Stage One: Denial
The quiet rumble of the car in the darkness wasn’t enough to drown out the sounds of screeching metal, of agonized screams. Those were the sounds that kept running through his mind, and yet somehow it didn’t reach him.
He should have been horrified; his entire world had crumbled around him in less than an instant and he hadn't been fast enough to stop it. Instead, all he felt was numb.
The two government people up in the front spoke in low, subdued tones, assuming he wouldn’t be able to hear them over the rumble of the engine and the sound of the road.
“Does this kid have anyone?”
“There’s a great aunt who lives out of state,” the other agent said. “She’s in her eighties and has a bad hip. There’s no way she’ll be able to take care of a ten year kid.”
Of course the agent knew about Aunt Opal. He was originally from Smallville, although Clark couldn’t remember his name at the moment. Everyone in Smallville knew everyone else. The other man must be from Wichita.
Wichita was where the bad kids went; at least that’s what the other kids said.
Clark had never thought of himself as a bad kid; a freak, maybe, but his parents had loved him. They weren’t one of THOSE families, the ones that the adults talked about when they thought the kids couldn’t hear.
Of course, none of them took his freakish hearing into account.
Clark realized that he hadn’t moved since the agents had put him in the car. Maybe he WAS a bad kid. He hadn’t saved them, after all, and he hadn’t cried. All he’d done was sit and stare. He felt numb. What kind of kid didn’t feel bad when his own parents died?
Somehow, it didn’t feel real. It felt like he was in a bad dream.
“I’ll get the paperwork started,” the agent from Wichita said.
Clark wondered idly whether they were taking him to a government laboratory. His father had always warned him that they’d dissect him like a frog if they knew what he was.
Somehow, he couldn’t find it in him to care.
