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Chapter 7

Racing in the darkness as though frightened by more than just the still quiet of the late night, Chloe climbs the cement stairs to the musty apartment knowing that once she’s inside not even her pillow will be able to comfort her. It seems that she can find solace in nothing between the cold block walls that cage her. Even thoughts of happier times, or dreams of Clark, cannot provide her a moment’s peace. Actually, thinking about such things make enduring this life even harder.

Plunging her hand deep into the abyss of useless clutter corroding her purse, Chloe searches frantically for her little monkey key chain, knowing once again she must unlock her hidden world behind the door and pull herself inside. Yet, despite the flurry of her fingers, all she’s able to find is a few loose pennies, another reminder of the purgatory in which her poverty has placed her.

Who would’ve thought the gentle jingling of change could awaken one who normally sleeps beneath a veil as heavy as death thanks to their alcohol addiction? But, Gabe was hardly asleep. His daughter’s absence was known to him although his worry over her tardiness was not tied with his familiar paternal instinct. His months of unemployment had long ago buried those feelings under a mound of paranoia and self pity.

Suddenly sliced by the sudden shaft of light pouring out of the doorway, the darkness oddly seems like the safer place to be. If only Chloe knew that Clark was still behind her. He had kept himself hidden in the shadows during her walk home, making sure that she arrived safely. If she could see him there, then she would know she could run to him, and be held within the arms that would never hurt her. But in another outburst of her arrogant pride, she had left him no choice but to remain at arm’s distance, only able to protect her from afar.

When Clark sees Chloe’s father in the doorway he feels comfortable to turn away, leaving her for the night until his eyes can find her again in the morning. If only he knew these last few months had turned her father into a person more frightening than a stranger on the street. The man who once was so gentle and loving, now had a face hardened and cruel. As he stands before her in the doorway, his eyes begin accusing her of things she hasn’t done, and his fist begins to tighten out of irrational thoughts that he can not control.

Frozen by the bright light of the apartment, as though a victim of interrogation, Chloe stands paralyzed, still in shock that her father is awake, or even cares enough to notice that she’s coming home so late.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Dad,” Chloe says, still tasting the final word of her sentence. Chloe really hadn’t noticed until just then how her feelings towards her father were beginning to change. Just saying the word ‘dad’ made her realize he was no longer worthy of the title.

“I fell asleep at The Talon,” she adds, thinking the truth will be enough to free her from the hateful gaze under which she is pinned.

Gabe not only notices Chloe’s hesitancy in addressing him, he feels it in his heart. “Fell asleep?” He repeats incredulously, insinuating that he suspects she’s guilty of another act taking place in a bed.

Chloe had been able to hide the events of last summer flawlesslessly, knowing how important it is for a father to believe his daughter is a symbol of purity and innocence until the day she walks down the aisle. Chloe felt it best to protect her father’s heart, and her own reputation, by acting as though she never indulged in sex; if that’s even what you could call those three minutes on the floor.

Gabe had always trusted his daughter, well aware that her head’s on straight and her feet are planted firmly on the ground. She had been a model child from the day she was born, only ever causing him stress by the rapid rate it seemed she wanted to grow up. She was always able to make her own choices and they tended to be the right ones. Yet, his new relationship with Jack Daniels often made him forget the things he knows as fact. Nowadays he seems only able to see the bad side of things and these plaguing thoughts push him into fits of rage, and depths of despair, that Chloe cannot pull him back from.

Unfortunately, this night her father’s intoxication ignites sorrows not so easily drowned away. With every moment that ticked by waiting for Chloe to get home, Gabe’s fears turned into paranoia, making him believe that once again a woman that he loves, the last person he has in the entire world, had walked away, leaving him to face the deafening silence all alone.

He couldn’t allow that to happen again. He needed to hold on to his daughter, to prevent her from leaving him. If he were to be honest with himself, he wasn’t scared that a boy like Clark Kent would steal her away from him with a promise of a better life. No, the truth was that Gabe was most frightened that Chloe would choose a different life, any life, away from her father simply because he wasn’t in it.

Suddenly she feels his large hands upon her arms, shaking her so hard her head can only whip back, unable to keep up with the movement of her body. His grip is so tight it scares her, yet she fears if he lets go it will send her flying backwards down the staircase. She hears the contents of her purse smacking against the concrete, as she frantically tries to break free from her father’s grasp.


It would never make any sense, no matter how many times she would try to understand it. The reason for her father’s actions were hidden deep within the depths of his own mind. In the odd vein of how we hurt the ones we love, Gabe reached out to hold onto his daughter, but in doing so he drove her further away.

Chloe’s vision begins to blur, allowing her to only see the brightness of the light being swallowed by darkness swirling around her. Her mind cannot focus on the evident question of ‘why?’, she can only try to break free. As she fights to keep her eyes open, she tries to move her body away from the stairs.

Gabe feels her fighting back, and his rage intensifies. His hold on her becomes like a vice, and Chloe finds herself powerless against him. His hands bruise her flesh, and he’s shaking her so violently neither she nor him can know how this will end. Suddenly there’s blackness, and she is free from his hands.

******************************************************************

Chapter 8

Chloe feels secure, as though tucked beneath a down blanket. She longs to stay in this moment, knowing for once she can exhale and allow someone else to take control of all the things that have spiraled out of control around her. If only the thick fog that clouds her would allow her to open her eyes. Clark has a way of finding her at her weakest moment, always able to calm her fears, and keep her safe. Yet, the haze enveloping her brain weighs her down, making it impossible for her to move even the smallest part of her body. As though paralyzed, Chloe feels trapped in her own body, unable to do anything but wait for the inevitable grip of Clark’s hands to find her, and pull her out of the horrible mist.

