Bolt, From Dubuque (Part 12)
By: Ann Nonymous
Lois had been standing in a secluded alley near the Daily Planet building for the better part of two hours, conflicting emotions coursing through her as she watched the activity around what used to be the home of the greatest newspaper in the world. She felt tears well up in her eyes when she looked at the broken building, its majestic landmark globe collapsed on the roof. That building, more than anything else, was the symbol of so many things that were dear to her and to other aspiring reporters throughout the world, and now it sat battered and broken, a shell, a phoenix waiting to rise again from the ashes. Inside it had been reporters, editors, and others that had been simply doing their jobs when the bomb had detonated. What had happened to them? How many of them had either lost their lives or had them forever changed due to the actions of some madman? This institution that usually reported the news now was the news, but somehow she imagined that the Planet would continue on despite the devastation. When the sun rose again, there would be a morning edition sitting in front of the collective stoops of Metropolis, its very words proclaiming to all who read it that the rumors of its demise had been greatly exaggerated. Now more than ever, she wanted to become part of a newspaper that had the strength to fight on, no matter how bad the blow.
Warring with her sadness, though, was a sense of nervousness and anxiety. At the heart of the action, in the middle of the danger, was Clark, her date for the evening. Time and time again, he flew in and out of the building, gently transporting the injured to local hospitals and carrying out the trapped. She knew of his powers, of course, and had even flown with him momentarily, but seeing him in action was completely different. Things viewed on television could be taken with a grain of salt, the viewers long since accustomed to seeing fantastic things on the screens on front of them. But seeing the speed and the strength, the caring and compassion exhibited by Clark up close was truly amazing. Sometimes it was hard to observe all that was going on, especially from afar, but there was no mistaking the characteristic swoosh of air in the wake of the superheroes, and there were no mistaking the tales told by those that had benefited from the work of Superman and Bolt. In the times between the action, though, when the collected emergency personnel anxiously watched the battered building and waited for the next victim to emerge, she sometime swore that she could almost feel the emotion coming off of Clark, as silly as that seemed. With every wave of phantom concern and every distant feeling of horror, her heart clinched, her eyes closed and she tried to probe the source of those feelings, reaching out, but never really feeling anything tangible. Somewhere deep inside, she imagined that maybe he could feel her out here, and that maybe her presence was what he was holding onto to get him through the chaos of the night. So long as he needed her, she would stay, although it wasn’t easy to stick around when the assembled police force made it their priority to clear the area out. Fortunately, the shadows were long at this time of night, the darkness in the alleys between buildings hiding her, making it possible for her to stay.
About an hour and a half after she had arrived on the scene, the flying in and out of the building had ceased, the rescues apparently complete. Bolt had perched himself atop the building across the street, studying the Planet for a few moments before being joined by Clark. They exchanged words, the conversation short, and then flew back into the battered building, off to whatever task that needed done next. If she looked closely at the gaping hole in the side of the building, she could see them doing something to the structural steel, piecing it together, bending it and welding it. Making the building safe, no doubt. Not exactly interesting, but certainly important. The passage of time had slowed considerably after they moved their work inside, and Lois almost found herself anxious for something else to happen. A couple of minutes later, she had gotten her wish.
The pain had been sudden and all encompassing, a ball of fire that had engulfed her body and then, almost as suddenly as it had come, disappeared. For a few moments she gasped for breath, afraid to move, afraid that the pain might come back, but it didn’t. Her eyes snapped toward the Daily Planet building, a voice deep inside of her telling her that something must be terribly wrong, but everything looked the same as it had only moments earlier. The firemen loitered on the sidewalk in front of the building, their jobs largely done. The cops huddled in groups, discussing something or another. Nobody seemed worried, nobody sprung into action. It could just be her imagination, she told herself, but all the comforting words she could muster couldn’t make the sense of dread that hung over her head go away. She shifted her weight back and forth nervously, wondering if she shouldn’t go and see what was really happening, but she restrained herself, hoping that a clue would present itself that would make everything clear. And it did.
