Nights Torn Mad with Footsteps (NC-17)

[starmoon]

very interesting i can't wait for more so please update as soon as possible.

[fussy_wuzzy]

That was an amazing start! You've got me hooked. Can't wait for more.

[beantree]

Thanks for the all the enthusiasm! I forgot to mention before that this fic exists in a world where Season Four never happened. (but I figured you guys already knew that. ;-))

***Chapter Six***

Clark picked her up from the hospital two days later in the company of a woman who introduced herself as Lana Lang. But she had known her name already, hadn’t she. Lana brought a tasteful black dress for her to wear, even assisted in getting her ready for the funeral. Carefully arranging hair, helping put on as much make-up as the cuts and bruises littering her face would allow.

“Don’t worry, no one will care.”

Though intended to comfort, she suppressed a scoff at the comment. She could care less about what her face looked like right now. She was more concerned with the state of her cognition. A neurologist had come down to consult yesterday when she had mentioned the spotty confusion her mind seemed trapped in.

“You’re having trouble with memory?” he asked, glancing up from her chart, “That’s not unusual after the severity of the blow your head sustained.”

“No—I mean, yes. I can remember things, names, events. But none of it feels concrete, like I’m in the middle of some convoluted dream. Everything’s murky.” He told her to give it time, that the things she was experiencing were normal. She didn’t really believe him, but wasn’t able to express clearly the nagging sensation that something wasn’t right. So they had released her just in time to attend a funeral for a cousin whose face she couldn’t call up in her memory, but she somehow knew strangely well. Odd details were connected with the name in her mind, an allergy to cherries, a fondness for cappuccinos. Frustration at her foggy memory was building, but she sat silently in the back seat of Clark’s car. Watching the city scenery pass, she hoped the silent drive would absorb her thoughts for the moment.

The church they pulled up in front of was beautiful. Hidden and out of place between metropolitan mammoths. The architecture revealed an antiquarian design with a surprisingly sizable courtyard preceding the entrance, a luxury that would never be allowed in the space-hungry cities of today. Walking past the carefully landscaped green, she smiled thinking the church had been able to preserve the area. The inside of the building was musky with age, but brilliantly lit with color from an obscene amount of stained glass. An odd little place, but beautiful.

Clark touched her arm, finally breaking the long-standing silence, and pointed her over to the space reserved for family.

“I’ll be right over on the other side,” whispered words, the difficulty of the day raw in his voice.

So she sat alone, through a rather typical memorial service, distracted to no end by how almost every face was familiar. She could even match some with names and the ability bothered her. Like her mind was grasping at ideas from the dark, fighting, working hard to answer unasked questions. The agitation grew until they opened up the service to words from friends and family. Gabe Sullivan stood up to speak.

She heard nothing that he said, only the low familiar tones of his voice and she knew.

Lois was the one who was dead.

Her own idiocy staggering because she had known, this whole time she had known. But like a name she just couldn’t quite remember sitting right on the tip of her tongue, the realization had eluded her. She was Chloe. Sitting right in this church among a crowd of people gathered specifically for her and yet no one seemed to see the very woman they mourned seated among them. How had this happened? And Lois. Oh god… Killed in that blast meant for her and now everyone thought…

Chloe felt her breathing constrict and the room began to spin around her. She was going to vomit in the middle of her own memorial service. Air, she needed to get out into the air. The mustiness that had seemed so charming when she first stepped in was suffocating her now. This was a nightmare. Quietly stepping out of her pew, her father’s voice still echoing in the small space, she escaped. Undetected as far as she could tell. No one came after her. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply as she burst into the fresh air. All she wanted was to breathe for awhile, disentangle from the increasing complication of events, but when she opened her eyes again the sight of an expensive charcoal suit on a lingering figure dropped her heart in her chest. So he hadn’t made it passed the courtyard. But he had come.

Too much emotion in such a short period of time and she gave up on trying to handle it all. Her legs buckled and she dropped gracelessly into an awkward, seated position on the church steps.

“Are you alright?” his voice so familiar, too familiar for all the distance between their—what… friendship? Mutual fondness? Reciprocal lust? He moved closer, invading the air around her.

