“Okay, buddy, time for part two.”
Clark opened his eyes and smiled hazily at George. “Sure, George. Anything you say, George.”
“I think we'll just take this away, okay?” said George, taking the box from Clark's slack fingers. “You can have it back later if you need it.”
“Okay.” He felt mellow – George could have anything he wanted, if Clark was able to supply it. George was a good friend. He'd made Clark say a few things he probably shouldn't have, but that was cool. George wouldn't break a confidence. Clark could trust good old George.
“Feeling good, are we?” said George.
“Yeah. Real good.”
“Great, because we've got a few loose ends to tie up here before I can let you go,” said George. “I'm a little confused – you said Lois wasn't your Lois, but the other Clark's. This other Clark – he was her husband, right? The one no-one else but you knew about?”
“Yeah, that's right. He was in the other...” Oops, nearly mentioned universes. George wouldn't understand that. “Place. He lived someplace else.”
“Where? Where someplace else?”
“In Metropolis. In a house. He's a journalist, just like me, actually.”
“Really? Where does he work, Clark?”
“At the Daily Planet.”
“That's where you work, isn't it?”
He frowned. Darn, he shouldn't have said that. Good old George had caught him out again. “I...I think he moved, actually. I've never seen him there.”
“Where have you seen him?”
“At their house,” he said, remembering his mirror-image who stood there so confidently and assuredly – a man certain of himself and his place in the world. “Told him he was lucky to have his Lois. Then Wells said he'd help me find my Lois.”
“Who's this Wells, Clark? You haven't mentioned him before.”
“He's...a friend.” Score one very big point for Clark – he'd managed not to admit that Wells was a dead author from England. He was proud of himself.
“Does he live with the other Clark?”
He frowned again. George clearly hadn't got the hang of the set-up yet. “No, he travels around a lot. I'm not sure where he lives.”
“I see. So the other Clark is married to Lois, and Wells is looking for your Lois. Is that about right?”
“Yeah, except Wells couldn't find my Lois. He's stopped looking now. That's why I need the kryptonite.”
He felt a twinge of something, a slight shudder of unease. George's questions were starting to get to him again. He looked around the room, located the box on George's desk.
“There's one thing I still don't understand, Clark. You say the other Clark is married to Lois, and they live in Metropolis. He used to work at the Daily Planet, but you think he may have moved on to another newspaper.” said George. “You've even visited them at their house. But we all know Lois disappeared a year ago. How do you explain the discrepancy?”
With difficulty. He flicked a glance across to the box again. “She...they moved away,” he said, unhappy with the lie but unable to see another way to explain it. There was no way he could tell George about parallel universes.
“Clark, are you sure about that?” said George. “A minute ago you said they were living in Metropolis.”
“I forgot. They moved.” The box wasn't too far away; he could get there in less than a second. “They definitely moved.”
Shame he couldn't levitate the box across the room. All these amazing powers, yet no levitation ability. What an oversight.
“I see. I guess that makes sense.” said George. “Do you want it, Clark? Shall I fetch the box for you?”
He nodded. Just to take the edge off.
“Okay,” said George. “I think we're done for today anyway.”
A moment later, the box was open on his lap once more. Better. The unease faded away again.
He felt George place a hand on his arm. “Buddy, can you focus here a minute? I need to say something important.”
He opened his eyes and looked up at the psychiatrist. “Hey.”
“I know you don't like hospitals, but I really think it would be helpful if you stayed with us tonight.” At Clark's unenthusiastic look, he nodded his understanding. “I know, but you've been through a lot today and I'd be happier if you were here where we can keep an eye on you. Carolyn's already got a room ready for you and I'm sure Alice wouldn't mind bringing over a few things.”
“What exactly do you think I might do, George?” he asked.
“Probably nothing. It's just a precaution,” said George. “But I strongly advise you to listen to me on this one, buddy.”
Clark shrugged. “If you think it's necessary.”
“I do.”
**********************
The room wasn't so bad. Even sobered up, Clark felt reasonably at ease with his surroundings. There was a good quality en-suite bathroom and the bedroom furniture was simple but well-made and attractive. The room was decorated in warm, neutral colours and he even had a window with a view over the clinic's garden.
He'd spotted the spy camera straight away, of course – it was so easy, what with his enhanced vision.