“Clark,” she whispers, finding a strained voice within. Yet, despite her hopes that once again Clark was to be her knight in shining armor, this night she could only depend on herself. Clark was not there. She was alone.

Chloe blinks against the pin pricks of light that stab her eyes. The ground beneath her is cold and hard, and she can feel her arm twisted beneath her. Slowly her mind grasps what just happened. As she lays awkwardly on the ground, she remembers trying so hard to turn her body away from the stairs. Unfortunately, in doing so, she backed herself into a corner. Before Gabe even realized, his forceful shaking made her head whip back, causing an unfortunate union with the brick wall. Despite the throbbing pain in her head, she still feels as though this has happened to someone else. If only she was just the one unfortunate enough to watch.

As the world around her comes into focus, pounding and pulsing pain surges through her head making it even harder to concentrate on the light that is getting brighter by the moment. Slowly she's able to free her arm from the weight of her body. Only by a miracle the bones within her arm are unbroken, able to move her hand up to her throbbing head. Thankfully the cool concrete underneath her had not been blanketed by her warm blood. Despite all of the pain swirling around within her, the evidence of this encounter is hidden like so many other things in her life. Without mercy or meaning, her father's hands had broken and bruised her tender heart and unparalleled spirit.

Any other person would have crumpled under the pressure that Chloe had been exposed to for months. It took great strength to put on a happy face each day, all the while knowing even a frown would be a mask. For what her life has become is worthy of tears, and no one would fault her for letting them go. But Chloe had too much respect for herself to throw in the towel and give into her situation. She would not allow herself to wallow in self pity, clinging to the hope that things would turn around for her and her dad. But tonight, as she remembered his hands digging into her flesh, she felt the tears flow into her eyes, and she pulled off her mask.

Chloe finds the strength to pull herself up, pausing before standing to take a closer look at that which has caught her eye. The little monkey key ring gleams in the light that’s spilling out of the apartment, illuminating her means of escape. Acting on impulse, as though running for her life, Chloe grabs the keys in her hand and disappears down the staircase, not looking back to all she’s leaving behind.

In a flurry of feet and fingers she finds her way to her car, turning the key in the lock, and then the ignition in record speed. The tires peel across the asphalt as the tail lights disappear into the darkness.


******

The tiny red bug hugs the curves of the long stretch of the road while the warm glow of the headlights melt into the wet asphalt. The lonely driver fights to wipe her tears away quickly, like the wipers on the windshield which cannot keep up with the rain.

Never feeling more alone than she does at this moment, Chloe switches on the radio, hoping to find something to fill the silence. Rolling quickly past stations of dead air and static, she stops on a song that stabs her heart. It’s funny that misery truly does love company, for just hearing simple lyrics sung by a stranger helps her find comfort in someone else’s pain. I guess just knowing that there might be someone else out there that hurts like she does is an odd consolation, so she turns the dial up, and lets her tears fall down her cheeks without allowing her hand to stop them.

The chugging of her engine rips Chloe untimely from the escape the melody provided her. Seeing that the needle on her fuel gauge has plunged too far beneath empty to carry her a foot farther, she rolls the car into the thick grass near the ditch on the side of the road, just before the engine shuts itself off. Feeling completely defeated Chloe hides her face against the steering wheel, praying not only this night never happened, but that her whole life never had either.

Accepting her fate, and knowing she can’t spend the night praying for time to be reversed, she lifts her head from the wheel only to see her salvation before her. Just a few yards ahead, illuminated by her headlights, Chloe sees the Kent mailbox; the safest place a person could ask for. A place offering much more than safety for her.

Chloe makes her way down the long driveway, savoring every tiny detail the quaint farm provides. She gently runs her fingers down the fence as she walks closer to the house, taking in the smells, and loving every single one of them. Every square inch of this land reminds her of Clark, and she never really had the opportunity to explore the vast simplicity of the place the one who means so much to her calls home. Being trapped within the few rooms of the cold, dark apartment she’s consigned to making her appreciate the treasure that is these rural acres. She feels like Scarlet O’Hara, finally understanding the value of land, and a place to be proud to call home. She stands poised at the end of the walk feeling as though she could spread her wings, even if it’s alone in the darkness.

The humble yellow house normally is aglow with warm lights flooding out of the shuttered windows, but the darkness that had fallen hours before lured the farmer’s family into their beds, assuring the stillness until just before daybreak. Nightfall not only quieted the land, but the busy hands that tend to it, making it so that no one was awake to greet Chloe as she approaches their home.

Chloe knows she is but a knock away from a trio of Kents more than willing to greet her, and see to her every need. Martha Kent would not only cook her a warm meal, but tuck her into a warm bed, comforting her with a gentle mothering touch. Johnathan would jump in his truck and face down her father, vowing to never allow anyone to treat her unkindly. And, of course, there’s Clark. Oh, the things she could imagine Clark doing to ease her troubled mind. She could practically feel him holding her hand within his, and feel his whispers in her ear as he promises he will always protect her.

Restraint has always been Chloe’s strong point, and there was no reason to lose her gift tonight. She could not bring herself to rap upon the door, deciding it’s best to allow the Kents to remain in the solace of their dreams, having no reason to invite them into her nightmare.

She carefully tiptoes up the steps to the barn loft, cringing as the worn wood creaks beneath the weight of her body. Quickly she looks over her shoulder, fearing Clark Kent could appear out of the darkness as quickly as he seemed able to disappear into it. The coast remains clear, so she closes the space between herself and the hidden fortress at the top of the stairs. The little nook tucked atop the stairs had always been able to provide Clark peaceful solitude, and that’s something Chloe’s more than overdue for.

