Path to the Congo
By Sarah Luddy <meerkat_comments AT aslandia DOT net>
Rated:  PG-13  Warning: Violence
Submitted:  November 2002

Author's Note:  This story couldn't possibly have been 
written without help from many different people.  Laurie 
has been an amazing beta-reader and nagger for, if you 
would believe it, almost a year.  She even promised me (and 
sent me!) chocolate chip cookies when I finally finished.  
Talk about incentive!  Paul came in near the end, but he 
managed to beta-read over a hundred pages in a few short 
days, which he should definitely receive some sort of beta-
reading award for.  My twin, Annie, spent hours helping me 
brainstorm the story back when it was just a loose concept 
I had.  Crazy ideas of mine that she laughingly rejected 
from Anybody's Baby, which she was writing at the time, 
were frequently adapted into my own story.  Kaylle and 
Helene both read sections of PttC and gave me advice.  And 
Missy offered invaluable help with writing smoochies.  It 
would take hours to thank everyone who saw bits and pieces 
and gave me encouragement and ideas over the year it took 
me to write, so I just want to thank everyone who helped, 
from IRC, the boards, and the ficlist.




Everyone is necessarily the hero of his own life story. ~ 
John Barth

Lansdowne Suburbs, Metropolis, New Troy, 1959 - Lex is 10 
years old

Alex pushed off from the ground and swung out, then back, 
listening to the creaking protest the swing made at being 
forced into action.  The playground was deserted in the 
approaching darkness of a late October evening.  All the 
other children's parents had called them home for dinner 
already.

Alex shivered and suddenly noticed how cold it had become.  
He pulled his jacket closer around him with a shiver.  A 
quick glance around the park showed that his father was 
still absent--late again.  He'd been late yesterday, too.  
Alex hated being the last to be picked up.  It left him 
alone on the playground long after the other kids had gone 
home.

"Hey, Alex!" a voice said sharply.

He jerked, almost falling off the swing without the support 
of his hands.  He quickly pulled his hands from his pockets 
and gripped the chains.  Standing in front of him was a 
freckle-faced boy, his chubby hands on his hips.  One of 
the dreaded 6th-grade bullies.

"Yeah?"

"You've been in that swing for hours," the kid said.  "It's 
my turn."

Alex raised an eyebrow.  "There are two other swings," he 
said, indicating them with a sweep of his hand.

"I like that one," the kid said.  "It's higher."

Alex rolled his eyes.  "It's mine."

The kid stepped closer to him and grabbed the chains.  
"Give it up," he said.

"No, thanks," Alex said.  Shoving away from the kid to 
force his chubby hands from the chains, he pushed himself 
backwards forcibly and then swung forward with feet 
extended.

His feet connected with the kid right in the middle of the 
stomach, and Alex took a perverse pleasure in watching the 
kid bowl over in pain.

"Get your own," he said with a slight smile.

A clapping sound from behind him made him spin around.  His 
father stood a few feet back, watching the scene.

"Well done," he said.  "I should have known that no son of 
mine would let a kid get the better of him just because he 
was bigger."  He slapped Alex hard across the back, and 
Alex clenched his teeth to keep from wincing in pain.

"Your mother is supposedly making a roast for dinner," 
Alex's father said.  "If she doesn't burn it, of course.  
Ready to go eat?"

"Always!" Alex said.  He grinned up at his father.

His father smiled at him and tousled his hair.  "That's my 
boy, always eating.  You'll be catching up to me by next 
month at this rate."

Alex winked.  "Next week, if I have any say in it."

His father laughed.

******

Alex huddled in his room, listening to his father's raised 
voice and his mother's crying.

"That stupid woman," Alex thought ferociously.  "She can't 
do anything right, and then she cries like a baby when he 
yells."

Alex winced when he heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh.  
He dug his fists into his ears, trying to keep from hearing 
the sounds of his mother's screams and his father's blows.

"It's her fault, it's her fault," he told himself over and 
over like a mantra.  "He wouldn't have to hit her if she 
did it right the first time."

He sniffled, and realized that he'd been crying silently 
for some time.  He sniffed loudly and blinked, forcing 
himself to stop.  "A Luthor doesn't cry.  A Luthor never 
cries," he said to himself.

"Dad, please stop," he whispered.  He knew his father was 
only trying to keep his mother in line.  He wouldn't hit 
her otherwise, of course.  After all, he hardly ever hit 
Alex, only when he'd done something truly awful.  His 
mother seemed to earn beatings far more often.

The sounds of the beating finally stopped and Alex 
tentatively removed his fists from his ears, where they 
weren't helping much anyway.  He could hear the thuds of 
his father's boots as he marched up the hallway and flung 
Alex's bedroom door open.

"Dad?" Alex said, looking up nervously.

His father stepped into the room and closed the door behind 
him.  His footsteps gentled as he neared Alex's bed.

"Lex... " he started.  "I'm sorry you had to hear that.  
You know I love your mother.  I hate having to punish her, 
but sometimes it's the only way to make her understand what 
I want."

"Wh--what did Mother do?"

"She managed to destroy my favorite dress shirt, the 
incompetent woman," his father said curtly.

"Dad, what's incompetent mean?"

"It means she can't do anything.  Lex, you've really got to 
work on your vocabulary.  And don't call me Dad, it's 
puerile.  Remember, we agreed.  Father."

"Yes, Father," Alex said meekly.  He didn't think it was a 
good time to ask what "puerile" meant.

"Good night, son."

"Good night, Father.  I lo--Good night."

******

Amelia dropped onto the couch with a sigh, earning a glance 
from her son.  She watched him for a moment.  He was busy 
unscrewing the radio and taking out the parts.  Each time 
he took a part out, he stared at the radio for a few 
minutes, perhaps memorizing the part's location, then 
placed the part in some neatly-organized pattern on the 
floor.

She rested her head against the back of the couch.  She 
wasn't sure if she should be proud of her son, or hate him.  
He was so much like his father.  That was good, in some 
ways.  He was strong, and smart.  He did things like take 
appliances apart, like the radio, just to see how they 
worked.  And he never failed to put them back together.

And to his credit, he hadn't followed his father's 
footsteps in some of the crueler ways.  He had never tried 
to hit her, and he generally obeyed her.  She rubbed a sore 
spot on the back of her neck as she watched him.

In fact, sometimes she thought he sided with her when Jason 
hit her.  He'd flinch, and there was pain in his eyes.  
Jason always seemed eager to assure the boy that he was 
doing it "for her own good," though, so one day Lexie might 
come to think that his father was right.

She rubbed her temples absentmindedly.  She loved Jason so 
much.  How could he be such a jerk sometimes?  It seemed 
that men came from an entirely different planet.

She closed her eyes for a moment to rest.  She needed a 
break after a long day.  Just a few minutes would do.

******

Alex carefully removed the last dial from the radio and set 
it out neatly in the organized rows of pieces he'd removed 
from the appliance.  He'd been careful to put them in an 
order known to him so he could put them back in again.

He glanced up at a soft snore from his mother, who was 
sleeping on the couch.  Rolling his eyes at her laziness, 
he turned back to the radio parts.  The whole thing was 
beginning to make sense.  He was pretty sure he understood 
how the radio worked as a whole now, and what each piece 
did.  He hadn't been sure if it would be too complicated 
for him, but he'd already gone through every other 
appliance in the house during his after-school hours, so 
this was the last great mechanical adventure left to him.

The sound of a key turning in the lock made Alex jerk his 
head up, and he paled as he realized that his father was 
home.  It hadn't occurred to him that it would take longer 
to disassemble the radio than it had the other appliances, 
and he hadn't had time to put it together yet.  He began to 
hastily assemble the parts, but he was too late.

"Woman!" he heard his father shout, walking into the room.  
"What are you doing sleeping?!"  Then he caught sight of 
Alex and the radio parts, and Alex watched his father's 
face flush purple.

"LEX LUTHOR!!!" he screamed, his eyes bulging out of his 
face.  "What have you done?!"

Alex flinched.  His father grabbed him by the front of his 
shirt, dragging him through the radio parts and knocking 
them everywhere.

He tried to escape, but his father had lifted him into the 
air and above his head.  Alex felt himself choking.  
"Father, stop!"

His father stared at him for a long moment, then slowly let 
him to the floor.  "You stay right there.  Don't you dare 
move."  He stalked off down the hallway towards his room, 
leaving Alex shivering with fear.

Alex caught movement from the corner of his eye, and he saw 
his mother, still seated at the end of the couch, staring 
at him.  There was a strange look on her face, but she 
quickly dropped her eyes.

Alex closed his eyes until he heard the heavy footsteps 
that indicated his father's return.  When he opened his 
eyes, he took in a deep breath, for he'd seen the belt in 
his father's hand.

"Turn around and lift your shirt," his father commanded.

Alex did as he was commanded, and waited in shaking 
anticipation for his father's first blow.  But nothing had 
prepared him for the searing pain of the first hit.  His 
father was using the end with the buckle, he realized with 
a dazed understanding.  

With the next hit, the buckle caught his backbone, and with 
a squeal of anguish and humiliation he collapsed.

His father grabbed him by the waist and forced him back up.  
"A Luthor does not flinch.  He does not cry.  He takes the 
beating like a man.  Like a Luthor."

Alex forced himself to stand perfectly still, and he 
squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears from creeping 
through.  The next lash sent a chill of agony through his 
spine, and he felt a roaring in his head.  He forced 
himself to concentrate on the lashes and not let his mind 
remove itself from the pain, like his cowardly mother did.  

"Five," he whispered to himself.  "Six."  Another, another, 
he mentally pleaded.  "I can take it, I am a Luthor, we can 
survive anything," he thought to himself, the words 
protecting him.

When his father finally stopped, Alex felt no relief, only 
a dizzying sense of misery.  He'd failed his father, and 
his father hadn't even thought him able to take more than 
ten lashings.  He would never be the same in his father's 
eyes.  He couldn't even face his father when he finally 
turned around and pulled down his shirt.  Instead, he 
turned towards his mother.

His mother was sitting in exactly the same spot on the 
couch, facing him with a slight smile on her face, but 
tears running down her cheeks.  He looked at her for a long 
moment, trying to interpret her expression, but he 
couldn't.  He turned to stare at his father's feet.

For what seemed like an eternity, his father stood in front 
of him, saying nothing.  Then he finally turned and went 
back into his bedroom to replace the belt.

Without a word, Alex gathered up the scattered parts of the 
radio and carried them upstairs to his room.  He stayed in 
his room all evening, not even coming out for dinner.  
Finally, two long hours after he'd heard his parents put 
the dinner dishes away, he emerged from the room.

He walked straight to his father, carrying the repaired 
radio in his arms.  He stood in front of him, able to look 
him in the face once again.  Without a word, he placed the 
radio on the floor in front of his father's chair.

His father took the cord and plugged the radio in, tuning 
it to his favorite station.  When the station came on loud 
and clear, his father nodded slowly.

"Dad--Father--I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have taken apart the 
radio, even if I thought I could fix it."

"Lex, a Luthor never says he's sorry."

"Yes, Father."

His father nodded to his mother, and she got up from her 
chair and hurried into the kitchen.  Alex stood with his 
head down until she returned.  When she did, he was 
surprised.  She'd brought him a plate of food from dinner.

"I'll never earn a beating again, Father, I promise you," 
he told him solemnly.

His father nodded.  "I'm sure you won't.  Eat your dinner."

As Alex ate, he noticed his father looking at him 
strangely.  He didn't look up, uncertain if he'd draw 
unwelcome attention if he met his father's eyes.  When he 
finished, he scraped his plate and put it in the sink.  He 
turned slowly to face his father.

His father smiled at him.  "Lex, my boy, we're going out.  
I have things to do, and it's about time you started coming 
with me."

Alex nodded and followed his father.  Without another word, 
his father walked out the front door, and Alex assumed that 
he was expected to follow.

It was growing dark as Alex and his father stepped onto the 
street.  Alex shuddered as he realized how cold it had 
grown since dinner.  He huddled closer to his father, but 
didn't dare to touch him.  He wished he had the nerve to 
ask if he could go back for his jacket.  Knowing how his 
father would respond, he forced himself to stand straight 
and tall and ignore the cold.

While Alex had been concentrating on his physical 
discomfort, he hadn't been watching where his father was 
taking him.  When he finally started to pay attention to 
his surroundings, he realized they'd wandered into one of 
the worst parts of town, East Side.  It was completely dark 
now.  Very few of the streetlights were actually in working 
order.  His father walked with long, resolute strides, and 
Alex was forced to trot alongside to keep up.  He felt 
childish.  Puerile.

"Father?" he began.

"Not now, Lex," his father admonished him.

Alex sighed and tried to keep up.

Finally, his father rounded a corner and walked into a dark 
alley.  He opened a door in one of the side buildings.  The 
door opened into a staircase that twisted and turned as it 
went up.  He started up the stairs, taking them two-at-a-
time and ignoring the handrail.  Alex tried to imitate him, 
but his legs weren't long enough to make skipping steps 
easy.  He was gasping for breath by the time he reached the 
top.

A tall, sandy-haired man met them just inside the hallway.

"Luthor," he said, frowning, "why did you bring the boy?"  
He spoke with a strong Australian accent that Alex thought 
made him seem rather young.

"He needs to learn about the business," Alex's father said.  
"I figured this is as good a time as any."

"Are you sure about this?"

His father placed a hand on Alex's head.  "Yes, 
absolutely."

"All right, then."  He pushed open the door behind him and 
motioned for Alex and his father to go in.

Alex stopped in the doorway when he saw the men standing 
there, but when his father walked right up to them, he took 
a few tentative steps forward until he stood at his 
father's side.

"Mr. Luthor, gentlemen," Sandy-Hair said.  His right hand 
made a graceful notion to indicate Alex's father.

Alex's father inclined his head, and two other men nodded 
at each other.  One of them, a very short man with thick 
black hair, stepped forward.  He unrolled a large sheet of 
paper and spread it across the table in the center of the 
room.

"You see here the information you've asked for, Mr. Luthor.  
These numbers are guaranteed to be correct, and you'll see 
that we have all the information you'll need to outbid your 
competitors."

"Excellent, excellent," his father said, peering down at 
the sheet.  "Lex, come here."

Surprised, Alex inched up to the table and stood at his 
father's shoulder.  He looked down at the chart, but the 
whole thing seemed to be graphs and figures.  It didn't 
make any sense.  He looked up at his father, puzzled.

His father laughed, and after a hesitant moment the other 
men did as well.  Alex started to shrink away, but his 
father clamped onto his shoulder and held him there.  "They 
make no sense to you now, boy, but they will one day.  
Whenever a lot of money is involved, you should always 
remember to buy insurance.  These are insurance salesmen, 
Lex."

Alex frowned at the men around the table.  They didn't look 
like insurance salesmen.  Or--did his father think he was 
stupid?  There was more than one kind of insurance.  Was 
this how his father did business?

"What kind of insurance?"

