superman_lives_on
03-13-2008, 10:03 PM
Title: “Healing the Shattered”
Author: superman_lives_on
Genre: Horror/Thriller, Drama/Romance, Action/Adventure
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: The spoilers include the first six seasons, and the first eleven episodes of Season Seven. This is a rewrite of the episode “Fracture”, and includes my version of what happened after, ignoring the events of “Hero”. So leave behind most of your ideas of what will happen. Though I will not spoil what happens—this is a story, and stories are meant to be experienced by the audience, after all—I can safely assure you of at least one thing…Lois Lane does NOT appear in this tale.
* * * * *
Healing the Shattered
By Superman Lives On
CHAPTER ONE
Another Day, Another Crisis
The latest crisis had arisen—and for once, thought Clark Kent, it wasn’t his fault.
It was late in the evening of Tuesday, February 12th, 2008 when he had received the call from Lionel Luthor. The older man had been in shock, and barely able to speak, but he got the message across: Lex was in a hospital in Detroit, Michigan. He’d been shot in the chest.
Chloe Sullivan, ever the loyal sidekick, and Clark had arrived at Lionel’s office at LuthorCorp headquarters in Metropolis in a matter of minutes, thanks to Clark’s super-speed. The secretary waved them through without a word, having been expecting them, and they entered through the glass doors. “Lionel, how is he?” Clark asked as they approached the desk.
Lionel was standing over it, just now putting his phone down. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t even look up at them. “He’s, um…in a coma,” he then said, his ragged voice sounding even more worn and aged than usual. “I just talked to the neurosurgeon in Detroit, and he was able to remove the bullet…but it damaged some nerve tissue in Lex’s spine. It’s likely that…well, he may never wake up.”
Clark felt a pang of sorrow and sympathy, more for what Lionel was feeling than for what had happened to Lex. For once, however, he didn’t feel the almost instinctive surge of guilt at such terrible news. After all, it wasn’t as if he’d known where Lex was going today, and who could have seen this shooting coming? Nonetheless, he felt bad for Lionel. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his deep voice as gentle and sincere as ever.
Lionel looked down for a long moment, opened and closed his mouth as if he couldn’t find the words, then shook his head sadly. “We never…we never had a…close relationship,” he said, the words hesitant and heavy. “A lot was said…” A lot I now regret, he didn’t say, but clearly meant. “A lot…was never said…I never…” He trailed off, shaking his head again.
Chloe pressed her lips together, as if hesitant to speak, then gently asked, “Are there any suspects? Any witnesses or leads?”
Lionel shook his head no. “Every officer in Michigan is investigating this case…but so far, nothing has turned up. No one has come forth to testify.”
Clark frowned. “I find it hard to believe the shooter would leave Lex in the ditch and nobody would see anything.”
Lionel pressed his eyebrows together, as if considering his words, then said, “There is one thing that’s turned up—it doesn’t really explain the shooting, but it may explain why Lex was there.” He started fishing around in his black suit jacket. “I have a friend in Detroit, a cop—he called me when he found out about Lex.” He found what he was looking for in an outer pocket and drew it out. “He let me borrow this—it was found on Lex.”
Clark took the object, took one look at it—and almost dropped it in surprise. “Kara’s bracelet!” he gasped.
It was indeed the same bracelet, Chloe saw—the silvery band, with one portion smoothly removed, that had lain on Kara’s slender arm for as long as they’d known her. On it lay a single Kryptonian symbol that had also been on Raya’s shield crystal: a pentangle shaped like a diamond, with a curving, stylized letter S inside that touched all but one of the five sides. “You mean—she’s still alive?” she asked.
“I believe so,” said Lionel. “In fact, if memory serves, this is one of several trips to Detroit that there’s a record of Lex making in the past couple of weeks.”
“So he’s been looking for her, too,” Clark realized. He felt a strong surge of suspicion at that. “And it looks like he found her, and didn’t tell anyone.”
That was hardly a surprise, Chloe reflected glumly, considering how shady Lex was these days. Then something else occurred to her. “Wait—so Lex goes looking for Kara, and now we have evidence that he found her—”
“And then he gets shot,” Clark finished for her, his worry increasing with the dawn of comprehension. “That can’t be a coincidence; the shooter must be involved somehow, which means—”
“That your cousin may well be in danger too,” Lionel said gravely. “I’m very sorry, Clark.”
For a long moment, Clark didn’t trust himself to speak. He looked at the bracelet that had belonged to his cousin, his eyes starting to appear glassy. Kara was more than just the only other living Kryptonian—she was the only living, breathing connection he had to the family he had lost as a baby. And in her short time on Earth, she had proved that, even with the disagreements they had had, she could fit perfectly into the family he had found, as if she had always been meant to be there.
Now she was in danger—and as that thought swirled around in the front of his mind, it brought up the surge of guilt he hadn’t felt when he’d heard about Lex. If it hadn’t been for him, Kara would never have gotten into this mess—however little he knew about it, he was convinced that he was at fault for her predicament in the first place. First he’d pushed her away with his lack of trust, then he’d let his emotions overrun his common sense and unleashed a terrible series of events—
“Um, Mr. Luthor, could you excuse us a second?” Chloe asked. Lionel nodded, and she tugged Clark’s arm, snapping him out of his sad reminiscing and leading him over to the double doors, out of Lionel’s earshot. Once there, she turned to face Clark. “Please don’t tell me you’re blaming yourself for this,” she said a little tersely.
“Why shouldn’t I, Chloe?” he replied a little heatedly. “It’s my fault Kara’s out there in the first place—”
“No, Clark!” she snapped in a low voice, cutting him off. “I’m not going to let you throw a pity party here. We need to focus on saving her. Now, Lex is the only one who has any real clue where she is.” She glanced over at Lionel, then leaned in towards Clark and whispered, “I bet I could use my ‘little trick’ to wake him up so he can tell us—”
“You can’t,” Clark interrupted her. “When you used that for the first time, you fell into a coma for three hours straight—I had to pull you out of the morgue.”
“Well, I was fine when I woke up!” she protested. “And when I healed Jimmy’s finger, it didn’t do anything to me! We don’t know that anything bad will happen—these could just be the growing pains!”
“I’m not putting you at that risk,” said Clark firmly, his tone brooking no further argument. “There has to be another way to find Kara.” He paused, thinking…and then it dawned on him—the solution he should have thought of before. “And I think I know who can help us track her down—or at least figure out what Lex was up to.”
Chloe furrowed her eyebrows, unsure of who he meant—then she caught on. “Oh…you mean…”
He nodded to her, then turned and walked back over to Lionel, who looked up at them. “Have you decided on a plan?”
“Yeah,” said Clark. “But first, what are you going to do with Lex right now?”
Lionel sighed softly. “Since the doctors in Detroit can do no more, I’ll have him transported back here—perhaps my specialists at LuthorCorp can find something they missed, some way of reviving him.” From his expression, though, he held little hope of that.
“Okay, well, we’ll be doing some searching in the meantime,” said Clark, his face becoming resolved. “I think I know who can help us figure out what Lex was doing in Detroit.”
* * * * *
“I couldn’t figure out what Lex was doing in Detroit, but I may have found something even more helpful.”
Clark and Chloe stood on either side of Lana Lang, within the secret chamber in her office at the ISIS Foundation. Lana herself stood before one of the main computer screens, her crisp white blouse offset by a black business skirt and simple black jacket, her long dark hair tied back into a ponytail. Clark looked past her at the central screen. “‘Project Intercept’? Is it military?” he asked her.
“LuthorCorp developed it for the military,” Lana confirmed, “to interrogate terrorists by getting inside of their heads—literally. Lionel spearheaded the whole project.” Clark looked thoughtfully at the screens as Lana clicked and typed through several windows, continuing her explanation: “Intercept links the suspect and interrogator’s brainwaves, exposing the interrogator to all of the suspect’s thoughts and memories.”
“You’re saying someone could actually go into Lex’s mind?” Clark asked. Lana nodded and continued typing, bringing up diagrams of the Intercept apparatus. Clark glanced over them, then inquired, “Where is this thing?”
“LuthorCorp still owns all the equipment, but it was mothballed several months ago.”
Chloe’s eyes widened a little as one particular window came up. “Yeah, I can see why,” she murmured. “How’s this for fine print? The project worked several times, but was abandoned when three of the interrogators died during implementation. Autopsies revealed that their central nervous systems were completely fried.”
Clark walked away a little, mulling this over. “So their brains were wiped out,” he mused quietly. “But maybe…mine wouldn’t be…” He suddenly spun around. “What if I went into Lex’s mind?”
Both girls turned to face him, startled. “What?” Lana said. “Clark, you can’t do that—”
“Why not?” said Clark calmly. “Those three people didn’t have Kryptonian minds. I might be the only one who can do this.”