The full moon’s light pours through the hay door opening, brightening Chloe’s spirits with it’s enchanting glow. She gazes up into the beautiful sky which is sprinkled with tiny stars like glitter dancing upon an infinite piece of black velvet, unable to imagine what it might feel like to spend a night like this wrapped in the embrace of her very dear friend.

Her fingers find their way to the telescope tilted towards the heavens. She smiles, knowing that Clark, although seemingly part of a perfect nuclear family, has things even he longs to escape from. She bends down, peering through the lens to the amplified galaxy, hoping to dream herself into the abyss that seems to be just an arm’s length away. How beautiful it would be to bathe in such serenity, not having a care in the universe but to shine brightly, and guide others along their path.

Chloe stretches back, reaching her arms above her head with an exhausted stretch. Squinting her eyes, she punctuates her yawn with a breathless moan. The late hour, and stress of the day finally catches up with her, so she decides to find a place to lay her head, if only for just a few moments.

Any other night the idea of laying atop a nest of dusty hay would’ve made her itch and sneeze. But this night, the rustic heap might as well be down feathers. It cradles her gently and whispers lullabies allowing her eyes to mercifully close upon this night, carrying her off to a world she hopes will be filled with the happiness only one’s dreams can provide.

******************************************************************

Chapter 9

“Claaark!” Martha’s morning song soars through the air, “Breakfast is ready!” She scrapes bacon from a pan, flipping it over with a smile. Letting out a giggle, she remembers a few days ago when Clark said something terribly out of character, but uniquely teenager. When he took his breakfast plate from her, he inhaled the bacon’s aroma and monotoned, “Mmmm, meat.”

Martha turns around ready to reminisce with her son, but surprisingly, he’s not there. For the first time in recent memory Martha has to repeat, “ Claark? Breakfast!”

Clark is typically an early riser, whether it’s because of his abilities or the fact that he was raised on a farm. But today, Clark opens his eyes putting an end to a restless night of sleep. He just couldn’t get his mind to shut up. All night worries about Chloe, and what he had said to her, crept into his dreams preventing him from reaching the blissful state of slumber.

For a third time now Clark hears the agitated, perhaps even worried, voice of his mother calling him down for breakfast. With no time to shower he stretches his long reach out to his dresser for his maximum-strength deodorant, slathers it under each arm, and pulls on a shirt conveniently nearby with no thought as to whether its clean or not.

Clark reaches the top of the stairs and sees the most disapproving look his mother has ever given him this early in the morning. He tries a shrug and a half smile to reassure her, which just provokes a truly reproachful sneer.

“I guess true teenage habits have finally reached the Kryptonian solar system,” Martha says as she moves back to the kitchen. “Your father needs to see you before you head off to school.”

Clark stumbles down the stairs just as Martha drops his breakfast plate on the table. She finally gets a good look at him.

“Did you even comb your hair?” she asks, placing down the pitcher of orange juice. Without giving him a moment to respond, she stretches her leg under the table, hooking her foot around a small stool she has squirreled away for just such an occasion. She climbs up the two steps, reducing the height distance between herself, and her statuesque son. Holding him still with a firm hand on his shoulder, she licks her fingers, proceeding to fix his disheveled hair.

Wiggling free of her grip, he pours himself a tall glass of juice, sitting down in front of his breakfast.

Martha climbs off her pedestal, satisfied with her son’s appearance. Despite the fact that Johnathan is only Clark’s adoptive father, she can’t help but think that his rugged good looks helped contribute to the handsome young man Clark has grown up to be.

“Why the late start?” Martha inquires, but already knowing the answer she leads with her next question, “Or, why did you get in so late?” Her son possesses many wonderful gifts, but being able to carry off a poker face is not one of them.

Clark shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Although an extraordinary teenager, he’s still a boy, and Martha knows far too well that boys are every bit as tight lipped as men. Johnathan is twice as tight lipped as normal men, and Clark had the potential of being twice as so as him. Martha was determined to not let that happen.

“I saw you leave the Talon last night with Chloe,” Martha says, watching him carefully out of the corner of her eye. It’s immediately clear she has struck the right chord. “You did kind of ignore her a bit in favor of Lana,” his mother adds, pretending to be occupied with her cooking, but still watching him like a hawk.

Martha sees Clark’s eyes roll at the mention of Lana; an unconscious reaction to the dizzying roller coaster he had been stuck on for way too long. It was becoming somewhat exhausting always feeling the need to redefine their relationship. In his fruitless pursuit of Lana he somehow tossed aside a friendship far more promising. How was it that he had been blinded for so long by the one who asks so many questions instead of recognizing the one who holds all the answers?

“Yeah,” Clark finally answers rubbing his eye in an attempt to hide any uncontrollable reaction his mother could latch on to and dig deeper into his life. “She was a little sore at me for it.”

Despite his best efforts to hide, Martha picks up on something, and seizes the opportunity to dig deeper. She moves to the table, sitting across from the seat Clark has taken. “Clark, sweetie, Chloe’s had a tough year. The type of year where she needs her friends more than ever.”

“She doesn’t talk about it much really,” Clark says bluntly, pushing his chair away from the table, hoping to end the conversation. There’s nothing worse than discussing your social life with your mom.

“Perhaps she’s picked up your habits of secrecy,” she probes.

“That’s ironic,” Clark smiles actually impressed at himself for correctly using that word, “seeing as you taught me to be that way.” He hopes this new course will deflect her from his private life.

“I never taught you to be secretive about your feelings, Clark. I’ve always been very clear about that.”

“Girls are never clear about anything, Mom,” Clark miscalculates, immediately knowing that his Mom will seize this opportunity.