Out of the corner of her eye, she had noticed movement. Across the street, the Metropolis Mercantile Building, long since evacuated, now showed signs of life. As she turned to look, a man walked out the front doors, his eyes sweeping across the streetscape in front of him before finally turning toward the devastation at the Planet. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans, his face was grungy, even from afar. He’d been in the middle of the devastation, she could tell right away, although why he was now on the street in front of her was not immediately clear. He took a wobbly step forward, but stopped, his head turning toward her and his eyes locking into hers. She was aware that she had taken a step toward him, aware that he was possibly the clue she was looking for. But the spell was broken as he broke down in a fit of coughing, causing him to double over slightly, and one of his arms, which had been firmly pressed behind his back, came free. There, clearly clutched in his hand, was a bright silver helmet. Instantly, she was running toward him, studying him. He didn’t have the sunglasses on, didn’t wear the trademark jersey or helmet, and he looked remarkably unremarkable in every way. His face wasn’t particularly memorable, his height just a shade taller than average, and his haircut conservative. But she recognized him all the same. All she had to do was look at his chin, at his nose, and she could see the resemblance. The helmet clutched in his hand and the blue material stuffed inside it only confirmed her suspicion. This was Bolt, undisguised, and a little worse for the wear.
As she reached him, she asked him to confirm his identity, the foreboding that she had been feeling asserting itself. What was he doing out here, out of costume, away from scrutiny? And why the coughing fit? He was invulnerable...wasn’t he? Her eyes went wide as she grabbed him and asked him where Superman was, cold fear beginning to course though her for the first time, the memory of the pain she had felt more than enough for her to expect the worst. Recognition seemed to be in his eyes all at once, and he shook his head. But he still didn’t say anything.
“Where’s Clark?” she finally asked, her patience gone. Clark hadn’t implicitly told her that Bolt knew his real identity, but he had said enough to lead her to the conclusion that the two were friends, and friends would certainly share such a thing. Bolt’s reaction showed that she was correct to assume such a thing.
“He needs our help,” he said finally, his eyes turning toward the Daily Planet.
“Our help?” she asked quietly, following his gaze. “Surely you can...?” But she knew right away that he couldn’t, not anymore. That’s why he was trying to be incognito, trying to hide away his other identity.
“No, I can’t,” he answered, his voice hoarse. Lois’s hands relaxed, allowing him to pull away from her as his tee shirt finally came free. “If I could, believe me I would.”
“But how?” she asked. “What happened?”
He shook his head again, rubbing absently at what looked to be a future bruise on his arm. He didn’t look directly at her as he spoke, his eyes finding their way back toward the assembled mob and the darkened husk of the Daily Planet. “I don’t know, exactly. Some firefighters came in and set off a smoke bomb, and then there was a green glow of some sort, followed by the most intense pain I’ve ever felt.” Lois felt goose bumps rise on her arms, her eyes growing wide as he continued on. “Just like that, the powers were gone, all of them, and hands were grabbing at me. I was running for my life, down the stairs and through the dark, just trying to get away, certain that they were behind me, but they never came.” He frowned, the fist in his free hand clenching and unclenching. “I wish I knew what they wanted, and why they came after us. All we were doing was trying to make the building structurally sound. Neither of us has even so much as hurt a fly.” His gaze returned to her, and his eyes went slightly wide, almost as if he forgot himself for a moment. The barest of smiles formed on his face, obviously a gesture to try and comfort her, although she could see right away that there was no reassurance in his eyes. There was only shame, and Lois could understand where that emotion was coming from. Minutes ago, he was the most powerful man on Earth, then these men did something, and he was not only a mere mortal, he was running away, leaving his friend behind to whatever fate awaited him. But if he hadn’t gotten away, the world probably would wake up tomorrow to find both of the superheroes missing, gone without a word, and nobody would’ve known why.