* * * * *
“Clark, your body may be invincible, but who’s to say that your mind isn’t vulnerable somehow?”
The three were at a LuthorCorp plant, inside the lab containing the equipment for Project Intercept. “I have to do this, Lana,” said Clark, tossing his red jacket aside and walking through the lab as Chloe looked around at the myriad of computer screens. “It’s my fault that Kara’s missing.”
“No it isn’t!” Lana insisted. “You did everything you could to save her.”
“Not everything,” said Clark flatly, not looking at her. “This is the only option I have.”
“Using technology built by Lionel Luthor?” she said skeptically. “God only knows why he created this thing.”
Clark turned to face her, his voice firm but not harsh. “Lana, there’s no other choice. Kara’s out there, probably in danger, and Lex is the only one who can lead me to her.”
Chloe sighed and shook her head, knowing as well as Lana did that no argument could make Clark back down on this; he’d made up his mind back at the ISIS Foundation. “Clark, just be careful, okay?” she implored him. “I seriously doubt you’ll find a red carpet and a marching band waiting there to greet you.”
God only knew what would be waiting there to greet him, Clark knew—but it was a risk he had to take. And as much as Lana and Chloe disliked it, deep down they agreed that there was no other way. That still didn’t mean they had to like it.
The door opened with a buzzing noise at that moment, and Lionel entered the lab with a technician close behind. The latter, dressed more like a SWAT officer than a scientist, was trying to talk his boss out of the risky plan: “I watched three field officers die after their brains went into electroneural shock. Sir, this machine is a death trap.”
Lionel was not impressed. “I pay you a small fortune, doctor, so please withhold your negative opinions.”
The technician stood there for a moment as Lionel walked over to the apparatus, where the comatose Lex had already been strapped in. He sighed softly in resignation, then said, “Ladies, would you please wait outside?”
Lana gave him an odd look. “I beg your pardon?”
“This is delicate work we’re about to start,” said the man, trying to be matter-of-fact. “It’s best that we not have any distractions.”
Chloe almost bristled with annoyance, but Lana spoke before she could, keeping her low voice even and firm: “Doctor, we have no intention of distracting you, or interfering in any way. But I won’t leave Clark alone during this—I want to be here to make sure he’s okay.”
“That makes two of us,” said Chloe from behind Lana, restraining her annoyance. Clark barely hid a smile at their display of steadfastness.
The technician looked as if he wanted to argue, but Lionel cleared his throat and gave him a discrete look, clearly urging him not to press the issue. The man gave another resigned sigh and nodded. “Very well. Just don’t touch any of the equipment.”
“Hands off—got it,” Chloe agreed. Lana said nothing more, but turned to meet Clark’s eyes—she hoped this wouldn’t be the last time she got to do so. He’d faced so many dangers to his welfare before, if not his actual physical or mental well-being—but even this unknown territory was a danger he was willing to face, for the sake of helping someone he loved. Lana had loved that most about him for as long as she could remember—and at the same time, she was deeply worried that this time, the danger might prove too great…might prove his undoing.
Clark saw that worry and uncertainty in her deep hazel eyes, and willed reassurance to her through his own grayish-green eyes. Whatever he faced inside Lex’s subconscious, he wouldn’t let it destroy him—he wouldn’t let it keep him from getting out in one piece, once he’d found what he was looking for. He wouldn’t let it stop him from coming back to her, the one he loved most.
Lana, in her own kind, saw that reassurance, that affirmation of his love, and leaned up to kiss his cheek, providing her own affirmation—one that he returned with a brief but warm touch of his lips to her cheek. Chloe looked away out of respect, then walked over by the apparatus. Clark pulled back from Lana to give her a small smile, willing further reassurance to her; she held his arm, left bare by the short sleeve of his solid blue shirt, for a long moment as she walked over to Chloe. Clark looked to the technician as he walked over as well. “When Lex wakes up, he’ll never know I was in there, right?”
“In the few successful cases, the terrorists had no memory of the process,” the scientist confirmed. Clark nodded and walked past the girls and Lionel, looking at Lex in the upright table-like setup. The bald billionaire’s shirt of pale blue silk had been pulled open, revealing the bandage that lay on his athletically-defined chest, marking the spot near his heart where the bullet had struck. “Now,” the technician continued as Clark reached the other setup for the device, “the freshest memories will most likely be the first ones in. The deeper you get, the greater the risk. If your brainwaves show any sign of duress, I will pull you from the procedure.”
“That’s fine with me,” said Clark. “I don’t plan on staying in there very long.” He turned around and slipped into the device, letting the technician strap him in.
“The software has been encoded with what you will see as a red door,” the man added. “That is your emergency exit.”
Lionel stepped forward. “That red door, Clark, you must never lose track of that. If we get disconnected, it’s the only link between Lex’s subconscious and reality.”
Clark nodded grimly and looked over at Lex for a moment. Within that bald head lay the clues he was looking for—he just hoped whatever else lay there wouldn’t be too dangerous. He then leaned back in the device. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Right,” said the technician, and began moving metal sensors into place over Clark’s head. “Just relax and stay still, the procedure’s painless.”
Clark nodded once more, then looked directly at the wall. Out of his field of view, two parallel screens showed wireframe images of his brain and Lex’s, the latter—“Host”—colored in blue, the former—“Guest”—in red. The technician moved over to the large control desk bearing those and other screens and, with Lionel and the women behind him, began pressing buttons and flipping switches. The two tables rotated in unison so that Lex and Clark, whose pairs of eyes were now both closed, faced the ceiling. After a few more buttons had been pushed and switches thrown, the scientist reached for a single large red button and pushed it firmly.
Lionel, Lana, and Chloe all watched on as the machinery whirred fully to life; green lasers began flickering over the sleek metal gear covering Lex and Clark’s heads. On the screens, a meter showed the Guest mind’s transfer into the Host’s—in seconds, it had reached 100%.
“He’s in.”
* * * * *
Clark felt like he was being pushed—or perhaps sucked—through a long tunnel. That was how it looked, too—crystalline walls and structures flew past him, images flashing on them too quickly to be properly seen; illusory air whipped past him, faster and faster as he hurtled down the tunnel—then a wall of metallic red came up, and he plunged towards it—
And then, he was standing on his own two feet. He looked up…and, to his surprise, what he saw looked awfully familiar—yet also unfamiliar.
He was standing in one of the hallways of the Luthor Mansion, the great Scottish castle in which Lex had made his home over six years ago. However, there were no lights on—everything seemed to be in black and white, or at least shades of gray, except for him with his blue shirt and red jacket. A few yards down, he could see pale blue-white moonlight spilling through a large window, providing the only source of illumination—but it was enough for his eyes. He looked behind himself—and there, sure enough, was the metallic red door, set in place of a stained-glass door.
He turned back around, looking down the long, dark hallway. It felt cold, as if none of the heaters were functional…but there was something else in the air, too…something vaguely stinging, foreboding, not at all welcoming. It felt…wrong in some way, unnatural…like a faint, distant echo of some unearthly voice, a whisper in the darkness that shouldn’t be there…no, a whisper that he shouldn’t be there, that he should just turn around and walk back through the red door right now.
A little shiver of trepidation crawled through his spine…he couldn’t help but feel unsettled. He shoved it down, though, and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He had a vital mission to fulfill, and he wasn’t going to get anywhere by just standing around here, let alone by turning back before he’d even gotten started.
So he swallowed down his nervousness and began to walk, slow and measured steps, down the hall. The sound of his boots on wood echoed oddly in the hall, sounding like a sort of bubbling… No, that was a different sound—a faint, whispering moan, just at the edge of his hearing. He bit down hard on a sudden twinge of anxiety and kept walking purposefully. Soon, he’d reached the large window. It was different from what he remembered—the stained glass was all colorless, letting the moonlight through unfiltered, and there was a small, jagged hole in one pane. He bent down and looked through it.
He found himself looking through what seemed to be water, as if he were sitting at the bottom of a lake or river—not so deep that he couldn’t see the surface, but enough for several people to stand on top of one another and not quite reach it. And it wasn’t just water—there was a figure floating some feet away and above, a spectral form clothed in silvery white. A ghost? A phantom? It was impossible to tell—
Hold on a second. The figure was drifting closer…and now, a halo of bright, golden hair could be seen, and a face could almost be distinguished—
Kara?
Clark drew back from the hole, startled. Then, regaining his nerve, he looked through it again. Yes—there was no mistaking it. Even through the veil of her white dress and the rippling of the water, he could make out Kara’s familiar features—her smooth skin, her high cheekbones, her slightly pouting but very pretty mouth, her pale blue eyes. Her expression was inscrutable, making her seem all the more mysterious, unreal…ethereal.
