She saw his large frame rise slowly from the other side of the table and whimpered. He was coming for her. She took another step backwards.
“Lois,” he said softly. “It’s me. Clark. I’m not going to hurt you.”
But he was. He was going to force her to have sex with him. At long last, her turn had come. She wasn’t going to be kept clean any longer.
She knew what happened next. She’d seen it too many times: a young, terrified woman – no more than a girl, really – pushed to the centre of the circling ritualists. Forced down onto the bare concrete floor and pinned down by strong hands. A man sprawled on top of her, his face contorted in a snarl of carnal pleasure. Onlookers chanted, egging him on. The victim whimpered quietly, turned her face slowly towards Lois.
Her own face stared accusingly back at her.
A sob escaped from her and she backed away again; felt cold, solid wall behind her and cowered against it. Still he advanced slowly on her, mouthing words she couldn’t hear above the chanting onlookers. Any moment now he’d seize her and drag her to the floor.
Her fingertips touched another wall and she shrank into the corner, making herself as small as she possibly could. How much would it hurt? Would he strike her? Should she try to resist or would that just prolong the pain?
He was close now, too close. She swivelled and buried her face into the corner. Maybe if she couldn’t see him he’d go away.
A hand touched her shoulder and she screamed, darting away as fast as she could, pushing past his large, powerful body. She hit something – a chair, perhaps – and tripped, tumbling painfully to the floor.
It was over. Winded, she half-sat, half-lay, waiting for him to push her down and climb on top of her. He had her exactly where he wanted her.
<<Lois.>>
She knew that voice. It was a good, safe voice.
<<I’m not going to hurt you.>>
She whimpered, wanting to believe the voice but too frightened to let herself trust it.
<<I’m going to call a cab, okay? To take you back to the clinic.>>
The clinic. That was safe. No-one would hurt her at the clinic.
She nodded.
He hadn’t come for her after all. She was still intact; still clean. Perhaps today wasn’t her day after all. But then she sensed movement and cowered into a ball. Maybe he was just taunting her. She closed her eyes, hiding from him again.
Words were spoken. They drifted across to her through a dense veil of white noise which robbed them of any sense. A blanket was draped over her - she realised she was shivering and drew it around her shoulders.
The danger was fading a little; the safe voice had lessened her fear. But she was still scared and confused. The threat of violence hung in the air like an invisible shroud, paralysing her ability to think clearly.
A distant bell rang somewhere. More words were spoken.
<<The cab’s here, Lois. You need to stand up.>>
Hands clasped her shoulders lightly. She flinched but understood that she was being encouraged to stand. Scrambling to her feet, she found herself face to face with him.
Clark.
She took a step back automatically, but then stopped in confusion. He represented the threat, didn’t he? Yet he was just Clark.
<<It’s okay, I won’t come any closer.>>
She nodded thankfully.
<<But I will have to ride back with you in the cab, okay?>>
The cab driver would protect her, she thought. Clark wouldn’t try anything with a witness present.
But he wouldn’t try anything anyway. He was just Clark.
She nodded again.
<<All right. I know how frightened you are, Lois, but I’m going to get you home just as quickly as I can, okay?>>
Tears rolled down her cheeks. All she wanted was to be home.
***************
Back in the safety of her room at the clinic, Lois huddled under her bedclothes and tried to banish the lingering sense of menace still hanging over her. She was secure here, she told herself. Brazzaville was hundreds of miles away and there was no way they could find her here. The people here were nice, caring people who just wanted to help her feel better.
Deep breaths and focus on her favourite image: a bowl of hot chocolate. Perhaps a marshmallow or two in there, plus a generous dollop of cream. Yes, that was better. Steam rose invitingly from the bowl, and she could almost smell the sweet, smooth aroma. Hey, why not be totally self-indulgent and add a large chocolate brownie on the side. She deserved it tonight.
Better.
Clark was just Clark. He wasn’t a rapist or a murderer, he was just a man who’d done a bad thing.