“Madmen don’t need a reason,” Lois said, trying to smile back, but aware that she, too, was far too worried to form anything other than a grimace. “At least they didn’t get you, too.”
“Yeah,” he said, his eyes softening somewhat. His gaze finally broke away from hers, and he looked down at the helmet in his hand. “I was looking for you,” he continued after a moment.
“Me? Why?” Lois asked, wondering how he would possibly know about her, unless....
“He told me you were out here, and I knew you were the only chance I had to get him away from them.” Bolt set his jaw and looked up again, the spark of resolve in his eyes making her tingle. Seeing him so defeated a moment ago, it was easy to forget that this was the same Bolt who had spent the last week cleaning out the inner cities and observing all the worst in humanity. But she could see it now, certainly, and she didn’t doubt that he truly would do all he could for Clark, because that’s who he was.
“Well, you were right about that,” Lois answered. She crossed her arms across her chest and turned back toward the Daily Planet, her mind spinning. Where did they start? They obviously couldn’t just barge in there and start looking around. In the first place, they wouldn’t get very far thanks to the emergency personnel around. Secondly, who knew how long it had been since the men had attacked? For all she knew, they had already carted him out of the building and taken off for points unknown. If they had, well, she didn’t want to think about what that would mean.
Lois reached into the purse that was slung over her shoulder and grabbed the notebook and pen that were kept there on a permanent basis. She took a few steps toward the corner of the Mercantile Bank, trying to get a little closer to the scene. “Did you get a good look at the men who did this?” she asked as her eyes swept across the crowd.
She heard him walk up behind her and sigh heavily. “They looked just like any other firefighters. Helmets, big coats, the whole nine yards.”
Lois took one more step forward, her pen tapping gently against the notebook. Firefighters were everywhere, one practically indistinguishable from the other. The heavy coats and helmets made it hard to see faces. It was the perfect disguise, Lois thought with a frown. “If they wanted Clark for something, they’d have to get him out of there. There are just too many people around here to do anything to him on site. Besides, there were enough injured people around that nobody would question another one being pulled from the building.”
“Were,” Bolt answered. “We cleared all of them out of that place out a long time ago. I x-rayed the building twice, just to make sure.”
“But that’s hardly common knowledge,” Lois said, although she was as aware as anyone else on the site that there hadn’t been any flights into or out of that building for the better part of an hour. “You got out of there the unconventional way. What if they did that, too?” She looked at Bolt, her eyebrows raised.
He shrugged. “It’s possible, although I’m not sure how well-known those tunnels are. The cobwebs were pretty thick. Besides, if they came in the front door, why not go out that way, too?”
“It sounds like they’re pretty bold,” Lois said with a nod, her attention turned back toward the crowd.
“It won’t be easy, though. People will notice if someone just drags Superman out of the front door,” Bolt said. “I, at least, can take my costume off. And I’m not unconscious. Clark isn’t as lucky on either count.”
“He might not be able to take his disguise off, but what if someone put one on him instead?” Lois asked, her interest suddenly piqued. Her head snapped toward the front entrance of the building, and the group of firefighters that was exiting the building. “There,” she whispered, pointing them out to Bolt, who crowded over her shoulder. The group consisted of five men, all of them wearing the standard issue coats, although not all had the helmets. One man seemed to be in bad shape, his arms draped over the shoulders of two other men, who were struggling under his weight. His head was pitched forward, the helmet positioned atop it so as to make it virtually impossible to see his face. Other policemen and paramedics at the site rushed to the aid of men, but all were shooed away, no matter how persistent their efforts. If the fireman was injured, surely he would need medical assistance, wouldn’t he? Lois’s eyes wandered down to the feet of the unconscious man, and between the members of the crowd, she could see a swath of blue denim above the worn sneakers.
“Bingo,” she said, excitement coursing through her at their discovery. There was no way that she was going to let them get away, she thought, hedging away from their sanctuary and toward the group of men in the distance. She only took one step before a hand reached out and grasped her shoulder, halting her progress. She tried to shake free, but the grip was firm. Angrily, she turned back toward him. “Let go,” she said.