Now where and how on Earth had Lex seen her like this? But that wasn’t hard for Clark to figure out. The river at Reeves Dam, back when it had burst—that must have been it! The first time he had seen Kara’s ship, it had looked as if it had been buried underwater for a long time, only freed by the rupturing of the dam—and Lex must not have escaped the facility before the disaster had struck, thanks to Clark’s battle with—
Well, that was hardly worth dwelling upon at the moment. Now Clark understood the strange interest Lex had displayed about his “cousin from Minnesota”—she had saved Lex’s life that day under mysterious circumstances, and it had newly awakened his desire to find out the truth about whatever Clark’s family was hiding. He scowled as he pulled back from the window. Lex really hadn’t changed one bit, no matter what face he presented to the public—he was just as obsessive as ever. Only his target differed this time.
And that meant she was probably in even greater danger than they had guessed. Clark steeled his resolve and headed on down the hall, more quickly this time.
He never noticed the eye that moved up to the hole on the other side of the window, staring after him…a soft gray eye…a child’s eye.
Clark kept walking down the hall; it soon merged into another running perpendicular. He paused and looked down each end. To the right, against the other wall, was something that clearly wasn’t in the real Luthor Mansion—a large, solid, double-doored gate of thick steel, its surface carved into various medieval-looking figures. Clark looked curiously at them—they depicted various scenes of conquest, of soldiers in battle, as well as scenes of nobles on the hunt, their hounds running out in front of the horses in pursuit of prey…but there were other things as well, things that he didn’t quite recognize. He shook his head and looked to the left—and there, on the wall opposite from the one with the gate, was another large window. However, this one was even less like the actual mansion’s windows—it looked crystalline, and no moonlight came from it. Beyond, there seemed to be only blackness.
He looked past the window and saw another door at the end of the hall—a solid wooden door, no stained glass, no fancy carvings. It seemed even more out of place here—and yet…he thought he heard something from behind it. He concentrated, cocking his head to listen—
Yes, there were sounds coming from behind the door—echoing voices and faint bustling. He immediately moved toward it—but then paused and looked over his shoulder. For a moment, he thought he’d heard footsteps—but there was nobody behind him. He shook his head, chiding himself for being so jumpy—mysterious locale notwithstanding, he hadn’t yet encountered any reason to be afraid—and moved all the way to the door. He tested the knob—it was unlocked—then turned it and pushed the door open, stepping through.
As he did, everything suddenly flashed and snapped from black-and-white to full color—and the sounds lost their strange echo, becoming crystal clear. He found himself walking into a fairly large café with lime green paint, about twenty high windows, and quite a few people. Nobody took notice of him as he looked around—but he immediately noticed the person he was looking for, over by a pair of windows showing into another room.
Kara was dressed in dark blue jeans and a pale yellow and white waitress outfit, the sleeves and collar of which were laced red. Her long blond hair was combed straight, though the ends were beginning to show its natural wave, and it lay over her chest and back. She stood with a dark-haired guy a few inches taller than her, wearing the male version of the same outfit; he was finishing with wrapping a thick white bandage on her right arm, just past the silvery gleam of her bracelet.
A bandage…now that proved that Kara was at risk. She didn’t have her powers—and wherever she was in the real world, that made her far less able to protect herself.
“I swear that Frank screams at you,” she was saying to the guy; her naturally sweet voice still had a vague echo to it, unnecessarily reminding Clark that this was only a memory.
The guy grinned sheepishly, shaking his head slightly. “It’s no big deal,” he said to her, his own voice gentle and friendly. “I’m used to it. I grew up with an old man like that.”
Kara smiled at him as he put the last touch on the bandage. “Well, you’re sweet for covering, Finley. I owe you one.”
Clark looked at the sight for a long moment, feeling a mixture of relief and worry. He was relieved that Kara had found people to take her in, after he’d caused her to vanish from his life—still, he was worried about her lack of powers. How well had she adjusted, after being used to having them on Earth?
Suddenly, Kara looked in his direction, making him start. Her lips twitched into a slight smile, and she headed behind Finley to grab a pot of coffee from the shelf below one window, then started walking towards him. “Kara?” Clark began uncertainly—
She walked right past him, over to a table by one of the large windows looking outside. “Can I warm you up?” she asked the lone customer there.
“Sure,” came the answer. Clark couldn’t see the man, but he would have known that voice anywhere; he started walking to get a good view, to confirm his suspicion
Kara started pouring a fresh cup of coffee for the customer. “I’m starting to see you more than some of the regulars,” she remarked.
As Clark moved along, the man came into view—and sure enough, it was Lex, wearing a button-down dress shirt of deep purple silk. “Blame it on the pie,” he said to Kara, his charming manner understated but there. “It’s by far the second best I’ve ever had.”
“Second best,” Kara echoed wryly. “I’ll pass that along to the kitchen, give them some incentive.”
Lex smiled at her charmingly as he finished his latest bite, then introduced himself with a nod: “Lex.”
Kara put down the coffee cup and extended her bandaged arm. “Linda.”
“Linda?” Lex echoed as he shook her hand. “Doesn’t suit you.”
Mm, ya think? some part of Clark muttered irritably.
“Really?” said “Linda” curiously. “Who do I look like?”
Lex shrugged a little. “I don’t know. Someone who doesn’t belong here, that’s for sure.”
Linda—Kara looked down uncomfortably; Lex pretended to back off: “See, there I go again with my opinions. What do I know?” He took a sip of his coffee.
“Well, uh, more than you realize,” Kara admitted, sliding into the seat across from him—apparently he’d caught her attention enough to make her risk talking to him during her shift. “You know, some days, I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”
“Well, leave,” Lex suggested. “The apron’s not chained to the counter.”
Kara shook her head. “I don’t know where else to go,” she admitted. “The people here are the closest thing to a family I remember ever having.”
WHAT?! was Clark’s shocked thought. What on Earth did she mean?!
Her meaning became clear soon enough, though. “This is sort of embarrassing,” she said, “but, um…about two months ago, I lost my memory. I woke up in the middle of the street during a storm, with no idea who I was…and this place was the first one I looked for help.”
Clark stood there, stunned, as the piece fell into place. No wonder Kara hadn’t been calling out for help or anything—she hadn’t known to! And without her powers, she had no idea that she hadn’t always been an ordinary human being. Lana and Chloe had been right—his self-blame for her running away had been useless, since she hadn’t run away. She’d had no choice in the matter.
Granted, he still felt guilty for getting her into this situation—and he had every intention of getting her out of it, whatever it took.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lex had just said.
Kara—or Linda—nodded. “Actually,” she then said, “this bracelet’s the only part of my past I have left.”
Clark saw Lex’s eyes flicker down to the silvery bracelet, it and the thick white bandage serving as the only interruptions to her smooth, light golden skin. “Look, Linda,” Lex said, “I’m not sure you’d be interested, but…I happen to know some of the best researchers in the world.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe one can help you.”
From her reaction, Linda was clearly interested. “You think they can help me get my memory back?”
“Enjoying the show, Clark?”
Everything flashed white as if from lightning—Clark jumped, startled by the flashes and the voice that had spoken from behind, and whirled around. He was back in the darkened halls of the mansion—and staring into a cold, cold pair of smooth gray eyes. Lex was standing right there before him, wearing a business suit and silk tie of purest white…and wearing a nasty little smirk on his face.
Fear, icy and sudden, drove through Clark like a spike through a railroad tie. “You can see me?!”
The smirk became a wicked grin. “Surprise,” Lex hissed—and his left hand shot out like a snake’s head, clamping onto Clark’s throat with steely fingers and hoisting him off his feet. Air was cut off from his lungs, and he felt the fear intensify into sheer terror. “Oh,” said Lex in a deceptively light tone, “and look what else I can do.”
Clark struggled to breathe, his eyes wide. “Lex…please…”
“Just couldn’t resist a little peek inside my mind, could you?” said Lex snidely. “Not that I blame you—I’ve got some fascinating stuff in here, things even you wouldn’t believe in everyday life.”
“Lex,” Clark gasped, “no…don’t…”
“So you snuck in here, just like a naughty little kid who couldn’t help his curiosity,” Lex continued, ignoring Clark’s plea. His eyes gleamed with something cold and feral, and he raised his right hand—and there, Clark saw, to his surprise, a thick black glove covering the hand, made of some kind of sleek black metal.
“But,” said Lex, “like most bad little boys, Clark, you forgot to read the sign outside…” His cruel grin faded, and the scowl that replaced it was all the more horrible for the mad gleam in his eye as he pulled his gloved hand back. “NO…TRESPASSING.”
He drew the gloved hand all the way back, readying for the strike—
THUNK! But the strike came from behind, in the form of a baseball bat that crashed into Lex’s bald head; he collapsed to the floor like a rag doll, out cold, and Clark landed on his feet, gasping for breath.
“He’s been trying to kill me as long as I can remember!” exclaimed the weapon’s wielder—a young boy with curly red hair and soft gray eyes, dressed in the black and white uniform of a rich school’s student.