Alex's father laughed.  "You see," he said to the men 
around him, "I told you he was quick enough for this."  He 
smiled at Alex.  "Do you know what I do for a living, Lex?"

"You're a contractor."

"That's right.  And that means that I'm often bidding 
against other companies for certain contracts.  The company 
offering the contract accepts the lowest bid, as long as 
they believe the contractor can do the job.  So the trick 
is to make a bid that is the lowest, but just barely, so 
that you get the contract but still get as much money off 
it as possible."

One of the men, a skinny gray-haired man at the end of the 
table, rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.  Alex 
flushed as he realized that the man was expressing his 
annoyance at having to wait for Alex's father to explain 
everything.  But how else was he supposed to learn?

"So what's the insurance for?"

"Well, if you knew what all the other companies were going 
to bid... "

Alex grinned.  "Then you could bid just below them, and get 
the contracts but still earn a lot!"

His father nodded.  "Exactly.  By "insurance," I mean that 
we're buying those numbers, ensuring that we'll get the 
contracts we want.  Of course, we pick and choose.  If we 
got every contract, not only would we not have the 
resources to complete them all, but we'd draw suspicions.  
And we don't want that!  The trick is to succeed in 
business without anyone thinking you're doing anything 
under the table."

Alex nodded slowly.  What he didn't understand was why his 
father was telling him all of this.  He was putting an 
awful lot of trust in Alex, wasn't he?  What if he told 
another kid on the playground tomorrow?  But when he 
thought about it, he realized that his father had to induct 
him into the business somehow.  He'd been trusted, and he'd 
never betray that trust.

He sat down at the chair on his father's right to join the 
meeting.  Maybe he didn't understand what all the papers 
meant, but someday he would.  He intended to follow his 
father's footsteps.

"My dream," his father told the men as he leaned back in 
his chair, "is to see the South Side become the wealthy 
industrial center I know it could be.  I wouldn't like to 
see that dream ruined by a traitor."

"No, sir," one of the men said anxiously.

"I wouldn't like to know that there was a man in this room 
tonight who wanted to destroy me."

Now all the men around the table were looking nervous.  
Alex gulped.  His father couldn't mean him, could he?

"In fact, Reynolds, didn't somebody see you enter the 
police station on 33rd and Roosevelt just the other day?"

The gray-haired man, who Alex assumed was Reynolds, started 
to shake.  "No, sir, not me."

Alex's father merely lifted an eyebrow.

Reynolds made as if to get up, but then reached into his 
side pocket and pulled out a revolver.  Alex gasped at the 
sight of the gun pointing across the table.  While Reynolds 
was holding it on Alex's father, it seemed to Alex that he 
could see all the way down the barrel.  He swallowed again 
and turned to look at his father.

His father's face was a carving of stone.  Alex's eyes 
widened when he saw the complete lack of fear in his 
father's eyes, and he turned back to Reynolds.  Reynolds 
was still pointing the gun at Alex's father, but his hand 
was shaking badly.  Nobody had made any effort to take the 
gun away.  As Alex continued to watch, Reynolds lowered the 
gun and finally dropped it onto the table, beginning to 
sob.

Before Alex was even quite sure what had happened, the 
sandy-haired man had grabbed the gun, pointed it at 
Reynolds, and fired.  Reynolds flipped backwards on his 
chair.

Alex started to scream, and his father quickly pulled him 
from his chair and shook him.  

"Shut up, boy, shut up."  

Alex shook his head, trying to calm himself down, but 
images of the shot kept running over and over in his mind.

"Is the boy okay?" Black-hair asked nervously.

His father didn't answer.  He pulled Alex around to the 
side of the table where Reynolds had fallen.  Alex tried to 
pull away, to shield his eyes from the sight of the blood, 
but his father grabbed his head with one large hand and 
kept him from turning it.  A sob escaped him, and his 
father hit him across the back.  "Shut your trap, boy.  
Shut up and look."

After a long desperate moment, Alex regained control of his 
emotions.  He stared with what he hoped was a dispassionate 
look at the victim, then turned to his father.  "I see."

"Good boy," his father said softly.  He led him back into 
his chair.  "Today is a good lesson for you.  A Luthor 
never gets his hands dirty."

Alex nodded, looking blankly across the table.

"I have just a bit of business to finish.  Then we'll go 
home."  

Alex felt numb all over as the meeting progressed.  The 
words of his father and the men, even when they rose in 
anger, sounded as if they were in a dream.  He couldn't 
stop replaying the scene in his mind, the gun pointing at 
his father, his terror, the man's face as he was shot, the 
horrifying sound of a man being fatally shot, the crash as 
the chair hit the floor.  And none of the men had made a 
move to take away the body.  Alex's sensitive nose picked 
the smell of blood.  The smell made it even more difficult 
for Alex to get his head to stop swimming.  He was grateful 
when the men finally stood up to leave.

The sandy-haired man followed his father out of the room, 
and Alex hurried after them as they walked down the 
hallway.

At the other end of the hallway, a burly man was waiting to 
open the door to another stairway.  At least this time they 
were going down and not up.

A limousine was waiting for them just outside the entrance.  
A chauffeur held open the back door.  Alex's father and 
Sandy-Hair got in, and Alex went to follow.  He reached out 
to grab the car door for support as he clambered in, and he 
gasped when he saw that his hand was covered with blood.  
He pulled it away from the door in a flash.  He stared down 
at it.  The blood was gone.

Blinking several times quickly, he climbed in, this time 
careful not to touch anything.

******

"Lexie?" Amelia called, pushing the door to Alex's room 
open slightly.  The room was dark and quiet.  "Alex?"

A slight sound from the bed drew her attention.

"Lexie?  Is that you?"  She walked slowly towards the bed.

A lump under the quilt solidified into human form.  "Go 
away!" Alex shouted savagely, his voice muffled by the 
blankets.

Amelia sighed.  "Alex, you have to get up.  You have to go 
to school."

She knew Jason had taken Alex along on his business last 
night.  They must have had an argument of some sort, 
because ever since they had returned, Lexie had been silent 
and withdrawn.

"Alex Luthor.  Get up now," she said, attempting to mimic 
Jason.  "A Luthor does not skip school."

Alex burst out of the bed with a speed that astounded her.  
He drew himself up to his full height and glared at her.

"Don't you DARE use my father's words on me!" he bit off 
angrily.  "You're hardly a Luthor yourself, don't you ever 
try to tell me how to be one."

Amelia's eyes widened and she took an involuntary step 
back.  For the first time, she noticed how big Alex had 
gotten.  He was still several inches shorter than her, but 
he was developing muscle.  And with the fire in his eyes, 
he looked frighteningly like his father.

She spun and fled the room.

******

"Alex!" Mrs. DeWinter called.  "Alex, are you paying 
attention?"

Alex snapped awake with a jerk.  "Yes, Mrs. DeWinter."

"Then could you please point out where Somalia is on the 
map?" she asked, handing Alex the wooden pointer.

Alex stood up slowly and walked to the map in the front of 
the room.  Somalia was easy to find.  It was the place 
where blood was leaking out of the map.  He touched the 
pointer to the blood and watched it disappear, and Mrs. 
DeWinter nodded.

"Excellent, Alex.  I can see that you've been keeping up.  
Glad to see it.  Now can you please try to stay awake 
during class?"

Alex nodded and sat back down at his desk, dropping his 
head into his hands.  Could nobody else see the blood?  It 
was following him around.  Haunting him.  Normal people got 
ghosts.  It seemed that Luthors got blood.

"Alex!" Pete whispered, prodding Alex's back with a pencil.

"What?" Alex asked sleepily, turning around.

Pete rolled his eyes.  "He asks "what?"  Alex, are you 
crazy?  What's been going on lately?  You've been acting 
really crazy."

Alex shrugged. "What do you care?

Pete frowned, puzzled.  "Why shouldn't I?"

Alex turned back around, and this time ignored the prodding 
of the pencil in his back until it went away.  Nosy 
classmates who thought they were friends with everybody.  
Gah.

******

As rest finally comes to the weary, so does recess to the 
elementary-schooler.  Alex found himself outside on the 
playground without quite knowing how he got there.

He sat down on a rock next to the basketball court to watch 
the impromptu teams play.  An interesting game, basketball.  
He decided to root for the team without the blood on their 
clothes.  They seemed more likely to win.

A sudden blink, and both teams wore clean clothes.

"What is WRONG with me?!" Alex said aloud, leaping to his 
feet.  Several nearby 3rd-graders stared at him, startled.  
He grabbed a stone and lobbed it at a nearby tree, missing 
by more than a foot.  He growled.

When the bell sounded to end recess, Alex was almost 
relieved.  It was all he could do to make it through the 
day.

******

Alex stood in the entranceway to the kitchen, watching his 
mother cook.

"Lexie," she said, without turning, "could you please set 
the table?"

He shook his head, even though he knew she couldn't see 
him.  "No, I'm busy."

"Lexie, I don't have time for this now," she said.  "Set 
the table, please."

Alex grabbed the edge of the table with both hands and gave 
a might shove, toppling it over on its side.  The vase of 
flowers and the candlesticks on the table went flying, the 
water from the vase spraying in all directions.

"Lexie!" she shouted, finally spinning to face him.  "What 
is wrong with you?"

He clenched his jaw and took a menacing step towards her, a 
fist raised.  He half-expected her to cower, but she stood 
her ground.

"I'll show her," he thought.  With a quick motion, he 
slammed his fist into her cheek, reveling in the feel of 
flesh beneath his fist and the thud when she hit the 
ground.

"Lexie!" she shouted, struggling to stand up.  "You--"

He kicked her in the ribs, putting all of his pent-up fury 
into each kick.

She screamed and fell silent, curling into the fetal 
position to escape.

"Alex, stop," she moaned.  "Please, please, stop."

And finally, he did.  He stared for a long moment at a 
small pool of blood gathering on the floor near her face.  
For a moment, he wondered whether it was real or another 
hallucination.  In the end, he decided he didn't care.

He gave her huddled form one last contemptuous look, then 
left the room.

******

Alex pulled back the slingshot, aimed carefully at the 
tree, and let the stone fly.  Bam!  A perfect shot.  Right 
in the spot of blood on the tree.

He bent down to pick up another stone.

"Hey, Alex."

He rolled his eyes.  "Hello, Pete," he said.

"So, whatcha doin'?" Pete asked, leaning against another 
tree.

"Shooting stones into the spot of blood on that tree over 
there," Alex explained.

"Spot of blood?"

"Yep.  On the tree."

Pete walked over to the tree and squinted at the spot Alex 
was aiming for.  "It's a bit darker, I guess," he said, 
"but it's not blood."

"Well, that's because I'm just hallucinating the blood," 
Alex said.  He took aim again.  "But if you keep standing 
right there, I could make that spot of blood real."

"Oh!  Sorry," Pete said, moving away.

"So," Pete said, beginning again, "do you want to play 
basketball with us?"

"Nope."

"O-kay... why not?"

"Because I'm busy shooting stones into the bloody tree."

Pete bit his lip, staring at Alex.  "Alex, are you all 
right?"

"Of course I'm all right.  Doesn't everybody hallucinate 
blood on everything?"

"Um, listen, I'll get out of your way," Pete said hastily.  
"We're on the court if you change your mind."  He backed 
away slowly, then turned and jogged the rest of the way 
back to the playground.

After Pete left, Alex turned and watched the rest of his 
classmates play.  They all seemed to segregate into groups, 
according to age and sex.  It was interesting to watch 
them.  Perhaps certain other lessons that his father had 
taught him could be put to use here.

******

"You're kidding, right?" Geoff said with a grin.

"Not a bit.  So are you in?"

Geoff cuffed Alex on the shoulder.  "Kid, you're pretty 
stupid.  I do that stuff anyway.  What's in it for me, if I 
let you have your way?"

Alex sighed, deciding that he really needed to explain 
things more slowly to 6th-grade bullies.

"Look, it's pretty simple.  We're going to start a 
protection racket.  It's something my dad's talked about 
before.  You will be the threat.  I'll tell younger kids 
that unless they hand over half their lunch money, you'll 
beat them to a pulp.  We'll start with a few select 
scaredy-cats, but eventually, I'm sure you can have the 
entire 5th-grade under your wing, and then expand to some 
of the littler kids.  Though with them we have to be 
careful they don't break down and tell a teacher or a 
parent.  You not only promise you won't hurt them if they 
pay for protection, but that you'll make sure that no other 
bully touches them.  You're big enough to do it, too."

"And then we split the money, right?" Geoff said.

Alex nodded.  "I'll even give you 60%."

"So," Geoff said, a broad smile crossing his face, "why 
don't I just run this protection racket by myself and get 
100%?"

"Because, not only do you not know who the best initial 
targets are to get this going, you can't possibly have time 
to collect all the money every day.  And the kids will be 
too scared of you to hang around to give you the money, 
they won't care about the protection you offer.  And 
besides, that's just the way a protection racket works."

Geoff scratched the back of his neck, nodding slowly.  "I 
guess it makes sense."  He cocked his head and squinted at 
Alex for a moment.  "All right, I'm in," he said.  "And I 
might even be able to get another guy or two, if you need 
additional 'protectors.'"

Alex grinned.  "We might, in the future.  You made the 
right choice.  Now, you'd better stick around on my first 
rounds, make sure people know we mean business."

They had amazing luck on their first few passes through the 
playground.  Alex was careful to choose gullible, weak-
willed kids.  They were more likely to give in without a 
fight, and once word started to get around, other tougher 
kids would be more willing to give in.

Alex noticed Pete leaning against the brick south wall of 
the school building, and he grinned to himself as he 
motioned to Geoff to follow.

"Hey, Pete," he said.

"Hello," Pete said warily.

"Pete, this is Geoff."

Geoff raised one hand in a small wave.

"Geoff and I have decided on a new deal in the playground.  
You see, Geoff is a nice guy, and he really takes it to 
heart whenever one of the smaller kids gets beat up by one 
of the bigger ones, you know what I'm saying?  So he and I 
have decided to create a protection for the playground.  In 
exchange for half of your lunch money, Geoff will make sure 
that no bully beats you up, ever."

Pete glanced at Geoff, who smiled, showing a set of very 
large, crooked teeth.

"And if I don't want to join this 'protection?'" Pete 
asked.

"Well, then, Geoff will just have to beat you into a bloody 
pulp," Alex said, grinning slightly.

Pete's eyes widened.  He stared at them in silence for a 
moment.  Finally, he pushed himself off the wall and stood 
as tall as he could.

"I don't believe you."

"Oh, really?" Alex said.  He nodded to Geoff, who took a 
threatening step forward.

Pete took a deep breath and turned wide eyes on Geoff.  He 
took a step backwards.

"Your answer?" Alex asked.

Pete shook his head frantically. "Still no!" he said, but 
fear was beginning to creep into his eyes.

Alex smiled coldly.  "Go ahead, Geoff."

Geoff took a step forward and swung out at the same time, 
whacking Pete to the ground with a single sweep of a hand.

