Fugue by Shayne Terry Rated: PG-13 Submitted: March 2001 ____________________________ Author's Note: I'd like to thank some of the best beta readers in the business. Wendy Richards, Dr. Klein's Labrat, Ann McBride and Jo March gave their unflagging support, and they were quick to provide feedback, even when it wasn't convenient. I'd like to thank Labrat again for helping inspire this fic with her story Lonesome. While I might have ended up with something entirely different, my inspiration began with that story. Jo March was there from the beginning, through the brainstorming sessions that eventually evolved into this story. I'd also like to thank the readers at Zoom's Message Boards. I've been overwhelmed by the warmth of their response to this story. Their support kept me motivated, and their comments were both eloquent and enthusiastic. No one could ask for a more dedicated group of beta readers. Rights to all recognizable characters in this story belong to DC Comics and Warner Brothers, and no infringement is intended by their use in this story. Other characters are mine. ____________________________ Memory was a shifting thing, a massive void left behind when time and life had conspired to rob him of all that had been him. It was elusive; the harder he tried to remember, the less he could recall. It was only when he was at the edge of sleep that he had flashes and images that might perhaps have been from his past. He could recall the sun and the stars, and an airless, clinging void. His dreams had him gasping for air, suffocating as he struggled for life. In those moments he woke with his chest heaving, sweat pouring into his eyes, mixed with the tears of an inexplicable sense of loss and loneliness. Those around him celebrated the end of Nightfall. Superman had shattered the asteroid, and the military had managed to destroy the smaller piece that had been left behind. Even the residents of the Hobb's Bay Homeless Shelter were upbeat. The world had survived, and if people had begun to wonder about the loss of their hero, that small pain was far overshadowed by the knowledge that the danger was finally over. The streets were filled with the sounds of celebration. With the world only narrowing escaping death, people wanted to celebrate life, and the whole city was awash with the sounds of people seeking to push back the darkness. It took him quite some time to realize that he was making himself conspicuous by his dark mood. He could hear the whispers from the other side of the room, and it aroused within him a sense of danger. He slowly finished his meal and carried the bowls to the dishwasher's window. He turned slowly, then slipped out of the shelter. The cold wind didn't seem to bother him at all, but he hunched his shoulders, pulled his ragged coat tightly around him and slipped his hands into his pockets like the other people walking on the street. He knew instinctively that he had to avoid drawing attention to himself. He didn't know who was after him, or why, but he knew that he had to get out of the city. It would be difficult for him to manage it without any money, but he knew he had to try. The thought of being captured was somehow more than he could bear; it reminded him strongly of the suffocating feelings in his dreams. His need to escape was overwhelming. He walked as casually as he could; the people on the street were so caught up in the general good cheer of their celebrations that they did not notice the lone pedestrian making his way down the street. There were roadblocks in places; many neighborhoods had restricted street traffic so they could have block parties; in many cases it was the first time people had met their neighbors. The same celebrations were happening all over the city, and it didn't occur to the lone figure to wonder that he could hear them all. He walked for what seemed like an eternity. The neighborhood he'd been in had been poor but respectable; the area he was entering was simply dangerous. Somehow, though, he wasn't very concerned about human predators. It was as though all the fear had been burned out of him, at least pertaining to matters of the ordinary world. The void still frightened him immensely, as did the monstrous sense of loneliness that clawed at the edges of his consciousness from time to time. He blinked, realizing that he'd walked farther than he had realized. He'd reached the docks, where the edge of Metropolis met the cold seas of the Atlantic. If he'd had someone to call for help, it would have all been easier. He had a momentary flash of long blonde hair, and then the memory became elusive again. Trucks were leaving the warehouses along the docks on an almost continuous basis; the end of the world hadn't changed the fact that people needed to eat. He stood motionless for a long moment, overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of the sea. For a moment he was tempted to stow away aboard one of the many ships in the harbor, but somewhere deep down inside him he knew that east was not the direction he needed to go. When he allowed himself to stand without thinking, he could feel a pull deep down within the depths of his soul. He needed to go west. It was a compulsion that was deepening into a certainty the more he thought about it. Whatever answers he could find would be in that direction. He turned away from the sounds of the surf and the sea and began to make his way through the back streets, hoping to avoid the growing parties of revelers as they took to the streets. The areas he was traveling through were increasingly deserted; he felt safer knowing that no one knew where he was. He was so distracted by the sounds of revelry several streets over that he turned a corner without hearing what was happening on the other side. Three limousines sat with their lights off in a deserted cul-de-sac. A group of fifteen Hell's Angels sat astride their motorcycles to one side, and three men stood in the open space between, exchanging large leather suitcases. It took him only a moment to realize what was going on. The drug trade had reached an all time high when people had become convinced that the world was going to end. Many had chosen to wait out their last days in a drugged stupor rather than face the inevitability of worldwide destruction. Before he could react, one of the motorcyclists noticed him and shouted. He dodged quickly around the corner, but he could hear the distinctive sound of Harley Davidson motorcycles being kicked into life. He was curiously unafraid as he ran. Perhaps he was numb to the thoughts of physical danger, but his breathing barely sped up as he sprinted down the street. He was less worried about the motorcyclists hurting him than by the idea that they might draw the attention of the authorities. It only took a moment to reach the end of the street, but an instant later the headlights of the vehicles behind him were quickly followed by cries of triumph from those who had spotted him. He ran so quickly that it almost seemed like he was flying. When he heard the sounds of confusion from those behind him his steps faltered, however, and the sounds of the motorcycles roared loudly in his ears. He turned quickly into a narrow space between two buildings. It was too small for their vehicles, and they'd have to take the long way around. He heard the sounds of gunfire, and for a moment he thought he felt something strike his arm. Shrapnel from the bullets striking the wall, he assumed, and he quickened his pace, moving to the street on the other side as quickly as he could. He ran through the streets, and the Angels were forced to scatter as they lost track of him. He slid into the darkness of an alleyway, hiding behind a dumpster as he waited for one of the riders to search the alley. The man slowed at the head of the alleyway, then pulled his weapon, slowly rolling into the area as he allowed his motorcycle headlights to illuminate the dark shadowed secrets of the place. The world seemed to shift and slow as he leapt out from behind the dumpster. Before the rider could react, the fugitive lashed out, trying to push him off his vehicle. The man flew the length of the alley, his helmeted head cracking against the pavement as he landed in a motionless heap. The fugitive stared for a long moment, unable to believe what had happened. He shook his head, then absentmindedly lifted the heavy Harley Davidson up from the ground, where it had slid. He propped it up on the kickstand, and switched the engine off. He approached the figure lying on the ground cautiously; he hadn't seen what had happened to the gun. It took only a moment to realize that the man was still alive. The helmet had protected his head, and the heavy leather jacket he wore had protected his back . His heartbeat was steady, but the fugitive imagined that he could hear the sounds of broken ribs shifting in the man's chest. He grimaced. He hadn't meant to injure the man as badly as he had. His head snapped around as he heard the sound of a second motorcyclist coming down the side street. He quickly backed into the shadow, well aware that both the helmet and upper body of the injured man were visible from the street. The world seemed to slow again as he moved around the corner in a blur. More careful this time, he punched the rider in the stomach, knocking him off his bike and making him retch and heave. Before the other man could reach for his gun, the fugitive grabbed him from behind and slammed him into a wall. The man slumped bonelessly to the ground, and the fugitive was relieved to see that he was only stunned. He quickly slipped the man's leather jacket from his back and pulled the boots from his feet. He was closer to the fugitive's size than the other rider had been in any case. It took only a moment to strip the man and slip into his clothes. The fugitive slipped the old, ragged clothes he had been wearing onto the man, and grinned. With the helmet on his head, no one would know him. He glanced back at the injured man, who was beginning to shiver. He hadn't meant to injure the man, and it wouldn't be prudent to leave the two men lying out in the street. If he was sure the man's friend would be up and around soon, he'd have felt safe in leaving them. He looked around, spotting a pay telephone down the road. He moved there quickly, so much so that he almost wasn't aware of the passage from one place to the next. Finding insufficient change in the pockets of the leather jacket, he dialed 911, using an oil stained rag from the man's back pocket to dial the numbers and to hold the phone. He covered the receiver with one end of the rag, and deepened his voice into a rasp. "I just saw two guys get into a fight down on Madison and third. One of them is lying out on the concrete, and I don't think he's moving!" He spoke quickly, trying to give the impression of being an excited, anxious caller. He listened to the voice on the other end of the phone, then said, "Yeah, I can see the two of them at the mouth of the alley. The one guy must have hit the other one with a tire iron, but he didn't get off so easy himself." He paused. "Yes of course they have guns. Doesn't everybody these days?" The weapons that had been taken apart and placed high in closets all over Metropolis since Tempus had been revealed for who he was had been dusted off when it became clear that looting and riots might accompany the Nightfall asteroid. Oddly enough, there had been little looting in the US, though other nations hadn't been so lucky. President Heston called it a triumph for the second amendment, proof that universal gun ownership actually worked. Opponents had different theories. Many praised the liberal Presley administration for laying the groundwork that had helped create civil order. Others assumed it was other factors, but all had agreed that the country had been much luckier than many of the nations in the world. He hung up the phone quickly, being careful not to leave any fingerprints. He was amazed at how easy it had been to lie; somewhere in the back of his mind was the idea that it had once been harder for him. He glanced down at himself and for the first time noticed that the jacket had a name sewn on the inner lining - Kade. It was as good a name as any. For a moment, he wondered what his own name had been. The "k" sound seemed right somehow, so he made a decision. He'd think of himself as Kade. He looked back at the two men by the alley. One was beginning to stir. He walked back across the street and slammed the man's helmeted head back into the wall, stunning him again. He looked around, then leapt onto the man's motorcycle, kicking it into gear. As the sounds of ambulance sirens came nearer, Kade rode into the night. He'd ride west as far as he needed to, though he wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for. Kade didn't relax until he saw the lights of the city fading in his rear view mirror. It took time to leave a city the size of Metropolis; taking the back streets made it twice as long. On three occasions he had ridden past Hell's Angels, and had simply waved. Once he'd seen a police cruiser and had a tense moment. He couldn't overcome the feeling that he had to escape without being recognized. There was something mesmerizing about the road; the purr of the engine, the roar of the wind and the vibrations of the wheels against the pavement conspired to lull him into a hypnotic state. The roads were clear; in the aftermath of the meteor, people wanted to remain at home, close to family and friends. Nevertheless, the stalled-out husks of vehicles pulled off to the side of the road helped break up the monotony of the landscape. Many people had tried to escape the city when they first heard that Nightfall would hit. No matter how much Superman and the military had pleaded, people had insisted on seeking higher ground. Many had been forced to abandon their cars by the side of the road. They'd returned home with the news that the meteor was destroyed. Now Kade had the roads to himself, sharing them only with the occasional lone truck driver. It felt good to fill his mind with only the sound and feeling of the road. There was a freedom in not thinking, in not worrying about the future or the past. For the moment, it was enough just to exist. It felt as though he tasted freedom for the first time in years, and he reveled in the sensation. He drove through the night. He refueled in Charlottesville, Virginia, at three in the morning, noticing that the convenience store clerk seemed nervous around him. He continued on his way, and by sunrise, he was passing through the Allegheny Mountains. The mountains were breathtakingly beautiful when illuminated by the rising sun. As he watched the scenery pass by, Kade found himself wanting to share them with someone special. He somehow knew that she would have a smile that eclipsed the sun, and something within him ached to see that smile. For a moment he wondered if he had left that person behind in Metropolis; perhaps he was making a mistake in fleeing. Somewhere deep inside, however, he knew that there was nothing holding him to Metropolis. All his ties were severed, and all that remained were memories he couldn't bear to face. Once again he found himself remembering the aching cold of the void, struggling to breathe as he drowned in nothingness. It was a hideous image, one he wanted to forget. He shook his head and tried to appreciate the beauty around him. He was riding to escape the feelings of loneliness and pain, not to embrace them. After a time, the road managed to lull him again. By the time he crossed the border into Kentucky, he was growing sleepy. It would be dangerous to fall asleep on the road, and he needed to fill up with gasoline again, so he decided to pull into the next town, looking for both fuel and coffee. He slowed to a stop in front of a small truck stop. As he filled the tank on his Harley, he noticed that the small store of money the biker had kept in a jacket pocket was rapidly running out. He'd have to find more money, or risk abandoning the vehicle and