“So you can do, what, exactly?” Bolt asked.
Lois held out a hand toward the group of firemen. “Help Clark,” she said, an exasperated tone in her voice. Bolt raised an eyebrow in response.
“How?” he asked, his expression challenging.
Lois looked at him, dumbfounded. She gestured toward the group again and opened her mouth, but closed it again quickly, her brow knitting together. “I guess I hadn’t thought of that. I just figured we could, you know, grab him.”
“If they did what they did to him and to me, what are they going to do to you?” Bolt asked, his voice not condescending, just straightforward, almost comforting.
“We can at least try,” she said, every part of her being wanting to rush to Clark, no matter how sensible Bolt’s words were and no matter what the possible consequences were to her. “Do something, ANYTHING, but we can’t just let them take him.” She wished she could make Bolt feel her desperation, that it would somehow spur him to act, but his expression was sad, pained, and she knew that he wouldn’t help her.
“Whatever that green stuff is that they have, all they have to do is unleash it again, and who knows, maybe I’ll pass out this time. If they’re willing to incapacitate and kidnap superheroes, imagine what they’d do to someone who had the gall to get in their way. I can’t let you put yourself in danger like that. Clark wouldn’t want me to.”
Lois had to stop herself from saying the hurtful words that were just waiting to come out. How on Earth did he know what Clark would want? What kind of friend was he to Clark, anyway, if he was willing to let these men just take him away without even challenging them? She wanted to cry because of the helplessness she felt, but also because she realized that Bolt was right, no matter how little she wanted to admit it. She’d let her emotions overtake her, which seemed to happen all the time where Clark was concerned, and it could’ve led to bad things if not for Bolt. His hand was still perched on her shoulder, his grip still solid enough, but the feeling of confinement that it brought was beginning to ease away, and as she relaxed ever so slightly, she could feel his tension drain away, as well. He almost smiled as she finally acquiesced, and together, they slinked back behind the corner of the building and watched the scene play out without exchanging any more words.
They had to be smart about this, they had to make a plan, catch these men off guard somehow. And they probably had to get more help. She flipped open her notebook and began to scribble on the lined paper, her hand moving furiously, her eyes not looking down. She recorded license plate numbers, descriptions of all the men in the group, pertinent information from the scene, anything that could be useful for a future investigation or story. After a moment, the group of firemen reached an official looking vehicle, a large red four by four with the words “Fire Marshall” painted in large gold letters on the side, a rack of red and white emergency lights perched atop the roof. Clark was carefully loaded into the back seat, his coat held together and his hat kept firmly atop his head, with all men lending a hand to make sure the scene looked as natural as possible. One by one they joined Clark inside, and after the last man climbed in, the engine turned over and the truck roared to life. It slowly pulled away from the curb, heading directly toward where Lois and Bolt were standing.
Without a second thought, Lois stuffed her notebook and pen in her purse. She reached back and grabbed Bolt’s arm, pulling him into the darkness of the alley and beyond, not bothering to stop and watch the truck go by. Her feet pounded against the pavement as she continued down the alley and out into the next street. Behind her, Bolt was breathing heavily as he labored to keep going, his hand gripped in hers helping to pull him along. As they exited onto the street, she took a quick right, then cut up another alley, finally reaching her car as she emerged out onto the next block.
She dug in her purse and pulled out the keys, unlocking the door and gesturing for Bolt to climb in. As soon as he sat down, she started the engine and took off, tires screeching as she flew down the mostly empty streets, trying to find her way toward the truck and Clark. They cut back up toward the street that the truck had been headed down, then turned, weaving in and out of the sparse traffic and she went along, drawing glares from those around her. As they crossed another street, she heard Bolt gasp. “There,” he said, pointing down the street they had just crossed. In the distance, the red and white lights of the truck stood out prominently above the taxis and cars on the street.