Pete shrieked as the edge of his head slammed into the 
brick wall before he hit the ground.  In another moment, 
Geoff was on him, and Pete was screaming for help.

Alex watched silently, the same slight smile on his face.  
When Geoff finally backed off Pete, Alex noted the blood 
that covered Pete's face and stained the edge of the brick 
wall.  At least this time, the blood was real.  He had a 
feeling he wouldn't need the hallucinations anymore.

******

Alex frowned at his homework, then leaned back in his 
chair.

"Mother?" he started, turning to look at his mother, who 
was washing dishes in the kitchen.  But she was humming 
tunelessly and looked worlds away, moving her hands slowly 
in the dishwater.

Alex leaned slowly back into place, studying her.  She'd 
aged so much in the past few years.  She seemed ages older 
than his father now.  She'd been having problems keeping up 
with the household chores lately, earning herself even more 
beatings by his father, but she seemed to have stopped 
caring.  Her mind always seemed somewhere else.  Alex 
wondered where her mind went, and whether she was going 
crazy.

He shrugged.  She wasn't going to be any help on his 
homework.  "Father?" he called down the hallway.

His father hurried into the kitchen at the sound of his 
voice.  "Yes, Lex?"

Alex could see his mother tense and shrink into herself, 
and he frowned.

"Father, could you explain linear equations to me?  I'm 
having a little, uh... " Alex trailed off as he suddenly 
realized that his father would not be pleased to hear that 
he was having trouble in a class.  "My algebra teacher 
isn't very smart, and she doesn't know how to explain some 
of this stuff."

"Sure, Lex," his father said with a smile, sitting down 
next to Alex to explain the complicated math that Alex was 
struggling over.

Alex smiled to himself as he listened to his father.  So 
many kids at school would be envious of him, of his family.  
All of them were together, his mother washing the dishes, 
his father helping him with his homework.  Most fathers 
didn't have time to help their sons, or didn't know enough.  
When his father reached the end of the explanation and Alex 
found himself understanding the lecture completely, he 
grinned up at his father.  His father smiled back and 
ruffled his hair.

"Thanks, Father.  I really understand now."

"Glad to hear it.  I'd better hear that you got a perfect 
grade on your next test."

Alex laughed.  "And when have I not?"

His father shook his head.  "You make me proud, Lex.  Keep 
it up."

Alex could feel his face turn bright red with pleasure at 
his father's words.  His father never praised him so 
openly!  His excitement was so all-encompassing that he 
didn't even notice when his mother started her tuneless 
humming again.

******

Alex buried his head in his pillow and moaned.  He'd only 
just fallen asleep when he woke to the sounds of his mother 
screaming and his father shouting.  He wished somebody 
would make pillows thicker so that they were soundproof.  A 
beating was a beating, but he needed his sleep.  He had 
school tomorrow.

The fighting seemed to go on forever, and a few times Alex 
heard heavy thuds as if his father was hitting his mother 
with something large.  Finally he gave up on sleep and got 
out of his bed, walking out to the landing to see what was 
happening.

The sight he saw below shocked him fully awake, and he 
dropped to his knees, hugging the stair railing.  His 
mother's nightdress had blood on it, and her eyes were wild 
as she fought off his father.

She must have done something pretty extreme for his father 
to beat her enough to draw blood.  It wasn't a 
hallucination again, was it?  He squinted for a moment, 
then decided that, no, it wasn't.  He couldn't see where 
she was hurt, though.  Was his father going to kill her?

Alex's father had turned away from his wife, and as he 
headed towards the stairwell, he saw Alex watching from 
above.  He frowned at the sight of Alex, but he didn't look 
angry.  The rage over the actions of his wife was already 
subsiding.

Alex's brow creased as he watched his mother walk over to 
the fireplace.  She took a poker from the rack next to the 
hearth.  Alex gasped.

He tried to call out, to warn his father somehow, but the 
words caught in his throat.

His father saw his terrified expression and spun around, 
but it was too late.  Alex's mother swung the poker and hit 
her husband in the forehead with the full weight of the 
metal weapon.

******

"Oh, my God, what have I done?" Amelia said with a gasp, 
staring down at the body of her husband.

A sound made her jerk her head up and stare at the landing 
of the staircase, but nothing was there.

She dropped to her knees before her husband.  "Oh, Jason, 
what have I done?" she cried.  "Please, God, please, give 
him back!"

She lifted her husband's head in her arms and held him 
close to her chest, wishing that somehow the tears that 
fell on his silent face could bring him back to life.

She sat there for a long time, rocking back and forth with 
her husband in her arms.  In one moment of fear for her 
life, she'd lost control.  She hadn't known what she was 
doing.  She repeated it to herself over and over.  She 
hadn't known what she was doing.  She was scared.  She 
hadn't meant to do it.  But no matter how many times she 
repeated it, she couldn't hold back the tidal wave of guilt 
that threatened to overwhelm her.  How could she have 
possibly killed the husband that she loved?  And, more 
importantly... how was she supposed to go on without him?

A siren suddenly blared outside, and she tensed for a 
moment until she realized that it had gone by the house 
without stopping.  But it stuck in her mind, and in a 
moment she realized why.

Survival instinct kicked into full gear, and Amelia 
realized that she was going to be sent to jail if she was 
found like this.

Giving her husband one last regretful look, she stood up.

"I'm sorry, Jason," she said softly.  "I loved you... I'll 
always love you... but I need to think of myself now.  I 
know you'd want me to go on... at least, I think you 
would," she said, suddenly uncertain.  She took a deep 
breath.  "So, please forgive me."

Amelia stood up and dragged his body over to the hearth.  
She held his head in the air, his forehead just above the 
corner of the hearth, then dropped it.  His head smacked 
into the hearth exactly where she'd hit him with the poker, 
then rolled to the side slightly.  Satisfied, she took the 
poker into the kitchen and carefully scrubbed all traces of 
blood from it.  She carried it back into the living room 
and held it in the fire for a few minutes, hoping that the 
heat would burn away what miniscule traces might remain.  
She then dug it in the ashes to get it properly sooty.

Lifting her husband's foot, she slipped the edge of the 
poker between his legs at the ankle, leaving the bulk of 
the poker to trail out behind him.  She stepped back a few 
feet to check the overall impression.  She nodded.  It 
really looked as if he'd tripped over the poker and hit his 
head on the hearth.

A sudden thought hit her, and she quickly grabbed a rag and 
wiped the handle of the poker clean.  Most likely she could 
mention that she was the last to use the poker and must 
have left it out, but just in case, it was better to be 
safe than sorry.

As she looked over the scene again, she began to cry.  She 
hurried up the staircase to her room, where she forced her 
shaking fingers to change her bloodied nightgown for a 
clean one.  She washed her face and brushed her hair, all 
the while trying to keep her emotions in check.  When she 
felt certain that she was as prepared as she'd ever be, she 
walked over to the phone by her bed.

She picked up the receiver and dialed 911.  Her fingers 
were trembling so much that she misdialed twice before she 
managed to get the simple number right, and she didn't have 
to fake her tears and panic when she reached an operator.

"Please, please, come quick," she said.  "My husband fell, 
he's hurt badly, and I don't think he's breathing!"  She 
gave the operator her number and was about to run back 
downstairs when it occurred to her to check on Alex.

She peeked into his bedroom, but even in the darkness she 
could tell that he wasn't there.  She frowned.

"Alex?"

Something pulled her to look more carefully, and she 
stepped into the room and turned on the light.  She peered 
under the bed and the desk, but no Alex.  Finally, she 
opened the closet door.

She gasped when she saw her son huddled at the bottom of 
the closet, pale and as stiff as if he was frozen in place.

"Lexie?"  She touched his shoulder.

He jerked away from her and looked up at her, his eyes 
filled with hatred.  He burrowed deeper into the closet, 
and she watched him with puzzled eyes.

A noise at the front door made her run to let the police 
and paramedics in, and she forced herself to look at the 
body to develop a few tears before she opened the door.  As 
quickly as she could, she let them know what had happened, 
and that her son seemed comatose in the closet of his 
bedroom.

The female police officer walked upstairs with her to the 
boy's room.

"I think he saw something," the police officer said.  "It 
looks like he's in shock."

Amelia reached out to touch her son again, and he again 
shrunk away.

"It's all right," the police officer assured her.  
"Sometimes children act a little funny under shock.  How 
old is he?"

"He just turned eleven," Amelia said softly, staring at 
Lexie.

"He'll be okay.  He just needs some time to recover," the 
police officer said, giving her a gentle smile.  "We'll 
take him to the hospital overnight to make sure he's okay, 
but kids are resilient.  He'll bounce back in no time."

Amelia nodded.

The officer accompanied her downstairs.  As they rounded 
the corner, Amelia saw her husband being lifted onto a 
stretcher.  The blood on his forehead had caked, giving his 
whole face a reddish tinge.  She gasped and felt her knees 
buckle.  She would have fallen to the ground if the officer 
hadn't grabbed her just in time.

"Here, honey, you need to sit down," the officer told her.

She nodded, but seeing her husband like this, being loaded 
onto the stretcher to go in the ambulance, when she knew 
he'd never be back... it brought new waves of guilt and 
pain that began to overwhelm her.

"Mother?" a small voice spoke from behind her.

She spun around, almost losing her balance in the process.

Alex stood in the doorway behind her, looking with pale, 
wide eyes at his father's body.  "Mother, Dad's gonna be 
okay, right?"

His mother turned away from him and closed her eyes.

Alex turned to the police officer.  "My dad--is he dead?"

She hesitated.  "They're taking him to the hospital."

Alex stared at the ground.  He knew why she was being 
evasive.  Evasive, another word he'd learned from his 
father.

******

Alex bent down to dust an imaginary spot of dust from his 
black shoe.  Standing up, he looked out over the sea of 
faces in the cemetery.  All of them were there to pay their 
last respects to his father.  He found himself beaming at 
the realization that his father had been beloved.

The minister said something to Alex, and he remembered what 
he was supposed to do.   He walked over to the open grave, 
where his father's casket lay, and tossed the white rose he 
held into the grave.  It landed on top of the casket.  For 
a moment Alex felt tears stinging in his eyes.

But then the minister tossed a handful of dirt in the 
grave, and Alex forced himself to stop crying.  "A Luthor 
never cries," he reminded himself, wiping the back of his 
hand across his face.  "I will never cry again."

The other guests slowly wandered back towards the pavilion, 
leaving Alex alone at the grave.  He stared down at it, at 
all that remained of his father.

"She killed you," he told him, his voice breaking.  He 
cleared his throat.  "She killed you.  You were only trying 
your best.  You were the most wonderful father in the 
world, and I loved--I respected you more than anyone I've 
ever known."  He paused for a long moment.  It seemed there 
was something else he should say, but he wasn't sure what.  
"Father, I'll never forget you.  I'll become what you would 
have wanted me to.  I'll make you proud of me."

Alex walked slowly back to the pavilion, where dozens of 
people mingled, talking and eating.  Their pale faces 
seemed stark in contrast to their dark clothing.  Alex 
didn't recognize any of them.  He wanted to shout at them 
to go home, to leave him alone here, but "a Luthor doesn't 
make scenes."

A single face separated from the crowd, and Alex recognized 
Mrs. Roberts, his kindly neighbor.  "Are you doing okay, 
Alex?" she asked him, giving him a worried look.

Alex straightened his back and looked her in the eye.  "I'm 
fine now," he told her.  "And my name isn't Alex anymore.  
It's Lex.  That's what my father called me, and I'll be Lex 
Luthor from now on."

"Lex," she said, nodding.  "It's a handsome name."

Lex scanned the crowd, looking for one person.  Finally, he 
saw her.  She sat surrounded by a group of sympathetic 
mourners across the room.  As he watched, she drew her 
handkerchief across her face, wiping away more fake tears.  
Lex stared at her with narrowed eyes, until she finally 
looked up and saw him.  Her face clouded for a moment, then 
she looked down again.

"She'll pay," Lex said softly.  "Oh, she'll pay.  She can't 
kill my father and get away with it."

******

Lex rounded the corner and stopped suddenly when he heard 
his mother's voice.  He stopped, making sure he was 
carefully concealed behind the wall.

"And I just don't know what to do with myself with Jason 
gone," his mother was saying.  "Everything seems so dark, 
so cold.  I'm just lost."

"You know we're here for you," her friend said.  "We'll do 
anything we can to help."

"That's very kind of you," his mother replied.  "It's 
just... I just don't know what to do."

Lex clenched his teeth to keep himself from shouting out 
"But she killed him!  She has no right to pretend to be 
mourning!"  He contented himself with a low growl he was 
confident they couldn't hear.

"Didn't you say the doctor prescribed something for you?" 
the friend asked.

"Yes, he has me on Valium.  I just started it last week, so 
I can't really tell if it's helping yet."

"Oh, you do sound much better than you did a week ago," the 
friend hastened to assure her.

"Really?"

"I think so, anyway.  And it's good to get your feelings 
out, to talk about them.  Only way to recover."

Lex gripped the edge of the wall, focusing on his whitened 
knuckles.  How dare she pretend she was mourning a man 
she'd killed in cold blood?  He'd seen it with his own two 
eyes.  He only regretted that he hadn't had the gumption to 
interfere, to accuse her right away.  Somehow, from the 
moment his father had fallen to the floor and his world had 
collapsed around him, everything had gone blank until he'd 
awakened in the hospital two days later with the vague 
memory of an evasive police officer.

He turned back towards the stairwell.  She wouldn't get 
away with it.  He was a Luthor, and a Luthor never forgot a 
grievance, no matter how long it took to get revenge.

******

Metropolis, New Troy, 1963 - Lex is 14 years old

Lex tiptoed down the stairs to the living room.  His mother 
was sitting there in the dark, drinking.  She looked up 
when he walked in.

"'Lo, Lexie," she murmured.

"Hello, Mother," he said.  "That scotch is almost done, 
would you like another glass?"

She opened her mouth to say something, but finally just 
nodded.

He took the glass and went to the liquor cabinet.  She was 
pretty far gone, maybe this wouldn't be as hard as he 
thought.  He pulled a tissue out of his pocket and opened 
it on the bar, revealing a large number of pills.  He 
opened the cabinet and took out the bottle of scotch.  
Sitting it on the bar, he dumped all of the pills into the 
bottle and swished it around until they were dissolved.

Finally, he poured some of the scotch from the bottle into 
the glass and brought both it and the bottle back to his 
mother.

"Here you go, Mother," he said.  "I brought you the bottle 
too, in case you wanted more."

"Thanks," she said weakly, taking hold of the glass and 
taking a sip.  She made a face, and for a moment Lex froze 
in place.

"This tastes funny," she said, peering at it with a puzzled 
look.  She stared at the glass.  After a long tense moment, 
she smiled.  "But I like it."  She downed the rest of the 
glass in one gulp, making Lex's eyes widen.

"Ah, I'll just be, uh, upstairs, if you need me."

She closed her eyes in response.