He'd waved at whoever was monitoring the camera. Even considered zapping it with a burst of heat vision, but dismissed the idea. There wasn't any point in staying here if he didn't buy into the whole thing, spy camera and all.
“Perry, thanks for dropping by.”
Why was it his hearing always picked up on George's voice whenever he mentioned Perry's name? This eavesdropping really was becoming a bad habit...
“Well, when Alice said that Clark was staying here overnight, I figured something must have happened. Is he okay?” Perry sounded anxious.
“He's fine. We're just keeping an eye on him as a precaution.” There was a pause. “I can't tell you any more than that.”
“Patient confidentiality, huh?”
“Kind of,” replied George. “Look, do you mind if I put the radio on? I'll explain why in a minute.”
“Sure.”
Clark winced as loud rock music suddenly assaulted his sensitive ears, drowning out Perry and George's conversation. Okay, so George was obviously now wise to his bad habit of eavesdropping.
Sitting on the bed, he hunched his knees up to his chest and pondered the situation. The right thing to do was forget it – turn on the TV and ignore the fact that Perry and George were discussing him downstairs. That was what Clark Kent, the well-behaved farmer's son from Kansas, would do. Besides, nothing good ever came of eavesdropping - he knew that from bitter experience.
But Clark Kent, the addict and mental health patient, wanted to know what other people were saying about him. Were they saying he was a basket case, or were they celebrating a momentous breakthrough and expecting him to be back to his old self in a matter of weeks or even days?
He chewed on his bottom lip. He really, really wanted to know this. Especially given the stuff he'd told George today – he was a little hazy on the details, but he was pretty sure he'd told George things that he hadn't meant to. Things that no sane person would believe.
Maybe if he concentrated really hard, he could tune out the music and focus in on the two men's conversation. He closed his eyes, bowed his head and listened to the melee of noises, gradually locating the lower, unpitched tones of speech underneath the thumping, twangy rock music.
“...head trauma? Is that possible?”
“...doubt it. The guy's invulnerable.” That was Perry, robustly dismissing George's question.
“That's what I thought.” George sounded disheartened. “...sorry, but your friend...lot sicker... Does he have...doctor? ...advice on medication...”
“No...”
“Damn. ...identity disorder...medication...don't know what effect...”
Clark froze. Identity disorder? They thought he was confused about who he was? He was confused about a lot of things, but he knew darn well that he was Clark Kent from Smallville, Kansas! And that was twice he'd heard the word medication.
Alarmed that they were totally misunderstanding him, he redoubled his efforts to pick out the conversation.
“...multiple personality syndrome? Is that what you mean?”
“Yeah, Perry. He kept talking about another Clark today, someone who lives and works in Metropolis – who even works at the Daily Planet. He was a little hazy on that last point when I pressed him, but I think that was only because he suddenly realised his story sounded a little way out there, so he changed it. And get this, Perry, this other Clark is married to Lois Lane.”
“Oh, my. You think this other guy is Clark himself? He's split himself in two, with one half living in a fantasy world with Lois?”
“Something like that - and I think he uses the kryptonite to reach that other world. Our Clark said he needs the kryptonite to forget Lois Lane, but I think the other Clark needs it to remember her. Live with her, if you like.”
“Have you tried talking to the other Clark?”
“No, not yet. Now that I've got him here tonight, I'm going to try and keep him here for a few days longer while we work through this stuff. It could get pretty messy. Which is why I could really do with someone medical on the case.”
Clark had heard enough. They were going to lock him up and pump him full of medication! Terrified, he leapt up from the bed, flew downstairs and flung open the door of George's office. “You're wrong!” he cried. “You've got it all wrong!”
He took in the scene at a glance – Perry, with a cut-glass whisky tumbler in hand, twisting around in his chair and staring with shock at his sudden entry. George, already rising, concern written across his genial features.
“Clark, son, I don't know-“
“Perry, let me handle this,” said George sharply. He finished standing and looked steadily at Clark. “Okay, buddy, let's take a couple of deep breaths together.”
“I'm not crazy! At least, not like that. I-“
“Clark.” George's voice cut through Clark's like steel. “Listen to me, buddy. I need you to do exactly as I say – take in a slow breath to a count of three-“
“Quit trying to humour me, George,” snapped Clark. “I just need to tell you-“
“I'm not trying to humour you, Clark. You can have your say in a minute, okay? I just want you to slow down a little first. It'll be easier that way.”