“I see it,” she answered, continuing to the next street, then whipping the car in the direction that the truck had been heading, cutting over a block at the next green light. Her foot hit the accelerator and they raced along, gaining ground, until finally they were practically on top of the truck. Only then did she allow herself to slow down and hang back a little.
Once they settled in at a comfortable distance behind the truck, she finally became aware of the fact that it was excruciatingly quiet in the car. She had turned the radio off when Clark had been sitting where Bolt was now, the music a distraction from conversations that were much more interesting. But there hadn’t been any conversation since this strange hero had taken his place inside her car, and she was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable. He fidgeted discreetly, making it plain that he was uncomfortable, as well. Surely they could talk about the weather, the news, something.
“It occurs to me that I never learned your name,” Bolt said, mercifully breaking the silence. Lois glanced over at him, then turned back toward the road.
“I could say the same thing,” she responded with a coy grin. Next to her, he smiled, far from annoyed at her little game.
“I’m Bolt,” he answered, his voice serious, although there was a certain twinkle in his eyes as he said it. She knew that a mischievous side of him lurked beneath the sunglasses and helmet, although she hadn’t seen it tonight, and she didn’t need to ask why. Something like what happened at the Planet left little room for laughter. But a little humor helped to cure a lot of ills, and maybe he was letting a little of his playful side show now to try and chase away some of the darker emotions which surely must be almost overwhelming. Lois welcomed the distraction.
A corner of her mouth pulled up, and she glanced down at the helmet on the seat beside him. “Not at the moment, pal,” she said, her eyes moving back toward him before returning again to the road.
“I guess not,” he said, picking up the helmet and tossing it into the backseat. “I’m Kevin,” he said, extending his right hand toward her.
“Lois,” she answered, “ although we’ve met before.”
“Have we?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and withdrawing his hand from hers. He tilted his head to the side and regarded her for a moment.
“Well, last time I was standing out in a crowded street with a recorder in my hand, just about this close to you,” she said, causing him to squint his eyes.
“Ohhhh,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “Yeah, I remember you. Man, that seemed like eons ago.”
Lois let out a quick shot of breath. “Tell me about it.”
He squinted at her again, trying valiantly not to sound too serious. “So you’re a reporter, huh?” he asked, a fluctuation in his voice giving away the worry behind the question.
“I’m a college student,” Lois answered quickly. “And, yeah, I work for the campus paper, but I’m a friend first.” She turned toward him and met his eyes with hers for a long moment, hoping that her sincerity got through to him, before giving her attention to the road once again.
“So even though you write the news and have the inside scoop on two of the best stories that are out there right now, I shouldn’t be worried,” he continued, the statement framed like a question.
Lois shook her head and sighed. He had no way of knowing that she and Clark had already covered this ground, but she didn’t feel the need to repeat the conversation, either. It was possibly worth pointing out that she would’ve already acted on what she knew if that was indeed what she intended, but she decided that there was a simpler explanation to it all. “Clark trusts me,” she said softly. “I can tell you guys work together, that you talk about things. You know each other, you trust your identities to each other, because you both have a problem if your names get out. Well, now I have a stake in that, too.” She smiled and shifted her hands on the wheel. “I want to be with him, I want to get to know him, I want to explore the connection that we have, but I’ll never be able to do that if the world knows who he is. So trust me when I say that your secret is safe.”
Beside her, Bolt smiled, his reddened cheeks telling her that maybe she’d said too much, but she couldn’t regret it. Every word had been true, although a dark part of her wondered if she would be able to do all the things that she’d hoped. What if they failed tonight? What if they succeeded but Clark was somehow incapacitated by whatever those men were doing to him? She shook her head as she willed the negative thoughts to leave. They would succeed. Clark would come back to her, and he would be okay.