Lex bounded up the stairs, but once he reached the landing, 
he watched and waited.

Snitching his mother's Valium pills had been no trouble.  
Mourning.  Ha.  Little did she know that her playacting 
would lead to her death.

Lex crouched until his legs ached.  He watched as she 
downed another glass, and another.  It seemed as if she was 
on the verge of passing out at every moment, but each time 
Lex was tempted to go down and check, she filled another 
glass.  But finally, finally, her head dropped back onto 
the couch and stayed that way.  There was no indication 
that this wasn't just another bout of exhaustion, but 
somehow Lex knew that the combination of Valium and alcohol 
had worked.  He tiptoed down the stairs and walked up to 
her side.

He wasn't sure exactly how to check a pulse, but he took 
her wrist and pressed it, feeling for a heartbeat.  
Nothing.  He leaned close to her mouth.  Not breathing.

Finally, he allowed himself a sigh of relief.  It had 
worked.  Now to cover the tracks.

He carefully lifted the glass and bottle from the coffee 
table and carried them into the kitchen.  There was a pair 
of cleaning gloves on the counter, and he put them on.  He 
poured what little remained in the bottle down the sink, 
and scrubbed it thoroughly.  He scrubbed the glass as well.  
Then he tossed the scotch bottle into the trash.  

He went to the liquor cabinet and took out another bottle 
of scotch.  Opening it, he poured a bit into the glass, 
then poured most of the rest down the sink.  He carried the 
bottle and the glass back to the coffee table.  Sitting 
them next to his mother's still body, he lifted her right 
hand and wrapped it around the bottle in several positions, 
then around the glass.  "Lots of fingerprints," he 
muttered.  Marching back to the kitchen, he pulled off the 
gloves, rinsed them, and put them back in place.  Sudden 
realization hit him, and he ran upstairs for the empty pill 
bottle, wiped it clean, set it next to his mother and 
placed her fingerprints on it, then left it on the table.

Back in the living room, he surveyed his handiwork, and 
felt satisfied that he'd remembered everything.  He could 
only imagine the sympathy he'd get.  Poor little Lex.  His 
father died in an accident, then his mother committed 
suicide from depression.  He shrugged.  It was a pity, but 
then, didn't all heroes have a bad childhood to make them 
strong?  Picking up the phone, he dialed 911.

"Please, help, I think my mother might have killed 
herself!"

Smallville, Kansas, 1965

Martha hummed to herself as she looked out the window over 
the fields.  She smiled to herself with pleasure.  Jonathan 
was at the doctor's, and in a few minutes he'd be home and 
they'd find out why they hadn't conceived yet, and what 
they needed to do.

She allowed her mind to drift as she slowly washed the 
dishes, singing an old song softly to herself.  Someday 
soon, she'd be singing the lullaby to a new baby.  She and 
Jonathan were so excited about having a child.  They 
already had a nursery set up, and all the supplies they 
needed for a child, all ready.

Martha heard the front door open, and she smiled to 
herself, drying her hands on a towel and turning 
expectantly.

Jonathan trudged into the room slowly, and Martha felt her 
heart stop beating.  He looked so dejected . . . could the 
news be that bad?

"Martha," he started, looking close to tears.  "Martha, the 
doctor . . . he said the treatment didn't work.  We still 
can't have kids."

Martha stared at him, tears shining in her eyes.  "You mean 
I can't have kids."

"No, Martha, it's us.  We're in this together.  Oh, 
Martha..."  He broke down.

Without thinking, Martha reached out and pulled him to her.  
They held each other tightly for a long moment.  Martha was 
sure she could feel her heart breaking.  How could two 
people with so much love not be able to enjoy the product 
of that love, a child?

Jonathan pulled back slightly, and smiled tremulously down 
at Martha.

"I know that it's been our dream to have a child," he told 
her.  "But, Martha, I love you more than anything, or 
anyone, in the world.  And even if we can't have children--
I think we're still luckier than just about any couple on 
this planet."

Martha tried her best to hold back her tears.  "Oh, 
Jonathan."

"Martha, I promise you, we'll find a way.  We'll adopt, if 
we have to.  So many children in the world have to grow up 
without love, and we have so much to offer.  I know that 
any child would be glad to have you as a mother."

Martha stared at the ground.  "Jonathan, I don't know 
anything about raising a child!  What if I'm a terrible 
mother, and I mess him up for life?  My family life wasn't 
exactly ideal, after all."

Jonathan laughed and kissed her, swinging her around the 
kitchen.  "Martha, you'll make a wonderful mother.  We'll 
make wonderful parents!  Maybe this is a kink in our plans, 
but we'll find a way around it."

She couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm.  Yes, they'd 
have a child someday, even if they had to adopt him.

Martha hung up the phone and slowly turned to face 
Jonathan.

"What was that?" he asked, puzzled at the frozen expression 
on Martha's face.

"It was Jamie Richardson," she said.  "She . . . she was 
calling to invite us to 

Annie Irig's baby shower."

"I didn't know Annie was expecting again," Jonathan said.

"Neither did I.  I think that maybe she didn't tell us 
because she knew how it would make us feel."

Jonathan stared into space.  "We were married the same 
year, weren't we?  Annie's struggled so much to have a 
child."

Martha nodded.  "Oh, Jonathan."

Jonathan pulled her close to him and kissed her, at first 
gently, but then with all the urgency he felt for her.

"Oh, Jonathan," she murmured beneath his lips.  She could 
already feel her heart racing with love and need for this 
man.

"Martha, I love you, so very much.  And I promise you we'll 
find a way to have a child of our own someday.

******

Martha smiled at Jonathan and took his hand as they stood 
in front of the Irigs' front door.

A tired but smiling Wayne Irig opened the door.  "Annie, 
Martha and Jonathan are here!" he called.

He led them into the living room, where several neighboring 
families were already clustered around his wife, Annie, who 
held a blanket-swathed newborn on her lap.

Annie looked up and smiled as Martha and Jonathan entered 
the room.  "Martha, Jonathan, meet Richard!" she said, 
holding the baby up for their view.

"Oh, Annie," Martha said, looking at the beautiful sleeping 
newborn.  "He's perfect!"

"Every baby is," Annie answered matter-of-factly.  "But I 
think Richard's more perfect than most.  I might be biased 
though."

Wayne smiled down at her.  "Never," he said.

"So, Annie, gotten any sleep in the past week?" Doctor 
Harris asked with a wink.

"Not a bit," she said.  "When does it end?"

"Give it a few weeks," Maisie said.  "It'll sort itself 
out."

Annie handed the baby to Martha, and she rocked him softly, 
crooning, while the couples talked.  Wayne and Jonathan 
were talking about crop conditions.  She noticed, though, 
that Jonathan glanced at her and the baby from time to 
time, alternating wistful and sad expressions.  She tried 
to smile at him to show him she was all right.  
Unfortunately, he didn't look convinced.

She smiled down at the sleeping baby in her arms.  Annie 
didn't know how lucky she was.  She wondered vaguely how 
the baby could sleep through such chatter as the adults 
were making.

When everyone slowly gathered his or her things to leave, 
Martha handed baby Richard back to Annie.

"Thank you for letting me hold him," she said.

Annie nodded.  "Martha..."

"It's okay, Annie.  Congratulations."  Martha's words were 
sincere.  Neither she nor Annie had been able to have a 
child for many years.  In many ways Martha thought Annie's 
situation was worse, because Annie had been able to get 
pregnant but had miscarried numerous times.  She truly was 
happy for her friend, even if it just reminded her more 
powerfully of her own loss.

Metropolis, New Troy, 1966

Sam Lane looked up, startled, as he heard the door to his 
office open.  Ellen had gone home to get dinner ready, so 
he wasn't expecting anyone.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said to the young man who walked in.  
"I don't give walk-in appointments, and I'm about to go 
home.  You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"I'm not an appointment," the man said, sitting down at the 
chair in front of Sam's desk.

Sam was intrigued by the young man's brash manner.  "Then 
you are . . ."

"Lex Luthor."  He said the name as though it meant 
everything, and in all honesty, Sam was astonished to find 
that this young man was Lex Luthor.  Could he really be the 
owner of so many of Metropolis's industries?  Maybe his 
father had the same name.

"Is your father the Lex Luthor who owns Luthor Industries?"

Lex laughed.  "No, I am.  Surprised to find me so young?"

"Yes, actually," he said.

"Well, I'm here to make a sort of business proposition for 
you."

Sam cocked his head.  "Yes?"

"I hear that you are at the forefront of the field of 
prosthetics.  You've discovered ways of making artificial 
limbs that allow amputees whole new ranges of motions and 
uses."

"Yes.  Though I spend most of my time in clinical work, so 
I don't get as much time for my research as I'd like."

"Well, that's why I'm here."  Luthor leaned over Sam's 
desk.  "Mr. Lane, I would be willing to give you a grant to 
allow you to switch entirely to research work and give up 
the clinical entirely.  But the grant would be for the 
combination of studies in prosthetics and robotics."

Sam leaned back in surprise.  "Robots?  But what do robots 
have to do with...do you mean you intend to use robot parts 
in humans?"

"That's exactly what I mean.  It would allow people the 
same control over a prosthetic hand, for instance, that 
they'd have over their own.  It would allow handicapped 
people an entirely new way of life.  It would revolutionize 
the field."

"But robot parts would be incompatible!  And in order to 
make movements that precise, you'd need some sort of 
computer running the robot, a tiny processor.  I've heard 
talk of a microprocessor, but that kind of technology is 
simply impossible for a robot."

"Nothing's impossible, and I'm sure that you could find a 
way to make this very thing possible.  Just think of all 
the people who have lost a limb and struggle, day after 
day, to live a normal life with a prosthetic.  With a 
robotic limb, they could live a normal life, a life they 
can now only dream of.  Isn't a small attempt at 
accomplishing the impossible worth it, for them?"

Sam's eyes misted as he thought of some of his patients, 
small children, who were so frustrated at their inability 
to play sports or even walk properly.  It might be a pipe 
dream, but it was such a lovely one.

"Besides," Luthor continued, "it's no loss to you if it 
doesn't work.  You'll get the grant whether you succeed or 
not."

Sam nodded thoughtfully.  "Okay, Mr. Luthor, I'll do it."

Luthor smiled at him and reached across the desk to shake 
his hand.  "Thank you, Mr. Lane.  And I'm sure millions of 
handicapped children and adults thank you as well."

******

"You did what???" Ellen shouted.

"I accepted a job doing research instead of clinical work.  
I'm going to look into using robot technology to improve 
prosthetics."

"Without asking me?  I'm your nurse!"

Sam sighed.  "Ellen, this is a chance of a lifetime, doing 
research.  You know I've never liked clinical work very 
much."

"You could have talked to me about it!  We're partners."

"Partners?  I'm the doctor!  You're just the nurse."

She stared angrily at him as he realized his mistake.

"You--you--you jerk!  You never valued my work!  And I'm 
most certainly not going into research with you!  I've 
always enjoyed working with patients."

"Suit yourself."

Ellen raced upstairs and slammed the door behind her.  Sam 
sighed.

******

Sam smiled to himself as he locked away his papers for the 
night.  It was past midnight, and he'd have to be back by 7 
in the morning.  But the reward was worth it.  He was able 
to get so much more done when he didn't have to see 
patients.  And Luthor's grant had been large, sufficient 
enough to hire plenty of assistants and still get a raise 
himself.

In fact, one of his assistants was particularly helpful.  
She was very young, newly out of grad school, but she was 
completely fascinated with prosthetics, and she enjoyed the 
challenge of trying to find a way to incorporate robotic 
parts into a prosthetic limb, and how to control them 
effectively.  Working with her kept his enthusiasm high.  
And she also was willing to put in many hours of work, for 
which he was grateful.  It was good having someone else 
working late when he had to.

He smiled at Jenna now, as he turned away from the file 
cabinet.  She smiled back tentatively.  Then, to his 
surprise, she glanced around the room, and seeing that they 
were alone, walked up to him.

"Hey, handsome," she whispered with a flirtatious smile.

Sam widened his eyes.  "What?"

Jenna's smile widened.  "Oh, come on, you can't tell me you 
aren't interested.  I've seen the way you look at me."

He stared down at her long eyelashes and delicate features.  
She really wanted him?

"But . . . I'm married."

She pouted.  "Not like that bothers most men.  Besides, if 
you were happily married, you wouldn't be working until 
midnight."

"But I am--" he started to protest.  But his words were 
muffled when she pressed her mouth against his.

"Don't even try to tell me you're happy," she murmured 
against his mouth.  He felt himself responding, and 
realized that she was right.

******

Sam closed the door behind him quietly, and winced at the 
loud sound it made.  What would Ellen say if she heard him 
getting in after 3am?

He tiptoed upstairs to the bedroom he shared with Ellen.  
For a moment he stared at her silently, filled with 
remorse.  He had never cheated on her before.  Why had he 
started now?

He sighed and bent down to remove his shoes.  Taking off 
his shirt and pants, he climbed into bed with only his 
boxers.

"Hmm?" Ellen murmured, rolling towards him.  She was 
suddenly awake.  "Sam?"

"Yes, honey, I'm here," he whispered.  He wrapped his arms 
around her and kissed her, first gently, then with more 
urgency.  She kissed him back, stroking his hair.  Sam felt 
something wet on his cheek, and he touched her face gently.  
She was crying.

"Oh, Ellen," he said, close to tears himself.  He slid his 
hand under the top half of her nightclothes, stroking the 
smooth skin of her stomach.  She pressed closer to him, and 
he ran his hands across her back.

Their lovemaking was quick and fervent, but not 
particularly satisfying to either.  Afterwards, Ellen fell 
asleep almost immediately, but Sam couldn't find sleep so 
easily.

He sat awake and wondered what it was about cheating that 
made him so eager for his wife.  Jenna was so beautiful, so 
generous with her body.  Thinking of her made him want to 
moan with delight.  His wife just didn't give him the same 
feeling.

He sighed.  The answer was fairly simple, he supposed.  
Perhaps if Ellen was satisfied, she wouldn't be as likely 
to look too deeply into his late nights at the office.  And 
somehow it only seemed fair to keep her happy, since he was 
getting what he wanted.  Why was life never simple, though?

******

"Why is life never simple, indeed?" Sam thought with a 
sigh, watching his wife dash into the bathroom for the 
third time this morning.

Who'd have thought that after their many years of marriage, 
the one time they had sex after his infidelity, Ellen would 
get pregnant?  Life was certainly full of irony.

Ellen dragged herself out of the bathroom, gripping the 
doorframe unsteadily.

"I hate you," she moaned.  "You did this to me."

Sam laughed nervously.  When she said things like that 
lately, he could never be certain if she was being 
sarcastic or not.  "Oh, honey, you know you liked it," he 
quipped with a grin.

She glared at him, and he immediately snapped his mouth 
shut and made a fast escape from the room.