“Girls might not always say exactly what they mean, but they choose their words very carefully to tell you everything. All you have to do is listen equally as carefully.” Martha says, satisfied that she’s given great advice that should unlock vast mysteries for her son.

Clark drains his glass of juice using it as an excuse to not respond. He checks his watch, thankful that school’s start is impending. “Yeah, I’ll listen harder, Mom.” A quick peck on the cheek signals his escape from more embarrassing talk with his mother.



*****



“Clark?” Johnathan calls out from across the yard. “Son, have you seen--”

“I forgot my history book up in the loft,” Clark bellows using any excuse to avoid parental meddling this morning. He rounds the corner of the barn and slips in. His broad steps cross the distance between him and the stairs in a mere second, and he doesn’t even have to use his super speed.

“Clark!” Confounded, Johnathan cuts across the yard, finding him. “This is important.”

Clark’s shoe pivots on the first step up into the loft so that he may turn to face his father.

“I filled up three tanks of gas yesterday for the tractor, and left them right over there,” Johnathan informs him pointing to three impressions in the hay. “Now I can’t find them.”

“Maybe it’s just another senior moment, eh Dad?” Clark jokes.

“I’m not that old yet, son. Seriously, what do you think happened to them?”

Clark shrugs, and then answers, “I don’t know.”

“Well, could you give a quick peek around the property and see if you can’t spot them?” Johnathan asks humbly, truly worried that he may have actually just had a senior moment.

“Sure thing, Dad, just let me get my book,” Clark bounds up the stairs to his loft. Without glancing around much, he fixates on his book, snatching it and tucking it away in his bag. He steps over to the hay door to look out over the property.

A hand falls to Clark’s shoulder, reflexively spinning him around. In doing so he brushes a painter’s easel which falls harmlessly to the empty couch.

“Well, do you see them?” Johnathan asks.

Clark turns his eyes back to the property, scanning it. “There they are.”


*****

At the end of their driveway, Johnathan picks up the bone dry tanks, dusting them off.

“Looks like your gas was stolen,” Clark surmises.”

Johnathan can’t hide the look of disappointment on his face. Not with himself so much as with the world, and what’s become of it.

“You know what your problem is, Dad?” Clark asks but then answers his own question, “You’re too trusting.”

Johnathan blows deflated air through his lips. “I suppose so. But, you better head off to school.”

*****

A stream of dust piles through an open field, Clark speeding to school. His thoughts return to Chloe and the events of last night. He knows he screwed up, he just can’t quite figure out how.

Suddenly, the sight of a tiny flower stops him in his tracks. Aside from a little dust he just kicked up on it by his abrupt stop, he’s discovered the perfect little daisy.

Maybe his mom was right, maybe he needs to throw a little attention Chloe’s way. She didn’t typically go for ‘girl stuff,’ but she was still a girl.

He leans down and picks it the flower, a smile creeping across his lips as his large hands cradle the seemingly perfect ‘I’m sorry’ gift. As he shields the delicate little flower from the wind, he can’t help but think how much this sunny little bloom reminds him of Chloe; a fragile and beautiful thing that you can walk past a thousand times and never notice until one day your eyes truly open and allow you to appreciate the treasure God has created for you to enjoy.

He brings the flower up to his nose, breathing in the delicate fragrance, finally understanding what his mother meant. When Chloe speaks to him today, he’ll listen. Even to the words she doesn’t say.


******

Clark weaves in and out of the crowds of teens in packs out front of the school. Still clutching the tiny, but perfect daisy, he moves as though he’s on a mission to deliver the Holy Grail, excited for his eyes to meet Chloe’s and start down the road of the renewal of their friendship.

As breathless as this superman can be, he pulls open one of the large double doors, only to be quickly stopped by the oddest site he’s ever seen in Smallville; not a single edition of The Torch graces the wooden newspaper rack.

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Chapter 10

Chloe’s father peers into the mirror, unable to recognize the reflection staring back at him. The tears trickling down from his blood shot eyes are the only sliver of the once tender man that resided within him.

Knowing he is not worthy of such delicacy after doing what he did to his vulnerable and innocent daughter, he quickly splashes frigid water on his face, hoping it might also be able to wash away his sins. Unfortunately, the water in Smallville does not spring from a holy well, and the cold water on his flesh only serves to wake him enough to realize how far he has fallen.

Stone sober, but woefully somber, a distressed Gabe Sullivan walks the few steps down the hall in the apartment towards his daughter’s room. He gently turns the knob, revealing the empty bed where Chloe should be.

Chloe’s room seems neat and tidy compared to the chaos rampant throughout the dark apartment. The dresser is heaped with scads of awards, medals, and trophies, all her journalistic achievements, dating back to second grade when she wrote that paper about broccoli being drowned by cheese in the school cafeteria.

Instead of a typical night stand there are stacks of books, secret refuge to be found over and over again between the pages. Her small typewriter sits as though time has stopped, a half written article still in the roller. The red nail polish margin line her mom made back in the day when she pecked those same keys still remains, oddly giving Chloe comfort that her mom still can guide her to stay between the lines.

The floor is dotted with balled up pieces of white paper; words that although her own failed to meet her high standards.

The only real sign that a teenager inhabits this room are the multiple snapshots she has of her friends; Lana, Lois, but mostly Clark, which she has turned into a collage; preserved beneath the cheap glass of a dime store frame.

Although she seeks to submerse herself in the things that will secure her future, it’s evident that the thing her heart desires most comes second to nothing.

Gabe allows his fingers to touch the wall, straightening a crinkled news clipping that Chloe has tacked up to her bedroom wall; a small branch to whose roots lead to the original ‘wall of weird’.