hitchhiking across the country. While he wasn't particularly afraid of the sort of person he might ride with, it would leave him vulnerable to being picked up by the police. When he was finished, he pulled the Harley into a parking space outside a huge window that revealed the diner inside. The diner was almost deserted, which was how he liked it. He slipped inside, noticing the waitress stiffen as she saw him. He tossed a few bills on the counter, and said, "For the gas." He jerked his head back in the direction of his motorcycle, and she nodded. He wasn't in much of a mood to speak. "We don't want any trouble around here, Mister." The waitress gave him an evil eye and pointed at a sign behind the counter. It had a picture of a man in a chef's hat holding a loaded shotgun. The caption said, "We're ready for anything. Put the guns away before we add YOU to the menu." He shrugged. Most people were armed these days; he hadn't bothered to take the biker's gun, but he wasn't worried. "You won't have any trouble from me," he said as he sat at the counter. "I'll have the special." She nodded and hurried into the kitchen, carefully not taking her eyes off him. He wasn't surprised; the Hell's Angels didn't have a good reputation. They tended to be more heavily armed than normal citizens, and much more likely to erupt into violence. The fact that they made most of their money dealing drugs made them even less popular, as did the fact that they had turf wars with the three other major motorcycle gangs on the highways. If it wasn't the jacket or the leather pants, then it might have been the look in his eyes. He didn't have any doubt that he looked like hell; he hadn't slept in days, not since he'd wakened in the homeless shelter. He'd barely been lucid at first, his mind overwhelmed with images he didn't understand. One of the volunteers at the shelter had thought he might have a concussion. He felt fine now, in spite of not having slept in almost a week. He'd had the same sort of dread as everyone else about the coming of the second Nightfall fragment; there had been a sense of taut expectancy across the entire world as the missiles had arced up towards it. The new, improved guidance systems had worked like a charm, and with the exception of a small fragment landing in the ocean, it was destroyed. He hadn't felt the need to leave until he'd been sure the world was safe. In fact, as the countdown had begun, broadcast to radios and televisions across the world, he'd felt something unexplainable rising up within him, as though he alone could have made a difference. He'd been even more relieved than everyone else when the world had been saved, and he'd finally been freed from the paralysis which had seized him. It was then that he'd felt the call to go west. A television mounted over the bar was replaying the footage one more time. Although the set was turned down low, he could hear the announcer talking about the plans for organized celebrations across the world. In the wake of the asteroid, the world had fallen into a fragile peace as people had taken a long, good look at the precious gift that was life. He glanced up and noticed that they were showing the same picture they'd been using for days; a small fragment of one of Superman's tattered capes, donated to the Smithsonian after it had been damaged. It was now being used as a symbol for the missing hero. The waitress had returned, and he must have looked miserable, because her expression softened as she watched him. She turned toward the coffeepot, and poured him a cup. As she approached, she glanced up at the screen. "That's a damn shame," The waitress said, as she set the steaming cup of coffee in front of him. "After everything he's done for the country, everybody's just giving him up for dead." Kade didn't speak. He simply sipped at his coffee, wondering why it wasn't helping him to wake up. "He gave up everything for people...all hopes for a normal life, all chances for someone to love...and he risked his life for everyone, and this is how they repay-" Kade interrupted her, speaking abruptly. "Is this decaf?" She shook her head. "It's black coffee, as strong as they make." Perhaps he was more exhausted than he had thought, or perhaps it took time to kick in. He couldn't seem to remember what the effects of coffee felt like, although he was very familiar with the taste. He drank the steaming cup quickly, gulping the black brew down, and handed the cup to the waitress for a re-fill. She stared at him for a long moment, licking her lips, before turning to re-fill his cup. There was a long moment of silence as Kade drank his coffee. He glanced around the diner, noting that it was cleaner than most such places he'd been through. "They have showers here?" he asked. It wasn't the silence that was getting on his nerves; it was the way the waitress was staring at him, as though he was someone she almost, but not quite, recognized. The waitress nodded. "You must have been on the road for a while." A bell rang, and she turned quickly, returning with his order. He smiled at her, absently noting her dumbstruck look as he began to eat silently. He could feel her eyes on him, and he resolved to leave as quickly as he could after he was finished. The idea that she might somehow lead his unknown pursuers to him brought the familiar choking sensation to mind. He glanced back up at the waitress, and he realized that she was much younger than he had originally thought. She was probably close to his own apparent age, and the look in her eyes at the moment was making her seem even younger. Hard living had placed tiny lines around her eyes and mouth, and Kade felt a moment of pity. She'd probably been a very attractive woman when she'd been younger. Even now she wasn't bad looking. He wasn't particularly attracted to her, and with the image of a blinding smile imbedded in his mind, he doubted he would find any woman particularly attractive. Still, it was flattering to be looked at that way, even if it made him a little uncomfortable. He had finished most of his meal and was finally beginning to wake up a bit, when he heard the sound of the bells attached to the door behind him. The waitress looked up, and he could see her face paling. He could see several figures reflected in her eyes, and he knew that something was wrong. He remained still even when he heard the deep voice from behind him. "Keep your hands where we can see them, and this will all go nice and easy." "Ed told you folks to never come back here." "I don't give a damn what Ed wants. Why don't you just open the register, and we'll make this all quick and painless. Don't reach for that derringer you keep in the register either." Kade calmly continued to eat the last few bites of his breakfast as he listened to the figures moving around behind him. He could hear each of them distinctly, well enough to pinpoint their exact positions. He heard the sounds of several guns being cocked, and he was glad to notice that the waitress had moved to the register at the other end of the counter, taking her out of the line of fire. "You have three seconds to put your hands where we can see them." Kade stuck the last piece of sausage in his mouth and slowly set his fork down. He chewed slowly as he raised his hands. "Turn and face us." Kade slowly turned and stood up. Six men were standing in various positions around the room. All but one had their weapons trained on him; the other was covering the waitress. His mind calculated possible bullet trajectories, and the possibilities for ricochets, and he was surprised to realize that it felt like a familiar task. It was possible that he'd had some sort of violent past; it made his head hurt to speculate. In the corner of his eye he saw a heavyset man in an apron burst from the door to the kitchen, a shotgun in his hand, and he knew that time had run out. Inevitably, the attention of all six men shifted to the new threat; and the world began to slow around Kade. He launched himself forward, knocking the shotgun out of one man's hand, dropping him to the ground with a single blow to the solar plexus. He almost imagined that he could see the stream of shotgun pellets as they flew through the room, and he kicked the feet out from under the second man, making him fall before he could be hit. He spun and hit the third, and he felt a pistol going off near his shoulder. He launched himself at the fourth man, who was taking aim at the cook, and he knocked the man to the floor. The other two men were beginning to react, turning their weapons on him. He grabbed a wooden chair and managed to toss it at the fifth man, knocking him to the ground. In all cases he was careful. He didn't know where his freakish strength came from, but he had no desire to kill anyone. Even at the speed he was moving, however, the last figure, the leader, was too far away for him to reach. He stared up into the barrel of a large automatic pistol fearlessly, even as he saw the man's fingers tightening on the trigger. The pistol jerked as a shotgun blast struck the leader in the side. At the distance the shot was made from, the small shotgun pellets were stinging annoyances, but they were painful enough to cause the man's gun hand to jerk away. Kade leapt to his feet and dived for the man before he could fire again. A single blow knocked all the fight from the man, and Kade stood up, noting that the world was beginning to slow around him. It was the effects of adrenaline, he supposed, and he was grateful for it. He quickly checked the men groaning on the floor. All seemed to be relatively healthy. He moved quickly to kick their weapons out of their reach while the waitress pulled her small derringer out and the cook reloaded his shotgun. The cook reached for a phone behind the counter, and Kade tensed. He'd have to make sure he left before the authorities arrived; he couldn't afford any questions. "I've never seen anyone move that fast." The waitress's voice was low and almost awed. "Martial arts," he said. It was the only explanation he could think of, and it seemed like one that was as good as any. For a moment he wondered why he felt the need to explain himself, then dismissed it as unimportant. He glanced around the room. "I'd rather be out of here before the cops get here. They don't really like bikers." "I wonder why?" Her voice was slightly sarcastic as she gathered up the weapons. "Hey, Ed!" She moved quickly to lay the weapons out on the counter. "This customer wants to pay up and get out of here!" The portly man grinned. "Hey, his meal's on me!" "You cheapskate! How about giving his money back for his gas?" The older man shrugged. "What the hell...give him that and twenty extra." He glanced at the groaning men on the ground. "It'll be worth it just to get these fellows behind bars." The waitress pulled several bills from the still open register and said, "Can you handle these guys for a minute, Ed?" Ed scowled. "The police are going to want some questions answered, and when these guys get to feeling a little better, I'm gonna need some help keeping them covered. You've got a minute." The waitress handed Kade the money, then pulled him outside. "You saved my life in there, and you look like you could use a little rest." Kade nodded. Thinking about what had happened inside and its implications for his past was giving him a headache. He was more tired than he had realized, and it would probably be dangerous for him to go much further. A shower and a nice soft bed would do wonders for him. She hesitated for a long moment. "I don't usually do this..." She reached into one pocket and pulled out a slender key. "I live in the double wide just up the road. It's only about a half mile, and you can hide your bike out in the back." She stared up at him, and he felt uncomfortable, wondering what she was expecting of him. He wouldn't degrade himself and her by making love into a commodity; on the other hand, he was exhausted. The coffee hadn't done anything for him, and what the adrenaline from the fight had done to wake him up was being rapidly reversed. He needed to sleep. "There is something about you...I can't put my finger on it...that makes me want to trust you." He was silent for a long moment before taking her key. "This doesn't mean..." She shook her head, though she blushed a little. "Most men would think that's what it was. I'm just offering a shower and a bed." He nodded. "I appreciate it. I'll do what I can to repay you." "You saved my life today. Len...he's the leader of that group, he's as mean as a snake, and he would have made sure I was dead." She folded the key into his hand and said, "It says number nine by the mailbox. It's the double wide with the red fence around it." "Annie! You better get back in here!" "The cops will get here pretty soon...you'd better go." He nodded and mounted his bike. It didn't take long to find her place; it was only a half mile down the road from the truck stop. It was concealed from the other homes in the area by small stands of trees, and it was easy for him to hide his bike behind her small carport. The door opened easily, and he left it unlocked behind him. Enough afternoon sunlight came through the windows to reveal that the trailer house was kept neat and tidily clean. While the furnishings were cheap, they were well cared for. There weren't any signs of male habitation, not that he'd have expected to find any. There were two bedrooms. He chose the one that seemed uninhabited, and allowed himself to drop face down on the bed. It felt delicious, and before he could even remove a single item of clothing, he was fast asleep. *********************************** He could hear the crash of thunder. It was distant but audible as he floated in black nothingness. For a moment he wondered how he could hear; in space, no one could hear anything. It was a blank, deafening silence broken only by the sound of his own heartbeat, which pounded in his ears. The thunder rang out again, closer this time. He turned his head, but could see nothing in any direction. He could breathe, but barely. He let his mind drift, and the world changed around him. He was dressed in a black suit; the blonde girl beside him was wearing a prom dress. They danced and he looked down at her crown of blonde hair. She felt good in his arms, but somehow, it didn't feel quite right. It felt worse when they slipped off into the darkness. She had the key to a room; he followed her into the semi-darkness, and when she turned her face up for him to kiss, he did so. Somehow, her features seemed to blur, but that wasn't what bothered him. Something wasn't right. The woman he was with shouldn't be tall and blonde; somehow he knew that she was supposed to be a petite brunette, one with a million watt smile. This woman seemed to pale in comparison, and he wondered what he was doing with her. He could hear the sound of thunder again, this time even louder. He was in bed with the woman, his back slick with sweat, gasping as he relaxed from his release. It had been exciting, but there had been something missing. It didn't feel right; somehow he knew there should have been more. He felt empty inside, and the loneliness that was always at the back of his mind yammered for attention. The girl he was with lit a cigarette, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. She wasn't who he'd thought she was, not at all, and he felt as though he had lost something in giving himself to her. He sighed and laid back on the hotel pillow. He felt cheapened by the experience, and the room, which had looked somewhat romantic, now looked tawdry, as though it was a place rented by the hour. He tasted bile in his throat as he realized he wouldn't be leaving the woman. She wasn't who he was meant to be with, but she was better than the void, better than the pit of loneliness and despair he'd fought against for his whole life. He could smell ozone, and the thunder sounded louder this time. He held a woman in his arms, and it almost seemed as though they were flying together. Something within him knew that