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To read Part 6G

Part 7

Thursday – Very early morning

“Hey!” he heard someone call. Then something struck him. He thought it might be a pebble.

He opened his eyes. It was dark, but he could still see. He was lying in a hole… a big hole, almost the size of a small crater. He glanced up and looked at the man standing at the top of his hole, looking down at him. The man looked dirty, like he hadn’t bathed in weeks. He was probably homeless. And he was holding a handful of small rocks.

“Hey, Supes! Whatcha doing down in a hole?” the man asked him.

Huh? What? Who? He put a hand to his head, feeling the disorientation of sleep. Behind the man was a line of trees. Was he in the forest? “What did you call me?” he asked the man.

“Excuse me, Superman. Is that where you live?” the man asked him, impressed. “Are you one of us?”

Superman? “No, I don’t live in this hole,” he responded, looking around him. He didn’t know much, but he knew that at least.

He shifted his position, but something caught behind him was making it difficult to sit upright. A cape? He shook his head as he moved slightly so he was no longer sitting on his cape. He ran his hands over his head and then patted the dust from his clothes. He was definitely dusty, but he wasn’t dirty like the man with whom he was speaking. He himself must have had a bath sometime recently, so he doubted he was homeless.

The man reached down to him. “Do you need a hand up, Superman?”

Why did that man keep addressing him like that? Was it his name? Like Bob Superman? No, that couldn’t be right. He looked down at his clothes again.

A blue suit with a red cape and boots. Red shorts with a yellow belt… Red shorts? He shook his head. And some kind of red and yellow emblem on his chest. It looked a little bit like an ‘S’ in a upside-down triangle. Maybe it was an ‘S’ for Superman? Hmm? These didn’t seem like regular clothes. Maybe he was part of the circus?

He pulled himself to his feet and accepted the man’s hand. “Thank you… um…”

“Derek.” The man beamed at the thought of someone asking his name.

“Derek,” he repeated. Then he looked around. They seemed to be in some type of forest. “Where am I?”

“Man, I’ve had days like that,” the homeless man Derek said, nodding his head. “We’re just outside Echo Canyon.”

“Oh,” he responded, not any more knowledgeable about his location than before.

“A State Park, just outside of Metropolis,” clarified Derek. “We’re not supposed to be here. No camping, you know. But I won’t tell on you, if you don’t tell on me.” The man gave him a knowing look.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied. Who would he tell, anyway?

Derek visibly relaxed at his words. “So, you going to fly back to Metropolis?” the man asked him. “Man, I wish I had your powers.”

“Fly?” He flew? “No,” he said hesitantly. “It’s a beautiful night; I believe I’ll walk. Thank you, Derek, for your assistance.”

“No problem, Superman,” replied Derek with a grin.

He nodded at the man and started walking.

“Uh, Superman?” Derek said cautiously.

He glanced at the homeless man behind him. “Yes?”

“Metropolis is that way.” Derek pointed in the opposite direction than he – Superman – had started walking.

“Thank you.” Superman nodded at the man and changed direction.

Superman had been walking a good fifteen minutes down a long dirt road, when the idea of flying became very appealing. This walking thing was taking far too long. He wondered how he flew? Did he need something to catapult him into the air, such as a cannon? Was it part of his circus act? Or could he just lift his hand into the air and think ‘fly’? Well, since he was all out of cannons at the moment… Superman stopped and took a look around. He was still surrounded by trees and was very much alone.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. He thought about the blueness of the morning sky and the shimmering of night’s stars. He lifted one hand into the air and thought ‘sky’. The next moment the air felt colder and he opened his eyes. He was hovering above the forest. He flew! Oh, God! He flew! Now, he knew why he was called Superman!

Then, he fell.

He landed in a heap on the dirt road, entirely too grateful that there wasn’t anyone around to witness what had just happened. Superman stood up and dusted himself off again. He was amazed that he hadn’t killed himself with that fall. So, he could fly. Good to know. Being able to control it, though, would have been better. He started down the road again on his feet.

Wow! He could fly. Not everyone could fly, right?

Derek had said something about powers. What kind of powers? Superman wondered. He seemed pretty unbreakable, falling from the sky with nary a scratch, bruise, or death. Since he could fly, apparently, would any of his other powers help him get off of this boring dirt road any time soon? What if he ran?