Closing his eyes, he leaned over the papers cluttering his 
desk.  He couldn't concentrate on his work.  Ellen was at 
home, probably hating him for making her pregnant and 
forcing her to give up the clinical work she loved.  And he 
was at the office, mooning over Jenna and trying to turn a 
piece of plastic into a robot.  What a life.

He looked up as Jenna entered the room.  She smiled at him, 
a smile that promised a great deal more, and he smiled 
back.  Just once more couldn't hurt, could it?

******

Hong Kong (Xianggang), 1967 - Lex is 18 years old

Lex rolled over and away from his lover in disgust.  She 
had been an interesting amusement for a while, but now she 
held nothing new.  There was no excitement, no 
exhilaration.  It was time to move on.

"Lex?" Analisa spoke up timidly from her side of the bed.

"Yes, darling?"  He was careful to keep his voice 
controlled.  It was never a good idea to let them know what 
he was thinking at this stage.

"I'm pregnant."

Lex blinked.  "Weren't you on the pill?"

"Yes.  I guess it wasn't completely effective.  Or maybe I 
missed a day, though I didn't think I had."

"How long?" he asked.

"About a month."  She sighed, obviously bracing herself for 
what would come next.

Lex thought for a long moment.  His first reaction was to 
explode at the blonde for her idiocy in getting pregnant, 
then send her packing.  But when he stopped and thought for 
a few, the idea of a son didn't sound so wholly bad.  He 
remembered how his father had taken the time to show him 
the business and always seemed to enjoy having him around.  
And even at the ripe age of 18, Lex was already far richer 
than his father was.  

He could afford nannies and the finest childcare.  He'd 
only need to be with the child when he wanted.  Yes, a son 
could be interesting.  A daughter?  Well, a daughter might 
not take over the business, but he could have her trained 
in something else valuable to him.  Perhaps she could be a 
scientist.  An empire run by his children, with him 
standing at the helm, appealed to him.  Yes, a child could 
be valuable.

"Well, I suppose it's regrettable that it happened, but you 
mustn't worry now.  I'll take care of you, and the baby, of 
course."  He smiled generously at her.

"Oh, Lex!  I was so afraid that you'd be angry!  Thank you 
so much!"  She hugged him tightly.

Lex returned the hug, meanwhile calculating exactly how 
Analisa fit into his plans.  His end decision was, she 
didn't.  He'd keep the child, but she'd have to go.  It was 
no good for a child to have conflicting loyalties, and 
Analisa was too weak to stand at his side and rule his 
empire.  Probably a death in childbirth, or shortly after, 
would be the best.

Lex stood over Analisa's hospital bed, feigning sadness.  
What a pity it was that Analisa had had such a difficult 
labor that it had killed her.  It was lucky for Lex, 
though, because it saved him a potentially risky murder.  
Murder in a hospital room wasn't the safest idea, because 
nurses and orderlies walked in and out with no warning.

"Mr. Luthor?" a young nurse said, standing at the door.  He 
turned, and saw that she held his infant son in her arms.  
"Would you like to hold your son?"

He smiled down at the baby. "Yes, I would."

She transferred the child from her arms to his.  She 
watched his obvious adoration for his son, mixed with 
sadness.

"Sir?" she said.  She touched his arm gently.  "It'll be 
all right, you know.  He'll help keep your mind off your 
wife.  Just please don't ever blame him for what happened."

"Oh, never!" Lex assured her.  "He's so beautiful and 
perfect.  If only Analisa could be here to see him."  He 
pretended to hold back a sob, and he could see the nurse 
trying to keep tears from showing in her eyes.

"Did you think of a name for him?" the nurse asked.

"Well, if she had been a girl, I would have named her 
Analisa after her mother.  But since he's a boy, he'll be 
Alexander Phillip Luthor, Junior.  Lex Luthor, Jr."

"A special name, I'm sure," she said.

He nodded.  "Very special."  He thought for a moment of his 
father, and wondered if the boy should go by Alex or Lex.  
Lex seemed a bit adult for a baby.  But in honor of his 
father, he thought Lex would be appropriate.

******

Hong Kong (Xianggang), 1970 - Lex is 21 years old

Lex placed his two-year-old son on the ground beside him.  
He nodded at the foreman.  "Yes, I'd like a demonstration 
of its power."

The foreman nodded to an assistant.  The assistant walked 
over to the computer that dominated a full half of the 
room, and flipped a few switches to turn on the advanced 
system.  He pulled up a display on the computer that showed 
all of Metropolis from the air.  It was nighttime, so the 
display was a mass of lights, brightest and thickest near 
the center of the city, more spread out towards the 
perimeter.

"Now, Mr. Luthor, you can see that all the sections of 
Metropolis are organized by these gridlines."

Lex bent closer to the screen, and the assistant enlarged 
the picture so that Lex could see lines dividing the lights 
into grids.

"The grids are smaller towards the center of the city, 
where they have to control a great deal of power to light, 
for instance, an entire skyscraper.  They're larger towards 
the outskirts of the city, where they only have to supply 
power to houses, and the houses are far apart.  A few large 
industrial centers have their own grids, which they pay 
dearly for, because it's imperative that they do not lose 
power.  The nuclear power plant, for instance."

Lex nodded.  "I already know all this.  Show me your 
contraption before I become bored."

The foreman looked at his assistant nervously, then 
shrugged.  "Okay, Mr. Luthor, choose a grid, any grid."

Lex raised one eyebrow.  He pointed to a large grid near 
the northwestern end of the city.

The foreman leaned in close to the screen to read the 
grid's number, then walked over to the metal tank that 
stood against the far wall.  The tank was punctured by a 
great many levers, each of which had a number on them.  The 
foreman found the correct number and lowered the lever.

Immediately, all the lights in the quadrant Lex had chosen 
went blank.  He nodded.  He walked over to a phone against 
the far wall, and quickly dialed the number he wanted.

"Arthur!" he barked when his associate picked up.  "Are you 
standing at the top of the building as I asked?"

"Yes, sir," Arthur said.

"Good.  Tell me, are any lights in the city out?"

"Yes, a large chunk of the northwestern part of the city 
appears to be."

"Now, tell me when they go back on."  Lex nodded to the 
foreman, who pushed the lever back up.

"They're back on, sir."

"Good.  Thank you, Arthur.  Please remain there another 5 
minutes, in case I need another demonstration, then you may 
leave."

"Very good, sir."

Lex hung up the phone.  He walked sharply back to the 
foreman and his partner.

"Well, I'm pleased with the product," he said.  "All city 
grids are constructed along these lines?"

"Yes, sir," the foreman assured him.

Lex nodded.  "It's just what I need.  How much?"

"500k."

"A fair price.  I'll take it."

Lex opened the door and called for his personal assistant, 
Mr. Cox.  Mr. Cox walked in carrying a briefcase.  He 
walked over to the foreman and placed it before him.

"Your advance," Lex told the foreman.  "You'll receive the 
rest when the controls are delivered to me."

The foreman nodded.  Then he frowned.  "Didn't you have a 
little boy?" he asked Lex.

Suddenly, Lex heard a scream, and his blood froze in his 
veins.  He raced out of the room and towards the sound.

He saw Junior high above his head, crawling on the catwalk 
that stretched across the ceiling.

"Junior!  Get down from there!" he yelled.

One of his workers was crawling up the ladder at the far 
end in an attempt to rescue the boy.  Lex watched from 
below.

"Daddy!" Junior gurgled.  He reached towards the railing to 
get to his father.

"No, Lex, get down!" Lex called.

The little boy, looking confused, turned the other way.  He 
looked for another way down, but all he saw was a machine 
blocking his path forwards.  With a puzzled look, he 
reached for the lever at the front of the machine.

"No!" one of the workers shrieked.

Junior pulled the lever, and a strange liquid came pouring 
out.  It sizzled as it hit the boy's face, and after a 
moment of silence, the boy began to scream, and scream, and 
scream.

The worker reached him and pulled him away from the pouring 
liquid.  He grabbed a metal rod and used it to shut the 
valve, and he dragged the boy to safety.

But Junior was still shrieking at the top of his lungs.  
His face and right arm looked as if they'd been half melted 
and half burned away.  Lex stared at his son with a mix of 
fascination and revulsion.  The boy continued to cry as one 
of the workers hurried to dial 911.

The boy reached out his arms for his father, but when Lex 
shrank away, the boy stopped, staring with tearful 
puzzlement at the father who loved him.

The ambulance finally arrived, and paramedics came to take 
Junior to the hospital.  When the paramedic asked what had 
caused this, a worker told him "battery acid."  Lex was 
astounded that something so simple as battery acid could 
destroy his son's life in a single instant.

Lex reluctantly got into the ambulance with his son.  The 
boy was strapped to the stretcher so that he couldn't move 
and hurt himself.

The female paramedic who sat on the child's other side 
looked at Lex with sympathy.

"You can hold his hand, you know, let him know you're 
here."

Lex glared at her, and she instantly turned away.

******

Smallville, Kansas, 1972 - Clark is 6 years old

Martha walked out onto the porch, gently shutting the 
screen door.  She smiled at Jonathan, who was sitting on 
the porch swing.  She sat down beside him.

"Such a lovely evening," he said.  "Just look at that 
sunset."

"Mmm," she said, leaning back on the swing and taking his 
hand.  "Just perfect."

They sat in silence, rocking back and forth.  Their son, 
Clark, ran across the yard in front of them.  His friendly 
black Labrador retriever, Shady, barked happily as she 
chased her young master.

Jonathan chuckled as he watched his young son tumble to the 
ground and Shady leap on him, licking for all she was 
worth.  Clark finally managed to push her off and stand, 
waving at his parents.  Martha waved back.

"You know, Jonathan, it's amazing how perfect life can be, 
isn't it?"

"That's for sure.  After all, wasn't it only a few years 
ago that we despaired of ever having a child of our own?  
And here we are, with a beautiful little boy who loves us."

"And to think we found him in a space--"

"Martha!" Jonathan barked.  He softened his voice at the 
look on her face.  "Honey, I don't think we should talk 
about where he came from.  Less likely that we'll 
accidentally let something slip."

Martha sighed and squeezed his hand, watching Clark climb 
the rope ladder to his treehouse.  Shady barked below, 
disappointed to have lost her playmate to the trees.

Just as Clark reached the top of the rope ladder and put 
out a hand to grab the railing, Shady grabbed the bottom of 
the ladder in her teeth and pulled.

Clark's ear-splitting scream filled the air as he clutched 
for the railing, missed, and, set off-balance, tumbled off 
the ladder.

"Clark!" Martha shrieked, running across the yard as 
quickly as she could, until she reached Clark's side.

Clark was lying on his back, still crying.  His leg was 
bent at a slight angle, and he screamed when Jonathan tried 
to touch it.

"Martha, call 911," he said grimly.

Martha raced inside for the telephone, her heart pounding 
loudly in her chest.

The doctor smiled at Clark and handed him a lollipop.  
"Well, Clark, you are one lucky boy," he said.

He turned to Jonathan and Martha.  "His leg was definitely 
broken, but it's not a very bad break.  It should heal just 
fine.  God must have been smiling on this little boy.  By 
all rights, falling that far, he should have gotten far 
worse of an injury."

"Well, we're just glad he's all right," Martha said, 
ruffling Clark's hair.  He smiled up at her.

The doctor handed Martha two small crutches.  To her 
surprise, Clark stuck the lollipop into his mouth to free 
his hands, leaped off the examining table onto his good 
leg, and took the crutches.  He placed them under his arms 
and took a few experimental steps around the room.

"Well, I'll be," the doctor said, staring after Clark with 
a frown.  "That is one sturdy boy.  Would never have 
expected him to bounce back that fast."

"He's always been pretty quick to recover from injuries," 
Jonathan assured him.  "It's normal."

The doctor nodded, but he still wore his frown.  "Well, 
just keep an eye on him.  He should be about 8 weeks in the 
healing, then we'll take the cast off and exercise the leg 
back into shape."

Martha nudged Clark.  "Say thank you to Dr. Harris, please, 
Clark."

Clark balanced on his good leg and stuck out his chubby 
right hand.  "Thank you for fixing my leg," he said, 
slurring slightly around the lollipop.  "I'm sorry I hurt 
it, and I promise I'll be careful next time."

The doctor smiled down at the boy.  "Don't mention it.  
Just take good care of that leg for me, okay?"

Clark nodded.  "Tell Rachel I said hi," he said.

The doctor's face broke into an even larger smile.  "She'll 
be glad to hear you said that."

Clark nodded and hobbled out of the room, Martha and 
Jonathan close behind.

As Clark headed for the car, Martha grabbed Jonathan's arm.  
"Jonathan," she hissed, "did you hear what the doctor said?  
He said Clark should have been hurt worse than he was, and 
that he's recovered almost too quickly.  Isn't that 
strange?"

Jonathan shook his head quickly.  "He's just a sturdy, 
healthy boy, Martha.  That's all.  Now just...let it drop."

******

With violent chops of the knife, Martha sliced a cucumber 
into slices for dinner.  "Jonathan is so blind," she 
muttered as she worked.  Chop!

"I know something's wrong!"  Chop!

"No kid should be able to run on crutches, yet Clark can.  
And it's only been two weeks.  That can't be normal."  
Chop!

"I think it has something to do with that spaceship he came 
on, only Jonathan won't even talk to me about it!"  Chop!

She stopped chopping and stared into space for a moment.  
Her eyes filled with tears.  "I just want to know what's 
wrong with my son," she said, barely above a whisper.

"Momma?" a voice came from behind her.  "I heard you 
talking to yourself.  Are you okay?"

Martha wiped her eyes and turned around to face Clark.  
"Oh, honey, I'm fine."  Then she noticed something.  
"Clark!  Where's your cast?"

Clark shrugged.  "My leg felt better, so I took it off."

"You took it off?  How?"  She lifted Clark into the air, 
noting as she did that he seemed heavier than he should be.  
She put it off as exhaustion.  Settling him on the couch, 
she ran her hands up and down his leg.  Sure enough, the 
bone seemed perfectly in place.  He didn't wince or show 
any pain at her touch, and when she asked him to wiggle his 
toes and flex the muscles in his leg, the results were 
perfect.

"Clark, your leg can't have healed that fast," she said.

Clark hopped off the couch and stood tall on both legs.  
"It's fine, Ma.  Just leave it alone."

"I can't leave it alone, Clark.  We'll take you to Doctor 
Harris tomorrow.  I don't want you to cause any damage to 
it.  Meanwhile, crutches."

"Mom!"

"Crutches!  And my word is final."

Clark gave her his patented puppy-dog look.  "Please, Mom?  
I don't like having to use the crutches, they make me too 
slow."

"You're as fast with the crutches as you are on your feet!  
Use them until we talk to Dr. Harris."

Clark kicked the side of the couch angrily, but at the 
stern look from his mother, he rolled his eyes and went 
upstairs to get the hated crutches.

