Subject: Chapter 30
Short summary: Clark's life on the run continues in Wyoming...
See all chapters here...
Chapter 30
Clark woke, not sure where he was or how he'd gotten there. He was cold and faced something made out of metal... He heard the city sounds behind him and remembered.
Relieved he'd managed to evade capture, Clark sighed heavily and rolled over onto his back. It was early in the day now and a heavy snowstorm was covering the city in a blanket of white. The roof where he lay was covered with more than a foot of snow already and it was still coming down hard. Muffled by the heavy snow, the city sounds seemed distant.
He was alone on the roof but he extended his hearing out, listening for anyone calling his name... No one was, not anymore, and there weren't any helicopters in the air thanks to the storm.
He relaxed and laid his head back down. Hung over from the drugs in the dart, Clark felt groggy. Weakened by the kryptonite, he also felt cold and sick to his stomach. The back of his pants and jacket were wet from the snow that had piled up against him. He shivered as he looked out from under the overhang. Part of him wanted to go back to the hotel to shower, sleep and recover but he knew that he couldn't afford to do that. Since they found him at the diner, finding where he had been living might not be that difficult for them...
Clark knew he had to leave the city as soon as possible but he had to get his stuff first. He needed to get the picture of his parents and the rest of the money they'd given him. Really nothing else there mattered... He would leave the city and disappear again once he'd had cleared out of the hotel room.
He crawled out from under the small overhang and when he looked back at it, given how narrow it was, he was surprised that it had provided any cover at all. It was probably just luck that kept them from finding him since the helicopters had been so close before he'd finally passed out. He slowly got up and looked toward the hotel...
He swayed on his feet. He still felt dizzy and sick, but he had to get moving in case his luck decided to run out. He didn't see anyone suspicious, it was still very early on a snowy Saturday morning, but he wanted to be cautious.
He decided to fly back to the hotel, it would be stealthier than running and he knew that the heavy snow would hide his flight. Nothing else was up in the air to find him up there anyway...
He lifted off and flew as fast as his aching head would allow him. Still being careful, he decided to land on the building across the street and get a real good look around before he went back to his room. He concentrated hard and looked through the walls to search the old, run down hotel. Nothing seemed out of place in the rest of the hotel, but not so when he looked at his room. A book he knew he'd left open on his bedside table was now closed and the curtains, which had been closed, were wide open. Clark swallowed hard.
Someone had been in his room but had taken care to make sure it didn't look like they had been. Aside from the book and the open curtains, everything was just the same. There was no maid service at the cheap hotel unless he paid extra for it, which he had never done, so no one had any legitimate reason to be in his room.
He looked at his room with his x-ray vision and found something that stole his breath away. A small box sat underneath the bed near where he had hidden the rest of the money in a hole in the box spring's cover. It flared blue when he concentrated his x-ray vision on it.
The small box's close proximity to where Clark had hidden the rest of the money made his blood run cold. It had to be part of a trap. He couldn't see the box had any specific purpose looking at it from the outside, but there was a small antenna sticking up from one end of it. Next to that was a small red LED that would occasionally blink. With such a small antenna, it was probably being run from somewhere close by.
He widened his view and looked at other buildings nearby. There was a building across the street which he knew had lead paint in the walls but he'd always been able to look through the windows. Not anymore. The windows now also flared blue. They would have a perfect view of his room through the now open curtains.
Clark was angry. The dart hadn't worked so now they were waiting for him to come back for the money and then they'd probably spring whatever trap was inside that box... His speed would keep them from actually seeing him but they knew his abilities very well, probably even better than he did. They might be able to somehow detect him using speed and spring whatever trap the little box contained... Any exposure to kryptonite would kill his speed and give them the perfect chance to dart him again. They would have adjusted the dosages and Clark was sure any drug they give him would disable him a lot more quickly. If it got far enough for them to use a dart on him, he was sure this time that they would succeed in capturing him.
He couldn't risk going into his room, no matter how much he needed that money or how much he wanted that photo of his parents.
He swore, furious. What gave them the right to do this to him? No, he wasn't human but that fact shouldn't give others the right to make him a hunted fugitive like he was some sort of criminal. He'd never done anything wrong. Aside from that one summer he'd spent in Metropolis hopped up on Red-K, he tried his best to always do the right thing.
It just wasn't fair.
Clark sighed. He had to be pragmatic and get going. He couldn't sit there and feel sorry for himself. He had to survive.
He knew that he only had what was on him. He looked through his pockets to see what he had to work with. His wallet only held a couple of twenties and a few ones. He also had some change in his pockets. It wasn't much to stave off hunger. Dejected, Clark stuck his hands into the pockets of his jacket and was surprised something was there. It felt like a wad of paper but he didn't remember putting anything into his pocket.
He pulled it out and was surprised to see the wad of money that Brenda had offered him. It rocked him.
He sat down on the roof, in shock. As awful as some people were to him because of who and what he was, others were so selfless... Brenda didn't have to care about him. As far as she could tell he was just some crazy kid who'd been fucked up by life. She didn't know why he was the way he was, she just wanted to help a friend. She freely gave him what would probably be sorely missed. She didn't ask for thanks.
That money meant more to Clark than the meals it would buy for him.
He sadly took one last look at the photo of his parents he hated to leave behind and took off into the snowstorm that swirled around him. He wasn't sure where he would go, but it was clear he couldn't stay in New York.
He headed west and kept his eyes open for dangers all the way.
------
Clark had based his decision of where to go on what he learned in school. He knew from Geography class that Wyoming was the most sparsely populated state and actually held more cows than people. He figured that fewer people meant fewer chances someone would call that number...
He had picked up some work on a cattle ranch in Wyoming. The work was harder than washing dishes and paid less, but he'd been raised on a farm so the work was comforting in a way with its familiarity. The folks who owned the ranch were straight forward and didn't talk much, which was just fine with Clark.
The rancher him paid him a pittance but provided all meals, a room in the barn, and seemed grateful to have an American willing to do the work for so little. When Clark had approached him about the work, his only reaction seemed to be relief that Clark actually spoke English. Clark wasn't sure the rancher and his family, especially his wife, liked him much, but they left him alone.