Superman focused on the switch from dirt road to paved road a good five football stadiums down the road. Taking another calming breath, he started running. Next thing he knew, the beginning of dirt road was behind him a good five football fields. Okay, he could run. Fast. He decided to stop there with the self-exploration for the moment – like how he knew how long a football stadium was when he couldn’t remember ever attending a game – and started running towards Metropolis. He was running so fast, it felt like the world beside him disappeared in a blur.

As Superman got the edge of a town, he slowed down. Did he really want to go into a city like this? Not knowing his past? Not knowing his life? What he was known for? That homeless man from the woods – Derek – seemed to know who he was, but not him personally. So he must be well-known, if a homeless man living in the woods knew who he was.

“Superman” must be a nickname of sorts and not who he really was. He couldn’t imagine that actually being his name. He must have a real name and, once he discovered what it was, he would be able to track down his address and possibly people who knew him personally. People who would be able to fill in the blanks – and, at the moment, he felt like he had more blanks than answers. He wasn’t quite sure where to start looking for those answers though.

No, he needed to get some information before he went into the city. It wasn’t as if he was dressed like the mannequins in the window of the clothing store. He would stand out.

A newspaper delivery truck drove by. It was still early in the morning. The sun had not even peeked her head over the horizon. Newspaper truck – newspaper – News! Superman followed the truck to a newsstand where the driver was delivering a pile of new papers.

Hesitantly Superman approached the man at the back of the truck. He didn’t want to beg. He didn’t want a handout. He didn’t want to steal. He only wanted information.

“Good morning,” he said softly, but the deliveryman still jumped as if spooked.

The man grabbed his chest. Seeing who he actually was seemed even more of a shock.

“My apologies. I did not mean to startle you,” Superman continued.

The deliveryman snapped his jaw shut and found his voice, “No, that’s okay, Superman.”

So, he wasp well-known. Two out of two very different people had called him that.

“May I have one of your old newspapers?” Superman asked. He didn’t want to presume to ask the man for today’s news, especially since he had no funds with which to pay for it, but hopefully he would be able to learn something from the previous day’s paper.

The man just stared. “You read the newspaper?” That thought seemed to boggle the man’s mind. “Our newspaper?”

Superman glanced at the side of the man’s truck. The Daily Planet. He didn’t know why reading the Daily Planet would be different than reading any other newspaper. “Should I be reading another paper?” he asked. “Doesn’t the Daily Planet deal with truth and justice in its reporting? Does it not report the news of the day in a fair and just manner?”

“Of course. Of course.” The man nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, you may have a copy of yesterday’s paper. Actually, I have a copy of every paper this week in the truck. Here, take today’s as well.”

Superman raised a brow at the man’s generosity, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Thank you,” he said as the man handed him the small pile of papers.

“No, Superman, thank you.”

He just nodded at that. For what was he being thanked? Taking the man’s old newspapers? He thought not. Superman decided to leave while the man had his back turned to close his truck. He didn’t really want to have too long a conversation with anyone without some hard facts in his head.

“Perry White is not going to believe this,” he heard the man mumble.

Superman furrowed his brow, wondering who was this Perry White person? Perhaps Superman would know better after he had a chance to peruse the week’s news. He stopped in a small copse of trees to read the papers in private. He didn’t really want to be caught sitting on a bench in town.

It must be hard for him to always go around in this outfit. He must stick out like a sore thumb. Did he ever go around in everyday clothes, just so he could blend in? He hoped so. Otherwise, life would be difficult always in the spotlight. Always having people watching him. Having no privacy. And if he didn’t, perhaps he would start the tradition now.

The deliveryman had only handed him four newspapers. Monday’s, Tuesday’s, Wednesday’s, and Thursday’s. So today was Thursday, September 29, 1994. He looked down at the photo on the front page of Monday’s extremely thin paper, only a couple of sheets of paper thick; the entirety of which seemed to deal only about him. The photo was of Superman flying into the air with some kind of grey metal cylinders attached to his chest and a headset hooked on his ear. The headline above the photo read: Superman Saves Earth from Nightfall Asteroid.

He did what? No wonder the deliveryman was thanking him. He saved the planet. Superman sighed. It would have been nice to be able to remember that. He wondered about the bottles and the headset, because if those were part of the Superman package, he must have lost them along the way.

He quickly skimmed the article written by Lois Lane, Clark Kent, and Perry White. They had quotes in their article from him. They must have met him. Obviously, they knew him but did they know him personally? Did they know his real name? It wasn’t mentioned in the article. He put the reporters’ names down on an internal list of people to check out and continued to read the newspaper.