******

Doctor Harris lifted his glasses up on his nose and stared 
at the x-rays again.  "I don't know when I've ever seen 
anything like this," he said.  "I mean, it wasn't a bad 
break at all, but even so, there's no way it could have 
healed in two weeks.  But here it is.  Look at these two x-
rays."  He handed the Kents two x-rays.  It was plainly 
obvious that the first picture showed a break in the bone, 
and in the new picture it was healed perfectly.

"Clark, you been taking healing potions?" the doctor joked.

Clark shook his head solemnly and looked up at his parents.  
"I'm not in trouble, am I?" he asked nervously.

"No, Clark, not in trouble," the doctor said.  "It's just 
very strange.  Now can you tell me how you got the cast 
off?"

"I just pulled it off.  It came right off," he said.

Doctor Harris frowned.  "Had you gotten it wet?"

"No, you said not to!  I was very careful."

"Then how--? Nevermind.  You know, I think there are more 
mysteries about you than I'll ever solve."

He turned to the Kents.  "Do you mind if I take a blood 
test?"

"No, go ahead," Jonathan said.

The doctor pulled out a needle and swabbed Clark's upper 
arm.

A curly-haired little blonde girl stepped into the room.  
"Hi, Clark," she said shyly.

"Hi, Rachel," Clark said.

Jonathan and Martha smiled at each other.  It was quite 
obvious to them that Doctor Harris's little girl was crazy 
about Clark.  Clark simply didn't seem to get it.  Maybe 
what they said about girls maturing two years faster than 
boys was true.

Rachel twirled a lock of hair around her finger and smiled 
at Clark.  He smiled back, but turned nervously towards the 
doctor.

"Are you going to give me a shot?" he asked.

"No, just drawing a little blood.  Having a bit of trouble 
with the needle though," the doctor said.

Jonathan glanced at Martha and frowned.  She shrugged.

The doctor uttered a mild curse and tossed the needle away, 
pulling out a new one.  Martha gave Jonathan a look of 
alarm.

They both watched as the doctor tried to stick the needle 
into Clark's arm.  It wouldn't go, and the doctor pushed it 
harder until it snapped.

Jonathan reacted quickly.  "Doctor Harris, we're actually 
really in a hurry, Clark has a soccer game.  Can we do this 
another time?  I really don't think it's a big enough deal 
to need blood tests, anyway."

Doctor Harris pulled back, looking at Clark with his 
perpetual bemused look on his face.  "Very well.  I'll see 
you for your next check-up then, Clark."

"Bye, Clark," Rachel said, opening her eyes very wide and 
blinking them quickly in what was obviously an attempt to 
flutter her eyelashes.

"Bye Rach.  See ya in school tomorrow," Clark said, 
following his parents out of the room.

Clark was the only one who didn't seem to notice the terse 
silence in the car on the way home, and when they reached 
the farm, he dashed out quickly and ran to his treehouse, 
which he was finally allowed to climb up to for the first 
time in two weeks.

Martha followed Jonathan slowly into the house, where they 
locked the door and sat at the kitchen table.

"Jonathan," Martha started, her voice breaking.

"I know, Martha.  You're right, you were right all along.  
Something's different about our boy."

"He should have gotten hurt worse than he did, but he 
didn't.  The break healed too quickly.  Jonathan, he broke 
that cast off in his two hands!  Doctor Harris doesn't 
realize it, but he must have.  And the break healed in two 
weeks, and already the leg looks normal, it's not thinner 
than the other one at all.  It took me weeks for my leg to 
catch up when I broke it in middle school.  And the needle 
wouldn't penetrate his skin!  It broke!  Jonathan, as much 
as you don't want to admit it, I think this has something 
to do with the spaceship."

"So he seems to be, well, invulnerable.  And strong?  Do 
you think maybe somebody did experiments on him before 
sending him into space?  Or maybe somehow being in space 
changed him?"

Martha picked up the saltshaker from the center of the 
table and twirled it in her hand for a moment.  "Jonathan, 
I think we should also consider that he's from outer space.  
I mean, like from another planet."

"An alien???" Jonathan said, practically shouting.

Martha winced, but nodded.  "Maybe it's not likely, but 
then how likely is a Russian experiment baby being dropped 
from the sky into our yard?  And he certainly doesn't look 
Russian."

"Maybe Siberian," Jonathan murmured.  "All right, Martha, 
we'll keep that as a consideration, but let's not jump to 
conclusions.  We don't know anything, and honestly, I don't 
think it matters.  He's our boy, and we love him no matter 
where he's from.  But we need to decide what to do about 
it.  Of course we can't tell anyone."

"They'd take him away from us," Martha agreed.

"And dissect him like a frog, I'm sure," he said.

Martha shuddered.  "So what do we tell Clark?"

Jonathan picked up the peppershaker and spun it around, 
smiling at Martha as she imitated him with the saltshaker.  
"Honestly, Martha, I think we tell him nothing for the 
moment.  We wait until he notices something different.  
Then we tell him."

A knock sounded at the door, making the Kents jump.  
Jonathan peered out and saw Clark standing on the steps.

"Oops, forgot we locked the door," he said with a grin, 
letting Clark in.

"Dad, Shady's in the treehouse."

"What?"

"Well, she always looks like she wants to come play.  So I 
carried her up with me.  But now I can't get her back down, 
and she's scared."

Jonathan glanced at Martha.  "How did you get her up 
there?"

"I carried her, under my arm.  She was awfully heavy, but 
not too heavy for me to carry.  Dad--I don't think any 
other kids are that strong.  How come I could carry her 
like that?"

Jonathan felt like laughing, but managed not to.  He and 
Martha hadn't guessed, when they made their decision, that 
it would be so soon.

"Well, Clark, let's rescue Shady first.  Then, your Mom and 
I would like to tell you a story..."  He put an arm around 
Clark's shoulders and steered him towards the treehouse.

"Cool, a story!  Does it have space invaders?"

Jonathan had to laugh this time.  "Well, sort of."

******

Metropolis, New Troy, 1973 - Lex is 24 years old (Melanie 
is 18)

Melanie rolled over in bed and stretched luxuriously.  She 
smiled when she felt the sun's warm rays on her face.  
Sitting up, she gazed around the room lazily... and was 
startled to see a pair of deep brown eyes staring at her 
out of the shadows at the opposite end of the room.

Quickly grabbing the silken sheets and hugging them to her 
chest, she stuttered, "w-who a-are you?"

The man stood and strolled towards the bed, and she shrunk 
back on herself.

"I, Madam, am Mr. Cox."

She stared at him blankly.

He sighed.  "Mr. Luthor's personal assistant.  Mr. Luthor 
would like you to know that he will have no more need for 
your services."

"My services?" she said with a gasp.  "Surely you aren't 
implying that he's paying me to be here?"

"Not at all."

"Then why would you say 'my services?'  He's my boyfriend!"

"I'm sure he was."

"Was?"

But Mr. Cox didn't answer.  He motioned to several 
suitcases near the wall.  They were brand-new luggage, 
nothing she could afford in the usual scheme of things.  
Presumably filled with her belongings.

"If you would be so kind, Madam, as to change into 
something presentable, then exit Mr. Luthor's penthouse, we 
would be much obliged."

She stood angrily, not even caring that she dropped the 
sheets.  "He's breaking up with me, and he can't even 
bother to come tell me that himself?  He's such a jerk!"

"Be careful.  I would watch what you say about the man who 
is the most powerful being in Metropolis."

She growled at him, but he made no response other than to 
leave the room while she changed.

Melanie fought back tears as she dressed.  Lex was breaking 
up with her, and he couldn't even come tell her himself?  
It reminded her of middle school, when dating and breaking 
up was all done by proxy, and was more a statement of 
popularity than of actual affection.  Was that what this 
was?  Maybe not popularity, but power?  Oy, had she 
misjudged Lex.  She'd known from the start that he wasn't 
"the one," but he'd seemed pretty nice, and she'd enjoyed 
her time with him.

"Oh, well," she thought to herself.  "I'd be far worse off 
if I actually thought myself in love with him.  I guess now 
he's just another boyfriend down the drain.  Saves me the 
trouble of having to break up with him down the road."

She didn't even have to pick up her bags herself.  The 
moment she was dressed and went to pick them up, a footman 
stepped into the door and took them for her.  This made her 
wonder if somebody had been watching her, but in the end 
she flipped her long dark hair over her shoulders and 
decided she didn't care.

"All right, Lex, if that's the way you're going to have it-
-then I don't need you!" she said aloud, tossing her hair 
again and not giving a second look to the room they'd 
shared for the weeks of their relationship.

******

Melanie sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring down at the 
stick.  Blue.  How could it be blue?  She'd been so 
careful.

The tears she'd been holding back for so long finally 
escaped, and she burst into tears.

"Lex!  You jerk!  How could you do this to me?"

She bent almost double, wrapping her arms around her legs.  
"Lex, Lex," she cried.  "I can't raise this baby by myself, 
I'm not old enough.  Please, please, I'm only eighteen.  I 
can't do this."

She sat there a long time, hugging her knees and crying 
desperately.

Finally, she took a deep breath and sat up, forcing herself 
to calm down.

"Melanie," she told herself sternly, "you are strong, and 
you will get through this.  You do not need a man.  Now, 
get up and pull yourself together.  And stop talking to 
yourself, while you're at it."

She stood up and went to the sink.  She washed her hands, 
then looked into the mirror.  She tucked a loose lock of 
hair behind her ear and stared at her reflection for a long 
time.  She found herself wondering which of her features 
her child would take on.  It wouldn't look just like Lex, 
would it?  That wouldn't be fair at all.  She smiled softly 
and hoped maybe it would look just like her, with dark eyes 
and dark hair.

"I'll call my baby Jackie," she said after a moment.  
"Jackie.  I like that."

Feeling far better about herself, Melanie turned and left 
the bathroom.  She grabbed her purse from a chair near the 
door.  Somewhere nearby there was a pregnancy aid center, 
wasn't there?

******

Lex motioned for the handsome young man to take his 
position.  Very gingerly, the man stood against the far 
wall, his body perfectly lined up with the chalk outline 
against the wall.  When he was in the right position, 
Luthor nodded to the man, and the man froze.

Mr. Cox walked in just as Luthor was reaching into the box.  
Luthor pulled out one of his newest "toys," a magic star.

"So, Mr. Cox, how is the little bride?"

Mr. Cox smiled.  "Well.  She's a pretty little thing, I'm 
quite pleased.  She's smart, too.  Worked as a secretary 
for a few years before I met her."

"Really?  Well, if you're ever interested in, ahem, getting 
her out of the house for a few hours, let me know.  I may 
have something along the lines of a secretarial position 
open in LexCorp."

"Will do."

Lex flipped the star around in his fingers, getting a feel 
for the weapon.

"So, what news do you have of Melanie?"

"We've found her," Mr. Cox started.  "It wasn't hard."

Luthor nodded and took aim at his human target, squinting 
an eye almost closed.

"I don't think she was really trying to hide.  She moved 
into a run-down apartment near the South Side.  Not a very 
nice place, but probably all she could afford."

With a quick snap of the wrist, Luthor threw the star 
across the room.  It landed perfectly in the wall behind 
the man, exactly on the chalk line.

Mr. Cox cleared his throat.  "I don't think she has any 
plans to tell anyone anything.  We could still take her 
out, if you prefer."

Luthor tossed another star.  Another perfect hit on the 
chalk line.

"No, don't take her out unless it's necessary.  She's 
young, and quite pretty, and talented.  It's possible I 
might like to make her an offer again in the future."

He tossed another star, and another.  His target was 
relaxing as he realized how perfect Luthor's aim was.

"We had her followed for a few days, just to see where she 
went."

Luthor aimed one just above the target's head.

"She's pregnant."

Luthor gasped and let the star fly at the same time.  
"Oops," he muttered.

"Aieeeee!"  The scream was quickly cut off.

"So, pregnant, is she.  Girl or boy?"

"Too early to tell.  And I have a feeling she won't ask."

Luthor closed the box of stars.  "Well, you know what to 
do."

"Of course, sir."  Mr. Cox bowed and left the room.

******

Metropolis, New Troy, 1974 - Lex is 25 years old (Melanie 
is 19)

Melanie walked in from work and tossed her jacket over a 
chair in the kitchen.  Carefully maneuvering her swollen 
belly around chairs and through doorways, she dragged 
herself into the living room and collapsed on the couch.

"Oh, that feels so good," she moaned, enjoying the 
sensation of getting off her feet.

Just as she started to close her eyes, she felt something 
odd.

"Ow!" she said, startled, clasping her hands to her 
stomach.  Her eyes flew open.

"Oh, no!" she whispered.  "Jackie, are you coming out 
already?"

Looking frantically about the dingy apartment, she managed 
to locate her purse by sight before trying to get up.  
Since she'd have to take the bus to the hospital, best to 
leave right away and not bother waiting 'til the pains were 
closer together.

She groaned and pulled herself to her feet.  Walking into 
the tiny alcove she'd set aside as the nursery, she glanced 
about the room to make sure that it was ready.  She didn't 
have much money, but she was willing to spend all she had 
on her baby.  The crib stood there, old and used but still 
beautiful.  There was the bassinet for when the baby first 
came home.  And the changing table, with all the diapers 
and baby powders.  And in the kitchen, she had bottles and 
formula and everything else she could need for a good long 
time.  She was definitely ready for this baby--even if she 
didn't feel like it.

"A baby at nineteen," she allowed herself to think for the 
first time.  "Wouldn't Mom be proud?"  Rolling her eyes, 
she managed to get hold of her bag she'd kept packed and 
ready for the hospital, and headed out the door.

******

Melanie smiled down at her baby.  "Hello, Jackie," she said 
with a smile.  "Took a lot of effort to get you into the 
world, but I'm glad you're here."

Unfortunately Jackie was too little to coo, but he was 
still beautiful even in sleep.

Melanie looked up, startled, as the door to her room 
opened.  The nurse motioned for a man to enter, then left.

"Mr. Cox!" Melanie blurted out.

"Ms. Xavier.  We meet again."

"What do you want?"

He inclined his head. "Why didn't you tell Mr. Luthor that 
you were pregnant?"

Melanie frowned.  "He broke up with me, why would he care?"

"Mr. Luthor always takes care of his children."

She hardly dared to hope he meant what she thought.  "You 
mean he wants to help with the baby?  I could sure use it, 
raising a child alone could be difficult."

"He's willing to offer you an apartment in a--" he sniffed, 
"nicer part of the city.  And he will pay for the support 
of you and the child, and for the boy's schooling when he 
gets older."

Melanie couldn't believe her good luck.  "Oh, thank you so 
much!  I was so worried I wouldn't be able to properly take 
care of him."

"Do you have any plans for his name?"

Melanie nodded.  "I was going to name him Jackson."

"Well, considering all that Mr. Luthor is prepared to do to 
help you, perhaps you could give him some input on the 
name, and include an 'X' in the name."

"Lex wants an 'X' in the name?" she asked, astonished.

Mr. Cox nodded.

"Well, then," she said resolutely.  "Jaxon it is."