Bolt’s eyes lingered on her for a moment, the silence settling over the car becoming uncomfortable yet again. Lois quickly turned on the radio, letting the soft tunes fill in the void and soothe away the tension. Bolt reached down and untied one of his shoes, wrenching it off and pulling something out from inside. She glanced over in time to see him slip what looked like a wallet into the back pocket of his jeans, then begin to put his footwear back on.
“So do you have someone waiting for you back in...?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation toward him.
“Kansas,” he said, his eyebrow arching in surprise at the question.
“Kansas? You, too?” Lois asked, equally surprised. Who knew the Midwest would be the breeding ground for so many superheroes?
“Well, yeah, Clark and I got struck by the same bolt of lightning. Didn’t he tell you that?” Bolt asked. Lois shook her head, although she was taken aback. She was under the impression that Clark was, well, not from around here. Judging from his conversation with Lana, he had possessed his powers for a long time, and they were the result of his alien heritage. Not that he looked alien. In fact, he seemed to be more of a man than most homo sapien males that she knew. But Bolt.... He hadn’t given any real interviews yet, and he had never said where his powers came from, but given the name, it made sense that he thought they came from a bolt of lightning. But surely he knew that lightning, by itself, tended to kill people, not infuse them with powers. Maybe she’d have to ask Clark what had really happened.
Bolt shrugged. “Anyway, nobody back there even knows I’m here.”
“No girlfriend?” Lois asked, trying to lighten up the atmosphere again.
Bolt let out a snort. “As much as I hate to admit it, even though Bolt the big famous hero seems to be fawned over, his alter ego is a big flop with the ladies.”
“Really?” Lois asked, wondering how that could be. He wasn’t bad looking, she supposed. And although she hardly knew him, he seemed personable, kind of funny, intelligent. Women went for that kind of man, didn’t they?
“Yeah really. Until I got struck by lightning, I was a lot scrawnier. I’m not big into the social scene, and I much prefer a nice quiet evening at home to a wild night out. I also have this unhealthy comic book obsession that tends to make them run screaming.” His smile was self-effacing, somewhat charming. She felt a pang of sympathy for him as she though about all the times before Clark came around that she had sworn she would’ve given anything to meet just one nice man. Not perfect, not even necessarily handsome, just nice. They were in short supply in Metropolis, that was for sure. Maybe in Kansas, though, there was more competition on the nice guy circuit.
“Well, now you’re living the comic book superhero life. Maybe some day you’ll find your Mary Jane Watson,” she said, bringing an appreciative nod from him. Who knew her meager comic book knowledge would ever come in handy? The thought brought a smile to her face.
Lois’s smile faded as she saw the fire marshall’s truck pull next to the curb in front of them and stop in front of what looked to be a vacant storefront. Quickly, she went on past them, then pulled into a space further down the block. As the car came to a stop, she and Kevin both rose to their knees and strained to look out the back window. Clark was now being dragged out of the vehicle, carried as he was earlier toward the storefront and inside the building. One of the firefighters accompanying him held what looked to be a crystal, the mineral coloring the storefront in a green glow. Beside Lois, Bolt winced and rubbed at his muscles, the rock appearing to have an affect on him, even from half a block away.
“Are you okay?” Lois asked, looking between Bolt and the fireman.
“Just achy,” Bolt replied. “It’s that rock. It’s the same color as what I saw in the Daily Planet building.”
“And you won’t be able to help me until we do something with it,” Lois answered. After a moment, all the men had entered the building. The neighborhood they were in was somewhat rundown, certainly past its prime. In the preceding decades, it probably was a retail district of some sort, with small shops lining the streets and apartments in the buildings above. Now the buildings were falling into disrepair, the shops that were still open sporting thick black bars over the windows. Nobody who was smart would be caught in that neighborhood alone after dark. And that gave Lois an idea.
“We need to get some help,” she said, then lowered herself into the driver’s seat and started the car once again.
“Wait, you’re not leaving him there?” Bolt asked, gesturing to the storefront as Lois pulled the car back onto the street.
“We’ll be back. But we can’t do this alone, and I know just who to turn to for help.” Lois just hoped that their source of help still cared enough for Clark to agree.