this was the woman he was meant to be with, this was the woman he had been searching for all of his life. This was the one person who could understand his loneliness and could help drive it back into the darkness. The feeling of her in his arms was almost indescribable; they fit together as though they had been made together in the same mold, and only later split apart. She was his soulmate, the other half of his soul, and for the first time, he felt complete. A shadowed figure stepped from an alley and beckoned, and she stepped away from him. He blinked for a moment, unsure of how they had reached the ground. The figure took another step forward; he gaped when he realized that the figure was himself, stepping out of the shadows. When the figure drew the woman away, he wanted to cry out, but he couldn't. He could hear the thunder again, and it was almost overpowering this time. It was close; he could feel the drops of rain stinging against his skin as he wept. The feeling of loss as the other half of his soul was ripped away was almost unbearable, but he knew he had no choice. The rain grew harder, and the night grew darker. The buildings faded away from around him entirely, and he realized that he was in the country, standing out in the rain. He looked behind him, and saw an old farmhouse. He heard the sounds of a car coming, and he felt excited. Mom and Dad were coming home! They'd have gifts for him, and lots of fun stories to tell. He ran out in the rain, anxious to meet them as he saw their headlights swing around the corner of the old dirt road. He knew something was wrong when they didn't start slowing down as they came down the hill. He heard a truck horn, and he saw a truck coming from the other direction, and in a moment of stark realization he knew what was going to happen. He ran. He ran as quickly as he could, and somehow he knew that he could run faster than any normal person, but it wasn't enough. The truck slid in the water as it tried to stop, and his parents' car didn't even slow down. He heard the sound of thunder as they crashed together. He was floating in the void again, and this time his chest was heaving for air. He couldn't breathe; it felt as though his chest had tightened and he was gasping for breath. There was no air, and he knew that no matter how much he struggled, he was drowning. A shadow fell over him. He looked up, and saw the face of death. He fell. He gasped as he woke up, his chest heaving as he clutched for air. It took him several long moments to realize that he was safe in bed, that he could breathe. He was fully dressed, except that someone had removed his boots. A small blanket had been thrown over him. By the look of the light coming from outside, it was twilight; the sun would be setting soon, and the world would drop into the blackness of night. He rubbed a hand over his face, and felt the distinct bristly sensation of beard stubble. It had been several days since he had last shaved; he hadn't done it since waking up inside the homeless shelter. Thinking about his dream made his head hurt, so he resolved to leave it in the back of his mind; with any luck, it would fade away like most dreams did, vanishing like the morning dew being burned off by the sun. He sat up, hearing the bedsprings creak beneath him. He stepped through a small door to the left, and into a small bathroom. The bathroom reeked of femininity; it was done in pinks and pastel colors, and there were items of makeup and perfume set carefully in place on the counter beside the sink. A towel and washcloth had been set aside for him, laid atop the toilet lid, which itself was covered with a pink lace cover. Kade grimaced as he glanced from the towel to the mirror. He looked terrible; his eyes were bloodshot, the stubble on his face was considerably more than a three day growth. A shower might help him feel a little better. As he stepped into the tub and turned the hot water on full blast, he wondered what he was doing. There was no way to be sure that the police were even on his trail, though the stolen motorcycle certainly gave them a reason to be. He moaned as he felt a pain in his head again, and the faint echo of thunder. He shook his head and let his mind become a blank as the water spray hit his body. He closed his eyes and put his face directly into the stream of water. It was several minutes before he began to relax; by that time, the water had begun to cool. He reached for the cold water faucet, only to realize that he hadn't ever turned it on. He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. He began to wash himself as quickly and efficiently as he could. He could almost imagine that the water itself began to fall more slowly as he soaped up his body and rinsed it off. He toweled himself dry, and his nose wrinkled at the smell of something burning. He wrapped the towel around his waist, and began to search for a razor. The woman didn't have any. He scowled as he noticed both Nair and hot wax supplies. Sometimes he didn't understand women. He looked at himself in the mirror and mentally shrugged. Perhaps it would be better to grow his beard out. It would make him harder to identify, and if properly cut, a beard could look quite acceptable. He heard a knock at the door. Making sure that the towel was wrapped tightly around his waist, he opened the door. The waitress was on the other side, and in the twilight, she looked much prettier than she had in the harsh fluorescent lights of the diner. She looked down, presumably at his naked torso, and when she looked up again, her face was flushed. "I have some old clothes I think would fit you....they belonged to my ex-husband. " She hurriedly handed him a small stack of clothes. He smiled at her in gratitude, and that only caused her flush to deepen. He closed the door, and quickly slipped into blue jeans and a sweatshirt with a familiar Gotham City Knights baseball logo emblazoned on the front. It felt good to be in clean clothes again; they felt almost deliciously sinful against his bare skin. He could have done without the Superman logo splashed across the front of the boxer shorts she had given him, but it didn't bother him too much as long as he didn't think about it. Out of sight, out of mind. He stepped barefoot out of the steaming heat of the bathroom, only to see the waitress working in the kitchen. The smell of cinnamon buns baking in the oven made his mouth water; it seemed like forever since he'd last eaten. "I didn't really expect you to be here, you know." The woman hadn't bothered to turn any of the lights on, which left her face shadowed, lit only by the light from the street lamps outside. It was already dark; the sun had dropped below the horizon, and the sky had turned to black. "I'm sorry, I thought..." He felt confused for a moment. Why would the woman have given him a key if... "No, the offer was serious. I just half expected to find everything stolen by the time I got back here. The police took forever with their questions." Kade nodded. "It's dangerous to trust strangers these days." The woman looked up at him appraisingly. "When I look at you, it feels like I can almost recognize you...and somehow, I know I can trust you." "That's not much to base trust on." He gratefully accepted a cup of hot cocoa from her. She was silent as she opened the over and pulled a pan of cinnamon rolls out. She smoothed the icing over the buns for several long moments without saying a word. Then she spooned a couple of rolls onto a paper plate and handed them to him. He accepted them gratefully. They ate in silence for several minutes. Finally the waitress spoke. "My name is Ann." She smiled a little and shook her head ruefully. "I don't usually let men stay over until we're at least on a first name basis." He smiled at her, and said, "Call me Kade." "You don't carry a gun." Her voice was quiet. "I thought everyone did these days." "I guess I've never needed one." He stared at the counter; somehow carrying a gun had never even entered his mind. It didn't feel right somehow. "After today I can believe it." She stared at him for a long moment, and he began to feel a little uncomfortable. "Did the police give you any trouble?" "Len and the guys tried to claim they were ambushed by a group of Hell's Angels, but me and the boss told them how things really happened." She grinned. "They've been causing problems in these parts for quite a while, but the Sheriff never had anything concrete to pin on them. They won't be out for quite a while." They ate in silence for a couple of minutes. She glanced at him, then said, "We didn't say what happened to you, just that you left. I think if you left the jacket behind, nobody would hassle you." "It doesn't leave a good first impression, does it?" It also drew more attention than he was comfortable with. He needed to ditch the jacket before he left on the next leg of his journey. "You aren't really a Hell's Angel, are you?" "I'm not much of anything at the moment." Kade sighed. "Feel free to raid my husband's closet if you need anything." She stared at the counter. "He's not coming back, and even if he did, I wouldn't want anything to do with him." Kade watched her intently for a long moment. "It gets lonely sometimes, doesn't it?" She nodded. "You just have to have a little faith that things will get better." "That's hard to believe sometimes." Ann looked down. "One day starts looking like the next one, and pretty soon all you have is work and loneliness." "Things will change." She didn't say anything for a few moments, then she looked up at him, placing one of her hands on his. He forced himself to keep from pulling back. "It really does get lonely. I go to work every day, and nobody ever sees the person I really am." Her thumb slowly rubbed the back of his hand. "People can be blind," he said. He did not meet her eyes, though he knew she was looking at him. "Is it so bad to want a little companionship?" Her voice was hopeful, and it hurt him to see the light in her eye. He had to make his position clear, before she got hurt any more than had to be. Rejection was painful; having a lover leave was infinitely more so. He shook his head. "No, it's not." He pulled his hand out from under hers and looked her in the eye. "But being with someone you don't love...it makes you feel like less of a person." "You sound like you know what you are talking about." The hopeful light in her eyes had died, and she was starting to withdraw into herself. "There is someone out there for everyone." "I don't know if I believe that anymore." The waitress said. The bitterness in her voice made Kade wince. "I think I met my someone once." Kade's lips tightened as he looked away. If his dreams were actually memories, then he'd been a fool. "What happened?" she asked. "I think I let her get away." "If you let her go, maybe she wasn't the person you were really meant to be with at all." Kade nodded in acknowledgement, then said "Still, it would be wrong for us to..." He allowed his voice to trail off. She nodded slowly. "I'd hoped..." "I know." She sighed, and her shoulders slumped. "I don't suppose the fact that I got my divorce papers today would change anything." "It might explain why you wanted to do this." "I hated my husband!" She shook her head. "Can't a woman just want a little comfort now and then?" "You must have loved him once." Kade stared off in the distance, and imagined he could hear the sound of thunder. She took a deep breath. "I guess I always had the thought in the back of my mind that we might get back together again. When I got the papers today...I just wanted to feel something again." "It's hard when love dies." Kade had the feeling that losing people he loved had been one of the great pains of his life. Thinking about it made his head throb. "Being left alone...it's really hard" Ann shook her head. She stepped back, away from him, and turned to switch on some lights. Kade blinked for a moment in the sudden light. He could see his own reflection in the windowpanes and he didn't like the haunted look in his own eyes. He wondered if he would always have the sound of thunder pounding in the back of his mind, if he would always have loneliness hammering away at any chance of happiness. Whatever life he had lived before hadn't been a happy one; he knew that with a sense of certainty. "I suppose you'll be leaving soon." Ann finished switching on the lamps in her living room, and turned to him. "I feel a lot better now that I've gotten a little sleep." It was a lie; the dreams had left his sleep troubled, but he didn't want to admit that to her. "If you'd like to sleep a little more, feel free to stay." He frowned, searching deep within himself. The urge to head west was there, but it wasn't pounding in his mind like it had been in Metropolis. Nevertheless, he needed to keep moving, lest any pursuers catch up with him. "I could sleep a little more," he admitted. "If you ever come through these parts again, I want you to promise to come see me. Maybe I'll have found my one true love." Her expression was sad, and Kade knew that she didn't believe him. "I have a feeling that change is just around the corner for you." She smiled slightly, and he knew it was mostly for his benefit. "I'll be sure to visit if I'm ever back in these parts." She nodded and sighed. The conversation quickly turned to inconsequential things, and they spoke for quite some time. Ann allowed him to look through her husband's closet, and then they both slipped off early to separate beds. Kade could almost imagine hearing her frustrated sighs all the way from the other side of the house. Eventually, he slipped away into a troubled sleep. He woke early in the morning, and he was careful to slip away without waking her. He wrote her a letter of appreciation and thanks, and left it on the kitchen table. He pushed the motorcycle almost half a mile down the street before starting it up, and then he was on his way. The sound of thunder seemed to retreat as he headed west. ******************************** The battered old television by the counter was replaying the news that Superman was dead; officials were already beginning to plan his funeral, in spite of the fact that no body had ever been found. It was well known that Clark Kent had a strong moral streak; over the past four years he had become a role model for millions of children and adults. If he was alive, it was believed that he would find some way to come forward. It was the sort of story that would have gotten Lois's juices going once; even now, she privately believed that she could have done a better job. She'd felt the same way when Superman had been revealed to the world, and also when the scandals surrounding the Heston presidency had begun to emerge. When all was said and done, however, those sorts of stories were no longer Lois's concern. She needed to keep her thoughts focused on her own fictional worlds. The three novels she'd written as Jane Alexander had paid enough for her to live on, albeit not in the style she'd managed when working for the Planet. The payment schedule stank though. Unless her publisher came forward with the advance for her next book soon, she'd have to dip into her emergency funds. That was a dangerous move; she felt a surge of trepidation every time she tried it. "It's a pity, don't you think?" Lois looked up, startled. "What?" The old man behind the counter nodded toward the screen. "He was such a nice boy; he gave up everything to save people." "Yes, it's a crying shame." Lois set her few purchases on the counter, mentally calculating how far she could stretch her limited funds until the next check came in. The old man rang up the purchases, talking about the weather of all things. As though the weather in the Arizona desert ever changed much. It was either hot, usually in the daytime, or cold, in the evenings. As far as Lois could see there wasn't much to talk about there, but people insisted on talking to hear themselves make noise. She'd lost a lot of patience with people since living in the big city. Given her profession