can’t be fixed?*********
...tbc