By the time he had finished Monday’s paper, he knew a few more things. The Daily Planet was a new newspaper. Monday’s brief edition had been its first in almost twenty years. That was why the deliveryman was surprised Superman had wanted his newspaper.

Secondly, Perry White was the editor-in-chief of the Daily Planet, not just a beat reporter. The article about Superman and Nightfall was so big that the editor had helped to write it.

Thirdly, in the photo he was wearing air canisters because he could only hold his breath for twenty minutes at a time. The headset was to communicate with EPRAD Control.

Fourthly, Superman had only been around publicly for the past – well, now since it was technically Thursday – two and half weeks. Had he only just arrived on this planet?

Fifthly, he – himself – was a pretty impressive guy. No wonder they called him “Superman.” Had he really flown a million miles into space and pushed an asteroid thirteen miles in diameter off its path to Earth? Wow. He was in awe with himself as well.

Superman wondered if that was why he had no memory. Did it have something to do with the Nightfall asteroid? That seemed logical, except for the fact that the Nightfall mission had taken place on Sunday and it was now Thursday. He couldn’t imagine he had been lying in that dusty hole for four days. Something must have happened more recently.

He added Professor Daitch, General Zeitlin, and John Cosgrove to his internal list of people he might want to contact to learn more about himself. But then he added a star next to their names. He couldn’t see them knowing too much if they had just contacted him for this one mission. Especially if he had only been around for a couple of weeks before Nightfall appeared.

Actually, he had learned quite a bit from Monday’s newspaper as it was entirely about him. There were some older stories, reprinted from other newspapers on the inside of this paper. In one, it announced that he – “the Flying Man” as they had called him at first – rescued a colossal plane and returned it to the Metropolis International Airport safely. Apparently, the rescue of that plane was the first time anyone had actually seen Superman.

No, that wasn’t quite true. In another article, he had been interviewed one-on-one by Lois Lane, the same reporter who had quoted him on that front-page article. Only this older article was more personal and more intimate. It was entitled Learning about Superman and written with Clark Kent.

Apparently, Superman had rescued Lois when she had fallen into the street several weeks previously. So Superman wasn’t new to Earth when he had saved the plane. The main gist of the article was about how he had flown Lois down to a deserted beach in Costa Rica, so that they could talk in private, and where he told her all about himself and his powers. He had come from another planet called Krypton, but that was all he had told her about his home planet – its name.

He had then melted the sand on the beach with his heat vision? Okay. He should be careful about that or someone could get hurt. Then he had used his invulnerability – he already knew from his fall that he was unbreakable – to form a glass fish with his bare hands, which he then cooled with his super cooling breath. There was a picture of the crude fish next to the article. Superman would rather have had a photograph of Lois Lane as he was curious what this woman looked like.

Why would he have chosen her out of all the other reporters in the world to interview him? Was it because she already knew about him from that earlier rescue? They must have remained on friendly terms after that first interview if she was able to still get quotes from him for her front page article. He quickly scanned the photos on the other newspapers, but there weren’t any photos of her in any of those papers either.

A small snippet in Tuesday’s paper caught his eye. Lois Lane and Clark Kent – these two seemed to be a team of some sort as their names were consistently mentioned together – surmised that Superman had returned to Earth safely after his ordeal with Nightfall, because Superman had actually contacted Clark Kent briefly. According to the article, Superman had not been seen on Earth since he pushed the asteroid off course on Sunday. The reporters didn’t seem worried by his lack of rescues nor had catalogued him as “missing.” So, he had contacted Clark Kent.

Superman was glad to know that he hadn’t been sleeping in that hole for four days. He exhaled a breath of relief, accidentally blowing the papers into the air with a burst of wind. Ooops. He caught the papers and tried to piece them back together in order. Wednesday’s paper didn’t have much information about him, but focused more on the stock markets and the continued celebrations around the world on his behalf. Perhaps he had been resting after battling Nightfall after all. He couldn’t believe moving a rock that large could have been easy.

Suddenly, he caught sight of the front page of today’s newspaper. Superman Saves Moon from Nightfall. What? Hadn’t he dealt with Nightfall back on Sunday? He skimmed the article. He hadn’t pushed the asteroid far enough off course the first time. According to Lois Lane – he had to find this woman – Superman had gone into space to save the Earth from nuclear fallout from the Asgard rocket, which the military had sent to destroy the asteroid.