now, she didn't have to spend time with anyone she didn't want to. Five years of paranoia made it hard to trust anyone enough to start a relationship; even close friendships were hard. It made her long for her days in Metropolis, but she knew that even there she hadn't had many friends; other than her editor, she couldn't remember anyone who had transcended the level of acquaintance. She'd always pushed people away; blaming her current circumstances was merely the easy way out. She approached her 1987 Ford Taurus carefully, her eyes darting back and forth for any sign that she was being watched. Paranoia was exhausting, and while she'd never seen any sign that she was being pursued by the people she feared, it had twice saved her from being mugged. Luckily, she was as armed as anyone else these days, and she had also kept her martial arts skills honed. After making sure that no one was looking, she leaned down and checked under the car, making sure that no one was waiting underneath. She opened the trunk and nearly threw her groceries in, then closed it quickly. She checked under the front of the car again, this time looking for any devices that shouldn't be there. The people she was running from were well known for using bombs to make their points for them. As always, she felt nothing and the back of her neck prickled as she imagined a sniper waiting atop one of the flat roofs around her. Without bothering to return the small shopping cart to its place in the front of the small store, Lois leaped into the car. In spite of her caution, she felt the same fear in her throat when she turned the ignition as she always did; these days, she tended to keep her trips outside the house short and sweet. It took several false starts before the car's engine roared to life. It wouldn't be long before she needed a new battery, yet another item that wasn't in the budget. She glanced down at the instrument panel and cursed. She needed to refuel soon; it was better to have a vehicle that was ready to travel at a moment's notice, and an empty tank wouldn't get her very far in the desert. She grimaced and decided to get the vehicle checked out as soon as she could; none of her purchases were perishable, even in the heat, and she'd prefer not to have to get out in the open more often than she needed to. It only took a few moments to reach Stan's Auto shop. Lois was reasonably sure that Stan was honest; more importantly, she was sure he didn't know anyone important. He wasn't the sort to make idle conversation with anyone, and that was the way she liked it. As she pulled into the garage, she had to shake herself. She hadn't been sleeping well lately; truthfully it had been five years since she'd had a really sound sleep, but lately she'd been having the dreams again. If she'd thought she could find someone she could trust, she'd have gone to a therapist. As it was, all she could do was try to sleep when she could and live with it. She stepped out of her car and said, "I need to get the car battery replaced and the tank filled up." Stan stood there for a moment the way he always did. Lois knew that some people in town assumed that Stan was a little slow, but he seemed to be a competent mechanic. He merely liked to take time to consider his replies before he spoke. "Do you want to wait? " he asked. "It shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes." Lois nodded. One thing she liked about Stan's was that the garage was easily viewable from inside the waiting room. It would be harder for him to place anything extra in her car while she watched. It wouldn't be impossible, of course, but she would be sure and check. She stepped inside the waiting room and sat down. She idly watched Stan as he opened her hood, even as she ignored the old magazines strewn around on the small end tables. Most were automotive magazines, of course, but a few issues of Newsweek and USA Today were included. Some of them were so old that they had headlines screaming about the day Clark Kent had been revealed as Superman. Lois felt the same old ache as she looked down at the magazine covers. Those stories should have been hers; they would have been if she hadn't been forced to go into hiding. She felt the old, familiar sensation of bile in her throat as she reflected on her life with bitterness. As far as her family and friends were concerned, she was long dead. In all likelihood, she'd never see any of them again, and it was a bitter pill to swallow. She heard the sound of an engine approaching, and her eyes flitted to the front of the store. She could see a large Harley Davidson motorcycle pulling into the driveway, its rider wearing a full helmet. When he pulled it off, she found herself gasping out loud, and, impossibly, the rider's head snapped around and he stared directly at her. The man had the scruffy beginnings of a beard, and he looked tired and covered with road dust. He looked good in black leather pants and a white T-shirt. Something about him stirred feelings and sensations that she'd thought long dead. It had been a long time since she'd even bothered to think of herself as a woman, but she suddenly felt the urge to sit up straight and preen. He was staring at her, and he seemed so familiar to her somehow. For a moment she felt panic clawing at her throat. If he knew who she was, then her whole family would be in danger. Everyone she knew and loved would be at risk, all because someone saw her in a stupid garage. She glanced back down at the magazine covers, then up at the stranger again. She gasped again. The resemblance to the alien the world knew as Superman was remarkable. If it weren't for the change in his general demeanor and his scruffy look, she'd have been certain it was him. She quickly slid the magazines to the bottom of the pile. Superman was supposed to be dead. Either the person she saw in front of her was a ghost, Superman was alive, or he wasn't Superman at all, just someone who looked remarkably like him. In any case, she knew better than to get involved. If he wasn't Superman, then he was likely to be a dangerous character. If he was, he was even more dangerous. When a man who could lift small mountains wanted to stay hidden, you didn't ask him any questions. Besides, if it was him, it wouldn't be long before he was recognized. The last thing Lois needed was to be in the same town as a mob of press people. She had been well known among certain circles, and even if none of her colleagues recognized her, undue attention to the small town of Last Chance, Arizona, was the last thing she needed. He was still looking at her. It was a moment before he turned and spoke to Stan, who had stepped out of the garage to greet him. Lois fumed; it would take that much longer to get her car repaired. She couldn't wait until she was safe at home. Still, her reporter's instincts were screaming at her, as was her natural curiosity. Why would Clark Kent be out in the middle of the desert, letting the world think he was dead? He hadn't had much of a personal life after his true identity had been revealed; most celebrities had at least some vestige of privacy, but even that had been denied to him. He'd tried to date a couple of times, but it had become such big news that he'd ended those relationships even before they had begun. She could understand why he would want to escape. Still, by all reports, Clark Kent wasn't the sort of man who could sit by and allow innocents to come to harm. She'd heard reports of several incidents that could have used his help; he hadn't gone to any of them. It took her a moment to realize that he was coming towards her; she stiffened, and it took her a moment to realize that her hands were fumbling through her purse, looking for her pepper spray, her gun, or perhaps just for her cell phone. It took her a moment to force herself to relax. He was hardly likely to attack her in the middle of the day in public. If he were who she thought he was, it would be out of character to attack her at all. Still, the most basic lesson that she'd learned five years before was that you never knew who could be trusted. It only took one moment of betrayal to reveal months or years of bonding to be a lie. She was tempted to flee into the garage; Stan didn't really like customers being there, but she could pretend to be anxious to leave. She glanced over; her hood was still wide open, and Stan was only now levering a large battery into place. It was larger than she really needed, but she'd had Stan make several modifications to her engine over the years, usually right after some advance money had come in. The door opened, and the man stepped through. He seemed bigger than life somehow; he almost seemed to fill the room, and yet he was smaller than she would have imagined as well. It was more a sort of physical magnetism, a charisma that undoubtedly made women interested in him. Lois didn't know how much her suspicions about who and what he was were affecting her perceptions, but she found herself holding her breath as he began to speak. "Do we know each other?" His first question was unexpected. Lois sighed and stared at him for a long moment before saying, "You look familiar to me, but I'm sure we've never met." "That's what everyone tells me." He looked confused for a moment, and the reminder of some long hidden pain seemed to come over his features. "I can't help but feel like we've met somewhere before." "Maybe in another life." Lois smiled tightly. "I'm sure I would remember if I'd met someone like you before." To her amazement, he began to blush. "I'd have said the same thing about someone like you, but somehow I can't seem to remember..." "Do you say that to all the girls?" Lois was astonished to find herself smiling at him. It had been a long time since she'd felt the remotest need to smile, and now she found herself flirting with a man she didn't even know. When he smiled back at her, she realized why. Even with the fashionably beard stubble, he was a very handsome man; when he smiled he was almost irresistibly good looking. Lois found herself smiling broadly, and he stared at her with a stunned expression on his face. "I've dreamed about a woman like you." His voice was quiet. "That's the oldest line in the book. Try another one." She was actually flirting! It was hard to believe that she was this attracted to a man after interacting with him for only a few seconds. "Would you like some coffee?" he asked. "I'm sure there's a good place somewhere around here." Lois sobered up quickly. She didn't know this man, not really, and it would be foolish to risk getting to know him. No matter who he was, he'd be poison to her and her plans for life. "I have to get home." The look on his face was almost enough to make her change her mind, but Lois stood firm. Stan walked in a moment later, and as Lois turned to pay him, she could feel the man's eyes boring into her back. The sooner she could get home, the better. The cost made her blink for a moment; she was going to have to dip into her emergency funds almost certainly now. There wasn't any other option. "Maybe we'll see each other again." The man behind her said. "You can call me Kade." He hadn't said that his name was Kade, she noticed. He'd only said she could call him that. "Jane," she said. When he offered her his hand, she reached out to shake it. The spark that leapt between them when her palm touched his startled her. Her eyes met his, and he smiled as he gently shook her hand. "I hope we can see each other again sometime, Jane." She nodded briefly and pulled away, her hand still tingling from the sensation of his touch. She turned and headed out the door as quickly as she could, but managed to bump the chair behind her with her hip. "I...ah...that sounds nice...." she said as she struggled to get the door opened. She felt her face flushing; it was bad enough to feel attracted to a man for the first time in years; it was much worse to make a fool of yourself in front of him. It was hard to merely walk to her car, and pull out of the garage slowly. Her first urge was to speed away, but she knew that would draw suspicion. It wouldn't be good for her to get a traffic ticket either; she'd prefer to leave as small a paper trail as possible. It was embarrassing, the way she'd reacted to him. As she looked into the rear-view mirror, she knew that she'd never see him again. She didn't bother to wonder why that disappointed her. Drifters, after all, never stayed in the same place long. The odds of meeting him again were astronomical. *********************************** Kade's palm still tingled from where they had clasped hands. He stared at the woman's retreating back, absently noting the make and model of the car she slipped into. He could hear the proprietor behind him, filling out several entries in his ledgers. Inadvertently, he looked back, and it almost seemed as though his vision sharpened, because he could see her signature quite clearly even though he was halfway across the room. Jane's full name was Jane Alexander. There wasn't any address listed, but Last Chance was a small town. If he really wanted to find her, it shouldn't be too hard. Her vehicle was turning the corner, and it was difficult not to jump on his bike and follow her. He hadn't been sure until she had smiled, but once she had it had all been clear. She was what he had been looking for all this time. She was the one who had been stolen from him, and somehow he sensed that his destiny lay with her. A younger mechanic slipped into the room, heading for the coke machine. The old man grunted as he continued to finish writing. "Interesting lady." He said, hoping the mechanic would know something about her. In spite of the fact that her vehicle had Arizona license plates, it was possible that she was just passing through town. If that was true, it would be difficult to find her again, and the thought of losing her made his gut clench. The older man grunted and stepped out of the room. "Don't even bother." The younger mechanic said without looking up. "The lady doesn't want to be bothered." "How do you know?" "She's something of a local celebrity...a writer. She likes her privacy and doesn't really like to be bothered by fans." The older man stepped back into the room and said, "What was it you needed again? A fill up?" "That, and the engine's making a pinging noise." "We'll take a look at it. You writing an out of town check?" "I'll pay cash." He'd made it as far as Las Vegas before feeling a pull to the south and east again. He'd had an inexplicable run of luck at the craps tables; the dice had seemed to come up the way he'd wanted them to in spite of the casino having switched dice three times. He'd been thrown out on the suspicion of cheating, but he had been paid nonetheless, which had solved his money problems, at least for the time being. An expensive mechanics bill might make a serious dent in the cash, but there wasn't any help for it, unless he wanted to start hitchhiking. The older man glared at him suspiciously. "We'll hold on to the bike until you pay us." Clark nodded. "I understand that." He paused for a moment then said, "Is there a bookstore anywhere nearby?" "Down the street." The old man stared at him for a moment. "You don't really look like the reading type." "Sometimes people surprise you. Besides, it looks like it may be a little while before the bike is ready." The older man nodded. "It'll be after lunch for sure, since you brought it in this time of the morning." Kade nodded and headed out the door. "I'll be back later." The sun was shining, and Kade closed his eyes for a moment at the familiar feelings of pleasure and strength he got whenever he stood out in the sunlight. It was hard for him to understand how anyone could work while stuck inside an office all day long. If everyone felt the pleasure of the sun in the way he did, then surely people would spend more time outdoors. He'd seen many beautiful things on his trip across the country. Sunrise in the Appalachian Mountains, sunset by Lake Michigan. The beauty of the Rocky