He slowly moves through the room, taking a seat on the tattered gingham bedding neatly spread across the bed. The lumpy heart shaped pillows crafted with her own two hands softly cradle the worn little sock monkey that once slept with her in her crib. Even though he only has one eye now, he has seen her through some very hard times.

With one of his rough, callused fingers Gabe gently attempts to push the stuffing back into the ragged monkey’s tummy, lovingly tending to his daughter’s toy, unable to repair the wounds he’s caused her.


******


Chloe had never been late getting an edition of The Torch out before, let alone not at all. Clark allowed his brain to jump to the conclusion that perhaps Chloe had written the article on the Sex assembly that he didn’t. And perhaps she had put enough of her acerbic spin on it that it enflamed the entire campus into reading it and The Torch was actually sold out.

But, then he realized he didn’t see any students reading it, which meant that the paper was indeed late. However, he was sure that if Chloe didn’t have his article she would have improvised, thrown in a substitute, and widened the columns -- nothing would keep her from publishing The Torch.

Unless, he had upset her more than he realized. That had to be it. As if he didn't have enough to apologize to Chloe for, now he has to add his lack of responsible journalism to the stack of reasons why he owes her an apology.

Yes, that article she threw at him yesterday, the one which he could hardly think about, much less write, and had gone no further than his ears. Now here he stands, dreadfully past deadline, sealing his fate in Chloe's doghouse.


Defeated, he looks down at the simple flower in his hand. "Know
where I can find eleven of your friends?"


******


Not nearly as excited to enter The Torch office as he was earlier, Clark rounds the doorway, keeping his head low. He knows all too well that Chloe's wide doe eyes have a poison streak, and when those green flecks are aimed right at him, they might as well be kryptonite.

Five steps into the room, and a whole two breaths taken, but not a peep from Chloe. It's worse than he thought. He is now facing the wrath of Chloe's dreaded silent treatment.

Swallowing hard, he musters the courage to raise his head, almost flinching for fear of the daggers her eyes will shoot him. Unconsciously his eyelids squeezed close, a half ditch effort to avoid facing his punishment. He slowly opens his eyes, as his arms springs out in reflex to extend the pedaled peace offering.

The room is eerily quiet, only the gently hum of Chloe's computer can be heard. There is no panic or fury for the lack of paper going to print. There is no one to ignore him. No one to punish, or forgive him. Without the heart of the office to be found, it remains still and lifeless. The Torch seems to have burned out because the one who carried it has laid it down.

Clark moves towards Chloe’s desk, taking a seat in her chair. He places his hand down, accidentally bumping the mouse to her computer, bringing the screen to life. His eyes widen, unable to truly believe what he’s seeing. Not since the spring formal had he seen Chloe looking so beautiful. He remembers how her eyes sparkled and her smile beamed as she looked into his eyes, and now his were returning the favor as he gazed upon the pictures of she and him on the computer screen.

As he admires the photo she has secretly saved, but obviously revisited recently, he gets lost in the possibility of being more than Chloe’s friend. Without realizing his large fingers had gently plucked each petal from the delicate daisy, leaving only one. He looks down at the remaining petal and wonders where he had stopped; does he or does he not?

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Chapter 11

Clark sits hoping that although Chloe had not made it to her office this morning she would still make it to her first class. It’s this last hope keeping Clark away from his own first period class, and why he is now standing outside of hers.

He drums the door frame nervously, darting his attention between the empty seat he knows she normally occupies and the hallway she would have to take to get there which is deserted. The final bell begins to ring which amplifies Clark’s worry and panic.

So, he’s off. Confident that no one can see him, no one ever has -- he’s that fast, Clark searches every conceivable place in the school that Chloe could be. In the cafeteria he sees a jet of water, frozen in time, inches away from moistening a pan corroded with baked on cheese product. In the library a stack of books hangs impossibly in the air, soon to be quite the chore for the poor student assistant to reorganize. In the administration office a mosquito is poised to sink into the neck of the attendance clerk. Hoping to buy some karma for his impending tardy, Clark decimates the bug with a quick flick before it can sting its target. He pauses outside the girls’ bathrooms, thinking he’s already broken enough rules this morning, so he gives it a quick x-ray scan to find it completely empty.

By the time the final bell finishes its song he’s back at Chloe’s first period class to find her seat still empty. Clark is forced to face the fact that something is wrong. Chloe is not at her desk, and until he finds out why, the sick feeling in his stomach will not subside.

Without thinking, he grabs up his backpack, starting down the hallway as though compelled by a force much stronger than even he can control. His heart pounds, his concern for Chloe coupled with his fear of being caught cutting school makes for a sickening combination, very much like the debilitating vex Kryptonite puts on him. The hairs on his arms stand on end, and if he could stop his feet from moving he might notice his knees shaking.


******

It’s not like Chloe to not be at school, always being the type of student who coughs and hacks her way through classes with a hundred and two degree temperature declaring she would never waste precious time sitting on the couch watching ‘The Price is Right’. If she can walk, Chloe’s in class, and it’s that very thought that is causing Clark’s stomach to tie into knots.

After all, this is Smallville, which has a penchant for creating the strange and unusual, both of which are a magnet for Chloe having sucked her into a vortex of trouble a time or two before and could just have easily ensnared her this time.

Typically, Clark has at least his feet wet in the pool of Chloe’s investigations, but she has been so distant recently that he has no idea what story she might be chasing, and therefore no idea where to begin searching for her. He would have to start at the one place where Chloe would leave the most clues. He would have to go back to The Torch.

*****

His boots crush the stem of the rose he had absently dropped on the floor, its petals having already been plucked away. He positions himself in front of her computer again, knowing that she keeps notes for her stories there.