It was late winter and there had been a storm that covered the ground in a blanket of powder that sparkled in the golden light of late morning. Clark stepped out into the chill and admired the stark beauty of it. He'd always liked winter, but he could understand why some humans didn't. It was bitter cold.
The spare room in the barn was drafty but the cold didn't bother Clark at all, but he pretended it did. He'd learned from the freezer incident that tolerance to extreme cold would invite suspicion. He wore heavy gloves and a knit hat underneath the stained cowboy hat he'd picked up in a thrift store in Cheyenne.
The rancher's wife was a bit suspicious of Clark, he thought. She would look at him funny sometimes, especially when her teenaged daughter smiled up at him, but Clark would keep his head down and stay out of her way. He would eat his meals quickly and head back to the barn...
Not that he stayed in his room a lot. Clark didn't sleep much at all ever since he'd left New York. The near miss had given his nightmares new ways to torment him and they'd gotten even worse than they had ever been before. So, once he was sure the rancher, his wife and family were asleep he would take to the skies and patrol. He'd never had anyone to save, really, close by. Not much crime in a place that had so few people in it, so he sometimes had to go down to Cheyenne or even into Colorado, Fort Collins or Denver, to find people that needed his help. Sometimes he'd go up to Casper, Billings or even over to Salt Lake City... All that flying, even though he was quick and getting quicker, took time and it usually meant he got back to the ranch just in time for breakfast. And as often as he could, he'd head toward the Nebraska/Kansas line and call his parents before he would patrol.
What money he did make he'd mostly use to buy talk time on his prepaid cell phone. His parents were worried about him, especially since he told them so little about what he was doing or where he was. Something about his voice especially worried his mother but Clark wasn't sure what it was about him that sounded so different. He worried when his parents exchanged concerned looks as they talked to him, but he had to watch them. Even hanging in the air a hundred miles away, he had to see them.
Clark hadn't told them about what had happened or how close a call he'd had, but somehow his mother still knew something was wrong. She asked him several times during each call how he was doing and whether he needed money. She hadn't really done that before, but ever since he'd left New York she always did. He always said he was fine and that he was doing okay but she never seemed convinced.
The worry he'd always heard in her voice made it hard for Clark to really enjoy talking with his parents. And saying goodbye was getting harder and harder, he didn't like his enforced exile. Saying goodbye to them was like saying goodbye to what little remained of his previous life, and reminded him of whom he wasn't anymore. Afterwards he would get moody. He'd say even less to the rancher and his wife and when he did sleep, the nightmares would get worse. It had gotten to the point where talking to his parents only to have to say goodbye as his mother cried had simply become more than he could bear. He'd started calling less frequently, which worried his parents even more when he did call and their worry would actually made him feel even crappier about his situation so he would call less... He hated it, but it was a vicious cycle he didn't know how to break.
In the mean time, he worked as hard as he could to keep his mind off of his situation. He felt relatively safe at the ranch. The place was so remote and he never had to go into town. He was the lone hired hand, so the only people he saw were the rancher and his family. Occasionally he'd see the veterinarian when he came to check the animals, but that was about the only outsider that came regularly to the ranch. However, Clark would find some place else to be on the days he paid his visits.
One day he'd been fixing the fence line on the far end of the ranch, running barbed wire and hammering it into place, and he hadn't seen a soul all day. He'd taken a box lunch with him that the rancher's wife had made for him so he wouldn't even have to see them for lunch. When it came time to eat, he sat on the bed of the ranch's pick-up truck and enjoyed the sunshine and crisp late winter air as he ate. Although he was terribly lonely and homesick, he had to admit that it was beautiful here. The air was thinner than in Kansas and the golden sunshine filled him with more strength than it ever had before. He wondered as he ate if he could chance taking off his shirt to soak in more sun.
He looked around. There wasn't a person within nearly ten miles... He looked back at the ranch with his telescopic vision. He could see the rancher's wife walking out to the barn with feed to give to the chickens. He took off his jacket and shirt and, despite the cold, enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his skin. It was almost like a high, it felt so good. If it was sunny all the time then he'd probably sleep better. Maybe he'd take some time off to enjoy some sun near the equator... That should feel really good. He smiled at the thought, maybe once it was time to move on again he'd head south but it would be harder to contact his parents if he did...
Thinking about them, he realized with a shock that it'd been more than a week since he'd last talked with his parents. He sighed heavily and finished eating. He thought he should call them tonight, no matter how much the prospect depressed him. Once he'd finished eating, he pulled his shirt and jacket back on and went back to work.
At the end of the day came and the work was finally done, toward the end he'd cheated a bit and used some speed since literally no one was around to see, but Clark was weary. Not that he was physically tired. He normally never really felt the same way he thought humans did. Although he knew the need to sleep could be overwhelming. At the end of a long day like this, he could be so weary of the world that he wanted to sleep if only to forget, but he wouldn't allow himself to. The dreams were just too horrific. He put away the supplies he'd used to repair the fence and headed back to the barn to wash up for dinner. He was shocked to see that his light was on. Knowing how tight money was for the rancher, Clark never left the light on.
Suspicious, Clark stopped dead and listened but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
He looked with his x-ray vision and nothing flared blue. There wasn't much lead at the farm, just the spools of solder in the tool box and the solder on the wiring and joints in the old house's ancient copper tube plumbing.
No unexpected skeletons met his eye. The only other beings in the barn were the horses, the families of mice that lived in the walls, and the barn cat and her kittens. Still, he approached the barn cautiously and walked into his room looking for anything out of the ordinary. As soon as he stepped inside, he saw it.
A copy of the New York Times, a paper that probably wasn't widely available in the very conservative back waters of central Wyoming, lay on his bedside table.
The clutter that had been there had been cleared so that the paper would lay flat and the lamp would better light up the page it'd been turned to. When he looked more closely, Clark's stomach dropped and his mouth turned dry...
He paper had been folded carefully to make sure that Clark wouldn't miss seeing the image in the middle of the page. That they'd been so careful to make sure he would see that image it scared him.