He was glad Superman was anti-nuclear weapons, but he was sure that he hadn’t earned any friends in the military for interrupting their mission.

Lois wrote that she had a source from within EPRAD, who had conclusively demonstrated that the Asgard rocket had veered off-course a minute before impact and did not detonate until after Nightfall had been destroyed. This evidence led her to believe that it was Superman, not the Asgard rocket who blew up Nightfall.

Well, Superman thought, leaning back against a tree. That could do it. That might cause his memory loss. Speeding into a huge rock at top speed and then being exposed to a nuclear explosion. He only hoped he wasn’t radioactive. He shrugged. He needed to find this Lois Lane or her partner Clark Kent. Maybe these reporters knew more about him than they had printed in the paper. Something off-the-record… like his name.

***

Thursday – Morning

Superman looked down at the paper in his hand. The Metropolis Star’s articles, he had found in a recycling bin, gave him a slightly different viewpoint to Superman, but he still felt that Lois Lane and Clark Kent knew more about him than that other reporter – what was her name? Linda King – despite the photo of him carrying her into her newsroom. The Met Star had seemed almost tabloid in its attention to their ‘close relationship.’

He lifted up the receiver on the payphone and dialed. He had done a quick search of the town of Vernon before finding a couple of quarters. He wanted to make this call quick before anyone saw Superman standing in a phone booth.

“James Olsen, Daily Planet.”

“Hello. May I speak with Lois Lane?” Superman asked warily.

“CK, my main man. Where are you?” James asked enthusiastically.

“Excuse me, no. This isn’t… CK?” Superman stammered uncomfortably.

“No? I’m so sorry. Lois was out late on a story and isn’t in yet today,” James replied.

Oh. Superman hadn’t thought of the possibility that she wouldn’t be in the office. What about her writing partner? “Ah. How about Clark Kent? Is he in?”

“No. He’s… No. He’s not in.” The man sounded almost sad when he spoke this.

“Is there a way I could contact them at home?” Superman asked, knowing the man’s answer before he spoke it. “This is a private matter.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t give out personal information.”

“Right. Of course.” Superman sighed, resigned.

“I could take a message and pass it along,” James suggested. “What’s your name?”

Superman froze. If he knew his name…? He glanced down to the copy of the Metropolis Star in his hand. “Charlie. Charlie King,” he replied.

James chuckled. “And you said you weren’t a CK. Hope you aren’t related to Linda; Lois might not call you back if you were. Hey, what’s your number, Charlie?”

Huh? Oh, yeah, Charlie King did have the initials CK… Just like Clark Kent. Did this man think he was Clark Kent at first? He shouldn’t have used Linda’s last name. That had been a mistake. “No number. I’ll try back later,” Superman responded, hanging up.

He didn’t want to go into the city, but he didn’t think hanging out here in the suburbs was going to help him discover his true identity. He picked up the receiver again and dialed information.

“LexComm Information. What name are you looking for, please?” the operator answered.

“Last name, Lane. First name, Lois. In Metropolis,” he said and could hear the woman typing.

“Sorry, she has an unlisted number,” she replied and then after a pause she added. “And I would, too, if I were Superman’s girlfriend.”

“Excuse me?” he sputtered. He had a girlfriend?

“Lois Lane is Superman’s girlfriend. Where have you been? Living in a hole?” cracked the operator.

“No, I…” Superman caught himself. “How about an address?”

“Look, mister, if we can’t give you her number, there’s no way we could give you her address. Anyway, that’s not how our system works. Unlisted numbers don’t show up at all. Just come back as ‘U-N-L’,” she explained.

“Oh, right. Thank you,” Superman said, hanging up. His feet seemed to lift off the ground. He had a girlfriend. Lois Lane is his girlfriend! Who knew a call to information would actually give him the information he sought?!

Superman has a girlfriend! There was someone who knew him personally. Someone with whom he probably shared his secrets. Someone who would know where he lived and if he had another name. He needed to find Lois Lane. He wondered what she looked like.

Okay. What now?

Metropolis Star had written something about an investigation into a Lex Luthor. It had mentioned something about Superman working with a detective. Superman closed his eyes and reviewed his mental ‘people to contact list.’ William Henderson. It was another long shot, but if nothing else, maybe he knew Lois’s phone number.

