Ahh…you see, when you post the real parts of the story, your old buddy Em is nice and happy. Much better than last week when I just about had an aneurism with your little Tank ending. Heh-heh. Just kidding. Well, mostly at least.
Anyway on to the REAL part 29:
If only she could have... punched him or something. Spit in his face. Made him suffer for everything he'd done to her. If she could have stood face-to-face and told him that he hadn't won. That she'd survived.
There was no chance of that now, though, and the disgusting irony of it all was that she was going to be the one to clean up his mess for him. There was still work to do. Lots of it. Research. Evidence. Investigating.
I see this as an interesting characterization of Lois. I can certainly identify with the desire to strike back and exact some sort of revenge on Luthor. She doesn’t dwell on that lost opportunity for very long, as she immediately recognizes the opportunities of the investigation of Luthor’s now crumbling empire. Throwing herself into work is what she does best.
Lois was surprised to find she didn't envy the woman that. As much as she would have loved to exact her own revenge, killing someone just...
This again relates to the above commentary on Lois’ character. She would like her opportunity for revenge, but that revenge does have its limits.
Elle shuffled back another few steps... and felt something hard at the back of her legs. How on earth had she retreated all the way to the chairs against the wall already? She didn't have to wonder any longer what a mouse felt when cornered by a cat. She tried to edge back further and ended up sitting, with a very intimidating Lois looming over her.
Or how a cat feels when cornered by a “Mad Dog.”
Elle swallowed. "I did." And it wasn't something she cared to remember. Ever. The sickening thud of the bullet hitting his chest, the echo of the shot reverberating through the warehouse, the dead silence the second after. She hadn't been able to scour the images from her head, either, no matter how much soap and water she'd used to scrub her hands clean.
Your wonderful gift for vivid imagery strikes again.
The panic came flooding back and clogged in her throat. Lois. Clark. Tangled on the floor. Crying. Bleeding. And Lex. Laughing. Taunting. Raising the gun. Aiming at Lois.
The short sentences punctuate the intensity of the flashback beautifully.
I’m so glad to hear that this story has several parts to go yet before ending. There is still so much to address, and I am eagerly awaiting the next parts
-Em
