Title: The Other Shoe
Rating: PG-13 (for mild language, a bit of violence, suggestive banter and nookie)
Lois and Clark dating? Check. Lois being plucky and resourceful? You betcha. Clark testing the ethical limits of his super abilities? In big and little ways. Flirting? Uh-huh. Kissing? Sure! Action on a couch? Oh, baby, yes. Angst? Bring it! This story has a little bit of everything but an A-plot. Well, okay, maybe there's a tiny hint of one, but it's more decorative than functional.
This story takes place sometime shortly after "Whine, Whine, Whine". It will jump back and forth between the present and the past. Section headers in italics (
Tuesday night) indicate a past event.
Before we start, please allow me to praise the three wonderful people who made this story possible. Brenda provided the encouragement to take a snippet that had been gathering dust on my hard drive for over two years and turn it into a full-blown story. When RL started playing havoc with her free time, I nervously approached two knowledgeable and articulate readers to ask them if they'd be willing to beta. It has been my extreme good fortune that both of them accepted. Thank you, LolaDane, for your unfailing enthusiasm and honest opinions. Thank you, Sarah, for your eagle-eyes and the multitude of suggestions that made a world of difference. Ladies, I couldn't have done this without you.
Any errors contained herein are entirely mine.
These characters are not mine, but I am saving up to buy them. Sadly, I expect that might take an extremely long time.
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Friday night
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The room was starting to spin and Lois couldn't get it to stop.
The faces around her blurred. Everyone seemed to be talking louder and yet their words were all indistinct. It was suddenly so crowded, so unbearably hot in the bar, that she felt like she couldn’t breathe. With horror, Lois realized she had been drugged. She weakly pushed her glass away and it tipped over. Her drink sloshed across the counter and dripped onto her lap but she knew it was too late. Whatever was in there had already taken effect.
Her arms felt too heavy to lift and she started to slump forward. Someone took hold of her shoulders and a deep voice cheerfully said, "Whoa there, sweetheart. I'll take you home now."
It wasn't Clark's voice.
"No!" Lois tried to say it loud and forceful, but the word was swallowed up by all the noise in the room. Her uncooperative limbs hung meek and useless as she was half-lifted, half-dragged off the barstool. Her feet dangled below her, scraping across the floor, but whoever had her was strong enough that her inertia didn’t seem to be slowing him down.
Where was Clark? Lois blearily looked around as she was hauled away, but he was nowhere in sight.
"Clark…" she moaned faintly, as if just his name would be enough to summon him from the restroom or the parking garage or wherever the hell he had decided to disappear to this time.
A rush of cool air bathed her face and Lois dimly comprehended that she was now outside. Her brain screamed in panic, but she could offer no resistance. The toes of her shoes bounced across the sidewalk as she fought the black vortex that seemed to be sucking her under. A ripple of pain shot up her leg as one shoe came off and her foot smacked erratically against the concrete. Her stockings were going to be ruined, she thought, which was crazy since that was the least of her worries at this moment.
"Upsey daisy," the man holding her said jocularly and hoisted her into the back seat of a car.
Her hands clawed over the slickness of a leather seat as Lois made another weak effort at escape. As darkness overcame her she managed one last whispered, "Clark…"
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Clark paused in the alley and tilted his head.
Nothing.
He was imagining it; that was all. If Lois was saying his name right now, it definitely wouldn't be so mild. By now - if she was still here at all - she was most likely using his name as part of an expletive.
Back inside the bar, a quick scan proved him right. Lois had repaid his long absence by ditching him. Clark let out a frustrated sigh and grimaced. He had promised himself that tonight - no matter what - he was going to tell Lois the truth. It seemed somehow ironic that the truth was probably the last explanation left to him now; the only excuse he hadn't given her.
In the distance Clark could hear the urgent wail of sirens. His shoulders slumped in resignation. It wasn't going to happen tonight. He'd have to grovel for forgiveness first thing tomorrow morning. And then - no matter what - he'd tell Lois where he went and why.
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Saturday morning
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The first thing Lois became aware of was the cloying smell of old creosote.
A dull throb pounded at her temples as a headache of massive proportions began to assert itself. Where the hell was she? Even with her eyes open, it was still dark. She blinked a couple of times to ascertain that, indeed, her eyes were really open. The air around her felt dank and chilly. Her entire body felt cold, especially her feet. She wiggled her toes and wondered where her shoes had gone.
"Hello?" Her throat was so dry that her voice was a raspy whisper. There was no answer.
Lois stood up slowly, uncertain where the ceiling was in the blackness. Nothing bumped her head and she was able to rise to her full height. She stretched her arms out and found nothing in front of her. The emptiness was disorienting so she sank back to the floor. It was a hard floor, but it was covered with something soft, yet scratchy. She patted the material and realized it was a wool blanket.
Her hand bumped into something that made a sloshing noise and Lois froze, startled by the sound. As the noise died out she cautiously felt with her hand again and found it was coming from a gallon-sized plastic container. It was heavy when she lifted it. Something else whispered in the darkness as she set the container down. She felt again, finding a large plastic bag. It was lightweight and emitted a salty, fake-butter scent. Popcorn? Lois loosened the twist-tie holding the bag closed. Sure enough, the smell of stale popcorn greeted her.
Lois closed the bag and felt for the gallon jug again. The cap didn't twist; it was still sealed. Lois pulled away the plastic seal and unscrewed the cap, then took a cautious sniff. There wasn't a smell. She sniffed it again, but the contents remained a mystery. Lois took a wary sip and was relieved to find it was water. She replaced the cap and tried not to think about how someone was obviously expecting to keep her here for a long time. She shivered as dread and the cold both seemed to overwhelm her.
