Smallville: Revelations, Chapter 5
Title: Smallville: Revelations
Author: latetothpartyhp / FlyingHigh
For: mygyps17
Rating: PG-13/Teen for language, some violence, and some mentions of sexuality
Warnings: Bullying and some scenes of violence involving a child
Prompts: Summer camp, haunted cabin, jealous & spying Lana. No Clark ignoring Chloe for Lana, no Clana dating, no kryptonite.
Summary: A mysterious apparition is trying to kill a young Smallvillian and it's up to Chlark to save her! Takes place in Season 2 after Vortex and before Heat.
Author's Note: This is my first stab at a prompt, so I'm submitting this with fingers crossed. Also see my note at the end of Chapter 5 and after the Epilogue. Originally posted at the secret_chlark Summer 2012 Gift Exchange.
Table of Contents
Chloe stumbled down the road to the nurse's station. The road was gravel and she had so worn the wrong shoes for walking on it. Bits of sand and bigger bits of stone kept getting lodged between her foot and the sole of her sandal and she kept having to stop and knock them out. On the other hand, it wasn't as if she had any shoes that would have been right for camp. She'd only been to camp once, the summer after her mom had taken off to wherever she'd taken off to. It was one of the many “adventures” her dad had seemed to think would be good for her, but she'd hated it as much as Rose seemed to. It was especially weird being here after a month back in civilization. She'd almost forgotten gravel existed.
She hadn't forgotten about Clark though, the big, dumb math savant that he was. He'd emailed her just twice since she'd been gone, and one of those had been a blow-by-blow description of how he'd helped his dad fix their tractor. All that that had told her, besides that he might have a bright future as a technical writer, is that he was never going suddenly appear in the basement of the Planet, swoop her into his arms and walk out with her. God, she should have never let Lois talk her into watching that movie. She was at the Daily Planet, the G-D DP as Jimmy'd taken to calling it (although that had totally failed to catch on the way he'd thought it would). The Planet had been her dream years before she'd ever met Clark Kent. She needed to focus on that. That, and this story, which she was writing for the Daily Planet. If she was right about the military's involvement, it was gonna be huge. Not that she could start off with the military angle; it was possible Uncle Same had already made a call to Kahn, which meant she was going to have to start off small and prove the problem, substantiate it all.
Coming to a fork in the road, she stopped. Clark had told her the nurse's station was on the road; he hadn't said anything about choosing a direction. He had told her to head left, though, so she took the left-hand fork. Plus the one building she could see on the right looked large, like an assembly hall or a chapel. The one on the left was smaller, like a place where you'd stash kids who'd drunk too much milk in 100 degree heat. She would never understand why boys just thought you could point in a general direction and people would know what that meant. It wasn't as if she was a mind-reader, although now that she thought about it, that would be useful if she ever swallowed any green rocks. Way better than getting people to obey her. She'd get some amazing stories as a telepath. She'd also be able to find out what, if anything, was going on inside that dumb boy-brain of Clark's. Wait, she'd already said 'dumb'. What was a synonym for 'dumb'? Besides 'stupid'? 'Sluggish'? 'Inert'? 'Imbecilic'?
No, Clark wasn't imbecilic, she decided as she tromped on to the porch of the little building building she'd decided was the nurse's station. And he wasn't sluggish. He was just plain ol' dumb.
“Hello,” said the older woman who answered her knock. “May I help you?”
“Are you the camp nurse?”
“Yes, I'm Nurse Ames.”
“Hi, my name's Chloe Sullivan.” She stuck her hand out and the nurse shook it, looking as if the procedure was just adorable. “I'm here from the Daily Planet.”
“You look a little young to be working for the Daily Planet.”
“I'm an intern,” Chloe replied. She may have bristled a little too. “I'm here to find out more about the accident on the beach yesterday. I understand the lifeguard, Jake Roberts, was knocked unconscious. How's he doing now?”
The nurse pursed her lips. “I'm afraid I can't give that information out to anyone but family members or camp administrators. If you need a statement you should talk to Camp Director Fueller.”
As if anyone in administration was going to tell her anything. “There's a rumor going around camp that he had a seizure,” Chloe tried.
“You should know I also can't discuss patient histories, either.”
“So, this wasn't a one-time incident? This had happened before?” Chloe kind of hoped he hadn't. It would blow up her theory of a military-funded super-soldier project, but since the woman had just left herself open, Chloe had to ask.
The nurse sighed. “Miss Sullivan. Is that right? Sullivan?”
Chloe nodded.
“I'm not sure what you've learned during your internship about ethics in the newsroom, but in the medical professions we like to abide by a stricture known as provider-patient confidentiality. It would be a breach of ethics for me to give you any information about Jake's condition without his consent.”
“Well, is he conscious?” Chloe asked. “Can I talk to him directly?”
Before the nurse could answer a strident voice Chloe recognized all too well reached out over the native-prairie landscaping to smack her across the ears. “Chloe!”