Clark rubbed his throat, then risked a few words: “Who are you?”
“I’m Alexander,” replied the boy. He dropped the bat and held out his hand. “Come on, we gotta go.”
Clark took a gulp of air, feeling his throat recovering, then took Alexander’s hand. They began to run down the dark hall, past the crystalline window and the heavy metal gate and heading on into the unknown. “I don’t understand—why would he want to kill you?” Clark asked as they ran.
“He says I make him weak,” Alexander replied, not looking back. “And if he finds us, he’ll kill us both.”
They turned into an adjoining hall and picked up speed, no longer holding hands; even without his super-speed, Clark kept pace with the boy. “Look, I don’t have much time!” he called hurriedly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t being chased. “I’m looking for a blond woman—my cousin, Kara Kent! Do you know where she is?”
“No,” called Alexander, “but I’ll start looking! In the meantime, you need to hide!”
They turned off the hall and reached a door of solid steel. Alexander unlocked it and pulled it open, revealing blackness beyond. “This is a place Lex never visits,” he said as Clark looked inside. “You’ll be safe in there.”
Clark paused halfway through and looked back at the boy, who smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, Clark—you’re my best friend.” Then he turned and ducked inside a hole in the wall, just large enough for him to fit into. He paused inside, smiling once more at Clark…who found himself smiling back. In that cherubic face, in those gentle gray eyes, he saw something he hadn’t seen in Lex for a long time.
Then Alexander turned and ducked fully inside the hole—and Clark turned into the blackness, closing the door behind himself. More white flashes came instantly, and a colorful room appeared before him—a bedroom in the mansion, it seemed. In it sat Alexander, carefully painting one of a set of figurines forming an historical army that stood on a little table. Clark smiled at the sight…it seemed so peaceful.
“ALEXANDER LUTHOR!” The angry bellow shattered the peace; Alexander looked up fearfully, and Clark turned in time to see the door fly open. Lionel, some twenty years younger and dressed in a black turtleneck and black pants and black shoes, stood there with his hands on his hips, glaring at his son. “What is the rule about my briefcase, Alexander?” he said, his ragged voice both stronger and colder than Clark had ever heard it.
Alexander shifted worriedly in his seat. “Don’t ever ever touch it?”
Lionel nodded grimly, taking a few steps closer; Clark felt his gut clench. “And you know I can tell when it’s been opened. Did you open it, Alexander?”
The boy shifted more, his mouth open though no words came from it. “Did you?” Lionel demanded harshly.
Clark looked between them as Alexander moved up from his seat. “No,” he said firmly. “I swear, Dad—I didn’t touch it!”
Lionel advanced on him, eyes burning with anger. “Don’t lie to me, Lex!” he roared; one hand lashed out to grab the boy by the shoulder. Alexander tried to move away, but Lionel stopped him; Clark tried to move forward, but rationality kicked in—he couldn’t intervene in a memory. “Don’t make excuses,” Lionel snapped, “you—” He forced Alexander against a wall, looming over him like a specter of doom. “Alright…be a man, Lex, and admit what you’ve done.” He shook the boy, his anger igniting into rage: “Admit it!”
“But I didn’t do it, Dad!” Alexander insisted. “I don’t care about your work!”
Lionel almost snarled as he shoved his son against the little table, knocking the figurines onto the floor; Clark’s fists clenched in outrage, but he knew there was nothing he could do. “Alright, Lex!” Lionel barked, grabbing Alexander again and forcing him into an awkward kneeling position. “If it wasn’t you, then who was it?” He shook the boy again, hissing: “Answer me! Whoopened my briefcase? Answer me, Lex!”
Alexander was struggling not to cry, but his cruel treatment made it next to impossible. He looked crushed as he gave in and admitted: “Mom!”
The shaking ceased, and Lionel gently turned his upset son around to face him, cupping his cheeks. “I saw her in your office,” Alexander sniffed, “going through your stuff. She told me not to say anything.”
Lionel stared at him for a moment—
“You let go of him!” snapped a furious female voice; Lionel and Clark both turned to see a woman with long red hair and grayish-blue eyes, dressed in white, standing in the doorway—Lex’s now-deceased mother, Lillian Luthor. “I had to know the truth,” she said as she walked into the room, meeting Lionel’s gaze without blinking. “Veritas—what is it?”
Lionel moved away from Alexander, trying to take her by the arms. “Lily—”
“No!” she resisted angrily. “I’m tired of the secrets—NO!” He’d grabbed her other arm, repeating her name and trying to calm her down, to get control of the situation, but it was no use; Lillian was just getting started. “Staying up in the middle of the night for your meetings!”
“Please!” Alexander cried as his parents began to struggle.
“What are you keeping from me?!” Lillian demanded, almost shouting. “What are you doing?!”
Lionel didn’t exercise any more restraint. “VERITAS IS NONE OF YOUR CONCERN!” he bellowed, throwing her to the floor. Alexander cried out and ran over to her, kneeling by her side. Lionel glared at them both. “You keep out of my business, Lillian,” he snarled. Then he turned to go—
—and froze the moment his eyes met Clark’s. “Who the hell are you?!” Lionel demanded, shocked and furious—the subtle echo was gone from his voice, and the scene had lost its slight blur.
Clark barely had time to realize what was happening—in fact, he hardly thought at all, except for one thing. The clenching of his gut—and the unexpected change in his status as a detached observer—overrode his own restraint; he thought to hell with it and did what he’d wanted to do the moment Lionel had started roughing Alexander up: he threw his best punch straight at the bastard.
Even the lack of super-strength didn’t diminish the fact that it was a very impressive punch. It struck Lionel’s face with a loud CRACK and knocked him away; he crashed against the wall, crying out in pain and surprise, and crumpled to the floor, too caught off guard to otherwise react.
Clark stared down at him, righteous fury blazing in his jade green eyes. “I’m someone who cares about your son, you monster,” he growled. Lionel’s eyes flicked up towards him; the old bastard couldn’t hide his fear. Served him right.
“Really?” said an unwelcome voice from the doorway. “I’m touched, Clark—I thought you’d stopped caring.”
Clark’s head shot up, but he was already too late—Lex materialized like a white ghost, grabbing onto him with his ungloved hand. “CLARK!” Alexander screamed, but the room was already flashing, giving way to the darkened, twisted hallways of the mansion.
“I always knew there was a voyeur lurking behind that telescope,” said Lex in a smarmy tone. “First the raven-haired beauty you’ve been infatuated with since preschool, now pieces of my past… Actually, Clark, I’m almost proud.”
Clark didn’t rise to the bait. “Look, I don’t want any trouble,” he said.
“Oh no? Well, too bad—because you’ve gotten yourself some trouble, my friend,” Lex sneered at him. “Normally, I’d have been a better host by now and given you the grand tour—but considering that you barged in here without an invitation, I can think of a much better way to accommodate you.” He twisted Clark around, revealing the heavy metal gate with the medieval carvings, and pushed him toward it, reaching out his black-gloved hand to touch the lock.
With a flare of crimson light and a chunking of metal, the lock came open…and the gates started grinding open, into pitch blackness. Realizing instinctively what was about to happen, Clark tried to struggle. It only served to amuse Lex. “Relax, would you?” he all but snickered, turning Clark around to face the large crystalline window. “I’m about to turn you over to my co-host for the evening…I’m sure you’ll be much more at home in his capable hands.”
Clark stared at the window as it began to shift—the surface shimmered and rippled like water, then started peeling away, opening up a hole in the center like the pupil of an eye. In seconds, it had opened up a large gap leading into the blackness beyond…
And there, somewhere in that blackness, something growled. It was a low, ragged sound…a sound that no human throat could have produced…
“CLARK!” screamed a young, high voice; Clark tore his gaze away from the window to see Alexander standing in the hall, looking horrified. “Run, Clark—it’s the Phantom!”
The PHANTOM?! Clark struggled against Lex’s grip to no avail, snapping his head back to the crystalline hole—
—just in time to see a horrible and unmistakable shape come shooting through like a rocket, bellowing wordlessly—a black-robed Phantom writhed in bluish energy, its face still distinguishable as that of a man—a man with slicked-back black hair, a black mustache and goatee, and soulless black eyes—
Clark had barely processed all that before a spectral, clawed hand slammed into him with the force of an onrushing freight train—he screamed in agony as his head snapped back, as his entire body was thrown backward, freed of Lex’s grasp—he hurtled through the open gate and into the blackness beyond—
Lex’s triumphant, maddened laughter followed him, as did the deep-voiced roar disgorged from General Zod’s spectral throat—as did Alexander’s desperate, horrified scream of Clark’s name—
Then came the heavy thump of impact with rough, solid ground—then the metallic CRASH of the gate slamming shut—
Then nothing. Silence…blackness…emptiness…
…nothing.