****************
The sun shone brightly through large picture windows, bringing the pale yellow walls and blonde-coloured furniture of Lois’s therapist’s office to warm, vibrant life. Lois liked days like this; they reminded her of happier times when she’d been a junior reporter and the possibilities for an exciting future had seemed endless. How wrong she’d been!
A day had passed since her visit with Clark and she was here for her first session since regaining her voice. A solid hour of talking loomed ahead.
Not that Lois minded her sessions with Francine. She was a kind, motherly lady who didn’t seem phased by anything Lois told her. Everything was dealt with calmly and rationally; every new revelation just another obstacle to be examined, understood and put into its proper perspective.
But today, Lois was approaching her session with some dread, because Clark would be there. He always attended her sessions with Francine, because up until today Lois had needed him to speak for her. She suspected no-one would have thought to contact him and tell him not to come this time.
Would she freak out again when he walked in? She was pretty certain she’d rationalised away her fear of him, but then again, that first panic attack at his apartment had taken her as much by surprise as it had Clark. How could she know she wouldn’t suddenly make all the wrong connections again as soon as she saw him?
“Lois? Is everything okay?” asked Francine. “You seem a little nervous.”
“I’m fine,” she replied, dragging her gaze away from the door. “Is...is Clark coming today?”
“Yes. I thought it would be useful to have him here for the next session or two. Just until you’re comfortable with speaking directly to me instead of expressing yourself through him,” said Francine. “If that’s okay with you?”
She hesitated. Francine was right; voicing her thoughts and feelings out loud was going to be hard, she knew that. Up until today, Clark had taken her fragmented thoughts and clumsy, ill-chosen words and turned them into eloquent sentences. Doing it herself would be tough.
So long as she didn’t freak out.
She nodded. “I guess.”
“You sure? You don’t sound too convinced.”
She shook her head. “No, you’re right. We need him.”
“Shouldn’t that be ‘I need him’?” pointed out Francine. “Is there something I need to know? Has anything happened?”
“No,” she said. “I’m-“
The door opened and there he was. Smart, charcoal-grey business suit, crisp white shirt, stylish tie, and looking as handsome as ever. Funny how the new Clark looked exactly like the old Clark.
“Hi,” he said, stepping into the room and closing the door. “Morning, Francine. How are-“
“A moment, Clark,” interrupted Francine, holding up her hand to silence him while keeping her grey-eyed, steady gaze on Lois. “Lois? You sure?”
She nodded. So far, she was fine – no panicky feelings. And after a couple of night’s sleep and a day of plodding through her routine at the clinic, she really had managed to find a better perspective on Clark’s numerous girlfriends. Yes, he wasn’t perfect. Yes, he’d done bad things. Yes, she’d like a lot of reassurance that he wasn’t likely to rush out and pick up another raft of women tomorrow or the next day, but otherwise, she was no longer horrified by what he’d done. Just...uneasy. Humiliated that she’d embarrassed herself so thoroughly in front of him.
Not that her unease had prevented her from taking as much care over her appearance as the day before yesterday. Apparently, knowing that Clark wasn’t the man she’d imagined him to be hadn’t taken the edge off her attraction to him. She’d fretted for ages this morning, trying to decide which top made her look the nicest.
“Okay,” said Francine. “Sorry, Clark, we were just finishing up something. Take a seat.”
“Thanks.”
Lois watched him as he settled into the third easy chair in the room. He smiled at her and bade her good morning, but she saw immediately that his smile didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes.
“So, Clark, now that Lois has found her voice again, I need you to fade into the background,” said Francine. “Unless Lois gets into real difficulty, you keep quiet. Okay?”
He nodded. “I understand.”
“And Lois, no sneaky thought-conversations with Clark, okay? Everything goes directly from you to me, with no side-trips to that handsome man over there in the suit.” She smiled. “And the same goes for you, Clark. Button up that telepathic mug of yours. First one I catch thinking gets fined two Double Fudge Crunch bars, okay?”
Lois smiled. “Okay.”
“Good. So here’s what I’ve been itching to know since I got that phone call from George – how was the trip, Lois? How did it feel to finally get out into the real world again?”