He minimizes the windows containing the spring formal pictures, pretty certain that event has nothing to do with her disappearance. Nestled on the desktop is a series of folders representing the most recent editions of the school paper, neatly organized by date. If she’s finished a story then all of the notes for that story will be in a file for that date’s edition. Clark scans over those looking for the folder marked leads.

Remarkably, the folder is empty. Chloe doesn’t have any large story brewing on the horizon. Unless, she’s hidden the files elsewhere.

He clicks into her personal files, since she’s remained logged on to the network, and finds a folder marked Unused Editorials. The folder spreads open to reveal a plethora of would be editorials, a garden of Chloe’s thoughts on a range of subjects; all with dates. The most recent is from yesterday’s.

Chloe had typed up notes of hers about the sex assembly. Clark was pretty sure that there was no insidious plot by the school administration to take over the world one sex assembly at a time, and therefore this couldn’t possibly have anything to do with Chloe’s absence, but upon a quick scan of the document, one line catches his eye.

Buried within cynical retorts about abstinence and dry research on teen pregnancy, Chloe had written, “Jimmy was a mistake.”

Clark pushes himself away from the desk, with one question; who is Jimmy?

******************************************************************

Chapter 12

It’s not like Chloe to mesh notes for one story into another, but Clark had searched all of the most recent files and the only lead he could find was the name Jimmy. Since he’s not familiar with any Jimmy’s at Smallville High, he can only assume that Chloe had been multitasking, squeezing this one element of a freak story into her editorial on the sex assembly.

As big as a lead Clark feels Jimmy is, it’s also a dead end. There’s nothing else on the computer mentioning that name, which means for some reason Chloe is keeping the rest of her notes on the subject a secret. If he is going to find out any more information he would have to emulate Chloe; he would have to do some investigating.

******

Chloe's nervous hands clutch the wheel, pressing her foot hard against the gas pedal anxious to get to the place she fears arriving at. Biting her lip, she checks the rearview mirror, feeling as though her crime will soon be punished with flashing lights flying up behind her. Of course, her small time thievery is small potatoes in a town where meteor freaks run amuck, and the truth be told, if she simply would've asked Mr. Kent for the gas he would've given in cheerfully. However, that wouldn't help her anonymity, knowing this is a journey she must take by herself, one no one can know she’s making.

Instinctively she reaches over to the passenger's seat for her bag, only finding an empty seat, leaving her nothing to cling to but the memory in her mind. Blinking away any worries that bring moisture to her eyes, she focuses on the road, not allowing herself to succumb to the fears plaguing her heart.


******


Clark stands at the base of the stairs to the Sullivan apartment peering up at the door whose chipped exterior leaves much to the imagination. Swallowing hard, he takes the steps towards the door, pausing as he sees Chloe's red butterfly bag upside down against the wall, its contents scattered to the wind.

Instantly his eyes widen with concern, fearing what may have happened to Chloe to make her leave her purse, her life, behind. Turning his head, he checks the parking lot for her Bug, beginning to panic when he does not find it.

Driven by adrenaline, his fist pounds against the door, both hoping and fearing she may be inside. His eyes long to see her, his heart needing to know she's safe. Yet, with her personal items littering the concrete lawn he stands upon, he can only fear what circumstances may have occurred to take her inside without her most precious belongings.

The worn door to the apartment quickly opens as though Gabe has been eagerly awaiting his daughter's return. His puffy eyes show defeat as he sees only Clark, saddened by the thought of just how far his daughter might have run to escape him.

"I need to see Chloe," Clark says, trying to be as polite as possible considering the pounding in his chest.

"She's not here," Gabe says, closing the door.

Clark shoves his size fourteen boot in the doorway, not allowing himself to be shut out so easily.

"Where is she?" Clark asks, becoming impatient, seeing in Gabe's appearance not all is well in the Sullivan home.

"I don't know," Gabe says, trying to push the door closed, not wanting an ounce of sunlight to penetrate the darkness he feels inside.

Clark forces his way into the apartment suddenly realizing how different he and Chloe's lives have become, feeling this is about so much more than finding a friend.

"What happened here?" Clark says, disbelieving the chaos in which Chloe calls home.

The sliver of journalist in him wants to get to the bottom of things, but it's another part of him that's become desperate, needing to make sure Chloe's all right, and feeling he may never be all right again if she is not. Quickly he scans the room searching for an answer, finding only remnants of the alcohol that seems to have stolen away the life Chloe once had, the father she loved so much.

Blinking disgusted eyes, Clark wonders how he could've been so blind to what her world had become.

Driven by the feeling twisting in the pit of his stomach, Clark asks the important question again, this time his voice bordering on demanding. "Tell me what happened to her!"

"She left," Gabe says, breaking down at the admittance of his worst fear, his broken frame falling into the tattered chair. "I shook her. I shook her until...," he confesses, unable to go further.

"Until what?" Clark asks, pressing his hands against the arms of the chair, leaning into the bloodshot eyes of the one he knows caused Chloe pain.

"I didn't want to lose her like I lost my...," Gabe says, the words pouring out of his heart.

"Tell me where she is!" Clark demands, his firm grip tearing the arm off the chair, the urgency pulsing through him punctuating every word.

With wide, startled eyes Gabe can only tell him the truth, "I don't know."

Turning to fly down the stairs, the whipping wind sends one of the wayward pieces of Chloe's purse twirling towards him. Hoping to protect her in every possible way, even what may be an insignificant piece of scrap that she squirreled in her purse, he plucks the paper out of the air, holding it in his hand as he gathers all the other items from her bag, tossing them into it as he quickly descends the staircase.