Author: superman_lives_on
Genre: Horror/Thriller, Drama/Romance, Action/Adventure
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: The spoilers include the first six seasons, and the first eleven episodes of Season Seven. This is a rewrite of the episode “Fracture”, and includes my version of what happened after, ignoring the events of “Hero”. So leave behind most of your ideas of what will happen. Though I will not spoil what happens—this is a story, and stories are meant to be experienced by the audience, after all—I can safely assure you of at least one thing…Lois Lane does NOT appear in this tale.
* * * * *
Healing the Shattered
By Superman Lives On
CHAPTER ONE
Another Day, Another Crisis
The latest crisis had arisen—and for once, thought Clark Kent, it wasn’t his fault.
It was late in the evening of Tuesday, February 12th, 2008 when he had received the call from Lionel Luthor. The older man had been in shock, and barely able to speak, but he got the message across: Lex was in a hospital in Detroit, Michigan. He’d been shot in the chest.
Chloe Sullivan, ever the loyal sidekick, and Clark had arrived at Lionel’s office at LuthorCorp headquarters in Metropolis in a matter of minutes, thanks to Clark’s super-speed. The secretary waved them through without a word, having been expecting them, and they entered through the glass doors. “Lionel, how is he?” Clark asked as they approached the desk.
Lionel was standing over it, just now putting his phone down. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t even look up at them. “He’s, um…in a coma,” he then said, his ragged voice sounding even more worn and aged than usual. “I just talked to the neurosurgeon in Detroit, and he was able to remove the bullet…but it damaged some nerve tissue in Lex’s spine. It’s likely that…well, he may never wake up.”
Clark felt a pang of sorrow and sympathy, more for what Lionel was feeling than for what had happened to Lex. For once, however, he didn’t feel the almost instinctive surge of guilt at such terrible news. After all, it wasn’t as if he’d known where Lex was going today, and who could have seen this shooting coming? Nonetheless, he felt bad for Lionel. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his deep voice as gentle and sincere as ever.
Lionel looked down for a long moment, opened and closed his mouth as if he couldn’t find the words, then shook his head sadly. “We never…we never had a…close relationship,” he said, the words hesitant and heavy. “A lot was said…” A lot I now regret, he didn’t say, but clearly meant. “A lot…was never said…I never…” He trailed off, shaking his head again.
Chloe pressed her lips together, as if hesitant to speak, then gently asked, “Are there any suspects? Any witnesses or leads?”
Lionel shook his head no. “Every officer in Michigan is investigating this case…but so far, nothing has turned up. No one has come forth to testify.”
Clark frowned. “I find it hard to believe the shooter would leave Lex in the ditch and nobody would see anything.”
Lionel pressed his eyebrows together, as if considering his words, then said, “There is one thing that’s turned up—it doesn’t really explain the shooting, but it may explain why Lex was there.” He started fishing around in his black suit jacket. “I have a friend in Detroit, a cop—he called me when he found out about Lex.” He found what he was looking for in an outer pocket and drew it out. “He let me borrow this—it was found on Lex.”
Clark took the object, took one look at it—and almost dropped it in surprise. “Kara’s bracelet!” he gasped.
It was indeed the same bracelet, Chloe saw—the silvery band, with one portion smoothly removed, that had lain on Kara’s slender arm for as long as they’d known her. On it lay a single Kryptonian symbol that had also been on Raya’s shield crystal: a pentangle shaped like a diamond, with a curving, stylized letter S inside that touched all but one of the five sides. “You mean—she’s still alive?” she asked.
“I believe so,” said Lionel. “In fact, if memory serves, this is one of several trips to Detroit that there’s a record of Lex making in the past couple of weeks.”
“So he’s been looking for her, too,” Clark realized. He felt a strong surge of suspicion at that. “And it looks like he found her, and didn’t tell anyone.”
That was hardly a surprise, Chloe reflected glumly, considering how shady Lex was these days. Then something else occurred to her. “Wait—so Lex goes looking for Kara, and now we have evidence that he found her—”
“And then he gets shot,” Clark finished for her, his worry increasing with the dawn of comprehension. “That can’t be a coincidence; the shooter must be involved somehow, which means—”
“That your cousin may well be in danger too,” Lionel said gravely. “I’m very sorry, Clark.”
For a long moment, Clark didn’t trust himself to speak. He looked at the bracelet that had belonged to his cousin, his eyes starting to appear glassy. Kara was more than just the only other living Kryptonian—she was the only living, breathing connection he had to the family he had lost as a baby. And in her short time on Earth, she had proved that, even with the disagreements they had had, she could fit perfectly into the family he had found, as if she had always been meant to be there.
Now she was in danger—and as that thought swirled around in the front of his mind, it brought up the surge of guilt he hadn’t felt when he’d heard about Lex. If it hadn’t been for him, Kara would never have gotten into this mess—however little he knew about it, he was convinced that he was at fault for her predicament in the first place. First he’d pushed her away with his lack of trust, then he’d let his emotions overrun his common sense and unleashed a terrible series of events—
“Um, Mr. Luthor, could you excuse us a second?” Chloe asked. Lionel nodded, and she tugged Clark’s arm, snapping him out of his sad reminiscing and leading him over to the double doors, out of Lionel’s earshot. Once there, she turned to face Clark. “Please don’t tell me you’re blaming yourself for this,” she said a little tersely.
“Why shouldn’t I, Chloe?” he replied a little heatedly. “It’s my fault Kara’s out there in the first place—”
“No, Clark!” she snapped in a low voice, cutting him off. “I’m not going to let you throw a pity party here. We need to focus on saving her. Now, Lex is the only one who has any real clue where she is.” She glanced over at Lionel, then leaned in towards Clark and whispered, “I bet I could use my ‘little trick’ to wake him up so he can tell us—”
“You can’t,” Clark interrupted her. “When you used that for the first time, you fell into a coma for three hours straight—I had to pull you out of the morgue.”
“Well, I was fine when I woke up!” she protested. “And when I healed Jimmy’s finger, it didn’t do anything to me! We don’t know that anything bad will happen—these could just be the growing pains!”
“I’m not putting you at that risk,” said Clark firmly, his tone brooking no further argument. “There has to be another way to find Kara.” He paused, thinking…and then it dawned on him—the solution he should have thought of before. “And I think I know who can help us track her down—or at least figure out what Lex was up to.”
Chloe furrowed her eyebrows, unsure of who he meant—then she caught on. “Oh…you mean…”
He nodded to her, then turned and walked back over to Lionel, who looked up at them. “Have you decided on a plan?”
“Yeah,” said Clark. “But first, what are you going to do with Lex right now?”
Lionel sighed softly. “Since the doctors in Detroit can do no more, I’ll have him transported back here—perhaps my specialists at LuthorCorp can find something they missed, some way of reviving him.” From his expression, though, he held little hope of that.
“Okay, well, we’ll be doing some searching in the meantime,” said Clark, his face becoming resolved. “I think I know who can help us figure out what Lex was doing in Detroit.”
* * * * *
“I couldn’t figure out what Lex was doing in Detroit, but I may have found something even more helpful.”
Clark and Chloe stood on either side of Lana Lang, within the secret chamber in her office at the ISIS Foundation. Lana herself stood before one of the main computer screens, her crisp white blouse offset by a black business skirt and simple black jacket, her long dark hair tied back into a ponytail. Clark looked past her at the central screen. “‘Project Intercept’? Is it military?” he asked her.
“LuthorCorp developed it for the military,” Lana confirmed, “to interrogate terrorists by getting inside of their heads—literally. Lionel spearheaded the whole project.” Clark looked thoughtfully at the screens as Lana clicked and typed through several windows, continuing her explanation: “Intercept links the suspect and interrogator’s brainwaves, exposing the interrogator to all of the suspect’s thoughts and memories.”
“You’re saying someone could actually go into Lex’s mind?” Clark asked. Lana nodded and continued typing, bringing up diagrams of the Intercept apparatus. Clark glanced over them, then inquired, “Where is this thing?”
“LuthorCorp still owns all the equipment, but it was mothballed several months ago.”
Chloe’s eyes widened a little as one particular window came up. “Yeah, I can see why,” she murmured. “How’s this for fine print? The project worked several times, but was abandoned when three of the interrogators died during implementation. Autopsies revealed that their central nervous systems were completely fried.”
Clark walked away a little, mulling this over. “So their brains were wiped out,” he mused quietly. “But maybe…mine wouldn’t be…” He suddenly spun around. “What if I went into Lex’s mind?”
Both girls turned to face him, startled. “What?” Lana said. “Clark, you can’t do that—”
“Why not?” said Clark calmly. “Those three people didn’t have Kryptonian minds. I might be the only one who can do this.”
* * * * *
“Clark, your body may be invincible, but who’s to say that your mind isn’t vulnerable somehow?”