Superman put his last quarter into the payphone and dialed the police headquarters. “Hello, I would like to speak with Detective William Henderson… Yes, I’ll hold.”

***

Lois sat on her bed. Actually, it was still a couch as she hadn’t pushed her futon into a bed. She had somehow gotten to the office the night before, wrote her story about Nightfall and Superman, called the Kents, came home, and sat down. She hadn’t eaten. She hadn’t showered. She hadn’t changed her clothes. She hadn’t talked to anyone. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t slept. She hadn’t moved. She had just sat there and stared at the white wall, behind where she used to have her TV. She hadn’t wanted to look anywhere else, somewhere she might have a memory of Clark. She had just sat and wondered how she was going to live her life without him.

If she had looked at the front door, she would have thought of him changing her locks after the break-in. Or one of the many times his smiling face had been on the other side of her door. Or that time he had brought her a big pile of snow apology for not trusting her. Or that first night she had pressed him against her front door and kissed him, not letting him escape.

If she had looked at the desk, she would have been reminded of that one time Clark had been so angry, thinking she had cheated on him, that he had forgotten to put his glasses back on when he had come to yell at her.

The dining room table had so many memories. The first morning after Clark had stayed the night, cuddling with her on the couch – the night her globe had first glowed – when he had gone out and bought her Danishes. She had always meant to ask him where he had gotten those. Now she never could. Or the night of the break-in when he had brought her pizza from Chicago. Or the big pile of snow night, when he had brought spaghetti and meatballs. Or the time he had come over as Kal because he had needed her comfort and her quiet reassurance that he had still done good, even though he hadn’t been able to save everyone after an earthquake. Or when he had proposed to her with Nana Clark’s ring.

The bathroom didn’t have any memories of them, but only of her thinking of him. Her paranoid fear of not knowing how she had come home that first night when he had rescued her. Or when she had remembered her erotic dream of him and then heard him drop the orange juice and the dishes, because he had heard her mumbling how much she wished he would suck her toes like he had in the dream. Or when she had gone and cried after he accused her of lying to him about the missing condoms the robbers had stolen. Or when she had found his glasses after he had run to hide in the bathroom after accidentally admitting to her he was still a virgin. Or last Thursday night, when she had piled the twenty boxes of condoms her father had sent under the sink. Condoms that would now never be used… not by her.

The kitchen didn’t hold too many memories, because they hadn’t really spent much time there. There was that big pile of snow night when she had tried to cook herself ramen. And then last Friday morning, when he had come over to cook her omelets before asking her to marry him.

Lois couldn’t even look over at her bookshelf, where she had kept the globe before it had been stolen. Memories of Clark’s crushed heart showing in his expression when he learned it was gone after only just having found out about his origin. The glass fish he had made her when he took her away to that beach in Costa Rica – that first day he had revealed his secret and powers to her – now sat in the globe’s old spot. Not that he had told her that Kal-El – Superman – and Clark were the same person… oh, no! Not that! But she had known nonetheless.

She didn’t even want to think of the futon. They had never made love on that bed. They were supposed to. He was supposed to come and live with her, starting yesterday. They had slept together several times though. They had cuddled together while the futon was still a couch, falling asleep watching Lethal Weapon movies. Or that night – had it been that same night? – when Lois had stolen his glasses while he slept and saw what an incredibly sexy man Clark was without them on. Or the night Clark – dressed as Superman – had burst into her apartment and hauled her away to his parents’ apartment because he discovered someone – it turned out to be Lex Luthor – had bugged her apartment. Or the night they had snuggled together, instead of making love, because she was punishing him for calling her a streetwalker when she agreed to have dinner with Lex Luthor. But in her dreams… Lois sighed. In her dreams, they had made love over and over and over again on this futon bed. Who knew that, in reality, he would be a better lover than in her dreams?

Lois didn’t want to think about how it felt when Clark’s hands caressed her body. Or how he cupped her chin in his palm when he gazed at her or wanted to kiss her. Or how he had set his hand at the curve of her back whenever they walked into or out of a room. Any room. Any time. She had always been assured to feel that gentle touch. Her eyes slowly blinked. Or how muscular his body had been, but how he had never hurt her physically. How firm and steady and graceful he had been… well, unless she had done something to surprise him. Or how Clark’s lips had curved up just so when he smiled at her, unsure, almost sheepishly, when he had said or done something he knew he shouldn’t have.