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

Smell had always been the catalyst for her and his was like nothing else. Scotch mingled with aftershave twelve hours faded and lingering scents of expensive thread used in clothing that could pay for a semester’s college tuition. She once told him that, if not for his particularly irresistible scent, she might never have let herself succumb to her own unspeakable desires. And he’d scoffed, a sleepy attempt at mock outrage, as he pulled her closer. She had turned her head deeper into the crook of his neck, inhaling, knowing all those other smells were only trappings to the scent of him. His skin. She promised herself, years from now, when this summer was barely a memory, that smell would still be fresh in her mind. It had to be that way.

But those thoughts, those casual, playful interactions, had been in the beginning. And tonight he’d come to her hungry and serious, his smell mingling with hers into something all their own. Bodies matched in rhythm, hot kisses liberally places along her neck and shoulders before returning to her mouth again, capturing it greedily. A hint of possession in his kiss she had never felt before and his touch like fire as he skimmed his hands along the curves of her body. The sex had been about attraction, about companionship, but these past few days, as the trial approached, she felt urgency in the way he fucked her. No more easy banter serving as extended foreplay. The irregularity of his appearances evaporated. He walked in her door every night now, without fail; would touch her, seek contact for no reason at all. He stayed into the morning the past five nights, usually such a rarity in the previous two months. And she said nothing to stop him, though she knew she should have. But she wanted him close, wanted this --time was running out for them. Both saw the impossibility of any future, for a myriad of reasons, and neither felt the need to put up a pretense of fighting the futility. But she refused to relinquish even one thought to this strange summer’s approaching finality as his body moved in hers, she fought to ignore any moment but this one. Warm, sweat kissed skin pressing against her own, the sweet, torturous sensations of her building orgasm threatening to spill over, and the tremored whisper repeating in her ear like a prayer for his salvation, “Chloe, Chloe, Chloe…”

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

Lex. Of all people, Lex would know her.

The thought evoked a jumble of hope and fear. She cradled her face in her hands to center her thoughts for a moment, feeling the sensitive swell of bruising around her eyes and cheeks. She could only imagine what she looked like and felt slightly ashamed that she even cared. A soft touch pressed her shoulder and she felt electricity rocket through her body. Lifting her head, she started, seeing he was directly in front of her, crouched close, eyes burrowed deeply into hers, full of concern.

“Should I call someone?” Something strange flickered across his eyes, like surprise. Like a shot of pain born of a pleasant memory, but it was quickly concealed. “You’re Lois. I can see the resemblance.” He continued to watch her and she him. There was no recognition, not even glimmers of suspicion. Only calm concern, and it stunned her. She felt invisible.

“I’m okay, I just needed to get out of there,” her voice dark and quiet.

“I didn’t even make it inside.” There was a restlessness in his words, so unlike him, “I’m sorry for your loss.” He moved to stand, a curtain of formality descending suddenly and she felt whip-lashed from the change.

“Maybe it wasn’t her in that car, she could still be alive.” She blurted out her words, childish in their naked plea for his continued presence, dangerous in their ability to reveal things she hadn’t yet decided were wise to reveal. But they stopped his retreat, just as she’d intended.

“I’m sorry Lois, they matched dental records. There’s no question.” No condescension in his voice, just the finality of a truth he too was trying to accept. And a memory from ages ago rushed forward. Nineteen years old, her last summer in Metropolis, working as a copy girl at a publishing firm.

“Please Chloe, I’ve got this wicked toothache and my insurance won’t kick in for another month.”
“Can’t you wait?”
“It’s killing me and you have such good dental coverage.”
“This is illegal, you know, Lois.”
“Oh please, like that’s ever stopped us from doing anything before. Plus, you’re so dentist-phobic, I bet you haven’t even used your plan yet. They’ll never know. Come on. I’m in serious pain here.”
“Fine.”

And just like that, instant dental records for Chloe Sullivan.

This was not happening. This could not be happening. She stood in a quick, unsteady motion and stumbled down the steps, her breathing quick and shallow again as she paced weakly around the courtyard.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t want me go to get someone?” Finally a tone of calculated curiosity entered his words, something about her behavior piquing interest.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Maybe, Gabe?”

“No, no—Gabe and I don’t get along at all.” A dawning thought. She’d forgotten about the prickly relationship between her father and her cousin. All this and losing her father too. Sunday morning phone calls and goofy emails gone. She felt ill. This day needed to be over. She needed time and space to think.

“I’ve got to go. I need to get out of here, now.”

“I’ll give you a ride.”