Clark caught a glimpse of Perry sitting behind George, his knuckles white as he gripped his whisky tumbler and watched the scene unfold. His friend looked alarmed – fearful, even.
That did it – the thought that he was scaring a good and trusted friend with his behaviour made Clark realise that he really did need to calm down a little. He followed George's advice and took the calming breaths, searched around for the good old sea of tranquillity and more or less found a calm spot where he could bob up and down in the gently lapping waves. Perry turned the radio off and suddenly the room felt a lot more peaceful and civilised.
“That's better,” said George. “Now come and sit down and talk to us.”
Clark joined them on the comfortable chairs arranged around George's antique coffee table. Perry, he noted thankfully, seemed more relaxed, although he caught the reassuring glances which went between George and Perry as he settled himself.
“Want a drink?” offered George. “I've got a very good Glenmorangie here – if Perry's left any in the bottle, that is.”
“No, thanks,” said Clark. He preferred the peatier single malt whiskies, and anyway, the circumstances just didn't feel right for drinking, no matter how congenial George was trying to make things.
“Okay, then shoot. I guess you heard everything I said?”
“Yes. Sorry.” Clark took a deep breath, framing the words he wanted to say in his head so that he didn't blurt out a story that would send George scrambling for the nearest straitjacket.
“Uh, maybe I should leave,” interjected Perry. “If this is going to be a patient-doctor type of conversation, that is.”
Clark shook his head. “No, Perry, this affects you, too. I'd prefer if you stayed.” He smiled shakily. “I'm not sure I'm up to repeating this more often than I absolutely have to.”
“Fine, then he stays,” said George. “But any time you want him to go, just say the word, okay?” He looked over at Perry, who nodded his agreement.
“Thanks,” said Clark. Another deep breath. “Okay, if someone had told you three years ago that there was an alien living in Metropolis, you'd have had serious doubts about their sanity, wouldn't you?”
They both agreed, and it was from there that he took them through the events surrounding his two encounters with Lois Lane. He kept it as impersonal and factual as he possibly could, but even so, it was a difficult and sometimes harrowing story to tell. Several times he had to repeat himself or explain things he'd forgotten to include, and they were naturally sceptical from the outset, causing him to expend a lot of energy in simply convincing them that he was telling the truth.
It didn't help that the first part of his story came as a complete shock to Perry, who had, until that point, believed that Lois had returned from the Congo just over a year ago. Clark had to witness the resurfacing of Perry's guilt – the guilt of sending a member of staff into a dangerous situation which ultimately resulted in their presumed death. Perry's stricken face when he finally accepted the truth of Clark's version of events brought Clark to a stumbling full stop.
There were several moments of complete silence.
Eventually, George cleared his throat. “I think Perry would appreciate it if you finished the story,” he said to Clark. “That okay with you, Perry?”
Perry nodded.
“Clark? You okay to continue, buddy?”
No, he was very far from okay. His hands were trembling and his heart was thumping and he was very aware of the fact that the medicine cabinet containing his red kryptonite was only just down the corridor from George's office. The addict in him was already scheming, thinking up clever ways to get to the stuff.
However, his fear of the consequences if he didn't persuade them to believe his story won over his need for a hit. He nodded tightly. “Yeah.”
He finished the story, taking them through his visit to Lois's universe. In some ways that was even harder, because it was this second encounter that had really branded his soul with Lois's amazing personality. He'd realised exactly what was missing in his life; what would still be missing in his life when he returned to his own universe.
His whole body was trembling by the time he finished. “S-so now do you believe me?” he said shakily.
“Hell, yes,” murmured Perry. “Son, that's one heck of a story. Do you know-“
“Perry, I think that's enough for tonight,” interrupted George, his gaze flicking over to Clark with professional assessment. “Clark and I will pick this up tomorrow, huh, buddy?”
Clark nodded, wrapping his arms around his body in an effort to stop the shaking. “I hope you've got that medicine cabinet well guarded tonight,” he said, attempting a sardonic smile. “I'm feeling just a little rough.”
George grimaced sympathetically. “I wish there was something I could give you, but I'm reluctant to medicate you without medical advice.”
“I understand,” replied Clark. “I don't suppose you've got a Scrabble board handy, have you? It's Alice's patented cure for addicts with the shakes.”
George laughed. “Sure, buddy. Let me show Perry to the door and then we'll crack out the Scrabble.”
*******************