It was an image of the Man.
He stepped toward the night stand and, with shaking hands, Clark picked up the paper.
The picture of The Man was a few years old, he looked younger than Clark remembered him looking back at the lab, and the caption underneath the image made Clark gasp. It said "The body of Dennis Strickland, P.H.D., reported missing late last month, was found today in a building of the abandoned Hudson River Psychiatric Center in Poughkeepsie. Recently, plans have moved forward to redevelop the historic site off of Route 9. Early Monday morning, workmen had opened up a part of the building that hadn't been used in years to discover the body strapped to a metal gurney. There were signs Strickland had been tortured prior to his death, his body covered in deep knife wounds. Previously a government researcher, with advanced degrees in bio-chemistry and anthropology, Strickland had worked most recently for Genentech, a biotech firm that is a wholly owned subsidiary of Metropolis-based Luthorcorp, before abruptly resigning late last fall. Rumors that he had been forced to resign in the aftermath of some sort of scandal had swirled in the scientific community, but no reason for his resignation was ever given. An insider on the investigation, who would only speak if his name was not used, said that there are no leads and no suspects, despite official statements to the contrary."
Clark didn't believe it as he read the lurid description of the crime scene. The Man had been beaten and bound to metal gurney and cut hundreds of times before being left to die.
But how could the Man be dead? Troubled, Clark thought it must be some kind of trick. Why would someone kill him like that? Why would someone leave the paper here for him to read? He didn't believe it, the Man was too tough to die like that, but it chilled him that someone would go to so much trouble to find him only to leave this paper behind.
It'd be easy enough to verify the story. He could go the local county public library and check other newspapers and the internet, but what was harder to understand was why someone would go to the trouble if it wasn't a trick. Is it something the government might do to lull him into a false sense of security? If they knew he was at the ranch, why leave just the paper? Why not have a sniper wait for him with a rifle loaded with darts? If he did check the other papers, would they show the same reports? If they'd wanted Clark to believe the lie, wouldn't it be easy for them to spread the lie to other papers?
No, Clark had decided it was a trick meant to get him to go home so he'd be caught. He couldn't let them do that... Sending others to find him here would be next.
Why they didn't do more than leave a paper, he couldn't figure out, but Clark realized he had to leave... He started to shove his stuff into the backpack he had and he turned around when he heard someone enter the barn. The rancher's wife, Sharon, stood in the open doorway puffing on a cigarette.
"You're leaving, aren't you?"
Clark frowned and turned back to his packing. "Yes."
"Does this have anything to do with your visitor today?"
Clark stopped what he was doing but didn't turn around. He looked at the paper sitting on the nightstand and tried to sound casual. "I didn't know I had a visitor today..."
"You did. He didn't say who he was but he looked real slick and even had a New York Times tucked under his arm. He said he would wait for you in here, but I guess he changed his mind. He left 'bout twenty minutes later..." She took a drag and blew out the smoke loudly. "It looks like he even left his paper here... Didn't you see it there on the nightstand?"
Clark didn't reply and went back to stuffing his stuff into the duffel, hoping she'd leave.
"I found it strange someone slick like him would come looking for a kid like you."
Clark gasped. Could it be Lex? His heart was racing and his mouth was suddenly dry. "What did this man look like?"
She took another drag of the cigarette. "He was slim, a little shorter than you and a little older... fancy dresser..."
Clark's eyes closed, pained at the thought that Lex might still be working with them and Him.
She continued, not apparently aware of his agony. "Also his hair was real short."
It hadn't been Lex, Clark let out a huge sigh in relief. However, the fear of the military finding him was nightmarish in itself.
He grimly stuffed in the last of his socks into his back pack and pulled one strap up onto his shoulder. He turned to leave but she stood in the doorway and blocked his way. "Please step aside..."
"Funny, this man comes out of nowhere and you pick today of all days to leave..."
"It's just time..." He was about to push her aside when she spoke again.
"Before he left he asked me to give you a message..."
"I don't want to hear any messages that man might have for me..." He pushed her aside and stepped out into the hallway. He walked past the horse stalls and was almost to the door when her voice stopped him.
"It's an odd one, he said it's safe for you to go home."
Scared, Clark wanted to hide the fact and tried to make his face as impassive as he could before he turned around. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Why did he tell you that?"
"I don't know. All he said was that it was safe for you to go home."
He was in front of her in an instant. She gasped, confused by his sudden movement. Clark grabbed her by the arm. Anger and fear made his eyes feel hot. "He's lying! If it's safe for me to go home, why wouldn't he wait and tell me himself?"
She twisted her arm in his iron hard grip, unable to pull free. She trembled and her voice shook. "You're scaring me..."
Clark roared, "Tell me why!" The sound of his shout startled the horses, they neighed in distress.
Her eyes were wide and her breath came in gasps. "He didn't say why..." She pulled again his steely grip. "Let me go..."
He let her go and she moved away from him, rubbing her arm. He grimly walked out and she called out to his back. "Who's after you that you're this scared?"
Clark paused and looked back at her over his shoulder. "You should be glad you didn't find out the hard way."
-------
During his flight heading toward home, Clark's emotions went from being scared to being cautiously hopeful. What if the mysterious man, whoever he had been, had been right? What if it was safe to go home? What if the men in Lana's house were gone? What if they'd really stopped looking for him?
What if it was a trick instead? What if they'd set a trap for him at home? Were they home waiting for him to arrive? How much trouble would they go to capture him again? How desperate were they?
As he neared central Kansas, he slowed down. He had to be sure.... he had to see for himself if it was safe and that the men who had waited for him were gone. Thousands of feet up in the air and a hundred miles away, he hung in the air inside a cloud that was full of snow that hadn't yet fallen.... He searched the buildings of Lana's old house.
He gasped. The buildings were empty. He could see a for sale sign out by the end of the driveway. There were still some network and phone cables strung out on the floor of the barn, running underneath the long tables where equipment had once sat. Clark could see imprints in the dust left by equipment sitting on the table tops. A chair had been turned over and no one had cared enough to right it before clearing out...