Mountains, especially in Colorado. The breathtaking view of the Grand Canyon. He had a sense that they were all familiar, places he'd been to before. The sense of déjà vu had been strongest as he made his way through the plains of Kansas. It had been at night, and it had almost felt as though he could reach out and touch the faceless ghosts of his past. He'd felt a sense of almost unbearable sadness as he made his way through the state, and he resolved quickly that he didn't want to return there anytime soon. It felt as though he'd had too much sadness in his life, and not nearly enough joy. When he'd seen the woman smile, his whole body had tingled, and he'd felt a true sense of hope for the first time ever. Her smile really was as bright as the sun, and he'd found himself focusing so intensely on her that he couldn't sense anything else. He was intoxicated by her womanly scent; he could smell most people from dozens of feet away, and he was mostly used to the way they smelled. Something about her natural aroma intoxicated him. It was sweeter than perfume. She was pretty, but once she smiled, her face lit up and became beautiful. He finally reached his destination; a small bookstore called The Book Nook. It appeared to be a local store, not one of the chains which had been dominating the landscape for the last couple of decades. Kade opened the door, ignoring the silvery tinkle of the bell over their door. He stepped inside, and inhaled the pleasant scents of printer's ink, paper and wax. The scents were both familiar and pleasant, evoking feelings of home, wherever that might be. "Can I help you?" The woman behind the counter was in her mid forties. She had the flower print sheath dress, long hair and small glasses of someone who didn't want to leave the sixties behind. He could smell the faint scent of hanibis lingering on his clothes and he grimaced. "Do you have anything by Jane Alexander?" "Of course I do. She's a local, you know, so I always keep extra copies of her books stocked. I keep trying to get her to come in for a book signing, but she always refuses. She likes her privacy I guess." "So she's something of a recluse?" He asked as the woman began leading him back through the stacks. The woman glanced back at him and smiled. "Let's just say that she spends a lot of time working on her books." "Has she written many?" "Just three so far, but she's supposed to be having a new one out in a few months." The woman glanced back at him. "Are you buying copies for someone in particular? A girlfriend maybe?" Kade shook his head. "I met her recently, and I wondered what her books were like." "You're a lucky one then. She doesn't get out much. I've spoken to her a couple of times, but her phone number is unlisted, and she doesn't come out into the community very often." "You seem to know a lot about her." "Last Chance is a small town, Mr...." The woman waited for Kade to offer his name. He didn't. "Everybody knows everyone else here, and being a published author, Jane Alexander has aroused a lot of curiosity over the years?" "She's lived here for a while then?" "About four years, give or take." The woman paused before a bookshelf. "Oh, here they are. We have them in both new and used version, paperback or hardback." Kade bought new paperback copies of all three books. Hopefully the royalties would help her in some small way, even if they amounted to only thirty cents a book. The lady led him back to the counter. "That'll be nineteen dollars forty one cents." Kade silently handed her a twenty, then headed outside. He walked for a short time until he found a small park with a child's playground. It was deserted as this was a school day, but Kade quickly found a picnic table to sit at. He opened the bag and pulled out the three paperbacks. The covers were simple; pictures of red velvet on which lay a single rose- white, yellow and red respectively in each of the three books. There was no author's biography in either the front, or the back. Kade opened the first book, which was entitled The Rose City Murders. 'Fear settled over Rose City like a grim fog. The murders had been quick and efficient, and it was clear that no one was safe. From the moment the mayor was murdered, everyone knew that there wasn't anyway to stop what was happening. And no matter how often the police questioned the florists in the city, there was never any sign of the source of the single rose the murderer left at each scene.' The pages flew by faster than Kade would have believed. When he finished the book, he looked up and was amazed to see that the sun hadn't moved at all. It was as though time had stood still while he was reading. It was a grim story Jane Alexander was writing. Her heroine, police detective Lisa Laredo was assigned to track down the murderer who was plaguing the city. In the course of her investigations, she discovered that there were signs that the murderer worked in the city government, or perhaps even higher. Her partner disagreed, but went along with the ride. The second novel was a sequel. It flowed just as well, and Kade was finished more quickly than he would have thought possible. 'The flames burned hot, a yellow, searing heat that burned away all evidence of blame and wrongdoing, leaving only emptiness behind. Only time would heal the wounds of fire, and there would always be scars left behind, deep, ugly wounds that would never get any better. Lisa stared at the fire, at the ruins her life had become, and she knew that she had failed.' The second book was even darker in tone than the first one was. Her protagonist discovered that there wasn't only one rose murderer...there was a whole series of them, all working for a criminal organization which was shadowy in its power and influence. Lisa's partner betrayed her; he was working for the enemy from the very beginning. Lisa managed to escape being killed, but the enemy burned her home to the ground, killing her sister as a warning. The third novel was the darkest of all. In Japan, white was the color of death. White roses were sent to funerals, and white robes were worn as a sign of mourning. When Lisa found the white roses at the door to her hotel room, she knew it was time to move on. Fearing for the lives of her remaining family members, and convinced that she would be killed, the heroine fled the city, only to be pursued by a mysterious bearded men. She tried to contact someone in the FBI to reveal what she knew, but was betrayed at the meeting; the conspiracy rose higher than she knew. At the end of the book, the heroine faked her own death, finally realizing the ultimate futility of fighting corruption that permeated to the very highest levels of the government. While Kade knew it was only a story, he felt as though he could read the author's loneliness in every line that was written. It matched his own, and he knew somewhere within him that she was a kindred spirit. She was someone who had been rejected by the world, or who had rejected it, and he wanted nothing so much as to comfort her, to remove that inner pain that had to be gnawing at her . He looked up, and was surprised to see that the sun still hadn't moved much. He shrugged; maybe he was just a fast reader. He'd certainly enjoyed her books. He slipped them back into the sack, and headed back toward the mechanics. He walked slowly back in the direction of the garage, lost in thought. The woman had to be lying about not having seen him before. He'd seen a look of recognition in her eyes, and there was the fact that he'd been dreaming about her. It had to have been a memory, perhaps one that was long suppressed. She was just so familiar to him; it was impossible that he hadn't known her before. He didn't believe in love at first sight; people could be attracted to one another, but love came of mutual respect and understanding. What he felt for this woman was more visceral, but it also contained an element of respect that he didn't understand. While he had spoken to her for only a moment, he knew instinctively that she would be stubborn and determined. He knew things about her that he couldn't possibly know without having met her. He knew that he was going to have to be very careful in how he approached her. She was the sort of person who demanded that the world bend to her will; she wouldn't be very good at bending to his. If he pushed too hard, she would run or call the police, and he didn't want that. A restraining order for being a stalker wasn't an auspicious start to a friendship. He frowned for a moment. There hadn't been any address listed on the purchase order; it might take a little work for him to find out where she lived without arousing people's suspicions. "You're back awfully early." The mechanic barely looked up as Kade entered the small office. "Luckily, your problem was just a clogged fuel line. It won't be much longer till it's fixed." Kade nodded and sat down. He stared outside for a long moment as he thought. If she'd purchased a home, the purchase would be a matter of public record. If she was renting, there were rental agencies he could investigate. Somehow the investigative procedures involved seemed easy and familiar to him. It shouldn't take him long to find her at all in a town of 4000 people. At worst, he could ride up and down every street in town. That would draw more attention than he liked, and might arouse people's suspicions. As the bookseller had said, people in small towns tended to know everything about each other. All it would take would be a trip to the county courthouse, if that didn't pan out, he was sure he could find other avenues quickly. In the meantime, he'd have to find a place to stay the night. There was one motel at the edge of town. If he was to stay any longer than a few days, he'd have to find work, or people would start asking questions. There was time to worry about that later, however. First he would find out everything he could about the author Jane Alexander. She liked to remain private, but it was difficult to do anything these days without leaving a wide open paper trail. Then he'd have to find a way to meet her again without making her think he was a stalker. For a moment he wondered if he was in fact being a stalker. He went over a mental checklist in his mind, and was dismayed to see the number of points checked. He'd have to be careful of himself as well as her then. It would be all too easy to become obsessed with her, and that wouldn't be healthy for any relationship that might develop between them. In spite of the feeling he had in the pit of his stomach that they were meant to be together, he had to be aware of the possibility that she might not want him....even though she'd seemed to respond to him when they first met. He couldn't help but feel that his time was limited. It felt as though there was a storm brewing back in Metropolis, one which would reach out across the country to drag him back into it's darkness. He didn't know what that storm was, but he knew that he had to grab any moments of happiness that he could. Life was too short to miss any of the god things. As the older man shuffled back into the office, Kade smiled to himself. He needed to enjoy life in any way he could. He'd see the woman he'd traveled across the country for very soon; until then, it was a beautiful day outside. He paid the bill; then headed out into the sunlight whistling. What else was life about, if not banishing the darkness? ***************************************** Lois couldn't get the drifter out of her head. Now that she'd had time to think about it, it seemed less and less likely that the man was actually Superman. While it was possible that Clark Kent might have decided to fake his own death, it was unlikely that he would have ended up in the tiny town of Last Chance, Arizona. With his abilities, he could go anywhere, and he wouldn't have needed a motorcycle to do it. She sighed as she stuck the key in her lock. She had enough problems of her own without reviving her old Superman fantasy. The thought had long ago occurred to her that if she'd still been in Metropolis, the Superman story would have been hers. She'd have gotten the exclusive, and along with the string of Kerths she would surely have won, she'd have been the envy of all her peers. She glanced quickly around the room before closing the door behind her. She stepped across the room and pulled open a small panel, punching the code to deactivate the alarm with more force than was needed. If she hadn't gotten involved in the whole mess in the Congo, she'd still have her life; she'd already started to make it a success. Instead, she'd been a prisoner for the past five years, unable to take a breath without looking over her shoulder. It wasn't the sort of pressure a normal person was meant to bear; it was a lonely life. Of course, loneliness was an emotion Lois had been quite familiar with, even before she'd left on her disastrous expedition. Her parents hadn't exactly been the warmest parents on earth; between her father's philandering and obsession with work, and her mother's alcoholism, it was surprising that Lois and her sister had received any attention at all. They'd moved around a lot when she was young; by the time they finally settled down after Lois's parents had split, Lois had found herself unable to form close friendships. She'd had many acquaintances; she'd hated the nickname Lo Lo in high school, but had tolerated it for the sake of what friendships she could manage to have. Inside, however, she'd always felt like an outsider looking in. She'd felt as though it wouldn't matter if she simply disappeared one day; she was slightly bitter now to know that it was true. She missed Perry the most; he'd been more of a father to her than her own had been. She'd allowed herself to drift away from her family, but it was surprising how much it still hurt, not being able to see them after five years. Even those people she'd deemed mere acquaintances had had a place in her life; she'd never known how important they were to her until it was all gone. She looked around at the sparse furnishings of her home. She'd never dared acquire too many things for fear she'd have to move at a moment's notice. Everything she really needed could be packed up in a laptop and a small bag. It wasn't much of a life. She grimaced, suddenly angry. The drifter had brought thoughts and feelings to the surface, ones that she'd assumed were long dead. It was foolish to think that he could have been Clark Kent, and if he wasn't, he certainly wasn't the sort of person she could trust with the remains of her life. For a moment, she entertained a brief fantasy of having a short lived fling, of living for the moment and throwing all caution to the wind. It was seductive, the idea of once more feeling the sweet sensation of skin on skin. If the man could make her blush without doing more than look at her, what would he be able to do if he really tried? Lois realized that she was blushing again at the erotic images her mind conjured up. She'd given up on thoughts of love a long time ago; all having such an affair would do would be to re-open old wounds. As lonely as she was at the moment, she'd probably fall in love with the man. As empty as her life was now, she wouldn't survive being shattered when he inevitably left her. Drifters never stayed long in one place, and he had the look of someone who was used to travelling, someone for whom no place could be called home. She shook her head grimly. She had other things to worry about at the moment, such as the fact that her publisher's advance check still hadn't arrived. She picked up her mail from the table and flipped through it again. Still no sign that the publisher had even received the book, even though they had sent confirmation when she had sent it to them electronically. Her fourth book had been hellishly hard to write. At heart, Lois was a nonfiction writer, and she'd based much of her first three novels on her own situation. It hadn't been intentional at first; she'd had her first novel half written before she'd even realized