Chloe barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Carrie Castle, winner almost simultaneously of the Metropolis Journal's Fastest Rise and Hardest Fall awards, had not been her first choice of chaperone, but she'd been the only warm body both willing and available. “Chloe!” she repeated.
Chloe pasted on her biggest grin. “Ms. Castle!” Taylor liked the interns to use “appropriate” forms of address for the staff. She'd have thought “Carrie” would be appropriate enough for someone who'd reportedly had to get down on her knees and beg Kahn for a job, but opinions on that differed.
“Time to go,” Carrie said, climbing on to the porch. “It's a two-hour ride back.”
Chloe's smile fell. Assistant Camp Director Young Daniel Day Lewis was falling down on his job. She thought as fast as she could. “Uh, okay. I'm just finishing up my interview here with Nurse Ames. Maybe you'd like to ask her a few questions?”
Carrie flicked a bored look at the older woman. “If we don't leave now it's going to be three hours.”
“But we haven't--”
“Or you could walk,” Castle suggested before turning and climbing down the steps. Was the woman jonesing for a cigarette THAT badly? Throwing up her hands, she thanked Nurse Ames, who was suddenly looking at her again as if Chloe was the most adorable thing she'd ever seen, and ran after Castle.
“I could have used your help back there,” Chloe hissed.
“There's no story here,” Carrie responded. “Just two accidents. Two completely unconnected accidents. Now, if one of those kids had died, then we'd have something to report.”
“What is it with you people?” Chloe shouted. “You act as if an ounce of cure is worth a pound of prevention! If this story can keep children from being hurt --”
“No one will buy it. Literally. People do not purchase the Daily Planet to read child endangerment stories. That's what the ten o'clock news is for. Kahn won't print this.”
Chloe couldn't believe this. Well, she could; she was somewhat used to not being taken seriously by the adults on staff, but this was ridiculous. Biting her lip, she considered whether to give up her lead. She'd die if Carrie took over that story. On the other hands, Rose might die if it didn't get the attention it needed. “What if it involves more than certifying a possible epileptic as a lifeguard?” she asked. “Multiple witnesses told me the girl who nearly drowned wasn't just in over her head; she was being attacked by a woman who may have ties to the girl's father.” By “multiple” she meant “two”, but Carrie didn't need to know that. Yet.
Carried gave her questioning look. Then a light dawned on her face. “You're that girl with the little Weekly World News rag, aren't you?”
“What? No! I'm the editor of the Smallville High Torch!”
“And you run a lot of crazy shit about two-headed calves and Batboy.”
“You really don't do your research, do you?” Chloe spat out, following her into the visitor's parking lot. She'll say this for Carrie; she set a brisk pace.
“Look, kid,” Carrie answered, and her smile was almost sympathetic. “I get that you think there's some big story out here that only you have the guts to tell. We've all been there. But whatever it is you think you have, trust me: you don't.” She unlocked the driver's side door of her Mustang and slid in.
“So, what are you saying?” Chloe asked as she opened the passenger's side door. “The sole purpose of putting out a newspaper is to print press releases and Twinkie recipes?”
“I'm saying that not every leaf that falls is gonna make the front page, that's all.” She inserted her key in the ignition, smiled again, reporter-to-intern, and turned the key.
Then turned it again.
Then frowned.
“The car's not starting,” she said. “Why isn't the car starting?”
“Are you seriously asking me?” Chloe asked.
“Did I leave the lights on?” Carried asked. She twisted the indicator switch back and forth. The headlights flickered on and off. “Evidently, no. Well if the battery's not dead, what the hell could it be?”
“Again, you're asking me?
“You're not a help right now.”
“I guess we're not beating rush hour then.”
“Again, less than helpful.”
“Maybe Assistant Director What's-His-Face knows something about cars,” Chloe suggested.
“You know,” Carrie said thoughtfully. “I'll be he does.”
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“What's a distributor cap?” Lana asked. They were at dinner, which for Clark consisted of pork-and-beans, corn on the cob, Jell-O and chocolate milk, and Lana had made the between the serving line and her table of seventh-graders to ask the two of them why Chloe was eating at the staff table with the reporter from the Daily Planet.
“It 'distributes' the electrical charge from the coil to the spark plugs,” Pete answered while Clark chewed his Jell-O. “Without it, the engine doesn't turn.”
Lana frowned. “Why would someone want to remove it?”
“Now you're starting to sound like Chloe,” Pete told her. “But I now only answer questions that have been previously submitting to my staff in writing.”
Lana frowned again, as if she wasn't sure whether to laugh or not, or what she should say in response. Chloe would have known what to say, Clark thought. She would have rolled her eyes and made a joke about Pete having a big head. Or she would have emailed him later with a list of really obnoxious questions, like “Mr. Ross: is it true your sense of irony is so impaired that you joined the football team purely to avoid being knocked over and beat on by a bunch of 200-pound jock-straps?” Pete had gotten mad at him for laughing when she'd sent it, but that just proved Pete needed to lighten up. Seriously. Guy was way uptig--
“What do you think, Clark?” Lana asked.