He smiled coldly at her.  "Good.  I'll see you in two days 
about packing your things and moving you to the new 
apartment."  He left the room quickly.

Melanie smiled down at Jaxon.  "You hear that, Jackie?  
We're getting a nice new apartment, and your daddy is going 
to help with it.  Maybe he does want you after all, and 
he'll try to be the nice father you deserve.  He's a bit of 
a cold fish, perhaps, but he's not altogether bad.  And 
he's rich, which will give you lots of opportunities I 
never had."

She hugged Jackie close to her, and smiled happily.

******

Metropolis, New Troy, 1977 - Lois is 10 years old (Lex is 
28)

Sam Lane sighed and pushed away the prosthetic arm he was 
adjusting.  He heard a soft chuckle behind him, and turned 
quickly.

"Mr. Luthor!" he exclaimed.  "I thought you were in 
Australia!"

Lex stepped through the doorway.  "I was," he said.  "I had 
some--shall we say--personal interests there.  But now, as 
you can see, I'm back in Metropolis.  My affairs were 
managed well by my personal assistant while I was away.  I 
decided to stop by for a report from you."

Sam sighed and waved a hand to indicate the various plastic 
pieces scattered about the room.  "I'm working on the whole 
robotic idea, Mr. Luthor, but there's no possible way to 
make robotic controls for these that are reasonably sized 
and weighted to fit into a prosthetic.  The most advanced 
system we can come up with is one in which the robot is 
controlled by a distant computer and run through a radio 
signal.  But that obviously won't work.  What we need is 
access to a microprocessor.  They're too expensive under 
our grant though."

Lex waved a hand carelessly.  "I don't care," he said.  
"Just bill it to my account, I'll take care of it.  Get 
whatever you need, I want this project off the ground.  
Actually, I have a recommendation.  There's a young 
research scientist, Bernard Klein, working for me at STAR 
Labs.  I think that he'd be eager to get a chance to do 
some work on the microprocessor.  He might be able to 
adjust it to fit what you need.  I'll give him a call in 
the morning."

Sam nodded.  "Thank you, Mr. Luthor.  I think the 
microprocessor would really give us the chance to get these 
off the ground."

"Just make it worth my time," Lex said.  "I've heard about 
the late nights you've been working on this project.  I 
appreciate the effort."

Sam blushed, and Lex narrowed his eyes, wondering about the 
reaction.  He shrugged.  He inclined his head and left 
without another word.

Sam watched Lex leave.  He was startled when he felt cool 
hands at the back of his neck.

"Ready to go, sweetheart?" he heard a female voice say from 
behind him.  He spun around to see his newest lover, 
Natasha, lounging against his chair.

"Perfectly ready," he said. He stood up and took her arm in 
his.

******

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~

Wanda scanned the room as she usually did, looking for the 
right man to receive her song.  Her eyes lit on a man 
standing in front of the bar.  She struggled not to let her 
shock show in her voice.

"I've got a crush on you," she sang seductively.

He looked different.  The dark goatee gave him a bad boy 
look, and his scruffy attire made him look like a bum.  But 
the clothes couldn't hide his muscles or his perfect 
physique.  She swallowed.

Had he recognized her?  Surely he wouldn't expose her for 
what she really was--would he?  But why was he here?  Was 
he looking for her?  She suddenly felt very exposed on 
stage.

His dark eyes met hers, and he smiled slowly.  He lifted 
his glass to her in silent tribute.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~

A crash from the living room jolted Lois from her daydream.  
She tossed her notebook to the table and stood up.

Ellen Lane appeared in the doorway, leaning on the frame.  
"Loish," she slurred.

"Mom!"  Lois ran to her side.  "You're awake!"

"Lois?" Lucy called from the living room.  "Jimmy has to 
pee!"

Lois closed her eyes in frustration.  She grabbed her 
mother's hand and pulled her into the living room.  "Can 
you take him, Luce?"

"No," Lucy said, calmly brushing her doll's hair.  "I'm 
busy."

Lois gently pushed her mother onto the couch and grabbed 
Jimmy by the hand.

"Come on, Mr. Olsen, let's take you into the bathroom."

"Too late," Lucy said, pointing to Jimmy's pants.  A large 
wet spot was appearing in the front.

"Oh, darn it!" Lois exclaimed.

"Lois, your language!" her mother admonished, standing up 
again. "I'll take him."  She wobbled on her feet.  "Just 
give me a minute to catch my breath."

Lois shook her head and blinked back tears.  "Mom, stay 
there.  I've got him."  She tugged Jimmy into the bathroom 
to finish, then changed his diaper and pants for him.

When she returned to the living room, Lucy was staring 
open-mouthed at their mother, who was singing in a very 
loud, off-key voice, "I've Got a Crush On You."

Lois nudged Jimmy into the room and went into the kitchen.  
The coffee pot, thankfully, still had coffee in it from 
that morning.  She put the pot on the stove and turned it 
on to heat.

When it finished, she filled a mug and carried it into the 
living room and shoved it at her mother.  "Drink," she 
ordered.

"Oh, LoLo," her mother said in a singsong voice.  "You're 
too good to us."

The phone rang, and Lucy ran to pick it up.  "Daddy won't 
be home tonight!" she called out to Lois.

Lois's mother groaned and fell back in her chair.

Jimmy suddenly looked at Lois with a strange expression on 
his face.

Lucy walked into the living room.  She wrinkled her nose.  
"What is that smell?" she asked, looking pointedly at 
Jimmy.

Lois burst into tears.

There was a sharp rap on the screen door.  "Lois?" she 
heard Mrs. Olsen call.  "I'm here to pick up Jimmy!"

******

Lois collapsed on her bed, near to tears.  Why did her 
family have to be so--so--so stupid!  She slammed a fist 
into her pillow angrily.  They were all such idiots.  Her 
mom couldn't seem to stop drinking, and Lucy--Lucy was 
definitely going through a bratty stage.  And where was her 
father?  He was never home!  Like today, when she'd really 
needed him.

"The jerk," she muttered into the pillow.  "Jerk, jerk, 
jerk!"  Saying the words didn't seem to help, however, and 
she was too restless to stay in her room.

Lois peered into the mirror opposite her bed, and frowned.  
Her face was red and blotchy, and her eyes looked 
bloodshot.  She walked across the hall to the bathroom and 
splashed water on her face, breathing a sigh of relief as 
the red slowly faded.  She didn't want anyone to know how 
upset she'd been.

Back in the hallway, Lois opened the closet and pulled out 
her jacket, pulling it on.  "I'm going for a walk!" she 
called out, and quickly hurried out the front door before 
anyone could call her back.

Lois had always loved living in the city, its vitality and 
bustle and drive.  But today, she wished she was anywhere 
but.  She wanted to be alone, completely alone, and one 
could rarely get that in the city.

Hurrying across the street and down a few blocks, Lois 
entered Centennial Park.  At least it was late enough in 
the evening that few people were still in the park.  The 
mothers with their baby carriages and small playful 
children had finally gone home.  The dog walkers had 
brought their pets back home for feeding time.  And it was 
too early for the lovebirds to be walking hand-in-hand yet.

Her favorite spot was a little out-of-the-way bench near 
one of the smaller fountains near the back of the park.  
Most of the couples tended to follow the paths or stick to 
the large fountain near the entrance, leaving this fountain 
all to Lois.  She smiled as she turned the corner and it 
came into view.  A few fall leaves were scattered in the 
water and across the bench of the fountain, giving it a 
perfect autumnal appearance.

Lois sat down on the side of the fountain.  She trailed one 
hand lazily in the still water at the edge, watching 
ripples appear and send the leaves spinning.  A sigh 
escaped her lips as calm slowly invaded her mind.

She found herself wishing that she had someone to share 
this special place with.  Not Lucy, Lucy would never 
understand what it was.  This could be the most romantic 
spot with the right person.  In fact...

In fact, it would be the perfect place to be proposed to, 
or to propose, someday.

She let her mind wander, imagining the perfect proposal.  
Mr. Right, down on one knee before her.  As hard as she 
tried, she couldn't picture his face.  Would he know that 
this was the perfect spot?  Before doubts could cross her 
mind, it occurred to her--he would if he was really Mr. 
Right.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a boy walking 
down the path towards her.  She expected him to walk around 
to the other side of the fountain to give her some space, 
so she was a little surprised when he sat just a few feet 
away from her, glancing at her with lowered eyes as if 
tacitly asking her permission.  She shrugged, and he turned 
towards the water, gathering some of the leaves close to 
him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice sounding loud in 
the quiet park.

"I'm making leaf-boats," he said.

She frowned.  "Leaf-boats?"

The leaf he was adjusting did look remarkably like a boat, 
small sticks arranged on it to look like masts.

"Yes, leaf-boats.  If you look at the pattern of the 
ripples and push them the right way, they keep going around 
and around the fountain."

"Can I try?"

He pushed a leaf at her.  "Sure."

She fashioned a boat in rough imitation of him, then 
watched how he pushed the tiny boat into the faster water.  
To her surprise, it did continue to move around the 
fountain.  She pushed her own boat out, and clapped with 
delight when it followed his.  She watched them circle the 
fountain together, her little boat chasing his.  By the 
time they had circled the full way around, her boat had 
caught up to his and they were traveling together.

She looked up, laughter in her eyes, to thank him for 
showing her the trick.  But he was gone.

******

Smallville, Kansas, 1978 - Clark is 12 years old

"Clark," Mrs. Winters said, "would you like to go first?"

"Sure!" Clark said, bounding to his feet.  He walked up to 
the front of the classroom.

It was amazing the difference it made to stand at the front 
of the classroom.  Suddenly the class was a sea of faces 
staring at him expectantly.  He gulped.

"Clark?  Go ahead; it's okay," Mrs. Winters urged him 
gently.

Clark nodded and swallowed.  He tried to remember what his 
mother had told him this morning.

"If you get scared," she had said, "just picture everyone 
in his underwear.  Then they look sillier than you, and you 
have nothing to worry about."

Clark slowly eyed his fellow classmates, picturing each of 
them in their underwear.  It wasn't hard.  David, now, 
boxers for him.  Emily probably wore yellow, she always 
wore yellow.  Megan still wore undershirts, you could see 
them poking out of clothing with large necks.  And Lana, 
what color did she wear?  Red, for sure.

But to his astonishment, Lana wore black.  Then he frowned.  
Why wasn't she wearing what he'd tried to picture her in?  
In fact, now everyone in the class was in underwear, and he 
knew he hadn't gotten to all of them.

He glanced at Mrs. Winters, and immediately turned away, 
fighting the urge to shield his eyes.  He looked back at 
his classmates.

But now they weren't even wearing their underwear, they 
were naked.  He blinked, frightened.  He didn't mean to be 
picturing people naked, it seemed such an invasion of their 
privacy.

He blinked again, and suddenly they weren't wearing their 
skin, either.  He started to whimper when he saw all of his 
classmates staring at him, their veins pumping blood 
through their bodies, all of it visible to his eyes.  He 
could even see their organs.  He could feel a tear start 
down his face.

He shook his head to clear the image, and the entire class 
was suddenly a class of skeletons.  Skeletons!  He 
shrieked.

"Get away, get away!" he shouted, waving his hands at them 
in a shooing motion.  "Please, just go away!"

"Clark," Mrs. Winters said, starting towards him, "are you 
okay?"

He glanced at her, and now she was a skeleton with almost 
translucent organs.  He started to scream, and once he 
started, he couldn't stop.

Jonathan and Martha hurried into the school building, in a 
panic from the phone call they'd received.  A very worried 
receptionist led them into the room where Clark was 
sitting.

Clark was sitting on a cot, his head in his hands, crying 
and rocking back and forth.

Martha hurried to him.  "Oh, baby, what's wrong?" she 
asked, reaching for him.

Clark looked up at her and screamed, turning away and 
throwing himself on his bed.  Martha looked at Jonathan, 
bewildered.

"Clark, please tell us what's wrong!"

Clark shook his head and said nothing.

"Clark!" Jonathan said, trying to sound firm.  "Get up and 
tell your mother and me what is wrong."

There was no response from the cot, and finally the 
terrified Kents lifted Clark into their arms and carried 
him to the car.

Somehow, the frightened boy dozed off during the car ride, 
but as soon as they reached the Kent farm, he woke up in 
more of a panic than before.  He pushed the car door open 
clumsily and ran, tripping every few feet.  He looked to be 
running for his treehouse.

Martha looked at Jonathan, and he shook his head 
wordlessly.

"Leave him be, Martha," he said.  "He'll tell us when he's 
ready."

"Jonathan," she said tearfully, "this isn't just some usual 
school problem.  He was afraid of us, Jonathan!  Afraid!  
Of his own parents!  What could possibly have happened to 
him in school to make him so afraid?"

Jonathan shrugged.  "On the phone, they just said he'd been 
at the front of class making a speech.  He'd looked 
nervous, but nothing more, until he seemed to become more 
and more panicked, and finally broke down."

She looked helplessly at the treehouse, but allowed 
Jonathan to guide her into the kitchen.

Several hours later, by common consent, Jonathan and Martha 
finally decided to try approaching Clark again.  Jonathan 
let Martha climb up the rope ladder first, then he 
followed.

They peered in the dim doorway to find Clark huddled on the 
floor under the table.  He seemed to have finally stopped 
crying.

"Clark, honey, would you like some dinner?" Martha asked.

Clark looked up and saw his parents, and he let out another 
shriek and clamped his hands over his eyes.

"Clark!" Jonathan said, grabbing Clark's shoulders before 
the boy could pull away.  "Stop screaming and tell us what 
the problem is."

Clark didn't answer, and Jonathan shook him slightly.

"They're going to get me!" Clark screamed at the top of his 
lungs, trying to pull away.  "They've got me!"

"Who's got you?" Martha asked, confused.

"The bloody skeletons, they've got me and they won't let 
go!  The whole world is falling apart!  Mom, Dad, please, 
please, help!"

Martha felt her eyes fill with tears.  "Clark, honey, we're 
right here, we want to help you."

Clark shook his head quickly.  "You're not here, I can hear 
you but I can't see you!  I just see the bloody skeletons!  
Please, get them away!  Get them away!!!"  By his last 
plea, his hysterics were back full-force.

Jonathan grabbed Clark's hands from his eyes, and Clark's 
tearstained eyes suddenly opened and stared at Jonathan, 
unseeing.

"Take a deep breath, boy, and try to calm down.  The 
skeletons haven't hurt you yet, have they?"

He shrugged.  "Not yet."

"Clark," Jonathan asked, "can you see anything more now 
than you did before?"

"Just the bloody skeletons."

"Close your eyes."

Clark obeyed.

"The same?" Jonathan asked.

Clark nodded.  "The same."

"How many skeletons are there right now?"

Clark held up two fingers.

Jonathan glanced at Martha, and she shook her head, 
confused.

"Clark, I think those two skeletons are your mother and I.  
Your mother is on your left, and I'm on your right.  I want 
you to picture those skeletons as being us, okay?"