that much of it was self-referential. She'd been afraid for a time that it might have been too dangerous to reveal so much. She'd checked the shelves of the local bookstore for books in the genre she'd been writing in, and had been relieved to discover that government conspiracy stories were common. In a world where everyone felt the need to wear a gun, distrust of the government seemed only natural. Still, she'd been careful to change the most relevant details. After that, the books had practically written themselves. She'd researched those aspects she didn't know personally as well as she could, given the state of her small town library, and the Internet. The resources had exploded over the past couple of years, but she still needed to occasionally make a trip to the local library. When her well of personal experiences had dried up, so had her inspiration when she was asked to write a fourth book. It had been months before she'd even hit on an idea for a plot, precious months when her nest egg was dwindling. Then she'd had to spend even longer doing the research; her latest story didn't have the easy familiarity that the others had had. Every page she'd written had been like squeezing blood from a stone. In time, however, it had gotten somewhat easier, though it'd never reached the ease of her earlier work. Lois bit her lip. She NEEDED the money from the advance, and she needed it very soon. Unless she received the check in the next day or two, she'd have to dip into her secret fund of cash, and that was dangerous. She'd done it before, and it had always left her tense and uneasy for months afterwards. Finally she sighed and headed for her phone. She'd been very careful not to use a cordless phone for anything; any idiot with a police scanner could listen in on his neighbors' conversations on cordless phones. She tapped a couple of buttons on the device attached to her phone; no sign of taps. The device wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing. To be on the safe side, she didn't use her telephone very much. She dialed the number quickly and let the phone ring. "Cohen and Company. How may I direct your call?" "This is Jane Alexander. I'd like to speak with Mr. Cohen please." "He's just coming out of a meeting. Please hold." Lois stared impatiently at the cheap print on the wall as she listened to the Elvis Presley music coming from the telephone. Simply because the man had been president was no reason to believe his music was classic. "Jane, dear...I hope you've started on that fifth novel you talked about." Sid Cohen's voice was smooth; Lois didn't trust him for a moment. Agents were an untrustworthy breed. If Sid wasn't receiving fifteen percent of her income, he'd throw her to the wolves. "I haven't been paid for the fourth one yet. I was expecting the advance check to come in last week. Where is it?" Sid was silent for a moment, and Lois could hear the sounds of papers being shuffled. "I've been wanting to talk to you about that. They want some last minute editing done on the book before they'll take it. They say it isn't sexy enough. It's missing something that your first three had, and they want you to fix it." Lois flushed, trying to keep her temper. "When did they tell you this?" "Yesterday. It was too late in the evening to call you, but I'd planned to call you this afternoon anyway. I'll fax you the list of changes they want made. You still have the original on your computer, right?" "I'm not stupid," Lois fumed. If the publisher didn't like her book, they should have told her a month ago. She could have had the problems fixed by now, and have the money in her hand. As it stood, she had no choice but to dip into her emergency money. "Send it to me. You have the number." "I just did." "I'll fix it as quickly as I can. Did you see anything in there you thought I'd object to?" "You're a professional, Jane. I'm sure there's very little you'd object to." "I'd be insulted, but I know you meant that as a compliment." "True. When you write to make a living, you can't be too fussy. Now if you wanted to go the Emily Dickenson route..." "I like to get paid for writing. It soothes the soul." Lois spoke flatly. Writing was the only real skill she had, other than singing, and her chances of making a living as a singer weren't good. In any case, she had little interest in making a living singing for drunks in Las Vegas. The fact that such a career would leave her terribly exposed had kept her from even considering it. "Then I guess you'd better get to it. When you're done with that one, you'd better get started on the next one. Neither one of us can afford another long wait like the last one." It was a veiled threat. If she didn't continue to produce, he'd drop her as an agent- while still collecting fifteen percent of all her royalties, at least from the books she'd written already. "I'll send it back as soon as I can." Lois managed to keep her anger out of her voice. She'd learned the value of tact since her "Mad Dog Lane" days. The same behavior that got the best interviews in town also tended to draw attention, something she could no longer afford. It had been hard to hold her temper at first; now it was a simple exertion of will. Sometimes it was harder than others, though. She set the ear piece back on the receiver slowly as she turned and headed for her fax machine. They had ten pages' worth of revisions. Lois grimaced. When she'd been working with Perry, she'd been able to protest any editorial changes he'd made. She couldn't do that now, at least not without attracting a great deal of attention. Of course, many of the changes they were wanting made a lot of sense. Her publisher knew his business. It was depressing that there were so many changes; she blushed when the notes pointed out a place where she'd gotten her facts wrong. She'd have to go back to the library and do her research a little better. She'd gotten sloppy, which was the best way to the poorhouse. It wasn't easy, starting with a whole new character. It was even harder to write about things she had no experience with. If she'd had more experience as a reporter, she might have had a bigger base to draw upon, but as things stood, she had to rely totally on second-hand information. She glanced over at the false electrical outlet in the wall. She'd have to pull some of the cash out and make a deposit the next day, on her way to the library. Beyond the danger that the money represented, it shamed her that she wasn't able to get along without it. Whether her name was Lois Lane or Jane Alexander, she should have been able to stand on her own two feet in any profession that she chose. The taste of failure was bitter indeed. She sighed and headed for her laptop computer. She had a great many changes to make, including whole scenes to re-write. The sooner she finished, the sooner she'd get paid and be back on her own two feet. She began pulling reference books from her shelves as the computer began to boot up. She had a long night ahead of her. If her mind sometimes wandered to thoughts of flesh on flesh, to thoughts of a lonely drifter wandering the highways, who could blame her? ************************************ "I don't think he's dead, Frank." "Then where is he?" The senior agent shook his head. "You don't think that Superman would have come back to help us with the second asteroid fragment if he could?" Jim Creed shook his head. "He wouldn't if he was too badly injured. Maybe he's wandering around in a daze somewhere; a Superman who wasn't in his right mind would be a danger to everyone around him." "Why are you bringing this up now? They're supposed to have his funeral the day after tomorrow." Jim threw a pair of files over to his partner. "I have testimony that a man was found lying nude in a meteor crater not long after Superman shattered the first meteor. He was brought to a local shelter in a confused state, unable to remember who he was." "You have the testimony of a homeless drunk." "Shortly after the John Doe left the shelter under his own power, I have a report filed of an attack, allegedly perpetrated by an individual matching the description of the man found in the crater. Supposedly, the man knocked his victim fifty feet with one blow, breaking a number of ribs in the process, and bruising the man's chest horribly." "The police report says that the man was involved in a fight with another Hell's Angel, and that he got hit with a tire iron." Jim stared at his partner. "You've seen the pictures of the bruise pattern. Does that look like it was made with a tire iron to you?" Frank shook his head. "All you have is the testimony of a homeless alcoholic and of a gang member with everything to gain by lying." "I'll prove that I'm right, Frank. I know a woman down in Forensics, and I think I'll have her take a look at the bruise pattern...see what she has to say about them." "This is a little out of our jurisdiction, partner. " "The victim reported that his vehicle was stolen...a 1980 Harley Davidson motorcycle. If the vehicle has been taken across state lines, then it IS our business." "Maybe the man just doesn't want to be found. From what I hear, his life has pretty much been hell since he went public. What are you going to do if you actually find him, hotshot?" Jim was silent for a long moment. "If I find him, I'm going to try to convince him that the world still needs Superman." ************************************ Lois sighed as she left the drive-through window of the bank. She'd deposited as much money as she dared to, but it wouldn't last more than a couple of months, assuming she was frugal. While the bank was probably used to the periodic large checks she deposited, large sums of cash tended to raise eyebrows. Still, hopefully she'd still be getting a few small residual checks from her other three books along the way that would help tide her over until her next advance came through. It had been arrogance that led her to try for such a picky publisher; many of the other publishing companies simply didn't care. At the time she'd felt triumphant when they'd accepted her book; now she felt only irritated at the extra work they'd caused her. She'd been up half the night, and now she had to make a trip to the public library. Luckily, Last Chance, Arizona had a bigger library than the town's size should have warranted; it had been the beneficiary of a large bequest upon the death of a local gold tycoon almost a half century before. He'd set up a trust that was meant to buy books and extra space in perpetuity. The size of the library had been one of the factors that had brought Lois to Last Chance, along with the romanticism of the name, which was a vestige of the wild west days when the town had been founded. Even with the trust, building additional space was becoming more of a problem, and the building was bursting at the seams with books. If Lois had still been a reporter, she would have written a news story about it, or at least an op/Ed piece. These days, a simple letter to the editor seemed to be too dangerous to her. Lois wondered when she had let fear take such control of her life. There had been a time when she wouldn't have let anything stop her. If she'd had to, she'd have barged into the White House, grabbed President Heston, and demanded to be heard. The truth was, it wasn't fear for herself that motivated her so much as fear for her family and friends. The least mistake by her could result in horrible things being done to those she loved, and while she might have taken risks with her own life, she wasn't willing to risk the lives of others. Still, caution had become such a habit that it sometimes bordered on paranoia...or cowardice. There had been a time that she wouldn't have given a second thought to going after a man she was attracted to. Of course, the men she had chosen to pursue had never been good for her, but Lois was sure that she would have found someone who was right for her by this point, had she been able to remain in Metropolis. Her experiences with men had actually been somewhat limited. There had been Patrick in high school, the boy she'd lost to Linda King, and finally poor, misguided Claude. The five years since Claude's death had been free of any romantic entanglements, which wasn't surprising, given the level of paranoia she'd been forced to live with. She sighed as she pulled into the library parking lot. At this time of day it was almost deserted, which was the way Lois preferred it. Over the past few years, she'd been careful to keep people at arm's length, not merely for fear of who they might work for, but also because of they way they might be used against her. She'd seen what happened when the people she was running from used friends as leverage. She wouldn't be doing anyone any favors if she befriended them, and the knowledge that she might have to move at any time didn't make her inclined to develop any friendships. She'd developed a few acquaintances of course. The local bookstore owner special ordered research books for her on occasion; for all its resources, the local library often didn't have the precise volumes she needed. She was harmless, a neo-hippie, and Lois had probably talked with her as much as she had anyone. If it wasn't for her continued efforts to get Lois to do a local book signing, Lois would have enjoyed the small chats she'd had with the woman. She'd made an acquaintance of the man who ran the local shooting gallery as well. While it was little more than an outdoor area filled with targets and dirt hills to protect the local countryside, Lois made sure to practice as often as she could. She still didn't know if she'd be capable of killing someone, but she wanted the choice to be hers to make. It was depressing to think how few people even reached the level of acquaintance, but it was something Lois had decided on long ago. Her own recklessness would endanger no one other than herself. As Lois entered the library, she inhaled the familiar scents of paper and cleaning solution. She missed the smell of newsprint in the morning almost as much as she missed the sounds and sights of the big city. Every few months, she almost managed to convince herself that she'd be able to lose herself in the anonymity of big city life; she could move to Los Angeles, Chicago or Houston with no one being the wiser. The bad side was that it would be harder to see an enemy coming. She allowed herself to chat with the bookstore lady as a way to keep in touch with the community. In small towns, everyone knew everyone else, and strangers stood out like a sore thumb. It was a delicate balancing act, being friendly enough to get important enough, while aloof enough to prevent a genuine friendship. The librarian ignored her, the way she always did. Lois had a feeling that she considered the library her own personal domain. The old biddy had probably been working since the place had been built, a century and a half before. Lois went to work. After three hours, she sighed. Her publisher had been right to reject the manuscript. She might have gotten away with some of her mistakes back before gun ownership had become so popular, but now a significant portion of her readers would be jarred by some of her elementary mistakes. She'd carried the same gun for the past five years, a 9mm Glock. It wasn't considered a typical woman's weapon, but these days women were often more heavily armed than men were. She knew how to care for her weapon, and all the safety precautions that had to be taken, but she hadn't really paid much attention to other types of guns. She sighed as she wrote her final notes into a notepad. She'd check out a few books, but it was clear that she'd need to add to her permanent reference library. She'd head over to the bookstore to see what was available. She checked her car the way she always did, then slipped inside and headed down the street. As she passed the gas station, she found herself looking for a Harley motorcycle. There wasn't one to be seen. In all likelihood, the drifter had moved on. That's what drifters did...they