The three were at a LuthorCorp plant, inside the lab containing the equipment for Project Intercept. “I have to do this, Lana,” said Clark, tossing his red jacket aside and walking through the lab as Chloe looked around at the myriad of computer screens. “It’s my fault that Kara’s missing.”
“No it isn’t!” Lana insisted. “You did everything you could to save her.”
“Not everything,” said Clark flatly, not looking at her. “This is the only option I have.”
“Using technology built by Lionel Luthor?” she said skeptically. “God only knows why he created this thing.”
Clark turned to face her, his voice firm but not harsh. “Lana, there’s no other choice. Kara’s out there, probably in danger, and Lex is the only one who can lead me to her.”
Chloe sighed and shook her head, knowing as well as Lana did that no argument could make Clark back down on this; he’d made up his mind back at the ISIS Foundation. “Clark, just be careful, okay?” she implored him. “I seriously doubt you’ll find a red carpet and a marching band waiting there to greet you.”
God only knew what would be waiting there to greet him, Clark knew—but it was a risk he had to take. And as much as Lana and Chloe disliked it, deep down they agreed that there was no other way. That still didn’t mean they had to like it.
The door opened with a buzzing noise at that moment, and Lionel entered the lab with a technician close behind. The latter, dressed more like a SWAT officer than a scientist, was trying to talk his boss out of the risky plan: “I watched three field officers die after their brains went into electroneural shock. Sir, this machine is a death trap.”
Lionel was not impressed. “I pay you a small fortune, doctor, so please withhold your negative opinions.”
The technician stood there for a moment as Lionel walked over to the apparatus, where the comatose Lex had already been strapped in. He sighed softly in resignation, then said, “Ladies, would you please wait outside?”
Lana gave him an odd look. “I beg your pardon?”
“This is delicate work we’re about to start,” said the man, trying to be matter-of-fact. “It’s best that we not have any distractions.”
Chloe almost bristled with annoyance, but Lana spoke before she could, keeping her low voice even and firm: “Doctor, we have no intention of distracting you, or interfering in any way. But I won’t leave Clark alone during this—I want to be here to make sure he’s okay.”
“That makes two of us,” said Chloe from behind Lana, restraining her annoyance. Clark barely hid a smile at their display of steadfastness.
The technician looked as if he wanted to argue, but Lionel cleared his throat and gave him a discrete look, clearly urging him not to press the issue. The man gave another resigned sigh and nodded. “Very well. Just don’t touch any of the equipment.”
“Hands off—got it,” Chloe agreed. Lana said nothing more, but turned to meet Clark’s eyes—she hoped this wouldn’t be the last time she got to do so. He’d faced so many dangers to his welfare before, if not his actual physical or mental well-being—but even this unknown territory was a danger he was willing to face, for the sake of helping someone he loved. Lana had loved that most about him for as long as she could remember—and at the same time, she was deeply worried that this time, the danger might prove too great…might prove his undoing.
Clark saw that worry and uncertainty in her deep hazel eyes, and willed reassurance to her through his own grayish-green eyes. Whatever he faced inside Lex’s subconscious, he wouldn’t let it destroy him—he wouldn’t let it keep him from getting out in one piece, once he’d found what he was looking for. He wouldn’t let it stop him from coming back to her, the one he loved most.
Lana, in her own kind, saw that reassurance, that affirmation of his love, and leaned up to kiss his cheek, providing her own affirmation—one that he returned with a brief but warm touch of his lips to her cheek. Chloe looked away out of respect, then walked over by the apparatus. Clark pulled back from Lana to give her a small smile, willing further reassurance to her; she held his arm, left bare by the short sleeve of his solid blue shirt, for a long moment as she walked over to Chloe. Clark looked to the technician as he walked over as well. “When Lex wakes up, he’ll never know I was in there, right?”
“In the few successful cases, the terrorists had no memory of the process,” the scientist confirmed. Clark nodded and walked past the girls and Lionel, looking at Lex in the upright table-like setup. The bald billionaire’s shirt of pale blue silk had been pulled open, revealing the bandage that lay on his athletically-defined chest, marking the spot near his heart where the bullet had struck. “Now,” the technician continued as Clark reached the other setup for the device, “the freshest memories will most likely be the first ones in. The deeper you get, the greater the risk. If your brainwaves show any sign of duress, I will pull you from the procedure.”
“That’s fine with me,” said Clark. “I don’t plan on staying in there very long.” He turned around and slipped into the device, letting the technician strap him in.
“The software has been encoded with what you will see as a red door,” the man added. “That is your emergency exit.”
Lionel stepped forward. “That red door, Clark, you must never lose track of that. If we get disconnected, it’s the only link between Lex’s subconscious and reality.”
Clark nodded grimly and looked over at Lex for a moment. Within that bald head lay the clues he was looking for—he just hoped whatever else lay there wouldn’t be too dangerous. He then leaned back in the device. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Right,” said the technician, and began moving metal sensors into place over Clark’s head. “Just relax and stay still, the procedure’s painless.”
Clark nodded once more, then looked directly at the wall. Out of his field of view, two parallel screens showed wireframe images of his brain and Lex’s, the latter—“Host”—colored in blue, the former—“Guest”—in red. The technician moved over to the large control desk bearing those and other screens and, with Lionel and the women behind him, began pressing buttons and flipping switches. The two tables rotated in unison so that Lex and Clark, whose pairs of eyes were now both closed, faced the ceiling. After a few more buttons had been pushed and switches thrown, the scientist reached for a single large red button and pushed it firmly.
Lionel, Lana, and Chloe all watched on as the machinery whirred fully to life; green lasers began flickering over the sleek metal gear covering Lex and Clark’s heads. On the screens, a meter showed the Guest mind’s transfer into the Host’s—in seconds, it had reached 100%.
“He’s in.”
* * * * *
Clark felt like he was being pushed—or perhaps sucked—through a long tunnel. That was how it looked, too—crystalline walls and structures flew past him, images flashing on them too quickly to be properly seen; illusory air whipped past him, faster and faster as he hurtled down the tunnel—then a wall of metallic red came up, and he plunged towards it—
And then, he was standing on his own two feet. He looked up…and, to his surprise, what he saw looked awfully familiar—yet also unfamiliar.
He was standing in one of the hallways of the Luthor Mansion, the great Scottish castle in which Lex had made his home over six years ago. However, there were no lights on—everything seemed to be in black and white, or at least shades of gray, except for him with his blue shirt and red jacket. A few yards down, he could see pale blue-white moonlight spilling through a large window, providing the only source of illumination—but it was enough for his eyes. He looked behind himself—and there, sure enough, was the metallic red door, set in place of a stained-glass door.
He turned back around, looking down the long, dark hallway. It felt cold, as if none of the heaters were functional…but there was something else in the air, too…something vaguely stinging, foreboding, not at all welcoming. It felt…wrong in some way, unnatural…like a faint, distant echo of some unearthly voice, a whisper in the darkness that shouldn’t be there…no, a whisper that he shouldn’t be there, that he should just turn around and walk back through the red door right now.
A little shiver of trepidation crawled through his spine…he couldn’t help but feel unsettled. He shoved it down, though, and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He had a vital mission to fulfill, and he wasn’t going to get anywhere by just standing around here, let alone by turning back before he’d even gotten started.
So he swallowed down his nervousness and began to walk, slow and measured steps, down the hall. The sound of his boots on wood echoed oddly in the hall, sounding like a sort of bubbling… No, that was a different sound—a faint, whispering moan, just at the edge of his hearing. He bit down hard on a sudden twinge of anxiety and kept walking purposefully. Soon, he’d reached the large window. It was different from what he remembered—the stained glass was all colorless, letting the moonlight through unfiltered, and there was a small, jagged hole in one pane. He bent down and looked through it.
He found himself looking through what seemed to be water, as if he were sitting at the bottom of a lake or river—not so deep that he couldn’t see the surface, but enough for several people to stand on top of one another and not quite reach it. And it wasn’t just water—there was a figure floating some feet away and above, a spectral form clothed in silvery white. A ghost? A phantom? It was impossible to tell—
Hold on a second. The figure was drifting closer…and now, a halo of bright, golden hair could be seen, and a face could almost be distinguished—
Kara?
Clark drew back from the hole, startled. Then, regaining his nerve, he looked through it again. Yes—there was no mistaking it. Even through the veil of her white dress and the rippling of the water, he could make out Kara’s familiar features—her smooth skin, her high cheekbones, her slightly pouting but very pretty mouth, her pale blue eyes. Her expression was inscrutable, making her seem all the more mysterious, unreal…ethereal.