******************************************************************

Chapter 13

Clark Kent is drowning in irony. Far too often he had relied on Chloe to dig deep into the unknown and extract the pieces of information he needed to solve the puzzle. Now, she was the puzzle, and he didn’t feel as if any of the pieces he had fit together.

Her father seemed like he not only didn’t know where his daughter was, but also as if he may not even care. Then, there is the enigmatic Jimmy.

As if Chloe had whispered a breath of inspiration into his ear, he suddenly realizes that he’s been asking the wrong questions to the wrong people. If he couldn’t talk to Chloe, he would have to go to the next best thing.

Pawing at his shirt, reaching into his breast pocket for his cell phone, he finds only the small paper strewn from Chloe’s purse. Spotting a phone booth across the street, he makes for it, clutching the paper as he digs a pair of quarters from his pocket. His heart pounding loud enough he’s sure anyone can hear, he shoves his last two quarters into the slot, dialing the number oddly burned in his memory.

Certain that this is his last idea, his last hope at getting his Chloe back, he holds his breath and prays that this is the right question to ask. Every long ring makes him fidget nervously, his fears being taken out on the scrap of paper from Chloe’s purse he still holds in his hand.

“Hello,” Lois answers after what seems like an eternity.

“Lois?” he responds, nervously. “It’s Clark. Clark Kent.”

“I know who Clark is. I hope that there aren’t two sets of parents in the world cruel enough to shackle their kid with such a retro name,” Lois always has a way of making Clark feel valuable.

“I have to ask you a question,” Clark begins, swallowing down his fears. “It’s about Chloe.”

“I’m listening,” Lois prompts him after a silence.

“Who’s Jimmy?” Clark finally asks.

“That’s something you need to bring up with her,” Lois doesn’t pause a second to answer.

“I can’t find her. She’s gone. She’s disappeared. She didn’t get The Torch out this morning. She didn’t go to class. Her dad has no idea where she is. I have to find her.”

“That’s odd. She’d get that newspaper out if she were in a coma,” Lois begins to get worried herself.

“The only lead I have is this Jimmy,” Clark pleads Lois for answers.

“Why do you think he’s a lead?” Lois asks, not ready to betray her cousin’s trust.

“Because, it’s the only thing in her files that she’s kept from me,” Clark answers her.

“Not everything in her life is on display for the great Clark Kent,” Lois scolds him. “If you’re thinking he’s some sort of meteor freak that’s done something with her that you can go rescue her from, then you’re wrong. Chloe has a life of her own, and if you don’t realize that you must be more selfish than I thought.”

Barely allowing him a moment to digest her insult, she continues.

“If she needed to take a day off to see Jimmy or anybody else, then there’s nothing you can do about it,” Lois says, speaking up for the cousin who has been treated wrongly long enough.

“There has to be something I can do,” Clark says, feeling utterly defeated.

“Oh give me a break, you can’t swoop in and save her all the time you know. Chloe is a big girl, and she can take care of herself.”

Lois’s words would make a lot of sense if the fact wasn’t looming that Chloe didn’t abandon ‘The Torch’. Clark could maybe accept the fact that Chloe has escaped to spend the day with the mysterious Jimmy if he didn’t feel deep down in his heart something else is wrong. Whatever happened with Gabe drove Chloe somewhere, and the pounding in his chest won’t cease until he finds out where.

“Do you think she would go see Jimmy?” Clark asks, his mind slowing beginning to fear who in fact Jimmy could be in Chloe’s life.

“I highly doubt she would waste her time driving to Metropolis to see him after what he did to her,” Lois scoffs at the notion.

Clark feels heat well up within him. If this Jimmy has done anything to hurt Chloe...

“What did he do to her?” Clark asks through gritted teeth.

“Look, if you really think that this might help, then get a pencil ready and I’ll tell you where you can find him,” Lois says. “But, I won’t be held responsible for what Chloe does to you if she finds out you were digging into her secrets.”

Mad with worry, Clark digs a pencil out of his pocket, eager for any information that will keep him from being idle. He unwraps the scrap of paper in his hand to write on.

“I’m ready,” Clark’s pencil is poised to scribble the information Lois is ready to give.

But, he doesn’t. Written on the scrap of paper is an address. Underneath that are three letters written with shaky hands, punctuated by a tear stain: ‘Mom.’

“Lois,” Clark announces, “I know where she is.”

He hangs up, the force of which cracks the phone’s cradle. His large boots slam to the pavement outside of the phone booth, his head craned up to the horizon which he scans around to get his bearings.

He straightens his red jacket, and then speeds off, never pushing his speed as hard as he is right now.

*****

Chloe holds onto the side of her car with one hand, hoping that it’s enough to steady her quivering knees. Her cheeks stained with the tracks of her tears, she stands in front of a very plain, unassuming building, the small shrubbery lining the path a stark contrast to the somber gray concrete of the asylum. Unable to bear reading the words on the sign, fearing for her own future, and hating her mother’s past, she tries hard to square her shoulders, needing to be the strong woman she likes people to see.

Stepping away from her car, driving her legs with all of her determination to make the dozen steps to the front of the building, she stops dead in her tracks, the sight of a short man in a long white coat leaving the building reminding her just where she is about to go.

The reality of the situation grabs hold and promises to never let go, whispering ever so evilly how truly alone she is. Her head spins, and her legs let go of the delusion they could help her stand erect. Feeling suddenly as though the world has gone dark, she falls backwards towards the cold black asphalt below.

Her eyes blurry with the world spinning around her, her head tilts to the side with white and black swirling through her vision, again and again they surround her, until they seem to mix into a bright flash of red.

Inches before she hits the ground, Clark is there to catch her.

Instinctively she rolls into his arms, feeling safe.