moved on. Like every man she'd ever had in her life, they left- Lois cursed to herself. With no one to talk to, she'd found herself beginning to babble in her own mind, and it bothered her more than she wanted to admit. There was a limit to how much paranoia and loneliness one person could take before they started to crack up. Sometimes she was afraid she was standing on the edge of an abyss from which there was no return. She stopped in front of the bookstore and sighed. Sometimes she almost wished they would finally come. The waiting was like living with one ear continually listening for the other shoe to drop; you could never really relax, or enjoy anything. Life lost much of the pleasure it had to offer, and instead became a dark, grim trial to endure. She'd felt really alive for the first time in years yesterday, when she'd seen the stranger. He'd reawakened her nose for news, her lustful feelings as a woman, and her sense of loneliness...most likely, she'd never see him again. She resented him for that. She opened the door to the bookstore and gaped. Half the books were off the shelves and into boxes, which were strewn around the floor at various points. No one was at the register, and the air was filled with dust. The usual smells of incense that had always filled the place were missing, and Lois could only assume the worst. At the sound of the bell, Lois could hear the familiar voice coming from the stacks in the back. Jessica Paxton stepped to the front quickly, her face besmirched by dust. "Jane!" she said, her face broadening into a smile. "Have you thought about doing a signing lately? I know that new book of yours is coming out, and..." "It doesn't look like you'll be open long enough to sell my book. What's going on?" The woman looked around for a moment, then said, "Oh! No, I'm not moving out of business. My lease has come up, and Floyd wants to raise the rent again. I can actually get a better price than I'm paying now just across the street, and so..." "So you're moving your entire inventory less than a city block." Lois frowned. "I need some references on firearms." "Those were really popular back when the Gunowner's Protection Act was passed, but they haven't been selling all that well recently." The older woman frowned for a moment. "I may have already started boxing some of them up. You are free to look, if you'd like. It's back in the reference section, along with the books on cars and sports." Lois nodded. She hadn't spent much time in that section, and wasn't surprised that she hadn't seen the gun books. "If you need any help, feel free to call me." Lois nodded soundlessly, and headed towards the back, weaving through aisles filled with massive boxes half filled with books. When she finally reached the section she needed, she sighed. Half the books were already packed, and some of the shelves had even been removed. She crouched down next to one of the boxes. As she slowly sifted her way through the box, she could hear the sounds of activity from other sections of the store. The woman probably had only a few days to move her inventory, at least if Lois read Floyd right. The man who owned the bookstore property was also Lois's landlord, and he wasn't exactly known for his generosity of spirit. Finally Lois found the books she was looking for. She flipped through them, and once she was satisfied that they'd be worth buying, she tried to stand up. She'd been crouched longer then she'd realized; her legs had cramped from staying in an awkward position for so long, and Lois grimaced as she put one hand on a bookshelf to support herself. She wasn't as young as she had been five years before, and she really needed to try to get back in shape. Thirty was too young to be feeling the aches and pains of old age. The bookshelf began to shift under her hand, and before Lois could pull away, it collapsed, dropping dozens of books on the floor with a loud clatter. Lois fell backwards, onto her rear end, and she felt her shoulders hit the bookshelves behind her. She stared with horrified fascination as the bookshelf above her began to teeter in her direction. Abruptly the bookcase stopped tilting, but a heavy dictionary stored on a top shelf tipped over, and flew towards Lois's face. She brought her arm up to protect her face, but she neither felt, nor heard an impact. She peeked, and gaped when she saw a masculine hand holding the book less than a foot from her face. "You need to be more careful." Lois gaped as she realized that the stranger from the garage had saved her. He carefully set the book on an empty shelf, and then held his hand out to her. It took her a moment to realize what he wanted. She recoiled for a moment, then relaxed. She allowed him to grab her hand and pull her to her feet. Her hand tingled where it touched his, and she was once again aware of the unusual attraction she felt for him. "You're still here!" she said. "I'd have figured..." He shrugged. "I thought I might stay for a while." They were both silent for a long moment as Lois struggled for something to say. Finally her eyes dropped to the piles of books on the floor and she flushed. She started to bend down to gather them together, but he grabbed her hand again and shook his head. With a small smile, he said, "That's what got us into this mess." Lois nodded silently as he crouched down and handed her the two books she had chosen. Immediately, her suspicions were aroused. How could he have known what she was looking for, unless he had been spying on her? "Why are you here?" she asked suspiciously. "And how did you know that I was looking for these particular books?" "I'm helping the storekeeper move all this. She thought you might need some help finding the gun books, so sent me back to..." "You need to do a little better job!" Lois found herself saying. "This place is an accident waiting to happen! I could have been killed!" When embarrassed, go on the offensive. It was a tactic that had always served Lois well. Kade's lips tightened, and he gave a curt nod. "I'll see what I can do." Before she could open her mouth to speak, he was gone. It took Lois a moment to react. She stormed after him, careful to avoid stepping on the books on the floor. "I hadn't finished talking to you!" He refused to look at her. "Is that what you were doing?" Lois stared at him. "Do you have trouble hearing?" "I thought you gave me an order." He bent down and effortlessly picked up a large box filled with books. "I don't work for you." "I'm a customer here, and..." "I'm just helping Ms Paxton out on a short term basis." He weaved easily through the mess on the floor, acting as though the box didn't weigh an ounce. "I can leave any time I want to." "I guess that's the great thing about being a drifter...you can just pull up and leave any problems behind." "At least I don't shut myself away from the world." Lois stared at him for a moment, then said, "What's that supposed to mean?" He set the box down and turned to face her. "I think you know." "Who are you to comment on how I live my life?" Lois felt the old, familiar anger rising. Despite five years of practice, she was losing control. He shrugged. "You felt free to comment on mine." Lois stood trembling for a moment, her anger growing to a point where she almost couldn't speak. She shook her head, and finally managed to get herself under control. "That's a mistake I won't make again." She turned and stormed out of the building, leaving the Jessica Paxton staring after her open mouthed. She was halfway home before she realized that she hadn't purchased the books she'd wanted. It was several hours before Lois could think back on the encounter without fuming, and when she did, one thought struck her. How had he gotten to her in time to grab the book that had been hurtling toward her face? He'd seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He'd have had to be amazingly fast, especially since the floor had been covered with books. It was hard to believe that the unshaven, unkempt man at the bookstore could possibly be the most powerful man on the planet. The world was idolizing Superman as an icon, an example of all that was good and noble. The drifter was the most infuriating man she'd ever met. It was hard to believe that he could have once been anything else. Lois had spent years learning to control her temper, and in the space of a few minutes he'd undone all her work. He tore down her barriers and that made him a very dangerous man. Lois hadn't felt so alive in years. **************************** Kade stared at the retreating form of Jane Alexander, and he wondered where everything had gone wrong. He hadn't meant to argue with her; he'd come to the conclusion that he wanted to know her better and had hoped to start a conversation with her when he saw her enter the bookstore. Why he'd lied about working for the owner of the bookstore, he wasn't sure. When she'd demanded to know why he was there, it was the first thing he'd thought of. However, now that she was gone, he was coming to the conclusion that it might not be a bad idea. He walked to the front of the store and said, "It looks like you have a big job ahead of you." Jessica Paxton sighed, looking depressed. "I've only got a few days to move twenty thousand books, and the people I hired to help haven't shown up." "I have a few days free," Kade said. The older women looked up at him, startled, and then she smiled. "That's generous of you, Mr...?" "You can call me Kade." "I'm not sure..." the woman started. She looked back at the mess she'd managed to create. "I can't offer more than minimum wage..." "That sounds fine." "Well, I could certainly use the help. When can you start?" "Anytime you'd like." He handed her a couple of hardback books. "Ms. Alexander will probably be back for these." She looked at him for a long moment, then slipped the books behind the counter. "All right. I could use some help boxing the reference books; they can get a little heavy at times. Let me show you what I'm doing..." In a short time, Kade was hard at work boxing up books and moving the boxes into the back room. He was grateful for the work; it helped him forget the mess he'd made of things with Jane Alexander, and the trouble he'd been having sleeping. He'd had more dreams of thunder the night before, nightmares of car crashes and airless voids. His sleep had been fitful, and he no longer had even the pleasure of dreaming about Ms Alexander. Now that they'd met, those dreams were gone. As he continued to work, Kade realized that he could hear the conversations Jessica Paxton was having with customers as they entered and left the store. Most of the talk seemed comfortingly familiar to him -talk of births and marriages, affairs and alcoholism. It was as though he'd grown up listening to the rhythms of small town talk, and somehow he found it soothing. Working steadily, and without stopping, he managed to clear an entire section before Jessica thought about coming back to check on him. She gaped when she saw the empty shelves on the walls, and he shrugged. He picked up the last massive box of books, and carried it to the rear, where he'd stacked all the others. He was careful to hold the box by the bottom; the books were heavy and would likely rip through unless he was careful. "You do good work." He shrugged. "If it's worth doing, it's worth doing right." "If you need to be paid today, I can..." He shook his head. "I've got enough to get by." It was true. He had what he needed to survive. However, he lacked those things that made life worth living; family, friends, someone to love and be loved by. There was an aching void in his life. The moment he'd seen Jane Alexander he'd hoped that might change. Something within him responded to her, and he'd hoped she'd respond to him. He still wasn't sure what had happened with their second meeting. She'd been angry and irritable, and she'd treated him as though he was no better than the hired help. Kade regretted his brusqueness now, but he'd been taken aback by her behavior. His dreams had led him to seek a smiling vision of a woman. While he hadn't been disappointed by her beauty, he'd been surprised at how quickly they'd come to be at odds with each other. He'd managed to sneak a peek at the bookstore owner's Rolodex, and he'd found Jane Alexander's address. Apparently, the woman had delivered books for her in the past. He'd also gotten her phone number, which was noted to be unlisted. On his way back to the dreariness of his motel room, he drove by Jane Alexander's home. It was smaller than he would have thought it would be; a trim little adobe house with a red tiled roof. There weren't many adobe houses in the area; the mud brick structures were common in the southwest, but Last Chance was mostly filled with cheap wooden houses. The adobe buildings were built to last, but this one was visibly older. The white plaster walls were peeling, and the building was set apart from the others in the neighborhood by a wide expanse of dead grass. The lots to the left and behind the building were empty, and the neighborhood itself was a poor one. With the exception of the plaster on the walls, Jane Alexander's house was a well-maintained oasis in the middle of a poverty zone. Most of the other houses in the neighborhood were ramshackle older buildings, mostly made of wood. With walls probably a foot and a half thick, the house would stay cool in the heat of the day, would be mostly proof against outside sounds, and would be well defended against drive by shootings. The garage was a mismatched wooden add-on, but it seemed sturdy enough. He was tempted to stay and watch the house. If he stared closely enough, he could imagine seeing her inside, sitting at a simple desk with a laptop computer, her face a picture of concentration. He wanted to stay, but he knew better than to do so. His relationship with Jane Alexander was rocky enough without having her turn him in for stalking her. He stared at the building for a long moment, then regretfully turned toward the motel. For some reason, he wasn't hungry, and he didn't feel like eating in any case. He opened the door to his tiny motel room, and he barely closed the door behind him before dropping soundlessly onto the bed. His sleep had been disturbed the night before, and somehow, his encounter with Jane Alexander had left him both exhausted and exhilarated. The woman was infuriating, and yet it was as though a black and white world was suddenly lit in a panoply of colors when she entered the room. It was as though he was alive for the first time since he'd awakened in the aftermath of the Nightfall asteroid. He dropped onto the bed without bothering to take off his boots. After a few moments, he cursed. The walls of the motel had to be paper thin, because it felt like he could hear things coming from every corner. He could hear the couple next door having an illicit encounter, even though they didn't sound all that noisy. He could hear the sound of a television blaring down the hall. Ignoring the amorous couple, he concentrated on the television, and eventually found that he was able to ignore the couple altogether. "The world mourned today as final services were held for Clark Kent, the man known as Superman." His head started to throb as he continued to listen. "Services were held in Centennial Park in Metropolis today. Almost ten thousand mourners attended, most of them individuals who had been saved, or who had relatives who had been saved, by the man of steel during his tragically short career." The headache grew stronger. "The eulogy was given by the mayor of Metropolis, Perry White. White, arguably the person who knew him best other than his estranged fiancée, Lana Lang, broke down and wept for the world's loss and for the loss of a friend." The headache exploded into a migraine, and he found that he could no longer listen. For several minutes he merely lay on the bed and gritted his teeth. He refused to allow the others to hear his pain, and with walls so thin, they assuredly would. He drifted through a fog of pain until at