She gulped, not having anticipated that Francine would want a retelling of her visit quite so soon into the session. “Um...pretty good,” she said, trying not to catch Clark’s eye.
“What was good about it?”
“Well,” she said, “I got to ride in a cab – used to use them all the time when I was a reporter here, so that was a bit of a nostalgia trip. I saw the city; saw how it’s changed since I was last here. And it was nice to be somewhere entirely different for a while – different surroundings, different people...you know.”
“And that was okay, was it? Everything being different, I mean?”
Well, at that level, yes. Clark being different was another matter entirely. She shrugged. “Yes, it was fine. I enjoyed it, actually.”
Francine smiled. “Good for you. So, no nerves at all? Nothing that made you feel uneasy?”
This time she couldn’t help it. She looked at Clark. His expression was unreadable, but she thought she saw a muscle jumping along the side of his jaw.
She turned back to Francine. “Small things, I guess. Like whether I’d be able to find Clark’s apartment if he couldn’t help me. Or using the phone for the first time in years...speaking to people I didn’t know. Heating up soup – would I get the setting wrong and ruin his kitchen.” She grimaced. “Stupid stuff.”
“Not at all,” replied Francine. “I think you did really well, actually. How come you were using the phone?”
“I offered to call Clark’s work to let them know he’d be off sick for the day,” she replied.
Francine’s eyebrows shot up. “You called the Planet?”
Lois nodded. “Yeah.”
“Wow. Way to go, Lois!” exclaimed Francine. “So, I’m already seeing a pattern here, and I’m wondering if you’re seeing it too.”
Lois frowned. “You are?”
“Oh, yes,” said Francine. “Let me give you some clues: who decided you were going to ride home with Clark?”
“Well, I did, although you made the final decision to let me go,” she answered warily.
“True, but we’ll come back to that,” said Francine. “Who offered to phone the Planet?”
“I did.”
“Who decided to heat up the soup?”
Lois rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I did.”
“So...? What’s the pattern?”
“I’m making decisions?” She shrugged. “Wow, big deal. Lois makes a decision to heat soup.”
“Not just decisions, Lois. You’re taking control. You’re deciding what you want, and taking the necessary action to make sure you get it. That’s a big step.” Francine grinned. “Tell me, if I hadn’t agreed to let you go, what would you have done?”
She frowned, trying to recollect her feelings that morning. She remembered the shot of courage she’d got from successfully helping Clark; that moment of daring when she’d declared confidently that she’d take him home and look after him. George’s tacit agreement that she could do it and her burgeoning self-confidence at that point. “I’d have argued with you,” she concluded.
“Exactly. So this is a bit more than heating soup, isn’t it? You’re asserting yourself.” Francine laughed. “Something tells me you’re going to be a bit of a pain in the posterior from now on. Docile Lois just left the building.”
Lois grinned, pleased with the idea that she wasn’t a doormat any more. “Yeah, I guess I do feel like I have more say in what happens to me.”
“I thought so,” said Francine. “Not only that, but you actually want to have that say, don’t you?”
“Yes, definitely.”
“Good, because from now on, we’re going to be pushing you a lot more to make your own choices. We’re going to start looking towards the future and building up a plan for your life outside the clinic,” said Francine, leaning forward in her chair. “And you’re going to be in the driving seat, Lois, not us,” she added. “Does that sound scary to you or exciting?”
“Exciting, mostly,” answered Lois. “But also scary. I’m not sure if I’m ready yet.”
“Why not?”
Wasn’t that obvious? She was still a crazy woman who had waking nightmares, panic attacks, and usually about as much self-esteem as an amoeba.
Feeling his gaze on her, she glanced at Clark. He knew. He’d seen her total meltdown in the middle of his living room.
But again, his stony expression gave nothing away as to his opinion on the issue.
“Because I’m not competent,” she said, pulling her gaze back to Francine. “I need people to help me when I get into trouble.”
“We all need people to help us from time to time,” said Francine. “Doesn’t mean we’re not competent.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I didn’t cope. I...I totally lost it.”