“Chloe,” Clark begins, unsure what to say.

“Clark?” Chloe stares up into his worried eyes. “You’re here.”

He pulls her into his chest, letting the tears soak into his shirt.

“I’ll always be here, Chloe.”

Chloe grips his shirt tightly, as if she had fallen a million miles into his arms.

“I want to go home, Clark. Take me home.”


*****

The drive from Metropolis is proving to be a quiet one, the afternoon sun having faded behind the clouds hanging over the city. Clark’s mind races with a thousand questions, a thousand worries about the girl resting against his shoulder. Steering her car back towards home, he hopes he can find all the answers, even the ones plaguing his own heart.

Looking down at the daisy gracing the small bud vase near the steering wheel, Clark can’t help but remember what the petals of fate told him about Chloe.

“I love her,” he thinks, letting his eyes move to her peacefully sleeping lids.

“I love you,” he whispers upon her sleeping ears, letting his head rest briefly against hers.

Without realizing he allows a slight smile to brush across his face, warming his cheeks despite the somber day. Adjusting the rearview to see for himself the light in his eyes, he catches a glimpse of red plastic peering over the backseat from the hatch back.

His eyes widen with the realization that it was Chloe who had taken the tanks from the barn. Her sadness brought her to him, lead her to the arms she was destined to hold, yet her desperation, the part of her heart it seems may never be whole, lead her away from home, seeking the person Clark could never replace.

Letting his hand glide against the soft cheek of his sleeping friend, tenderly avoiding the bruise marring her perfect complexion, his heart sinks, knowing although he had found her, it was too late to spare her of her pain. Despite all of his powers, he couldn’t save her from her past.

******************************************************************

Chapter 14

Switching off the ignition, Clark quietly unlocks the driver’s door, hoping not to wake Chloe as he exits the car. Tiptoeing to the other side of the Bug, he watches her through the windshield, almost fearing she will somehow disappear again.

Carefully unlatching the seat belt stretched across her waist, he lifts her into his arms, handling her as though she were a chipped porcelain doll newly discovered in a forgotten estate.

As her slumbering head gently nuzzles against his chest, the gentle scent of her blueberry conditioner brings a slight smile to his worried face. Closing his eyes for a moment to savor the sweet aroma that somewhere along the way he began to crave, he wonders how for so long something so beautiful could linger unnoticed.

Feeling her stir ever so slightly in his grasp, he cradles her tighter, needing to keep her safe, secretly longing to hold her like this forever.

With her soft breath warming his arm, he peers down at her pretty face, seeing even in her dreams it appears she cannot escape sadness. If only, somehow, just holding her close to his heart could fill the void in her own.

Needing to offer her something, needing to relieve the aching in his own chest as he thinks about all the things both of them never said, he presses his soft lips against hers, and wishing he could erase all the sorrow from her life with a simple kiss.

His lips are about to part to form words of comfort, but he instead decides its best to allow her to continue sleeping. Although he has brought her to the home in which she feels safest, he hopes her dreams will offer her at least a moment of peaceful sanctuary.

Wrapped in the warm blanket of his embrace, Chloe continues with the ruse that she has not yet awakened. Convinced that if she were to open her eyes this dream would shatter back to reality, she instead chooses to leave her tears hiding behind her still closed lids.

*****

Clark lays Chloe down in her home, more specifically the soft couch in the Torch office. Listening intently, she expects to hear his boots shuffle out the door and then fade down the hallway. She knows that hearing the sounds of him leave will be far less painful than watching him go.

She feels the light weight of his jacket drop down over her, and then the boots begin to shuffle across the floor again. She desperately wants to call out for him not to leave, to stay a little longer and protect her from her own fears, but she knows if she utters a word about how much she cherishes his attention it will soon end. No, she cannot dare speak such vulnerable words.

The footsteps of her savior sweep across the room, and she expects them to round the door frame to the hall. Instead, she hears a weak squeak, and then the creaking of wood under the strain of a massive boy. All of her fear and doubts evaporate away to joy. Now safe behind the walls of her own castle, where the perils of the world could no longer reach her, when she no longer needed him to slay any more dragons; he chose to stay.

Unable to contain it any longer, a tender smile curls up and makes a nest in her cheeks.

“Faker,” Clark smiles, his sparkling eyes eager to meet with hers again.

Her eyelids slide open, widening the smile that gave her away.

“You stayed,” the princess who enjoys being rescued says. “You didn’t have to stay,” the realist in her finishes.

“I wanted to,” he tells her.

Chloe doesn’t want to respond. If she does, it will continue the conversation and may erase what he just said with more small words. She needs to hang on to those words for as long as she can, because never has Clark Kent before, or never will he again, say such perfect words.

Sitting up quickly, she suddenly realizes how horrid she must look after the night she had. Tucking her wayward hair behind her ears, she feels her cheeks blush with embarrassment, and bashfully she lets her eyes fall to the floor.

Sliding his chair closer to her, he softly covers her hand with his, his gentle gesture telling her she’s beautiful.

Feeling that the memory of his words, the very timbre of his voice when he spoke them are safely tucked away into her memory, she dares to speak again, driven by the look in his eyes she’s never seen before.

“Is that a daisy?” she asks, gesturing towards the single flower now wilted and broken against the ground.

Clark shrugs his shoulders, and for the first time in his life convincingly lies, never letting on that it was him that left the petals resting upon the floor.

“They’re my favorite,” she says, gently picking up the barren stem and admiring it lovingly, not seeing his satisfied smile sweep across his contented face.

Always the reporter, Chloe can’t resist the mystery, the seldom seen romantic in her needing to know the answer to the question before her.

“I wonder where they left off- ‘love them, or love them not?’”

The End