Or how he had brushed her lips with his thumb when he wanted to kiss her, but also hadn’t wanted to stop looking at her. Or how it had felt when she finally had kissed him, like her toes curled and she was floating on air. Or how when he…

The jingling of the telephone knocked her out of her reverie. Her head turned and stared at the phone.

Answer it, Lois! What if it’s Clark?

Two seconds later, the phone was gripped in her hand, “Clark?”

***

Superman’s fingers tapped nervously on the shelf in the phone booth as he waited.

“Twelfth precinct. Detective Henderson. How can I help you?” said the voice that finally answered the phone.

“Detective Henderson, how well do you know Superman?” Superman asked the policeman faster than he meant to.

“We’ve met… on occasion,” replied Henderson slowly, vaguely. “He’s a good guy.”

Superman liked this man and his wry humor immediately. “Do you know Lois Lane?” he asked.

“We’ve met.”

Again with the vague answer. Then again, Henderson didn’t know with whom he spoke. Superman wasn’t sure if this man would be able to help him or not. “How is she?”

The detective paused without answering for a moment. “You would have to ask her.”

“I’m having difficulty reaching her,” Superman admitted. “She may have something I lost.”

“Ah,” Henderson replied. “I’m not her social secretary.”

“No. Of course not. I didn’t mean to imply…” Superman pressed his lips together. How did one pass a message to one’s girlfriend without saying his ‘title’ or knowing any of the players or his own real name?

“Have you tried the Daily Planet?” suggested Henderson. Superman heard the man’s chair squeak like he was leaning back and relaxing in it.

“Yes. She’s not in.”

“Perhaps she will be in later today. Is it urgent?”

Superman couldn’t hang out in this phone booth all day. “Somewhat.”

“Why contact me?” Henderson asked.

“I’m hoping you might be able to help me find what I’ve lost,” Superman replied vaguely. He could do subtle as well.

“Is it of a sensitive nature?”

“I believe so,” stated Superman.

“Do you think that Ms. Lane stole your missing item? Is that why you’re calling me?”

“No. No.” Superman wanted to groan. This conversation was going nowhere. “I’m hoping she has it. Or knows who might,” Superman said, getting more frustrated by the moment.

“I still don’t understand why you are contacting me,” Henderson told him.

Superman winced. He was afraid of that. “Does Superman trust you?”

“I hope so, but he holds his cards close to the vest.”

I do? “If he did, it would be a good recommendation for me to trust you. But if he didn’t, you’d probably lie about it anyway,” Superman said, stating his thoughts out loud.

“True,” Henderson replied with a hint of a chuckle, but his heart rate didn’t increase. The policeman wasn’t nervous. “Perhaps you should ask him.”

“I wish I could,” Superman mumbled, wiping a hand down his face. If he could, he wouldn’t be making this call in the first place.

“Ah. That’s the crux, isn’t it? No one has seen Superman since last Sunday when he left EPRAD control,” Henderson said.

“That long? No, that’s not right. Lois Lane and Clark Kent spoke with him yesterday. Or at least a few days ago,” Superman corrected. “There was that little blurb in the Daily Planet that said that he had contacted the reporters and told them he had returned safely from space.”

“Is that what this is about? Do you want Ms. Lane to contact Superman?” Henderson asked.

Desperately! He sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s possible…” Without me, Superman wanted to add. But, if he admitted that to the detective, he would no longer be holding his cards to his chest. He took a deep breath. “Without me,” he murmured, hoping he was doing the right thing.

He heard Henderson’s chair scrape the floor as if he suddenly sat up. “This thing of yours that Ms. Lane has, what is it?”

“I cannot tell you.” Superman could not admit to just anyone about his missing memories.

“Do you know where Superman is?” Henderson asked.

“I’ve said too much already. Just tell her that he’s fine. I’ll contact…”

“What’s your name?” Henderson demanded.

“I don’t… I’m going by the name of Charlie King,” Superman told him and hung up. That went badly. Very badly. Now Detective Henderson thought Charlie King was holding Superman hostage.

Superman pushed open the door of the phone booth and walked in the direction of the island of New Troy. Staying in the suburbs wasn’t going to solve his problems. The people who knew him personally were in Metropolis. Probably. Whether he wanted the exposure or not, Metropolis was the place to go.

He groaned as he wiped his hand down his face again. He could feel the rough stubble of a morning beard shadowing his face. He sighed. This was going to be a long day.

*** End of Part 7 ***

Part 8

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