The house itself also showed evidence of a quick exit. Several of the drawers in the kitchen were partially pulled out and some of the cabinet doors had been left open, showing nothing but empty shelves. There were dirty dishes sitting in the sink and the fridge still held cans of soda, left over Chinese and the remains of a pizza. The bedrooms upstairs had been set up like dorm rooms and were filled with bunk beds. The bunks had been stripped of any sheets, blankets and pillows but a forgotten pillow lay underneath one of the beds.
Was it really true? Were they actually gone?
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed home. It rang and rang. He was concerned. Why weren't they picking up? He searched the house, they were both home... Clark was confused. They seemed reluctant to pick up the phone. They both sat at the kitchen table and held coffee cups.
The phone went to the answering machine, but Clark hung up. Thinking his parents were just screening calls, he called back right away and this time his mother slowly stood up and walked over to the phone.
When she spoke, she sounded very tired. "Hello?"
"Mom, it's me..."
His mom looked shocked and relieved. "Clark?"
His father stood and asked frantically, "It's Clark? Is he okay?"
"Clark! Are you okay? We've been so worried..."
"No, Mom, I'm fine... I'm sorry I haven't called."
His father picked up the extension, he sounded angry. "Son, you should call more often... The ads stopped, they cleared out of the Potter farm, they even sent back your things and yet you didn't call..."
His mother was crying... "Clark, with everything we were so worried when we didn't hear from you."
His father put his arm around his mother, consoling her. His usually strong voice shook with his barely contained emotions. "With everything that's happened, we thought the worst..."
Clark felt awful. "I'm sorry. If I'd known things had changed, I would have called... I just... It's been so hard..."
His mom looked at his father with a hopeful look. "Clark, wait. What does it mean?"
Clark shook his head, "What do you mean?"
She sounded hopeful. "They've left the Potter farm and the ads aren't being placed anymore.... They even sent back your things, yet you're okay."
"They sent back my things?" He brightened. "My pillow?"
"Your pillow, the money, your books... Everything."
He was confused. "I don't know what to think..."
His mother wiped tears from her eyes and looked more hopeful. "What if they are done? What if they have stopped?"
Jonathan turned her a bit and looked into her eyes. "Now, Martha... We can't be overly optimistic. The risk to Clark is too great if we're wrong."
"Don't you want him to come home, Jonathan?"
He looked and sounded flustered, "Of course, sweetheart, but..."
Suddenly angry, Martha interrupted him. "...but nothing, Jonathan Kent! If Clark can come home, he should."
Clark didn't believe it could be true... "It's too easy..." He shook his head again. "It's a trick, it has to be." He swallowed hard. "They found me again today..."
His mother gasped, "Again?"
Clark was perplexed. "It was weird, they only left a paper for me to read but I thought I was where I couldn't be found this time."
"This time? What do you mean, Clark? What happened?"
"Mom, I got away but they came really close to catching me just a month ago so how can this be real? I don't believe they've stopped. It must be a trick."
"How can you be so sure, Clark? They've left the Potter farm; they've stopped placing the ads, they sent back your things..."
Angry, frustrated tears stung Clark's eyes. "It seems too easy..." He looked to the southwest, toward where he had been kept. His tone turned grim. "Maybe I need to make sure for myself."
His mom sounded concerned. "What are you going to do?"
"I've got to see for myself whether it's really over..." Clark closed the phone and headed off into the sunset.
------
Clark hovered in the air about 20,000 feet up. He glared at the building where he'd suffered so much. The lab where they'd cut him open and examined him. His eyes burned with his fury.
He zoomed closer, closing in on the place that occupied his nightmares. But he saw nothing but deserted hallways and labs. It was dark but there were some lights on inside. He searched the building for any signs of occupation and could find none. The only person he could see on the property was a uniformed man in the guard shack at the entrance to the property.
It wasn't just that the building was vacant; things had also changed. The kryptonite pavement had been torn up and the large room where his enclosure had been was now completely empty. The metal floor was still there, including the brackets that had held the glass walls up, but the rest was all gone. The restraint chairs and exam tables, even the bed in the basement they'd chained him to... Everything was gone.
It should have made him feel better to see it empty, to look upon barren halls and labs. However, facing the place where he'd suffered for so long made him furious. He'd been so scared for so long the rage had been suppressed and it came out of him in a rush. The red-hot anger burned in his eyes and Clark's vision turned red. He didn't even consciously decide to do it but suddenly Clark started to burn the place down.
The heat came out of him and tore into the building, melting steel, cracking concrete and setting plaster and wood on fire. It took only a few minutes of an intense glare for the entire building to be engulfed in flames, but that wasn't enough... he wanted the thing gone.
He got closer, the smoke from the inferno surrounded him like a thick fog, and he kept on burning and burning. He wanted to turn the steel into liquid and see the wood and plaster vaporize... The building collapsed in on itself as the steel supports holding it up twisted and melted in the growing heat.
Clark realized with a shock that he'd been yelling in his fury and despair when he'd heard the distant sounds of approaching fire engines. The guard in the shack must have called 911, but Clark made sure that there wasn't anything left for them to save. He made it burn even hotter and wasn't satisfied until the building's remains collapsed completely into the heat cracked cement of its foundation.
Completely spent and tired, Clark finally stopped when he could see the fire trucks rounding the turn onto the long drive leading to the building. He tore off into the sky with tears streaming down his cheeks, grimly satisfied that he'd destroyed the place that had nearly killed him so many times.
------
Clark touched down in front of his parents' house and rushed in to find his parents sitting at the kitchen table, worried looks clouding their faces.
His parents looked up at him in shock, joy overtaking them. Clark hugged his mom, his composure completely crumbling. He sobbed in his mother's arms and wanted nothing more than to sleep in her embrace, her loving arms would certainly keep the nightmares at bay and he was so tired...
But she pulled away and looked with tear stained eyes at him. "Clark what'd you do? Your clothes are all singed...."
"I had to be sure, but it's all gone, all gone... The building they held me in was empty but I burned what was left." He looked over at his dad, pale and looking frailer than ever. "It's true. It's finally over."