Clark swallowed his Jell-O. “About what?”
“Was the distributor cap removed by an immature prankster or a malevolent ghost?”
It was his turn to frown now, first at Lana, then at Pete. “Are those the only choices?”
“C'mon, Clark,” Pete urged. “Back me up. Tell her what Rose told you guys today.”
“You and Chloe talked to Rose?”
How had Pete...? Chloe. Chloe must have talked to him. “Uh...” And now Pete was glaring at him. Why would Pete be glaring at him? Pete was the one who'd let the cat out of the bag. “Just about what she said she saw the other night. And, uh, at the lake,” he added after another glance at Pete.
“What did she see at the lake?”
“Pete's overwhelming masculinity swimming in to save her?”
Pete hooted. “You been hittin' the Harlequins again Clark?”
Lana threw him an annoyed glance. Or maybe it was Clark she was annoyed with. Her glance was pretty all-encompassing. “I need to get back to the girls,” she said.
Clark followed her departure, making sure she was back at her own table, but Pete was insistent on talking. Badgering, more like. “What the hell was that about? You couldn't just tell her Rose saw this woman too?”
Clark turned back to him and glared, matching stare for stare. “Rose thinks everyone in camp is making fun of her. She's different from everyone here and she thinks they hate her because of it. And now you want me to tell Lana she saw something no one else saw?”
“No one else but me, Pete. Remember me? Your best friend?”
“I'm sorry, I'm just... worried about Rose. She seems so alone here.”
Pete's expression softened to something like chagrin. “Yeah, well, she is alone. Her mom just died and I don't ever think her dad was in the picture. Neither her or her mom ever talked about him. And now she's been stuck here at camp for like a month.”
“What? They let kids stay that long?”
“They let her. Chloe checked the record file when the Fueller went to use the john.”
“She was looking through the camp records?”
“She had to do something, man. Sounds like they basically locked her in there all afternoon. Keeping her out of trouble. I guess the camp's insurance policy doesn't cover kids who show up researching newspaper articles.”
“That sucks. Why couldn't they borrow a car and drive back?”
“'Cuz how would they get the car back? They ordered in a new cap; it'll come in UPS tomorrow.”
Clark pondered the implications of that statement. “So, Chloe's spending the night?”
“Yeah. And the morning too, until UPS comes.”
Clark glanced over to the staff table, where she was animatedly discussing something with Assistant Director Olsen. After a few seconds her eyes darted sideways, toward the camper's tables, and Clark hastily dropped his gaze back to his tray. “So, uh, who would take the distributor cap off? You really think it was some kind of ghost?”
“No. I said it was the woman who's stalking Rose. Lana thinks I meant the 'ghost' that showed up in their cabin.”
“Oh. Why would the woman stalking Rose want to keep Chloe's car from starting?”
“It's the reporter chicks car, and my theory is she doesn't want word to get out about her being here.”
“That makes sense.”
“Of course, there are other theories.”
“Like Lana's?”
Pete nodded. “Yes, like Lana's. She thinks one of the campers took it.”
“That makes less sense than a ghost taking it.”
“Yeah. Unless someone really, really wanted Chloe and the reporter chick to spend the night.” Pete paused and lifted his milk carton with significance.
“Who would that be?'
Pete threw the milk carton down. “You really are a few paces behind the leader, you know that? You, dumb-ass. I was talking about you.”
“ME?”
“Shh! Yeah, you. You were the one getting all hot and bothered by Chloe spending the night.”
“I WASN'T --”
“SHH!”
“I wasn't getting... For your information, I've got to spend the night stalking Rose's cabin.”
“You think Eye-Patch is gonna come back?”
“Maybe.” The whole idea was a little crazy, but, as Chloe liked to tell him, weirder things had happened. Nor could he believe Rose was lying. Whatever, or whoever, this woman was, Rose had seen her and that meant they needed to find out the what and the who for certain.
“You need a hand? Four eyes are better than two, you know.”
“No,” Clark said quickly. “Two people are more likely to get caught than one. And if we get expelled we don't go to Arkansas.”
“You think you're sneakier than I am? Seriously?”
Clark wished for a piece of Jell-O to chew so he could buy time and think of an excuse. “I … just don't want anyone else to get into trouble.”
Pete popped a slice of green pepper into his mouth. “Yeah, I guess three would be a crowd.”
“What do you -- That's not what we're doing. I'm doing!” he corrected quickly.
“Uh-huh,” Pete said.
Author's Note: Later-model Mustangs do not use distributor caps; at least, they don't according to the Interwebs. However, plug-on-coil ignitions sound as if they require more tools on hand to remove than the average camper/camp employee, etc. would have on hand, so we're just gonna pretend distributor caps are still state-of-the-art.