Lois hugged her arms to her chest in an attempt to keep warm. Why was she here? Who had brought her here? What was the last thing she could remember?
She thought hard and remembered…Clark. She had been on a date with Clark. They were sitting at the bar, killing time before a movie by giving each other flirty glances. His knee had been pressed against hers and she had been fascinated by the motion of his Adam's apple when he swallowed. Then Clark had gestured toward the back of the bar and excused himself.
That way-too-familiar slow burn of resentment started all over again as Lois recalled that Clark had not returned in a few minutes. He didn't return after five minutes. Or ten minutes. It had been time for the movie to start and she had contemplated going without him. Instead, she had stayed just to see how long it would take him to come back and what pitiful excuse he would concoct.
Clark had been gone for nearly fifteen minutes when she started to feel dizzy. There had been a hand on her shoulder, a voice in her ear and--.
Her drink. That was it. Her drink must have been drugged. Who? Why? Lois tried, but she couldn't think of anyone in the bar who had seemed either threatening or familiar.
She wondered how long it had taken Clark to realize that she was missing. Or had he finally returned and assumed that she had paid him back by leaving? Or - oh god no - was that why Clark had never come back from the restroom? Had he been taken as well, while she sat fuming at the bar? Was he somewhere nearby, locked up in the dark just like her? Her heart sank at the thought that no one was looking for them. The police - and, more importantly, Superman – didn’t even know that they were missing.
One thing was certain - she hadn't magically appeared in this dark prison. If there was a way to get her in here, there had to be a way to get her out. Lois stood up and stretched her arms out in front of her to begin feeling her way through the darkness.
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Clark waited until nine o'clock Saturday morning before calling Lois. After five rings her answering machine greeted him. Obviously she was cheating and using caller ID to avoid him. He should probably get used to it. After what he was going to confess to her today he doubted if she was going to talk to him for a very long time.
Two blocks away from her apartment he stopped and bought a bouquet. Surely flowers would soften the blow when he revealed what he had been hiding? Lying to her, he reprimanded himself. You can call it anything you like, but she's going to call it like it is. You've lied to her.
The truth, he promised silently as he reached out to knock on her door. He was going to tell Lois the whole truth. And nothing but the truth.
She didn't answer. He knocked again. There was still no answer. Clark tipped his head and listened. He couldn't hear anyone inside. He hesitated and then slid his glasses down to take a peek. Her apartment was empty. There were no dishes in the sink. The coffee maker held a clean and empty pot. Lois had not made coffee that morning. There was simply no way that she would get ready for the day without caffeine.
Clark hesitated for a moment and then peered into her bedroom. Her bed was made. Clothes were lying across the middle of the bed. They were the same clothes that she had changed out of at the last minute when he came to pick her up the night before. The meaning behind those casually abandoned articles of clothing was stunning -- Lois had not come home last night.
His heart seemed to skip a beat as a cold tendril of fear unraveled in his chest. Don't be paranoid, he warned himself. There were hundreds of explanations for why she might not have come home last night. And some of them were perfectly innocuous. She could have stayed with Lucy. She might have gone to the Planet. Or a hotel. Or a stranger had followed her and--.
Clark closed his eyes and listened intently, hoping that maybe, just maybe, Lois was in there and he had somehow missed her. The only sound in her apartment was the burble of the fish tank.
Lois really wasn't home.
His entire body tensed, his ears straining as he listened for even the faintest sound of her. He just needed a clue, a direction to search, and he'd be able to locate her. He filtered through hundreds of nearby voices and heartbeats in the space of a few seconds, but not one of them was hers.
He tried the doorknob and found it locked. What to do next? There was no sense in forcing his way into her apartment - she wasn't there and she hadn't been there since last night. He'd start at the last place he had seen her - the bar - and trace her from there.
Clark set the flowers he'd brought in front of her door. Maybe Lois had only gone down the street to a shop, or she was out for a jog, or there was some other reason for her absence. When she came home, she would surely know who had left her flowers and why. In another hour, maybe, they'd be laughing about this. He would check at the bar and come back to find her home.
The bar was closed, but he could hear someone inside. Clark knocked, loud and insistent, until the man inside relented and gave up mopping the floor. He opened the door just wide enough to glare out at Clark.
"I was here last night--," Clark began.
"Nobody turned in a wallet, sorry." The man started to shut the door and Clark put one hand on the door to stop him.
"No, please wait! I was here with a friend last night, we sat at the bar. Dark hair, pretty, late-twenties? She was drinking a white wine? Did you happen to see her leave?"
"Is she the one who got trashed and had to be carried out?"
"Trashed?" Clark shook his head. Lois' single drink wouldn't have been enough to get her drunk. The bartender had to be remembering someone else.
The man shrugged. "If she's the one I'm thinking of. She was pretty wasted and her friend took her home."
Just to be sure, Clark fumbled for his wallet and took out the picture of himself and Lois with his Kerth. "Is this her?"
With a sigh and scowl, the man opened the door a little wider and took the picture to squint at it. After a few seconds he shrugged and handed the picture back to Clark. "Could be. Like I said, I wasn't really paying attention."
"Thanks," Clark said glumly and took the picture back. The door slammed shut and Clark reluctantly turned away. Three steps later he froze and stared down at the gutter in horror.
A lone red high-heeled shoe was lying there. It had only been two weeks since Lois had found that shoe and its mate on sale and had exulted all afternoon about what a steal it was to find them for less than a hundred dollars.
Wherever Lois was now, she hadn't left voluntarily.
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End 1/10
Muhwahahaha! I have taken Lois Lane hostage. Forget about Superman, only feedback can free her.