Continued here....
See all chapters here...
Chapter 30
Clark woke, not sure where he was or how he'd gotten there. He was cold and faced something made out of metal... He heard the city sounds behind him and remembered.
Relieved he'd managed to evade capture, Clark sighed heavily and rolled over onto his back. It was early in the day now and a heavy snowstorm was covering the city in a blanket of white. The roof where he lay was covered with more than a foot of snow already and it was still coming down hard. Muffled by the heavy snow, the city sounds seemed distant.
He was alone on the roof but he extended his hearing out, listening for anyone calling his name... No one was, not anymore, and there weren't any helicopters in the air thanks to the storm.
He relaxed and laid his head back down. Hung over from the drugs in the dart, Clark felt groggy. Weakened by the kryptonite, he also felt cold and sick to his stomach. The back of his pants and jacket were wet from the snow that had piled up against him. He shivered as he looked out from under the overhang. Part of him wanted to go back to the hotel to shower, sleep and recover but he knew that he couldn't afford to do that. Since they found him at the diner, finding where he had been living might not be that difficult for them...
Clark knew he had to leave the city as soon as possible but he had to get his stuff first. He needed to get the picture of his parents and the rest of the money they'd given him. Really nothing else there mattered... He would leave the city and disappear again once he'd had cleared out of the hotel room.
He crawled out from under the small overhang and when he looked back at it, given how narrow it was, he was surprised that it had provided any cover at all. It was probably just luck that kept them from finding him since the helicopters had been so close before he'd finally passed out. He slowly got up and looked toward the hotel...
He swayed on his feet. He still felt dizzy and sick, but he had to get moving in case his luck decided to run out. He didn't see anyone suspicious, it was still very early on a snowy Saturday morning, but he wanted to be cautious.
He decided to fly back to the hotel, it would be stealthier than running and he knew that the heavy snow would hide his flight. Nothing else was up in the air to find him up there anyway...
He lifted off and flew as fast as his aching head would allow him. Still being careful, he decided to land on the building across the street and get a real good look around before he went back to his room. He concentrated hard and looked through the walls to search the old, run down hotel. Nothing seemed out of place in the rest of the hotel, but not so when he looked at his room. A book he knew he'd left open on his bedside table was now closed and the curtains, which had been closed, were wide open. Clark swallowed hard.
Someone had been in his room but had taken care to make sure it didn't look like they had been. Aside from the book and the open curtains, everything was just the same. There was no maid service at the cheap hotel unless he paid extra for it, which he had never done, so no one had any legitimate reason to be in his room.
He looked at his room with his x-ray vision and found something that stole his breath away. A small box sat underneath the bed near where he had hidden the rest of the money in a hole in the box spring's cover. It flared blue when he concentrated his x-ray vision on it.
The small box's close proximity to where Clark had hidden the rest of the money made his blood run cold. It had to be part of a trap. He couldn't see the box had any specific purpose looking at it from the outside, but there was a small antenna sticking up from one end of it. Next to that was a small red LED that would occasionally blink. With such a small antenna, it was probably being run from somewhere close by.
He widened his view and looked at other buildings nearby. There was a building across the street which he knew had lead paint in the walls but he'd always been able to look through the windows. Not anymore. The windows now also flared blue. They would have a perfect view of his room through the now open curtains.
Clark was angry. The dart hadn't worked so now they were waiting for him to come back for the money and then they'd probably spring whatever trap was inside that box... His speed would keep them from actually seeing him but they knew his abilities very well, probably even better than he did. They might be able to somehow detect him using speed and spring whatever trap the little box contained... Any exposure to kryptonite would kill his speed and give them the perfect chance to dart him again. They would have adjusted the dosages and Clark was sure any drug they give him would disable him a lot more quickly. If it got far enough for them to use a dart on him, he was sure this time that they would succeed in capturing him.
He couldn't risk going into his room, no matter how much he needed that money or how much he wanted that photo of his parents.
He swore, furious. What gave them the right to do this to him? No, he wasn't human but that fact shouldn't give others the right to make him a hunted fugitive like he was some sort of criminal. He'd never done anything wrong. Aside from that one summer he'd spent in Metropolis hopped up on Red-K, he tried his best to always do the right thing.
It just wasn't fair.
Clark sighed. He had to be pragmatic and get going. He couldn't sit there and feel sorry for himself. He had to survive.
He knew that he only had what was on him. He looked through his pockets to see what he had to work with. His wallet only held a couple of twenties and a few ones. He also had some change in his pockets. It wasn't much to stave off hunger. Dejected, Clark stuck his hands into the pockets of his jacket and was surprised something was there. It felt like a wad of paper but he didn't remember putting anything into his pocket.
He pulled it out and was surprised to see the wad of money that Brenda had offered him. It rocked him.
He sat down on the roof, in shock. As awful as some people were to him because of who and what he was, others were so selfless... Brenda didn't have to care about him. As far as she could tell he was just some crazy kid who'd been fucked up by life. She didn't know why he was the way he was, she just wanted to help a friend. She freely gave him what would probably be sorely missed. She didn't ask for thanks.
That money meant more to Clark than the meals it would buy for him.
He sadly took one last look at the photo of his parents he hated to leave behind and took off into the snowstorm that swirled around him. He wasn't sure where he would go, but it was clear he couldn't stay in New York.
He headed west and kept his eyes open for dangers all the way.
------
Clark had based his decision of where to go on what he learned in school. He knew from Geography class that Wyoming was the most sparsely populated state and actually held more cows than people. He figured that fewer people meant fewer chances someone would call that number...
He had picked up some work on a cattle ranch in Wyoming. The work was harder than washing dishes and paid less, but he'd been raised on a farm so the work was comforting in a way with its familiarity. The folks who owned the ranch were straight forward and didn't talk much, which was just fine with Clark.
The rancher him paid him a pittance but provided all meals, a room in the barn, and seemed grateful to have an American willing to do the work for so little. When Clark had approached him about the work, his only reaction seemed to be relief that Clark actually spoke English. Clark wasn't sure the rancher and his family, especially his wife, liked him much, but they left him alone.