***Chapter Seven***

Cradled in the soft leather seats, she let herself sink in, too preoccupied to even attempt a conversation. Even a little worried about what he might pick up if she allowed any kind of real dialogue to occur. More than a little worried. Giving crude and distracted directions to her cousin’s apartment, she let her eyes fix on the way his hands gripped the wheel. Solid, substantive hands, nails impeccably trimmed, veins just a trace more prominent than she remembered. She knew his hands. Places their texture turned from rough to soft and back again, errant freckles and long-healed scars. The oddity of the situation unsettled her, of being intimately familiar with a man’s hands, yet barely knowing their owner any longer. If she could say that she ever really knew him at all. *You did. You understood him once.* She wanted nothing to do with the unbidden thought and turned her attention to the road.

To his credit, he didn’t push the conversation, left her to herself. He only watched her discretely, collecting a foundational impression to build on later, learning her. She knew the habit well, found his tendency to study appealing once. But being his subject now brought only nervous exhaustion as she fought to display nothing but near-catatonia. She needed to think critically about her situation and knew that was close to impossible while he was seated next to her. He’d always been an indomitable distraction.

He pulled up slowly in front of the complex, letting her exit the car with nothing more than her hurried thanks. No prying questions or sly knowing statements made to stop her departure, no presumptuous attempt to follow her up to the apartment or offer of future assistance should she need it. The scenario played out exactly as she wanted, but somehow pained her all the more. Even under the mantle of Lois, the less seasoned Lex of her past acquaintance would have attempted a subtle inquiry about the series of events leading to the explosion. But this more polished version asked nothing, not one question besides “Up or Downtown?” and it tore at her. Then again, as convinced as he seemed about those dental records, she couldn’t ignore the possibility that he already knew plenty. She wasn’t sure which she preferred, disinterest or full insight.

A spare key was mercifully still hidden under the mat outside the apartment. Closing the door swiftly, she leaned her head against the smooth solid wood. The cloak of stoicism melted instantly and she didn’t fight it. Four sharp, deep sobs broke out of her chest, their power shaking her body as her fingers grasped uselessly at the ungiving solidity of the door. She forced herself to inhale slowly, willing the devastation to pass, but it wasn’t so easy. The emptiness of the apartment stretched out around her, mocking her continued existence. This felt so wrong. Just coming here made her unspeakably disgusting in her own mind, but there was nowhere else to go. She felt a headache emerging and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes gently, trying to ward it off. Instinctively, she moved toward the guest bedroom she had occupied only five days ago, discarding the dress given to her and pulling on an old tee-shirt and sweats from the bag she threw together before leaving Gotham, still sitting on the floor untouched. Like time was frozen in here, life unchanged. Rest, just a little rest to soothe her now throbbing head from the never-ending emotional assault of the day and she would figure all this out. She wished she could sleep for days.

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

She knew there was no intended psychological torture, but despite intensions she felt like a prisoner. These cold faces marching her through a field. The whole experience felt like some sort of precursor to execution. A death march at the hands of stony killers. But instead, they dropped her at what could only be called a cottage, swinging screen doors and breeze blown curtains. So innocent, these surroundings; hiding laser alarms and surveillance cameras. But to Lex’s credit, she only knew they were there because she could feel them caging her in, not because she could see any physical evidence of them. One man hastily barked out information about what would be her home for lord knew how long, --food supply in the basement—bedroom to the left—kitchen right—panic button under the bathroom sink-- before hurrying away.

She was left in silence, sitting at the beautifully simple country kitchen table. Drumming her fingers absently while her mind drifted, blinking in and out of thought, of awareness. Her memory found only images of her fathers face, struggling to get back to her again and again, or the flash of the safe house explosion behind her, or nothing—black seas. An unexpected yawn brought her back and she stood finally, padding her soft-soled shoes over quaint wooden floors. Left—to the bedroom, she crawled into bed completely clothed, shoes on, mind dark. She stayed in bed for two days. Not out of depression or sleep deprivation, but fear. She was afraid of having nothing to do. No deadline, no work, no research to fill her hours. No television or books to numb her brain. This whole set up had been a last minute solution. Security and survival needs had trumped leisure activities. She was safe, but alone. No distractions, nothing to save her from the black hole of time. Possibly her worst nightmare. After forty-eight hours, however, hunger got the best of her.