*~*~*
When the darkness and searing pain began to fade away, Clark found himself standing in the middle of a vast, open field, the wheat that surrounded him to infinity in each direction rustling gently in the wind. Above him, the sky was a pristine, almost supernatural blue, the bright sun shining its warm golden rays onto the countryside. Clark closed his eyes and took a breath, smiling as the sweet smell of grain tickled his nose, bringing back old, happy memories. As he opened his eyes again, the scene seemed to change, and now a farmhouse sat out on the horizon, a house that was achingly familiar.
In a flash, he zipped through the fields of grain, coming to a stop as his feet met the gravel road leading into the farmstead. The house seemed to have been freshly painted, the fences pulled tight, the barn once again standing tall. The grass was a healthy green, almost too green, without a weed to be seen. Above it all stood a majestic tree, casting the whole yard into a moving shadow, one that danced with the wind. He almost couldn’t believe the transformation that had taken place to this farm, the same one that had been so well worn when he had wallowed over it only a few weeks earlier.
It was hard to know what to feel as he drank in the details of the farmstead. He knew that this was no longer his home, but the sadness that inevitably welled up every time he visited this place from afar seemed far away today. In fact, a part of him was nudging him on, telling him to walk right up to the porch and into the door. But surely he couldn’t do that. There was another family that lived there now, probably another kid sleeping in the same room that he had as a boy, another kid who was climbing the same trees and running barefoot over the same patches of grass. But as he watched, the door of the house swung open, and it wasn’t another family that he saw emerging from the house. Instead, he saw his mother, clad in a cotton dress, a dirty apron slung over the front.
“Mom,” he whispered, the word barely audible to even his sensitive ears. Several hundred feet away, his mother’s face turned toward him at the sound, and she raised her arm in greeting, a smile forming on her face right away.
He raised his arm in return, then began to walk toward the house. His steps were slow and steady at first, then picked up speed until finally he was running, the world becoming a blur around him. When he came to a stop, he was at the foot of the wooden stairs leading onto the porch, his mother only an arm’s length away. “Mom, is that really you?” he asked, his voice choked with emotion.
“Why wouldn’t it be, honey?” she asked, her smile the same as he remembered. Clark opened his mouth, wanting to tell her that she had passed away, of course, but as he looked around, he wondered if maybe that wasn’t some sort of distant nightmare. If she was here, she couldn’t be dead, could she?
Clark shook his head and smiled, then walked up the stairs, stopping in front of her and gathering her into a hug, one that was gladly returned. “I don’t know, Mom. It’s just, I have the strangest feeling....”
“Shhh,” his mother said, her hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, just as it always had when he had been upset in the past. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her perfume, the warmth of her embrace. The smell of granny smiths and cinnamon seemed to drift by on the breeze at that moment, causing his eyes to snap open. “Mom, is that...?”
“Apple pie. Made fresh this afternoon. Would you like a slice?”
Clark straightened up and nodded vehemently, his stomach rumbling at the thought. His mother laughed and led him into the house. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust as he entered the interior, but what he saw was a home that was exactly the same as he remembered it, down to the well-worn recliner and old console television set. The pictures on the wall, snapshots of barely known relatives and still life paintings bought at the furniture store in town, hadn’t changed a bit, although their colors seemed oddly distorted, the reds too red and the blues too blue, as if they were trapped in a mal-adjusted color television. The floorboards creaked under their feet, making sounds in all the same places that he had remembered.
As they entered the kitchen, Clark could see his father sitting at one of the chairs, a newspaper lying on the table in front of him. “Hello, boy,” Jonathan said, looking up from the paper and regarding Clark with a smile. “We weren’t expecting you today.”
“You weren’t?” Clark said, settling into a kitchen chair and looking toward his father, who was exactly as he remembered. He had the same strong, loving arms, the same rough farmer’s hands, the same smile, the same mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“You’re not supposed to be here until years from now,” Martha said, reaching into a cupboard for a plate. When she turned toward him, there was concern on her face. Clark looked back toward his father and saw the same concern on his face, as well.