Now where and how on Earth had Lex seen her like this? But that wasn’t hard for Clark to figure out. The river at Reeves Dam, back when it had burst—that must have been it! The first time he had seen Kara’s ship, it had looked as if it had been buried underwater for a long time, only freed by the rupturing of the dam—and Lex must not have escaped the facility before the disaster had struck, thanks to Clark’s battle with—
Well, that was hardly worth dwelling upon at the moment. Now Clark understood the strange interest Lex had displayed about his “cousin from Minnesota”—she had saved Lex’s life that day under mysterious circumstances, and it had newly awakened his desire to find out the truth about whatever Clark’s family was hiding. He scowled as he pulled back from the window. Lex really hadn’t changed one bit, no matter what face he presented to the public—he was just as obsessive as ever. Only his target differed this time.
And that meant she was probably in even greater danger than they had guessed. Clark steeled his resolve and headed on down the hall, more quickly this time.
He never noticed the eye that moved up to the hole on the other side of the window, staring after him…a soft gray eye…a child’s eye.
Clark kept walking down the hall; it soon merged into another running perpendicular. He paused and looked down each end. To the right, against the other wall, was something that clearly wasn’t in the real Luthor Mansion—a large, solid, double-doored gate of thick steel, its surface carved into various medieval-looking figures. Clark looked curiously at them—they depicted various scenes of conquest, of soldiers in battle, as well as scenes of nobles on the hunt, their hounds running out in front of the horses in pursuit of prey…but there were other things as well, things that he didn’t quite recognize. He shook his head and looked to the left—and there, on the wall opposite from the one with the gate, was another large window. However, this one was even less like the actual mansion’s windows—it looked crystalline, and no moonlight came from it. Beyond, there seemed to be only blackness.
He looked past the window and saw another door at the end of the hall—a solid wooden door, no stained glass, no fancy carvings. It seemed even more out of place here—and yet…he thought he heard something from behind it. He concentrated, cocking his head to listen—
Yes, there were sounds coming from behind the door—echoing voices and faint bustling. He immediately moved toward it—but then paused and looked over his shoulder. For a moment, he thought he’d heard footsteps—but there was nobody behind him. He shook his head, chiding himself for being so jumpy—mysterious locale notwithstanding, he hadn’t yet encountered any reason to be afraid—and moved all the way to the door. He tested the knob—it was unlocked—then turned it and pushed the door open, stepping through.
As he did, everything suddenly flashed and snapped from black-and-white to full color—and the sounds lost their strange echo, becoming crystal clear. He found himself walking into a fairly large café with lime green paint, about twenty high windows, and quite a few people. Nobody took notice of him as he looked around—but he immediately noticed the person he was looking for, over by a pair of windows showing into another room.
Kara was dressed in dark blue jeans and a pale yellow and white waitress outfit, the sleeves and collar of which were laced red. Her long blond hair was combed straight, though the ends were beginning to show its natural wave, and it lay over her chest and back. She stood with a dark-haired guy a few inches taller than her, wearing the male version of the same outfit; he was finishing with wrapping a thick white bandage on her right arm, just past the silvery gleam of her bracelet.
A bandage…now that proved that Kara was at risk. She didn’t have her powers—and wherever she was in the real world, that made her far less able to protect herself.
“I swear that Frank screams at you,” she was saying to the guy; her naturally sweet voice still had a vague echo to it, unnecessarily reminding Clark that this was only a memory.
The guy grinned sheepishly, shaking his head slightly. “It’s no big deal,” he said to her, his own voice gentle and friendly. “I’m used to it. I grew up with an old man like that.”
Kara smiled at him as he put the last touch on the bandage. “Well, you’re sweet for covering, Finley. I owe you one.”
Clark looked at the sight for a long moment, feeling a mixture of relief and worry. He was relieved that Kara had found people to take her in, after he’d caused her to vanish from his life—still, he was worried about her lack of powers. How well had she adjusted, after being used to having them on Earth?
Suddenly, Kara looked in his direction, making him start. Her lips twitched into a slight smile, and she headed behind Finley to grab a pot of coffee from the shelf below one window, then started walking towards him. “Kara?” Clark began uncertainly—
She walked right past him, over to a table by one of the large windows looking outside. “Can I warm you up?” she asked the lone customer there.
“Sure,” came the answer. Clark couldn’t see the man, but he would have known that voice anywhere; he started walking to get a good view, to confirm his suspicion
Kara started pouring a fresh cup of coffee for the customer. “I’m starting to see you more than some of the regulars,” she remarked.
As Clark moved along, the man came into view—and sure enough, it was Lex, wearing a button-down dress shirt of deep purple silk. “Blame it on the pie,” he said to Kara, his charming manner understated but there. “It’s by far the second best I’ve ever had.”
“Second best,” Kara echoed wryly. “I’ll pass that along to the kitchen, give them some incentive.”
Lex smiled at her charmingly as he finished his latest bite, then introduced himself with a nod: “Lex.”
Kara put down the coffee cup and extended her bandaged arm. “Linda.”
“Linda?” Lex echoed as he shook her hand. “Doesn’t suit you.”
Mm, ya think? some part of Clark muttered irritably.
“Really?” said “Linda” curiously. “Who do I look like?”
Lex shrugged a little. “I don’t know. Someone who doesn’t belong here, that’s for sure.”
Linda—Kara looked down uncomfortably; Lex pretended to back off: “See, there I go again with my opinions. What do I know?” He took a sip of his coffee.
“Well, uh, more than you realize,” Kara admitted, sliding into the seat across from him—apparently he’d caught her attention enough to make her risk talking to him during her shift. “You know, some days, I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”
“Well, leave,” Lex suggested. “The apron’s not chained to the counter.”
Kara shook her head. “I don’t know where else to go,” she admitted. “The people here are the closest thing to a family I remember ever having.”
WHAT?! was Clark’s shocked thought. What on Earth did she mean?!
Her meaning became clear soon enough, though. “This is sort of embarrassing,” she said, “but, um…about two months ago, I lost my memory. I woke up in the middle of the street during a storm, with no idea who I was…and this place was the first one I looked for help.”
Clark stood there, stunned, as the piece fell into place. No wonder Kara hadn’t been calling out for help or anything—she hadn’t known to! And without her powers, she had no idea that she hadn’t always been an ordinary human being. Lana and Chloe had been right—his self-blame for her running away had been useless, since she hadn’t run away. She’d had no choice in the matter.
Granted, he still felt guilty for getting her into this situation—and he had every intention of getting her out of it, whatever it took.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lex had just said.
Kara—or Linda—nodded. “Actually,” she then said, “this bracelet’s the only part of my past I have left.”
Clark saw Lex’s eyes flicker down to the silvery bracelet, it and the thick white bandage serving as the only interruptions to her smooth, light golden skin. “Look, Linda,” Lex said, “I’m not sure you’d be interested, but…I happen to know some of the best researchers in the world.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe one can help you.”
From her reaction, Linda was clearly interested. “You think they can help me get my memory back?”
“Enjoying the show, Clark?”
Everything flashed white as if from lightning—Clark jumped, startled by the flashes and the voice that had spoken from behind, and whirled around. He was back in the darkened halls of the mansion—and staring into a cold, cold pair of smooth gray eyes. Lex was standing right there before him, wearing a business suit and silk tie of purest white…and wearing a nasty little smirk on his face.
Fear, icy and sudden, drove through Clark like a spike through a railroad tie. “You can see me?!”
The smirk became a wicked grin. “Surprise,” Lex hissed—and his left hand shot out like a snake’s head, clamping onto Clark’s throat with steely fingers and hoisting him off his feet. Air was cut off from his lungs, and he felt the fear intensify into sheer terror. “Oh,” said Lex in a deceptively light tone, “and look what else I can do.”
Clark struggled to breathe, his eyes wide. “Lex…please…”
“Just couldn’t resist a little peek inside my mind, could you?” said Lex snidely. “Not that I blame you—I’ve got some fascinating stuff in here, things even you wouldn’t believe in everyday life.”
“Lex,” Clark gasped, “no…don’t…”
“So you snuck in here, just like a naughty little kid who couldn’t help his curiosity,” Lex continued, ignoring Clark’s plea. His eyes gleamed with something cold and feral, and he raised his right hand—and there, Clark saw, to his surprise, a thick black glove covering the hand, made of some kind of sleek black metal.
“But,” said Lex, “like most bad little boys, Clark, you forgot to read the sign outside…” His cruel grin faded, and the scowl that replaced it was all the more horrible for the mad gleam in his eye as he pulled his gloved hand back. “NO…TRESPASSING.”
He drew the gloved hand all the way back, readying for the strike—
THUNK! But the strike came from behind, in the form of a baseball bat that crashed into Lex’s bald head; he collapsed to the floor like a rag doll, out cold, and Clark landed on his feet, gasping for breath.
“He’s been trying to kill me as long as I can remember!” exclaimed the weapon’s wielder—a young boy with curly red hair and soft gray eyes, dressed in the black and white uniform of a rich school’s student.