“Oh? What happened?”
“I...” She looked at Clark. His expression wasn’t quite so unreadable any more; he looked uncomfortable.
And still not looking back at her. His gaze seemed to be firmly fixed on the opposite wall. Was he wishing he’d never come?
“Lois?” prompted Francine.
“I panicked about something,” she answered.
“What?”
“Just...something,” she repeated, snatching another look at Clark. If only he’d look back at her; give her some idea of whether she had permission to talk about what had happened at his apartment. “Doesn’t matter what. The point is, I didn’t cope as well as you seem to think I can.”
“Actually, I think the cause of your panic does matter,” said Francine softly, then fell quiet. Completely and utterly silent.
Lois squirmed as the silence grew longer. And longer.
Francine was good at these pauses, which were designed, Lois knew only too well, to make her feel like she needed to fill them. Well, this time she wasn’t going to. How could she, with Clark in the room? She was ashamed enough of her delusions about him – that he was one of the men from Brazzaville - without having to admit them in front of him.
“It wasn’t, by any chance, something to do with Clark?” prompted Francine.
To her chagrin, Lois felt herself blushing. “Sort of.”
“Okay,” said Francine, nodding. “Clark, could you give us a few minutes? Perhaps you could grab a coffee in the visitors’ lounge. One of us will fetch you when we’re ready.”
“Sure,” replied Clark, already on his feet. It seemed to Lois that he couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. Was he angry to have been excluded? Or was it the relief of escape which was making him stride so quickly across the room?
The door closed behind him and she gnawed at her lip guiltily, feeling bad herself because, she realised, she was actually glad he’d left the room.
“Okay, Lois, tell me what happened,” said Francine. “When did you start feeling panicky?”
She squirmed inwardly, still not wishing to relive her thoughts that day. She knew she’d been stupid and totally irrational, and she was more than a little apprehensive of what Francine would think of her when she explained her crazy thoughts.
It didn’t help that she’d have to break Clark’s confidence, either. She had no idea who knew the real truth of his relationships with all those women. Okay, so sleeping with a lot of women didn’t exactly make him public enemy number one, but Clark’s obvious reluctance to tell her what he’d done, and his disgust with himself, made it clear to Lois that this was something that mattered a lot to him. He wouldn’t want just anyone to know about his not-so-admirable past.
“When Clark told me something,” she answered obliquely. “About himself.”
“I see. Was it something that scared you?”
She nodded. “It shouldn’t have, though. It was a stupid thing to get scared over.”
“Can you tell me what it was?”
She shook her head.
A lot of women, he’d said. How many was a lot? Three? Five? Ten?
The thing was, he just hadn’t seemed the type to use women like that. Not that she was sure she could walk down the street and pick out the men which definitely were that type. How did you tell? Something in their swagger which said, “I’ve got a ton of sexual experience under my belt with a whole host of hot, sexy women?”
Which led her to another genuinely scary thought. A man as experienced as Clark would expect sex fairly early into a relationship. Not only that, but he’d be good at it and he’d expect the same from his partner.
Whereas, for her, the thought of any kind of intimacy at that level sent her into a cold sweat. Kissing was one thing, but sex? No way!
“Why not, Lois?” said Francine, breaking into her thoughts. “Why can’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s a private thing – to Clark, that is.”
Francine frowned. “Okay, so he told you something which scared you. You started to panic – what were you panicking about?”
Lois squirmed again. If she told Francine she’d imagined Clark was one of her captors, the next question would be why. Except she couldn’t answer that, because that came back to her explaining why she’d got scared in the first place. And so on...
“Lois? Does this come back to the private thing you can’t tell me?”
She nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“You do know that whatever you tell me here is held in the strictest confidence, don’t you?”
“Yes. But this thing...it just doesn’t seem right, telling you about Clark when he’s not here to defend himself. Not that it’s such a big deal, this thing...but to Clark it clearly is.”
“I see.” Francine fiddled with her necklace for a few moments. “We’re not getting very far here, are we? I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”
Lois shrugged apologetically. “I know...”