“But I’m home, aren’t I?” he asked, giving them both a smile, suddenly eager.
Jonathan’s grin was sad, and as his hand reached out to clap Clark’s arm, he got the feeling that something was wrong, that something here was not as it seemed.
“Yes, son, you’re home. But you have so much to do for the world before you can stay,” he said.
Clark looked back toward his mother, who was dishing up the pie. “I don’t understand,” he said as the pastry was set on the table in front of him. His mother gave him a sympathetic glance, then went to retrieve something from the counter. When she returned, a small hand mirror was placed on the table in front of him. Confused, Clark picked it up, and was shocked as he saw the face of an old man looking back at him. The hair was white, the skin no longer taught, although the eyes were his eyes, the same eyes that had always looked back at him.
“You’re going to bring hope to the world, Clark,” Jonathan continued, his hand still firmly clasped onto Clark’s arm. “The people you save will go on to do wonderful things, their lives dedicated to living up to the second chances that they have been given. Yours will be a legacy of true heroism, of goodness and strength of character, and ultimately of love. The children you bring into the world will carry that legacy to future generations. You will do many things before you can come home. But you have barely just begun.”
Clark looked between his parents as the mirror slowly dropped to the table with a dull thud, his father’s words weighing heavily on him. How could he do all these things? He was just a 21-year-old college student, someone who had yet to truly establish himself in the world, someone who certainly couldn’t be everything that his father had said. Yet, he had saved lives. Or, more precisely, Superman had. Was that what this was about?
“Yes, in part,” his mother said in answer to his thoughts. His head snapped toward her, and his jaw fell. “Superman can do many of those things, but he would be nothing without the man behind the hero. Superman is who he is because of you, Clark.”
“But he could’ve been more,” Clark said, dropping his eyes back toward the table. “If it wasn’t for Bolt, he might not have been at all.”
His parents both smiled at him, their gazes filled with love, and with pride. “You can’t dwell on what could’ve been. You only have control over what is, and what will be,” Martha said. Clark avoided her eyes, picking up his fork and taking a bite of the pie. “But none of it will be, unless you go back.”
Clark savored the sweet taste unleashed in his mouth, thinking that it was even better than he could remember. As he swallowed, he closed his eyes tightly, his hand clenching into a fist around the fork. “I’ve missed you both so much,” he said, his throat tight with emotion. “I spent so many years feeling unwanted and unloved. All I wanted was to be able to come back, to have a slice of pie and talk, and to remember just what it felt like to be loved, to be accepted. Now I have that, and I don’t know if I can give it up again.”
His mother’s hand softly cupped his shoulder, her voice now coming from behind him. “You don’t need us, honey. There’s someone else out there who loves you and accepts you, too.”
His eyes popped open. “Lois?” he said, her face materializing in his vision. It was strange, but he had completely forgotten about her until that very moment. He smiled at the thought of her and the brief time that they had spent together.
“She needs you, Clark,” his father said, and Clark’s vision began to swim as the tears sprang to his eyes. If staying here meant never seeing Lois again, then he wasn’t sure he could do that. He brought his eyes up and looked out the window, toward the yard outside and the fields beyond. He was home, but it was the home of his past. Somewhere out there, his future waited for him. It wasn’t fair to either Lois or himself to dwell on the past, to hold onto something that was long gone, something that couldn’t be anymore. The hand left his shoulder as his decision was made, and he was aware of the smiles from his parents, who were content to watch him and make small talk while he finished his pie.
The sun still hung high in the sky as he exited the farmhouse and set out across the fields, making his way toward a distant ridge, away from civilization, away from his past. He closed his eyes and turned his face toward the sky, his arms extending to either side. The face of Lois rose in his vision, and he smiled, letting it all slip away, until he was enveloped in darkness once again.