Clark opened his eyes again and glanced at each of them for 
a moment, then widened his eyes.  "Dad, Mom got fat!  And 
you're skinny!"

"Clark, you do know your left from your right, don't you?"

He shrugged.

Jonathan sighed.  "Switch them."

Clark glanced at them again, sniffling, then quickly turned 
away. "Okay, now you're my parents, but you're naked."

"There you go.  You're doing better.  Now I want you to 
think that we have clothes.  Don't try to picture them, 
just expect to see us fully clothed.  Got it?"

Clark looked at his dad, eyes wide.  "Dad, you're back!  
Dad!"  He leapt for his father and clung to him tightly, 
sobbing happily.

Martha smiled and hugged Clark from the back, and the three 
of them held each other close for a long time.

Clark sipped slowly at his buttermilk and smiled at his 
mother across the table.  "Thanks, Mom.  You're right, 
buttermilk always 'cures what ails you.'"

She smiled back at him.  "That it does."

"So you think that I have the ability to see through 
things, as well as hear from really far away?" Clark asked.

"Yes, it sounds like it.  I think you were actually seeing 
through us, to our skeletons and muscles and inner organs.  
Movies always show such things as being scary, so you were 
naturally terrified."

"No more horror movies for you, young man," Martha said.  
"Now, did this by chance start by you trying to picture 
everyone in their underwear to overcome your nervousness?"

Clark almost knocked over his milk.  "How did you know 
that?  I mean . . ... maybe . . ."

Jonathan laughed.  "It's a common practice, Clark.  Only 
it's not such a good idea when you have the ability to look 
through people."

"So do we get to name this power too?" Clark asked.

Martha nodded.  "Any ideas?"

"How about 'x-ray vision?'" Clark asked.  "After all, it's 
almost like an x-ray machine.  Just bloodier."

"Sounds good," Martha said.

"Mom, I don't have to go back to school tomorrow, do I?" 
Clark asked, putting on his best puppy-dog face.  "My 
super-hearing never stopped working, and I could hear my 
classmates all making fun of me the whole time I thought I 
was being attacked by skeleton-creatures."

Jonathan glanced at Martha.  "Son," he said, "I don't think 
it's a good idea to let you stay home.  You will need to go 
back, and it will make too big a deal out of it if you are 
gone for a day.  If you go back tomorrow, we can just say 
that it was intense anxiety from having to speak in front 
of the class.  Your classmates are nervous too, they'll 
forget it soon enough."

"But what if it happens again?" he asked, his brow 
creasing.

"Well, for one thing, you now know what it is, and that 
they aren't evil skeletons, they're just your friends.  You 
just need to look at them and remember that they are human 
and fully clothed, and you should be okay."

Clark nodded, then grimaced.

"What is it?" Martha asked worriedly.

"Oh, I was just remembering seeing Mrs. Winters without any 
clothes.  I think I'll be having nightmares about that 
sight for a long, long time."

******

"So, you really think these'll help, Dad?" Clark asked.

His father nodded.  "I got some odd looks over that, but 
they agreed to make them.  Plain glass, but lined with 
lead.  It should help you control that x-ray vision of 
yours, make sure you don't use it without thinking about 
it.  And make sure you don't use it in situations that you 
shouldn't."

"Like looking in the girl's locker room?" Clark said 
impishly.

Martha's mouth dropped open.  "Clark Jerome Kent!  Now you 
listen to me.  You may have some powers that ordinary 
people don't have, but don't you ever dare use them to take 
advantage--"

"Mom!" Clark interrupted.  "It was a joke, really!"

She growled at him, and he squealed.  "Honest!"

Jonathan rolled his eyes.  "Anyway, hopefully they'll 
remind you to keep a rein on your powers.  You can take 
them off when you're around the house with us, but when 
you're out in public, glasses mean no powers."

"I got it, already!  Sheesh.  You'd think you'd never seen 
a kid with x-ray vision and incredible hearing before."

******

Cairns, Australia, 1979 - Lex is 30 years old (Lex, Jr., is 
12)

Lex, Jr., stared down at his plain wooden desk, mystified.  
His nanny, Janine, had told him that someone was coming to 
visit today, but he wondered who it would be.  He didn't 
have any real friends, and he only knew a few people in the 
town.  Janine didn't like a boy of "Luthor blood" mingling 
with his "lessers" very much.  He wished he could tell her 
that he'd rather have friends among them than no friends at 
all, but she was very dedicated to preserving his 
importance.

Lex heard someone enter the room.  He glanced up for a 
moment, saw that it wasn't anyone he recognized, and 
quickly jerked his head back down to face the desk, 
blushing.

In the quick glimpse of him, he had seen a tall man with 
curly brown hair and noble bearing.  Who was this man?

"So, Lex," the man spoke.  "I've spoken to your nanny."

Lex didn't respond.

"She says that your grades are fair, but no better.  A 
pity, that.  Are you stupid, or do you just not apply 
yourself?"

Lex flushed angrily, and tried to think of a suitable 
retort.  But years of little interaction with the outside 
world worked against him, and the words refused to come 
forth.

"The former, then.  Did that acid burn a hole in your 
head?"

Lex looked up angrily, his hands fisting.  The man laughed.

"Finally, he appears to speak English.  And he has a 
temper, as well.  What a pity.  Perhaps you would have been 
the son I wanted, and made a proper right-hand man."

Lex realized with those words who this man was.  "You're--
you're my father," he choked out.

"Bravo, boy, I knew no Luthor could be completely stupid," 
his father said, clapping.

Lex flinched at the sharp sound.  He felt hot tears coming 
to his eyes, and looked back down at his desk to avoid 
showing them.

His father was now pacing the room in silence.  Lex thought 
it looked as though the man had something specific to say 
to him, so he used the time to control his tears until he 
felt ready to face his father again.

Finally, his father stopped in front of his desk, and 
leaned forward, resting his hands on his desk.  Lex was 
unable to keep from leaning backwards, to preserve his 
personal space.

For a long moment, his father's eyes met his own, and Lex 
was shocked at the intensity he saw there.  Anger, 
frustration, pity, hate, disgust, longing, and loneliness, 
all reflected in those burning dark eyes.  Then his father 
blinked, and the eyes were cold and emotionless once again.

"Do you believe the sins of the father are visited upon the 
son?"

Lex frowned at the unexpected question.  "I--I don't know."

His father laughed, a cold, bitter laugh, releasing Lex's 
desk and turning away from him.  "You'd better hope not," 
he said.  "For your sake."

Lex opened his eyes wide.  He'd always suspected that his 
father wasn't a particularly nice man.  But what--what had 
he done, that he would say such a thing to his son?  Lex 
couldn't tell if his father was saying it out of regret, or 
if there was something else to it.  His father was a hard 
man to read.

Without another word, his father stalked out of the room, 
not even giving a backwards glance at the son who sat at a 
desk, mouth gaping open.

******

Metropolis, New Troy, 1980 - Lex is 31 (Melanie is 25, 
Jackie is 6)

"Mommy!" Jackie cried as he leapt from the bus.

"Hi, Jackie," she said with a smile, taking his backpack. 
"How was your day?"

"Pretty good.  We're learning the names of the planets."  
He reached out for her hand and gripped it tightly, smiling 
up at her.

"Good for you!  Which ones do you know so far?"

He thought for a moment.  "Mercury."

She stopped at the traffic light and waited for the walk 
signal to turn white.  "Just Mercury?"

He nodded.

"What planet do we live on?"  The walk signal came on, and 
they crossed the road in silence, Melanie pulling Jackie 
along so that he wouldn't dawdle.

When they reached the other side, Jackie turned to his 
mother with a huge grin.  "We live on Earth!  So I know 
two."

She smiled and ruffled his hair.  "You're very smart.  
How'd you like to go visit Daddy?"

He shrugged and scuffed a toe on the curb.

"No?"

"Do we have to?"

"Well, I need to talk to him about something.  Maybe Amelia 
will be there to play with you."

"Amelia?  Okay!"

She turned left at the next crosswalk, and they walked up 
to Lex Towers.

Jackie frowned suddenly, and tugged on Melanie's hand until 
she looked down at him.  "Mommy, will Ari be there?"

"Ari?" she asked, puzzled.  "Who's Ari?"

"I don't know, but I don't like her," Jackie said.  He 
stuck the thumb of his free hand into his mouth.  "Maybe 
she's Daddy's secretary, she kisses him a lot."

Melanie stopped cold for an instant, staring down at 
Jackie.  "She kisses him a lot?" she asked, forcing her 
voice to remain steady.

Jackie nodded, looking puzzled.  "Yeah.  What's wrong?"

She shook her head and started walking again.  "Nothing, 
honey."

The doorman waved them through, and they stepped onto the 
elevator.  "You know, honey," Melanie said, "just because 
Daddy kisses Ari, that doesn't mean she's his secretary."

Jackie bobbed his head up and down.  "Yes it does!" he 
insisted.  "Daddy kisses all his secretaries."

Worse and worse.  Melanie gripped Jackie's hand tighter.

"Mommy!" Jackie whined, tugging at her hand, "you're 
hurting me."

"Oh, I'm sorry, love," she said, loosening her grip a 
little.  "I'm just a bit mad that Daddy lets you see him 
kiss Ari."

Jackie bit his lip.  "Well, I'm probably not supposed to 
see."

The elevator dinged as it reached the penthouse, and they 
stepped off.  "You're not supposed to see?"

"I see them when I'm hiding in Daddy's desk."

Choking down a laugh, Melanie smiled at him.  "And why are 
you hiding in Daddy's desk?"

"Because I'm playing spy," he whispered.  "And that's what 
spies do."

"Ah, okay," she said, shaking her head in wonderment.  
"Well, don't spy on Daddy and Ari anymore, okay?  I don't 
want you to see that stuff."

"But that's what spies do, they spy!  Besides, all spies 
have girls.  Like James Bond!  I want a girl just like one 
of his.  Not at all like Susie, she's annoying and she's 
always trying to kiss me.  Ew."

As they reached the end of the hallway, Melanie could hear 
voices, and she held her finger to her lips.  "Quiet," she 
said softly, "we don't want to disturb Daddy."  A thought 
occurred to her, and she added in a whisper, "but I do want 
to hear about this Susie later.  And maybe her mother's 
name and phone number, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy," Jackie responded in a childish whisper.

They walked up to the door of Lex's office, and Melanie 
peered inside.  Lex was visible through the open door at 
the end of the study.  He and a distinguished-looking older 
gentleman were facing somebody she couldn't see.

As she watched, Lex nodded to his associate, and the man 
moved his hand to his side.  With a strangled gasp, Melanie 
dropped to her knees and grabbed Jackie, pulling him close, 
burying his head in her chest and covering his ears.

Her reaction was instantaneous, and none too soon.  The 
older man took a gun from his pocket and fired a single 
shot.

In the moments that followed, Melanie reacted faster than 
she'd have thought possible.  She grabbed Jackie, lifted 
him into her arms, and ran back out of the apartment.  She 
stood in front of the elevator, nervously hopping from foot 
to foot, but decided it was too slow.  She ran for the 
stairs.

It was no easy task to carry a heavy six-year-old from the 
penthouse of the tallest building in Metropolis.  In the 
end she had to stop on the sixty-first floor and take the 
elevator from there. She reached the ground floor and ran, 
ignoring the startled doorman and receptionist.

"Mommy!" Jackie cried as she continued to run.  "Mommy, 
you're hurting me!  Mommy, I want to see Amelia!  Mommy!"

She didn't answer him, just held him closer and continued 
to run.  When she'd rounded the corner and reached the 
safety of a nearby public restaurant, she finally stopped 
running and relaxed her hold.

Melanie noticed the strange looks she was getting from the 
restaurant's patrons, but she ignored them.  The pain in 
her side and back was almost unbearable.

"Oh, Jackie, how in the world did I manage to carry you so 
far?" she gasped out, clutching her stomach.  He was a 
heavy boy; she couldn't believe she hadn't noticed his 
weight.

"You should have put me down," Jackie said with a pout.  "I 
can walk, I'm not a baby."

"I know you aren't, sweetheart, but we were in a rush."

"Why were we in a rush, Mommy?  I wanted to see Amelia."

Melanie sighed and gently touched his cheek.  "Sweetie, 
Amelia wasn't there.  And I remembered that we have 
something else we need to do, and we're late."

"What do we have to do?" Jackie asked.

"Pack."

Melanie closed the front door of the dingy motel behind her 
with a sigh.  So much for life outside of the slums.  
Somehow she'd always thought things would be better once 
Lex had moved her out of South Side.  She should have known 
better.

"Mommy?" Jackie called.  She walked over to the bed and sat 
down next to him.

"Jackie, have you been crying?" she asked, noticing the 
tear-trails on his dirty face.

Jackie nodded.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

He sniffled.  "I was lonely.  And scared.  I kept hearing 
people screaming in other rooms.  And there's not even a TV 
to watch in here."

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry," she said.  "How about I pick you up 
some of those books you are learning to read before I go to 
work tomorrow?"

Jackie rubbed an eye.  "Can't you take me to Amelia's and 
let her watch me?" he pleaded.

"No, love, I can't."

He blew air out of his mouth sharply, the way he always did 
when he felt he wasn't making himself understood.  "Why 
not?"

"Just . . . because, honey."  Melanie glanced at the 
newspaper she held in her hands, and sighed.  "Her husband 
died yesterday, Jackie.  She's probably very sad."

"Oh," he said, thinking this over.  "Can we send her 
flowers?"

"We already did," she lied.  "I sent her a big bouquet, and 
told her on the card that the yellow ones were from you."

He smiled at her.  "I love you, Mommy."

"I love you too, sweetie."

Jackie walked over to the window to look out, and Melanie 
used the break to skim through the front-page article in 
the Daily Planet.  A man named Emmanuel Cox had been found 
dead in an alley in South Side, the cause of death a 
bullet-wound to his heart.  His employer, Lex Luthor, was 
saddened and dismayed at his death, the probably result of 
a mugging gone awry, and was campaigning for better 
lighting and more police in the South Side district.

She closed the paper and leaned back against the pillows 
for a moment.  "It could just be a coincidence," she told 
herself.  "But no matter if it was Amelia's husband Lex 
killed, or a random man, Lex was an accessory to a murder.  
That man with him must have been his new assistant.  And 
Lex as good as told him to shoot the man.  How could I be 
such a horrible judge of character?"

She watched Jackie as he stood in the window, framed by the 
sunlight.  "And my son shares his blood.  Oh, please, God, 
don't let Jackie turn out like his father.  Please."

Lex leaned back in his chair and eyed the beautiful 
brunette seated demurely across from him.  He took a puff 
from his cigar, then sat forward.

"So, Mrs. Cox, you would be willing to step into your 
husband's shoes as my personal assistant, I see."

The brunette smiled.  "Please, call me Amelia."

"I'd rather not," he said, watching her smile fade.  "You 
understand, don't you, exactly what your husband's job 
entailed?"

"Of course."

"And you understan