It was late winter and there had been a storm that covered the ground in a blanket of powder that sparkled in the golden light of late morning. Clark stepped out into the chill and admired the stark beauty of it. He'd always liked winter, but he could understand why some humans didn't. It was bitter cold.
The spare room in the barn was drafty but the cold didn't bother Clark at all, but he pretended it did. He'd learned from the freezer incident that tolerance to extreme cold would invite suspicion. He wore heavy gloves and a knit hat underneath the stained cowboy hat he'd picked up in a thrift store in Cheyenne.
The rancher's wife was a bit suspicious of Clark, he thought. She would look at him funny sometimes, especially when her teenaged daughter smiled up at him, but Clark would keep his head down and stay out of her way. He would eat his meals quickly and head back to the barn...
Not that he stayed in his room a lot. Clark didn't sleep much at all ever since he'd left New York. The near miss had given his nightmares new ways to torment him and they'd gotten even worse than they had ever been before. So, once he was sure the rancher, his wife and family were asleep he would take to the skies and patrol. He'd never had anyone to save, really, close by. Not much crime in a place that had so few people in it, so he sometimes had to go down to Cheyenne or even into Colorado, Fort Collins or Denver, to find people that needed his help. Sometimes he'd go up to Casper, Billings or even over to Salt Lake City... All that flying, even though he was quick and getting quicker, took time and it usually meant he got back to the ranch just in time for breakfast. And as often as he could, he'd head toward the Nebraska/Kansas line and call his parents before he would patrol.
What money he did make he'd mostly use to buy talk time on his prepaid cell phone. His parents were worried about him, especially since he told them so little about what he was doing or where he was. Something about his voice especially worried his mother but Clark wasn't sure what it was about him that sounded so different. He worried when his parents exchanged concerned looks as they talked to him, but he had to watch them. Even hanging in the air a hundred miles away, he had to see them.
Clark hadn't told them about what had happened or how close a call he'd had, but somehow his mother still knew something was wrong. She asked him several times during each call how he was doing and whether he needed money. She hadn't really done that before, but ever since he'd left New York she always did. He always said he was fine and that he was doing okay but she never seemed convinced.
The worry he'd always heard in her voice made it hard for Clark to really enjoy talking with his parents. And saying goodbye was getting harder and harder, he didn't like his enforced exile. Saying goodbye to them was like saying goodbye to what little remained of his previous life, and reminded him of whom he wasn't anymore. Afterwards he would get moody. He'd say even less to the rancher and his wife and when he did sleep, the nightmares would get worse. It had gotten to the point where talking to his parents only to have to say goodbye as his mother cried had simply become more than he could bear. He'd started calling less frequently, which worried his parents even more when he did call and their worry would actually made him feel even crappier about his situation so he would call less... He hated it, but it was a vicious cycle he didn't know how to break.
In the mean time, he worked as hard as he could to keep his mind off of his situation. He felt relatively safe at the ranch. The place was so remote and he never had to go into town. He was the lone hired hand, so the only people he saw were the rancher and his family. Occasionally he'd see the veterinarian when he came to check the animals, but that was about the only outsider that came regularly to the ranch. However, Clark would find some place else to be on the days he paid his visits.
One day he'd been fixing the fence line on the far end of the ranch, running barbed wire and hammering it into place, and he hadn't seen a soul all day. He'd taken a box lunch with him that the rancher's wife had made for him so he wouldn't even have to see them for lunch. When it came time to eat, he sat on the bed of the ranch's pick-up truck and enjoyed the sunshine and crisp late winter air as he ate. Although he was terribly lonely and homesick, he had to admit that it was beautiful here. The air was thinner than in Kansas and the golden sunshine filled him with more strength than it ever had before. He wondered as he ate if he could chance taking off his shirt to soak in more sun.
He looked around. There wasn't a person within nearly ten miles... He looked back at the ranch with his telescopic vision. He could see the rancher's wife walking out to the barn with feed to give to the chickens. He took off his jacket and shirt and, despite the cold, enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his skin. It was almost like a high, it felt so good. If it was sunny all the time then he'd probably sleep better. Maybe he'd take some time off to enjoy some sun near the equator... That should feel really good. He smiled at the thought, maybe once it was time to move on again he'd head south but it would be harder to contact his parents if he did...
Thinking about them, he realized with a shock that it'd been more than a week since he'd last talked with his parents. He sighed heavily and finished eating. He thought he should call them tonight, no matter how much the prospect depressed him. Once he'd finished eating, he pulled his shirt and jacket back on and went back to work.
At the end of the day came and the work was finally done, toward the end he'd cheated a bit and used some speed since literally no one was around to see, but Clark was weary. Not that he was physically tired. He normally never really felt the same way he thought humans did. Although he knew the need to sleep could be overwhelming. At the end of a long day like this, he could be so weary of the world that he wanted to sleep if only to forget, but he wouldn't allow himself to. The dreams were just too horrific. He put away the supplies he'd used to repair the fence and headed back to the barn to wash up for dinner. He was shocked to see that his light was on. Knowing how tight money was for the rancher, Clark never left the light on.
Suspicious, Clark stopped dead and listened but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
He looked with his x-ray vision and nothing flared blue. There wasn't much lead at the farm, just the spools of solder in the tool box and the solder on the wiring and joints in the old house's ancient copper tube plumbing.
No unexpected skeletons met his eye. The only other beings in the barn were the horses, the families of mice that lived in the walls, and the barn cat and her kittens. Still, he approached the barn cautiously and walked into his room looking for anything out of the ordinary. As soon as he stepped inside, he saw it.
A copy of the New York Times, a paper that probably wasn't widely available in the very conservative back waters of central Wyoming, lay on his bedside table.
The clutter that had been there had been cleared so that the paper would lay flat and the lamp would better light up the page it'd been turned to. When he looked more closely, Clark's stomach dropped and his mouth turned dry...
He paper had been folded carefully to make sure that Clark wouldn't miss seeing the image in the middle of the page. That they'd been so careful to make sure he would see that image it scared him.