A hot, precious shower and rumpled clothes from her bag and she ventured downstairs into a perfect cottage cellar, filled with dry, canned and preserved foods. Nothing that might spoil, nothing fresh, enough to feed an army. The sight of the endless supply made her chest constrict with the impending possibility of infinite solitude on display before her. Innocent dried goods as a glaring representation of the unknowable future. She began huffing out little snatches of laughter while her eyes misted over, blurring her vision. It was frightening, barely three days and she could feel her sense of self unraveling, like being on an acid trip without the hallucinations. She made an attempt to get a hold of herself and moved toward a shelf, reaching high with almost long-enough fingers grasping at a bag of dried apricots. Stilted jumps aided the attempt, aggressive grabs. And unexpectedly she found herself pounded to the ground. Something heavy, bulky falling, pushing her down. Hard pelts rained down on her, surrounded her everywhere and when her sense of equilibrium returned she realized it was rice. Like some twisted sadistic wedding for one, a deluge of grain had enveloped her. A sea of rice over which she lay prone. Like a giant pork chop. The thought sent her into hysterics, exhausted goofy giggles lasting an eternity before she wore herself out.

Rice in her hair, between her fingers, crawling in the collar of her shirt. Maybe this was madness. She couldn’t tell. Maybe this was just her at her base, Chloe without all the distractions. She let herself swim in the mess for a few long moments, hard little grains making a pattern of imprints on her skin as she watched the ceiling, eyes wandering aimlessly around. She was going to have to learn to be alone with herself. A skill of hers not completely unexplored, but the necessary degree of perfection she would need to endure this confinement felt daunting.

On day twelve she found a way out.

She tried for several days to just be. Whatever that meant. But soon found that she needed some kind of project, so she explored. Trivial as it was, she *needed* to know every inch of this house, everyone of it’s secrets. And she found a few, nothing too glamorous until she noticed a small square of plywood nailed onto a wall just below the basement ceiling, an odd patch job in an odd location. Using a salad fork to pry the wood away was painfully slow work, but when the covering finally popped off she walked numbly out of the basement and closed herself in her room. She didn’t go back down for almost two weeks. She knew she couldn’t let herself near that temptation again until the desperation still present in her every thought was conquered.

A window. An unguarded, unnoticed window. Freedom.

She fought to remember that this wasn’t a prison. That this house of complete desolation, these vacuous days that held up mirrors into herself she had no desire to see, were saving her. The overwhelming desire to flee was a misguided instinct and nothing more. She had to walk away or the compulsion would consume her. She filled the busted sack of rice with enough food to keep her from needing the basement pantry for awhile and locked the door behind her, not allowing herself to think of the window. For two weeks she slept and ate and stared off into nothing for more moments that she liked to admit. She wrote and sketched and doodled away hours in her hastily packed notebook. Her writing became amazingly focused and sharp. Her sketches were terrible and only seemed to get worse the harder she tried.

Throwing her pen down at one particularly disfigured drawing, she cursed herself for never taking any art courses. Then froze instantly at the thought, her mind bubbling with the memory of Lana’s summer sojourn to Paris for that very reason. Realizing she had yet to think of her friend once since this madness began, Chloe felt her heart skip painfully. She was descending into her own mind in this place, didn’t know how much longer she could be by herself like this. Confinement and endless silence.

She would go insane.

Her mind flashed instantly to her mother and she stood abruptly from the table where she sat, chair clattering down onto the floor behind her. She paced around frantically to distract herself, but her thoughts continually strayed back to that basement window.

She could get out. Just for a little while.

Fresh air and new sounds, maybe an idea of where she was would help soothe the slow burn of anxiety moving in around her. Two more days she prevented herself from going downstairs through sheer force of will, but on the third day she unlocked the door to the basement and escaped.
************************************************** *****

***Chapter Eight***

Her eyes, heavy with yesterday’s effects, blinked open into bloodshot slivers. The dim, simple room full of unfamiliar light blues and violets swam into focus and she lay still, waiting for her mind to remember where she was and how exactly she’d gotten there. She took a quick personal inventory. Her head was throbbing painfully and various locations on her body stung from freshly healing cuts and scrapes. But what brought the full rush of events back was the sight of a forgotten black dress crumpled carelessly on the floor.

Not her dress.
Not her apartment.
Not her life.

The force with which she sat up in bed brought a crushing wave of nausea and she gasped against the pain raging through her temples. *Holy fuck.* Groping clumsily for her bag, she spilled tablets of ibuprofen everywhere in blind desperation to get the bottle open, cursing the hospital for not giving her something stronger. Like an IV drip of morphine, for example. Trembling hands shoved more pills than were probably necessary into her mouth before cradling her forehead, trying to hold it steady against the shudders running through her body.