last it began to fade. As he relaxed, he grew drowsy and tired. Eventually he slipped off into a dream. He was in a black room. The woman of his dreams stood before him; behind her was a man in shadows, holding a gun. She was afraid; the expression of fear in her eyes made every protective impulse in his being rise to the surface. He tried to move forward, but found that he was frozen in place. He couldn't move and was forced to watch in horror as the man forced her to move forward to the edge of an abyss. She was afraid, and his feelings of helplessness and rage mounted. He knew that he had to help her, but no matter how he struggled, he couldn't seem to move at all. He tried to shout to them, but his mouth gaped soundlessly. The man was quiet as he stepped behind her. The shifting shadows didn't allow a good look at his face, but the man's intentions were clear. He stepped behind her, and shoved her into the blackness of the abyss. Kade felt a massive blow against his back, and he found himself plummeting after her. He could see nothing in the darkness, and he felt colder than he'd ever felt before. It was a biting cold, one which seemed to reach out with icy fingers to stroke his bones. He still couldn't move, and by this point he couldn't breathe either. His mouth gaped open in a soundless scream as he fell. He looked desperately for the woman, but all he could see was blackness. The world was silent. He struggled to breathe, and he was drowning. After a time, he thought he could hear the beginnings of sound. At first it was almost inaudible, but it grew louder rapidly. At the same time, the cold began to fade, being replaced by a warmth that covered his entire body. At first it was almost pleasant; he'd been chilled to the bone, and the warmth slowly began to move through his body. As the sound he'd heard began to grow into a roar, he noticed that he was growing hotter and hotter. When the roar had risen to a sound that overwhelmed all other sounds, he realized dully that he was on fire. He saw the first flickers begin at his arms, and they rapidly expanded to envelop his whole body. It didn't hurt like fire should have hurt; instead, it made his entire body sting, a pain that grew until his eyes watered, making the scene below him blurry and unreliable. He saw the ground as it approached, though. It was a wide, unyielding sea of stone and concrete. He could only stare as it rushed towards him. He closed his eyes immediately before he hit; after a moment, everything stopped. The sound dropped into silence, the fires covering his body vanished. The world was a dark, warm place, and he was standing alone. He was in a dark alley; at the end, facing the street, he could see the silhouette of the woman. It felt as though he'd been pursuing her forever, and he knew that he'd continue for as long as it took. He stepped toward her, and she turned. She gaped at him, then turned to run. He stared for a moment, then began to run after her. He ran quickly, but somehow she managed to widen the distance between them. He wasn't sure why she was running from him, but he knew that he had to stop her, to explain that he meant her no harm. She turned a corner up at the next street, and he tried to run faster. As he ran, he noticed his reflection in the large windows on either side of the street, backlit by flickering streetlights. He stopped when he saw his own face, and gasped in horror. His face was a red mockery of a man, and his eyes glowed with an unholy red light. His face looked distorted and alien, like that of a gargoyle. In that moment, he knew that he was not a thing of the earth. He had no right to pursue a woman, because he was a cursed thing, alien. He looked down at his hands, which were gnarled and red, with claws dripping with blood. He wept as he looked back up toward his face, which had grown even more inhuman. He opened his mouth and saw teeth that had been filed down into points. He tried to scream, but his voice was only a soundless growl. He woke up, and realized he was in his bathroom, facing the mirror, and his eyes were still glowing red. His face stung in a reminiscence of the fires that had wrapped his entire body earlier, and he gasped in horror as he realized that that his eyes were still glowing with a hellish light. He sat up in bed, gasping. It took a moment to realize that he had not actually awakened from his dream the first time; he'd had a dream within a dream. His body was sweat soaked, and he felt a desperate need to soap himself clean. As he passed by the mirror, he couldn't help but glance fearfully at his reflection. He gasped as he saw that the mirror had somehow managed to warp and crack during the night, its surface having bubbled and boiled until half the mirror was unusable. More terrifying was the reflection he saw in the corner of the mirror that was usable. His face seemed a little reddish, but somehow the beard he'd been growing had vanished. He was clean-shaven for the first time in days, and he hadn't even bought a razor. Additionally, the corner of the counter was crushed, as though someone had taken a huge vise and wrapped it around the end of the Formica. He cursed. He'd had to lay down a large deposit in lieu of presenting a credit card; he was sure to lose that, and perhaps more. He shook his head; he didn't understand what was happening to him. He stripped out of his clothing and stepped into the shower, turning it on as hot as it would get. As the water enveloped him, he began to sob. His feelings of loneliness and alienation were overwhelming, and like the sword of Damocles, he felt as though something huge was hanging over his head. Something in his past was so terrible that he wouldn't think about it. He couldn't think about it. He could have been a murderer in his old life. As strong as he seemed to be, it would have been easy to do it accidentally, and if he had any sort of temper...Kade didn't want to believe that he could have hurt someone badly, but he couldn't deny it. It had been so easy breaking the ribs of that one biker; it had been effortless. He could have been in the military, perhaps; he seemed to have some experience in calculating bullet trajectories. Perhaps he'd been a mercenary soldier somewhere. For a moment he had a glimpse of a rain forest, and of himself searching for any signs of someone...the memory faded quickly. Still, he didn't seem overly familiar with guns. He realized that he was developing another headache, and also that the water had turned cold. It didn't seem to bother him much, the coldness of the water, but he sighed and switched it off anyway. He stepped out of the water, staring down at his body. To all appearances, he was as ordinary a man as anyone. It looked as though he kept himself in good shape, and while being uncircumcised was unusual for someone of his apparent age, it wasn't unheard of. He sat on the edge of the tub with his head in his hands until the slight headache receded. It was night time outside. He could hear the sounds of the evening; the snores of his neighbors; the sounds of the few cars which were still driving through the streets. From the sound of things, it was late, and Kade sighed. He grabbed a towel and dried off quickly. His nose wrinkled at the smell of burning cloth as he dropped the towel onto the floor in the corner beside the bathtub. He dressed in the jeans and T-shirt he'd been given by the waitress. He felt restless, and felt the strong need to get away. He left his room quickly, and headed for his bike. Not bothering with the helmet, he kick started it into motion, and drove out into the night. The night wind on his face felt cool and comforting, familiar. It was a sensation that seemed so familiar that it seemed deeply ingrained. He suspected that he'd often ridden through the night air, allowing the wind to whip through his hair as he sought answers to the questions in his life. He didn't find any as he rode through the night. What he did find was a measure of calm. Whatever his life had been before, he was a different person now. He could only change the present; the past was immutable and couldn't be changed no matter how much he would have liked to. The desert had its own sort of beauty by night. It was an austere sort of beauty, stark and powerful. It was the beauty of a landscape that seemed to encompass the universe, of a sky that seemed to stretch out endlessly with stars. Looking up at the heavens was enough to restore his sense of the order of the universe. In the scale of things, his own problems were infinitesimally small. Eventually he returned to his motel room. He was careful to clear everything out; he was certain that the motel would force him to vacate the moment that housekeeping noticed the damage to the bathroom. Even thinking about the mystery of that damage was enough to impinge on his feelings of calm. He reached the bookstore early, and found that Jessica, the proprietor, was already there. She offered him coffee, which he accepted gratefully. While it didn't seem to do much to wake him up, he enjoyed the taste. Unwilling to make much in the way of small talk, he set to work. He managed to lose himself in the work, able to avoid thinking about anything other than the simple and repetitive tasks involved. So engrossed was he in his task that when he picked up a box of books and turned a corner with it, he nearly ran into Jane Alexander. They stared at each other for a long moment without speaking. "You look different." She was stammering a little, which gave Kade a small surge of confidence. He resisted the urge to look down at himself; in jeans and a sweater he knew he looked different than he did in a leather motorcyclist's outfit. "There's a little more to me than a pair of leather pants." Kade smirked. Her eyes dropped, and then she flushed. "The casual look suits you." "I could say the same about you." Kade had a sneaking suspicion that she'd just looked at his crotch, and her reaction amused him. She flushed even more deeply, and looked away. "I see that you've cleared away this whole section." The entire area was clear of books; only the skeletal remains of free standing bookcases remained. He nodded. "I've managed to clean out half the store already. With any luck, Jessica will be able to reopen next week." She bit her lip. "I don't suppose you saw the books I had intended buying..." He nodded. "I had Jessica hold them for you at the front desk." She smiled at him, and Kade found himself flushing. It was hard to think when she smiled like that. It was blinding, and it made him want to stammer like a schoolboy. "That was really nice of you." Her voice was hesitant. "You act as though you don't expect people to do you any favors." She stopped smiling, and Kade cursed to himself. "It's easier not to be disappointed that way." "It's safer not to take any risks, I guess." Kade's voice was carefully neutral, devoid of any emotion. She looked at a point above his shoulder. "Taking risks is a good way to get burned." "A life without risk isn't really living." "You sound like a fortune cookie." Jane Alexander tapped her foot irritably. "You never did say what gave you the right to comment on my life." "I like you." Kade carefully set the box of books on the floor. Jane Alexander's face had turned a bright red. "What does that have to do with anything?" "You want the best for people that you like." "Who says you even KNOW what the best thing is? What makes you the expert?" He shrugged. "I know what I believe." "And what, pray tell, is that?" "A flower can't bloom in the dark." "Now you really ARE talking like a fortune cookie." "If you shut yourself away from the world for long enough, eventually you'll wither away." She was silent for a long moment. "I suppose there is some truth to that...but you don't really have any right to cast aspersions on anyone's lifestyle." "Why would you say that?" "Do you have a home and a family somewhere?" Jane's voice was challenging. Kade felt a small throbbing begin between his eyes. "I'm between homes right now." "So you just left your whole life and decided to travel." Her voice was flat. Kade turned and started pulling shelves from the empty bookcase beside him, setting them carefully on the floor. "It seemed like the thing to do at the time." His headache was getting worse. "A flower doesn't grow without any roots, either." "I suppose it doesn't." He continued to remove shelves. He could sense her staring at him, but he ignored her. "There's a lot to be said for travelling." "Sure. Grungy hotel rooms, never sleeping in your own bed." She smirked. "Beautiful sunsets, sweet smells of summer, brisk mountain air." "Living out of a knapsack, washing clothes in a sink, never getting a good night's sleep." She stared at him challengingly, daring him to deny her words. "You get to meet new people; make friendships that might last a lifetime." "Have you?" He glanced at her and said, "I guess that depends." Their eyes met, and Lois stared at him for what seemed like an eternity before speaking. "Don't fall for me. It can't end well." "That's a big assumption." "You're a drifter, I'm an at-home girl...it'd never work." Her flippant remark didn't conceal the pain he glimpsed before she turned away. She walked away from him, then turned back for a moment. "The whole problem is that I like you too." He was tempted to follow her, but the minor headache hadn't quite faded, and he sensed that she wasn't yet ready for him to follow her. He sighed and turned back to work, absently listening to her as she made her way through the store. He could hear her speaking to the bookstore owner near the front of the store. "Did Kade leave something for me?" "Yes...he said you'd be back for these." "I hate to be so predictable." Kade continued pulling shelves from the bookcases. They'd need to move the cases to the new store soon. He continued to listen to the women's' conversation. "It was a stroke of luck, having him ask for work here. I don't know what I would have done without him." "He's been a good employee?" The question was asked with a casual tone. "He's a hard worker, and he's really fast. I wouldn't have gotten a quarter of what he has done, even if I'd been strong enough to lift the boxes." "I guess it really was a lucky thing, his coming in." "That'll be sixty-four dollars, eighty cents." Kade could hear the sound of coinage being dropped into the register. There was silence for a moment, then Jessica spoke again. "When is your new book coming out?" "Three or four months, if I'm lucky." The conversation lulled for a moment, but Kade didn't hear the sound of the door chimes ringing. "Has he said anything about his past?" "Kade?" Jessica's voice was amused. "He doesn't talk very much about anything." She paused. "He really is a handsome man, isn't he?" "He cleans up a lot more nicely than I thought he would." Jane's reply came slowly. "The shave did wonders for him, didn't it?" Kade was surprised to hear a throaty laugh from Jessica. "I wonder if he might not..." "Jessica!" Jane's voice was a little shocked, and Kade realized he must have missed something...a gesture, or an expression. His hearing seemed to be working just fine. "Some men appreciate older women!" Kade could tell by her tone that Jessica was teasing, and he began to relax. She continued. "Not that I'm likely to ever do anything about it. I couldn't afford to lose him right now. Now, if he were to ask, it might be a different story...." "Do you think he might be interested?" The tone of Jane's voice was casual. "The only person he's shown any interest in has been you." There was a long moment of silence, then Jane spoke again. "Thanks for the books. I'll be back in a few days to see if there's anything else I need." The doorbell rang, and Kade knew she had left the building. He sighed. She'd said that she liked him, and the feeling that evoked in him was one of exhilaration. He'd simply have to convince her to give him a chance. She didn't seem like the sort of person who gave her trust easily, and he wasn't entirely sure how to seem