It was an image of the Man.
He stepped toward the night stand and, with shaking hands, Clark picked up the paper.
The picture of The Man was a few years old, he looked younger than Clark remembered him looking back at the lab, and the caption underneath the image made Clark gasp. It said "The body of Dennis Strickland, P.H.D., reported missing late last month, was found today in a building of the abandoned Hudson River Psychiatric Center in Poughkeepsie. Recently, plans have moved forward to redevelop the historic site off of Route 9. Early Monday morning, workmen had opened up a part of the building that hadn't been used in years to discover the body strapped to a metal gurney. There were signs Strickland had been tortured prior to his death, his body covered in deep knife wounds. Previously a government researcher, with advanced degrees in bio-chemistry and anthropology, Strickland had worked most recently for Genentech, a biotech firm that is a wholly owned subsidiary of Metropolis-based Luthorcorp, before abruptly resigning late last fall. Rumors that he had been forced to resign in the aftermath of some sort of scandal had swirled in the scientific community, but no reason for his resignation was ever given. An insider on the investigation, who would only speak if his name was not used, said that there are no leads and no suspects, despite official statements to the contrary."
Clark didn't believe it as he read the lurid description of the crime scene. The Man had been beaten and bound to metal gurney and cut hundreds of times before being left to die.
But how could the Man be dead? Troubled, Clark thought it must be some kind of trick. Why would someone kill him like that? Why would someone leave the paper here for him to read? He didn't believe it, the Man was too tough to die like that, but it chilled him that someone would go to so much trouble to find him only to leave this paper behind.
It'd be easy enough to verify the story. He could go the local county public library and check other newspapers and the internet, but what was harder to understand was why someone would go to the trouble if it wasn't a trick. Is it something the government might do to lull him into a false sense of security? If they knew he was at the ranch, why leave just the paper? Why not have a sniper wait for him with a rifle loaded with darts? If he did check the other papers, would they show the same reports? If they'd wanted Clark to believe the lie, wouldn't it be easy for them to spread the lie to other papers?
No, Clark had decided it was a trick meant to get him to go home so he'd be caught. He couldn't let them do that... Sending others to find him here would be next.
Why they didn't do more than leave a paper, he couldn't figure out, but Clark realized he had to leave... He started to shove his stuff into the backpack he had and he turned around when he heard someone enter the barn. The rancher's wife, Sharon, stood in the open doorway puffing on a cigarette.
"You're leaving, aren't you?"
Clark frowned and turned back to his packing. "Yes."
"Does this have anything to do with your visitor today?"
Clark stopped what he was doing but didn't turn around. He looked at the paper sitting on the nightstand and tried to sound casual. "I didn't know I had a visitor today..."
"You did. He didn't say who he was but he looked real slick and even had a New York Times tucked under his arm. He said he would wait for you in here, but I guess he changed his mind. He left 'bout twenty minutes later..." She took a drag and blew out the smoke loudly. "It looks like he even left his paper here... Didn't you see it there on the nightstand?"
Clark didn't reply and went back to stuffing his stuff into the duffel, hoping she'd leave.
"I found it strange someone slick like him would come looking for a kid like you."
Clark gasped. Could it be Lex? His heart was racing and his mouth was suddenly dry. "What did this man look like?"
She took another drag of the cigarette. "He was slim, a little shorter than you and a little older... fancy dresser..."
Clark's eyes closed, pained at the thought that Lex might still be working with them and Him.
She continued, not apparently aware of his agony. "Also his hair was real short."
It hadn't been Lex, Clark let out a huge sigh in relief. However, the fear of the military finding him was nightmarish in itself.
He grimly stuffed in the last of his socks into his back pack and pulled one strap up onto his shoulder. He turned to leave but she stood in the doorway and blocked his way. "Please step aside..."
"Funny, this man comes out of nowhere and you pick today of all days to leave..."
"It's just time..." He was about to push her aside when she spoke again.
"Before he left he asked me to give you a message..."
"I don't want to hear any messages that man might have for me..." He pushed her aside and stepped out into the hallway. He walked past the horse stalls and was almost to the door when her voice stopped him.
"It's an odd one, he said it's safe for you to go home."
Scared, Clark wanted to hide the fact and tried to make his face as impassive as he could before he turned around. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Why did he tell you that?"
"I don't know. All he said was that it was safe for you to go home."
He was in front of her in an instant. She gasped, confused by his sudden movement. Clark grabbed her by the arm. Anger and fear made his eyes feel hot. "He's lying! If it's safe for me to go home, why wouldn't he wait and tell me himself?"
She twisted her arm in his iron hard grip, unable to pull free. She trembled and her voice shook. "You're scaring me..."
Clark roared, "Tell me why!" The sound of his shout startled the horses, they neighed in distress.
Her eyes were wide and her breath came in gasps. "He didn't say why..." She pulled again his steely grip. "Let me go..."
He let her go and she moved away from him, rubbing her arm. He grimly walked out and she called out to his back. "Who's after you that you're this scared?"
Clark paused and looked back at her over his shoulder. "You should be glad you didn't find out the hard way."
-------
During his flight heading toward home, Clark's emotions went from being scared to being cautiously hopeful. What if the mysterious man, whoever he had been, had been right? What if it was safe to go home? What if the men in Lana's house were gone? What if they'd really stopped looking for him?
What if it was a trick instead? What if they'd set a trap for him at home? Were they home waiting for him to arrive? How much trouble would they go to capture him again? How desperate were they?
As he neared central Kansas, he slowed down. He had to be sure.... he had to see for himself if it was safe and that the men who had waited for him were gone. Thousands of feet up in the air and a hundred miles away, he hung in the air inside a cloud that was full of snow that hadn't yet fallen.... He searched the buildings of Lana's old house.
He gasped. The buildings were empty. He could see a for sale sign out by the end of the driveway. There were still some network and phone cables strung out on the floor of the barn, running underneath the long tables where equipment had once sat. Clark could see imprints in the dust left by equipment sitting on the table tops. A chair had been turned over and no one had cared enough to right it before clearing out...