“Tell me, do you want to talk over this issue? Personally, I think you should, but you have the choice not to.”
Well, yes, she probably would feel better if she could talk over everything that had happened with someone. She nodded.
“Well, normally I wouldn’t suggest this, but how would you feel about talking to George? As Clark’s therapist, he pretty much knows everything there is to know about the man, which probably includes whatever Clark told you,” said Francine. “So you wouldn’t be breaking any confidences if you spoke to him.”
Lois immediately thought it was a great idea. Heck, hadn’t Clark himself even told her to talk to George about whether or not he was a habitual womaniser? Well, here was her chance to get at the truth! “Yes, I’d like that,” she said.
“I’d have to give George all the details of your case – you realise that? And George would still need to maintain patient confidentiality with Clark, okay?”
“I understand.” Okay, so maybe she wouldn’t be able to grill George on everything there was to know about Clark, but surely he could confirm a few things?
“All right, I’ll see if I can set you up with an appointment.” Francine smiled. “You’ll like George – he’s good entertainment as well as an excellent counsellor.”
Lois grinned. “I know.”
************************
He was on his own in the lounge, a lone figure at the far window, holding a Styrofoam cup and staring out at the clinic’s small garden. She approached him nervously, unsure of the reception she’d receive from him. In fact, Francine had offered to let him know on her behalf that they were finished for the day, but she’d declined to take the easy way out. After his cool attitude in Francine’s office, Lois wanted to find out where she stood with him.
He didn’t turn as she drew nearer. With Clark, you never knew how much of an act that was. His supersenses would surely tell him someone had entered the room; probably even who the person was if he knew them well. So was he really deep in thought as he stood staring out the window, or merely ignoring her?
She stood next to him at the window and looked out at the modest flower beds and small rockery. “Thanks for waiting,” she said.
“No problem,” he replied. “How did it go?”
“Fine,” she replied automatically, then wondered if she should tell him she’d be seeing George soon.
No, that would just complicate an already difficult conversation.
“Um...we’re finished, actually,” she said. “Sorry to waste your time.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “So, does this mean you won’t be needing me any more?”
She winced at the heavy resignation in his voice. “I’m not sure. You’d better ask Francine whether she wants you at my next session.”
“Okay. Well, I’d better get back to work-“
“Clark, please.” She turned to him, hoping to see more than stony neutrality in his expression.
His carefully schooled features cracked into a small frown. “What?”
Was that a frown of irritation, or a frown of incomprehension? She ploughed on. “I...I’m sorry that was so awkward for you. I didn’t expect Francine to ask about the other day in so much detail.”
He shrugged. “It was fine. I’m glad you’re making such good progress.”
Such a bland, catch-all kind of a statement. “So...you’re not mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“I don’t know...it was just that you seemed very quiet.”
“I was just doing what Francine told me to do, Lois. No big deal,” he replied. “Look, I really must get going-“
“I didn’t tell her, you know,” she blurted out.
“Didn’t tell her what?”
She looked down at the carpet, embarrassed that she might be making a big mistake – that she’d totally misread his sensitivities about the past. Maybe he didn’t care who knew about his sex life. Maybe she was just being stupid Lois again. “About your girlfriends,” she muttered.
He snorted, his sudden break from the unemotional startling her. “You think she doesn’t already know? Everyone knows – it was all over the media for days. Thanks for trying to protect my reputation, Lois, but it was already shot to hell.” He screwed up his cup and threw it in the nearest trash can. “I’m just sorry you had to know so soon.”
He began striding towards the exit, his strides so long that she had to jog to catch him up. “I’m sorry, Clark-“
“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, Lois,” he said. “The fault’s all mine.”
“No, I-“
“Tell Francine I’ll call her tomorrow.” He stopped abruptly, causing her to almost run into him. Turning, he faced her with a taut, false smile which seemed to strain every muscle in his face. “Take care, Lois. I hope today isn’t the last time I see you.”
“No! Of course it won’t be,” she exclaimed. “I want to see you again.”
He nodded jerkily, then turned and walked away.
**************