Clark rubbed his throat, then risked a few words: “Who are you?”
“I’m Alexander,” replied the boy. He dropped the bat and held out his hand. “Come on, we gotta go.”
Clark took a gulp of air, feeling his throat recovering, then took Alexander’s hand. They began to run down the dark hall, past the crystalline window and the heavy metal gate and heading on into the unknown. “I don’t understand—why would he want to kill you?” Clark asked as they ran.
“He says I make him weak,” Alexander replied, not looking back. “And if he finds us, he’ll kill us both.”
They turned into an adjoining hall and picked up speed, no longer holding hands; even without his super-speed, Clark kept pace with the boy. “Look, I don’t have much time!” he called hurriedly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t being chased. “I’m looking for a blond woman—my cousin, Kara Kent! Do you know where she is?”
“No,” called Alexander, “but I’ll start looking! In the meantime, you need to hide!”
They turned off the hall and reached a door of solid steel. Alexander unlocked it and pulled it open, revealing blackness beyond. “This is a place Lex never visits,” he said as Clark looked inside. “You’ll be safe in there.”
Clark paused halfway through and looked back at the boy, who smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, Clark—you’re my best friend.” Then he turned and ducked inside a hole in the wall, just large enough for him to fit into. He paused inside, smiling once more at Clark…who found himself smiling back. In that cherubic face, in those gentle gray eyes, he saw something he hadn’t seen in Lex for a long time.
Then Alexander turned and ducked fully inside the hole—and Clark turned into the blackness, closing the door behind himself. More white flashes came instantly, and a colorful room appeared before him—a bedroom in the mansion, it seemed. In it sat Alexander, carefully painting one of a set of figurines forming an historical army that stood on a little table. Clark smiled at the sight…it seemed so peaceful.
“ALEXANDER LUTHOR!” The angry bellow shattered the peace; Alexander looked up fearfully, and Clark turned in time to see the door fly open. Lionel, some twenty years younger and dressed in a black turtleneck and black pants and black shoes, stood there with his hands on his hips, glaring at his son. “What is the rule about my briefcase, Alexander?” he said, his ragged voice both stronger and colder than Clark had ever heard it.
Alexander shifted worriedly in his seat. “Don’t ever ever touch it?”
Lionel nodded grimly, taking a few steps closer; Clark felt his gut clench. “And you know I can tell when it’s been opened. Did you open it, Alexander?”
The boy shifted more, his mouth open though no words came from it. “Did you?” Lionel demanded harshly.
Clark looked between them as Alexander moved up from his seat. “No,” he said firmly. “I swear, Dad—I didn’t touch it!”
Lionel advanced on him, eyes burning with anger. “Don’t lie to me, Lex!” he roared; one hand lashed out to grab the boy by the shoulder. Alexander tried to move away, but Lionel stopped him; Clark tried to move forward, but rationality kicked in—he couldn’t intervene in a memory. “Don’t make excuses,” Lionel snapped, “you—” He forced Alexander against a wall, looming over him like a specter of doom. “Alright…be a man, Lex, and admit what you’ve done.” He shook the boy, his anger igniting into rage: “Admit it!”
“But I didn’t do it, Dad!” Alexander insisted. “I don’t care about your work!”
Lionel almost snarled as he shoved his son against the little table, knocking the figurines onto the floor; Clark’s fists clenched in outrage, but he knew there was nothing he could do. “Alright, Lex!” Lionel barked, grabbing Alexander again and forcing him into an awkward kneeling position. “If it wasn’t you, then who was it?” He shook the boy again, hissing: “Answer me! Whoopened my briefcase? Answer me, Lex!”
Alexander was struggling not to cry, but his cruel treatment made it next to impossible. He looked crushed as he gave in and admitted: “Mom!”
The shaking ceased, and Lionel gently turned his upset son around to face him, cupping his cheeks. “I saw her in your office,” Alexander sniffed, “going through your stuff. She told me not to say anything.”
Lionel stared at him for a moment—
“You let go of him!” snapped a furious female voice; Lionel and Clark both turned to see a woman with long red hair and grayish-blue eyes, dressed in white, standing in the doorway—Lex’s now-deceased mother, Lillian Luthor. “I had to know the truth,” she said as she walked into the room, meeting Lionel’s gaze without blinking. “Veritas—what is it?”
Lionel moved away from Alexander, trying to take her by the arms. “Lily—”
“No!” she resisted angrily. “I’m tired of the secrets—NO!” He’d grabbed her other arm, repeating her name and trying to calm her down, to get control of the situation, but it was no use; Lillian was just getting started. “Staying up in the middle of the night for your meetings!”
“Please!” Alexander cried as his parents began to struggle.
“What are you keeping from me?!” Lillian demanded, almost shouting. “What are you doing?!”
Lionel didn’t exercise any more restraint. “VERITAS IS NONE OF YOUR CONCERN!” he bellowed, throwing her to the floor. Alexander cried out and ran over to her, kneeling by her side. Lionel glared at them both. “You keep out of my business, Lillian,” he snarled. Then he turned to go—
—and froze the moment his eyes met Clark’s. “Who the hell are you?!” Lionel demanded, shocked and furious—the subtle echo was gone from his voice, and the scene had lost its slight blur.
Clark barely had time to realize what was happening—in fact, he hardly thought at all, except for one thing. The clenching of his gut—and the unexpected change in his status as a detached observer—overrode his own restraint; he thought to hell with it and did what he’d wanted to do the moment Lionel had started roughing Alexander up: he threw his best punch straight at the bastard.
Even the lack of super-strength didn’t diminish the fact that it was a very impressive punch. It struck Lionel’s face with a loud CRACK and knocked him away; he crashed against the wall, crying out in pain and surprise, and crumpled to the floor, too caught off guard to otherwise react.
Clark stared down at him, righteous fury blazing in his jade green eyes. “I’m someone who cares about your son, you monster,” he growled. Lionel’s eyes flicked up towards him; the old bastard couldn’t hide his fear. Served him right.
“Really?” said an unwelcome voice from the doorway. “I’m touched, Clark—I thought you’d stopped caring.”
Clark’s head shot up, but he was already too late—Lex materialized like a white ghost, grabbing onto him with his ungloved hand. “CLARK!” Alexander screamed, but the room was already flashing, giving way to the darkened, twisted hallways of the mansion.
“I always knew there was a voyeur lurking behind that telescope,” said Lex in a smarmy tone. “First the raven-haired beauty you’ve been infatuated with since preschool, now pieces of my past… Actually, Clark, I’m almost proud.”
Clark didn’t rise to the bait. “Look, I don’t want any trouble,” he said.
“Oh no? Well, too bad—because you’ve gotten yourself some trouble, my friend,” Lex sneered at him. “Normally, I’d have been a better host by now and given you the grand tour—but considering that you barged in here without an invitation, I can think of a much better way to accommodate you.” He twisted Clark around, revealing the heavy metal gate with the medieval carvings, and pushed him toward it, reaching out his black-gloved hand to touch the lock.
With a flare of crimson light and a chunking of metal, the lock came open…and the gates started grinding open, into pitch blackness. Realizing instinctively what was about to happen, Clark tried to struggle. It only served to amuse Lex. “Relax, would you?” he all but snickered, turning Clark around to face the large crystalline window. “I’m about to turn you over to my co-host for the evening…I’m sure you’ll be much more at home in his capable hands.”
Clark stared at the window as it began to shift—the surface shimmered and rippled like water, then started peeling away, opening up a hole in the center like the pupil of an eye. In seconds, it had opened up a large gap leading into the blackness beyond…
And there, somewhere in that blackness, something growled. It was a low, ragged sound…a sound that no human throat could have produced…
“CLARK!” screamed a young, high voice; Clark tore his gaze away from the window to see Alexander standing in the hall, looking horrified. “Run, Clark—it’s the Phantom!”
The PHANTOM?! Clark struggled against Lex’s grip to no avail, snapping his head back to the crystalline hole—
—just in time to see a horrible and unmistakable shape come shooting through like a rocket, bellowing wordlessly—a black-robed Phantom writhed in bluish energy, its face still distinguishable as that of a man—a man with slicked-back black hair, a black mustache and goatee, and soulless black eyes—
Clark had barely processed all that before a spectral, clawed hand slammed into him with the force of an onrushing freight train—he screamed in agony as his head snapped back, as his entire body was thrown backward, freed of Lex’s grasp—he hurtled through the open gate and into the blackness beyond—
Lex’s triumphant, maddened laughter followed him, as did the deep-voiced roar disgorged from General Zod’s spectral throat—as did Alexander’s desperate, horrified scream of Clark’s name—
Then came the heavy thump of impact with rough, solid ground—then the metallic CRASH of the gate slamming shut—
Then nothing. Silence…blackness…emptiness…
…nothing.