The house itself also showed evidence of a quick exit. Several of the drawers in the kitchen were partially pulled out and some of the cabinet doors had been left open, showing nothing but empty shelves. There were dirty dishes sitting in the sink and the fridge still held cans of soda, left over Chinese and the remains of a pizza. The bedrooms upstairs had been set up like dorm rooms and were filled with bunk beds. The bunks had been stripped of any sheets, blankets and pillows but a forgotten pillow lay underneath one of the beds.
Was it really true? Were they actually gone?
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed home. It rang and rang. He was concerned. Why weren't they picking up? He searched the house, they were both home... Clark was confused. They seemed reluctant to pick up the phone. They both sat at the kitchen table and held coffee cups.
The phone went to the answering machine, but Clark hung up. Thinking his parents were just screening calls, he called back right away and this time his mother slowly stood up and walked over to the phone.
When she spoke, she sounded very tired. "Hello?"
"Mom, it's me..."
His mom looked shocked and relieved. "Clark?"
His father stood and asked frantically, "It's Clark? Is he okay?"
"Clark! Are you okay? We've been so worried..."
"No, Mom, I'm fine... I'm sorry I haven't called."
His father picked up the extension, he sounded angry. "Son, you should call more often... The ads stopped, they cleared out of the Potter farm, they even sent back your things and yet you didn't call..."
His mother was crying... "Clark, with everything we were so worried when we didn't hear from you."
His father put his arm around his mother, consoling her. His usually strong voice shook with his barely contained emotions. "With everything that's happened, we thought the worst..."
Clark felt awful. "I'm sorry. If I'd known things had changed, I would have called... I just... It's been so hard..."
His mom looked at his father with a hopeful look. "Clark, wait. What does it mean?"
Clark shook his head, "What do you mean?"
She sounded hopeful. "They've left the Potter farm and the ads aren't being placed anymore.... They even sent back your things, yet you're okay."
"They sent back my things?" He brightened. "My pillow?"
"Your pillow, the money, your books... Everything."
He was confused. "I don't know what to think..."
His mother wiped tears from her eyes and looked more hopeful. "What if they are done? What if they have stopped?"
Jonathan turned her a bit and looked into her eyes. "Now, Martha... We can't be overly optimistic. The risk to Clark is too great if we're wrong."
"Don't you want him to come home, Jonathan?"
He looked and sounded flustered, "Of course, sweetheart, but..."
Suddenly angry, Martha interrupted him. "...but nothing, Jonathan Kent! If Clark can come home, he should."
Clark didn't believe it could be true... "It's too easy..." He shook his head again. "It's a trick, it has to be." He swallowed hard. "They found me again today..."
His mother gasped, "Again?"
Clark was perplexed. "It was weird, they only left a paper for me to read but I thought I was where I couldn't be found this time."
"This time? What do you mean, Clark? What happened?"
"Mom, I got away but they came really close to catching me just a month ago so how can this be real? I don't believe they've stopped. It must be a trick."
"How can you be so sure, Clark? They've left the Potter farm; they've stopped placing the ads, they sent back your things..."
Angry, frustrated tears stung Clark's eyes. "It seems too easy..." He looked to the southwest, toward where he had been kept. His tone turned grim. "Maybe I need to make sure for myself."
His mom sounded concerned. "What are you going to do?"
"I've got to see for myself whether it's really over..." Clark closed the phone and headed off into the sunset.
------
Clark hovered in the air about 20,000 feet up. He glared at the building where he'd suffered so much. The lab where they'd cut him open and examined him. His eyes burned with his fury.
He zoomed closer, closing in on the place that occupied his nightmares. But he saw nothing but deserted hallways and labs. It was dark but there were some lights on inside. He searched the building for any signs of occupation and could find none. The only person he could see on the property was a uniformed man in the guard shack at the entrance to the property.
It wasn't just that the building was vacant; things had also changed. The kryptonite pavement had been torn up and the large room where his enclosure had been was now completely empty. The metal floor was still there, including the brackets that had held the glass walls up, but the rest was all gone. The restraint chairs and exam tables, even the bed in the basement they'd chained him to... Everything was gone.
It should have made him feel better to see it empty, to look upon barren halls and labs. However, facing the place where he'd suffered for so long made him furious. He'd been so scared for so long the rage had been suppressed and it came out of him in a rush. The red-hot anger burned in his eyes and Clark's vision turned red. He didn't even consciously decide to do it but suddenly Clark started to burn the place down.
The heat came out of him and tore into the building, melting steel, cracking concrete and setting plaster and wood on fire. It took only a few minutes of an intense glare for the entire building to be engulfed in flames, but that wasn't enough... he wanted the thing gone.
He got closer, the smoke from the inferno surrounded him like a thick fog, and he kept on burning and burning. He wanted to turn the steel into liquid and see the wood and plaster vaporize... The building collapsed in on itself as the steel supports holding it up twisted and melted in the growing heat.
Clark realized with a shock that he'd been yelling in his fury and despair when he'd heard the distant sounds of approaching fire engines. The guard in the shack must have called 911, but Clark made sure that there wasn't anything left for them to save. He made it burn even hotter and wasn't satisfied until the building's remains collapsed completely into the heat cracked cement of its foundation.
Completely spent and tired, Clark finally stopped when he could see the fire trucks rounding the turn onto the long drive leading to the building. He tore off into the sky with tears streaming down his cheeks, grimly satisfied that he'd destroyed the place that had nearly killed him so many times.
------
Clark touched down in front of his parents' house and rushed in to find his parents sitting at the kitchen table, worried looks clouding their faces.
His parents looked up at him in shock, joy overtaking them. Clark hugged his mom, his composure completely crumbling. He sobbed in his mother's arms and wanted nothing more than to sleep in her embrace, her loving arms would certainly keep the nightmares at bay and he was so tired...
But she pulled away and looked with tear stained eyes at him. "Clark what'd you do? Your clothes are all singed...."
"I had to be sure, but it's all gone, all gone... The building they held me in was empty but I burned what was left." He looked over at his dad, pale and looking frailer than ever. "It's true. It's finally over."
Continued here....