*You deserve this.*

An unwelcome thought. She always considered self-loathing an indulgent exercise. But the truth was, she had gotten Lois killed. Was currently denying those who loved her the right to mourn her loss by usurping her identity. The question now became, was that a good enough reason to give up the protection her cousin’s name provided? Would using Lois’ identity to finish what she had started with Harrow Institute truly serve her memory or just Chloe’s own version of what justice for her cousin should be? There was a certain amount of shame in even entertaining the idea of letting this appalling mistake continue, but her own practical nature had never been easily suppressed, especially when her own survival was at hand. Cold and hard as ice she could see herself, pushing mourning aside for calculation, for plans and strategies spun urgently in her mind. But self-awareness did nothing to ease the driving impulse or the flutter of horror at how easily and quickly the decision was made.

She would stay Lois. For now.

Decisions surrounding loyalty, surrounding morality, what was ‘right’ and ‘good’ were easier once. She hadn’t always done the right thing, but somehow, even in moments of stupidity and weakness, temptation used to identify itself outright, didn’t sneak around under the guise of complex ambiguities. With all she let fade from her life over the years, she clung to loyalty with the most ferocity. Her mistakes with Lionel Luthor taught her a lifetime of lessons.

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

The instant she emerged into the sharp night air, felt the moist grass cushion her feet as she whispered along the moonlit expanse, she knew it was a mistake. How could she possibly return to that stuffy little house with nothing but her own increasingly tangential thoughts to keep her company, when *this* lay right outside her door? Sky stretching everywhere, small sprinkles of rain lighting upon her skin sporadically, wind whipping tree branches filled with leaves into symphonies of sound.

This was magic.

What was she supposed to do? She hadn’t seen or heard from anyone for twenty-four excruciating days. They could all be dead at Lionel’s hand or scattered in all directions, fearing his retribution. What if there wasn’t a living soul left who knew she hadn’t perished in that explosion? Continuing to stay in that cottage would be a pointless exercise born of her own ignorance, endangering her further by simply remaining there. Maybe she shouldn’t go back, just keep moving away from that stifling place until it was completely forgotten. Erased from her mind.

A stone, hidden by the grass, cracked painfully against her heel as she stepped down. Chloe muffled a cry, falling to the ground to vigorously rub her throbbing foot and decided to take the misstep as a sign. She couldn’t walk away from this. Lex’s words from months ago swam to the front of her mind.

*If anyone is strong enough to endure a hostile take down of my father, it’s you, Chloe. But nothing about this will be easy. Expect to suffer.*

She had stiffened at his words, knowing he had suffered more at his father’s hands than anyone should ever have to endure. Lionel Luthor was capable of horrors she could barely contemplate and the possibility of being at the receiving end of that cruelty was very real. But she was suffering now in a way she hadn’t expected and wondered if Lex had been wrong about her strength. It seemed to be failing her now. But a memory… his eyes limpid and searching, searing into hers—“I can protect you.” Those words sent shivers through her at every recollection. She had no illusions about Lex, knew he had even less concerning her. They both had their reasons for wanting Lionel locked away forever. But even if he failed to keep his promise, she knew Lex would fight for her until the bitter end. At the very least she owed him the same. She let her fingers trail gently over the grass as she stood, lungs bursting with a deep breath of the night air, then let it out in a rush, let all this go. She returned to the cottage.

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

She shook away the memory. The pounding in her head slowly began to subside and she allowed herself to look up, surveying the small room. Her laptop. Exactly where she left it, was untouched in its case. Even upon further inspection, her disks, her notes, hard drive, everything was intact. She stood, conscious as she wandered through the apartment of nothing being out of place. Not even the slightest evidence was present that anything had been disturbed. Where were the police? Where was the investigation? The realization dawned that, even during all those days spent in the hospital, not one law enforcement official had come to ask questions. Mild outrage washed through her.

She expected a certain level of intentional ignorance of things like murder in Gotham, but always thought Metropolis was beyond such blatant miscarriages of justice. More subtle ones perhaps, but when a car bomb detonates in the heart of the city, it’s hard to ignore. Fine, so she wouldn’t have many resources, police records would be useless. Daunting but not impossible. Slipping into the familiar cloak of work, she let time slide by unnoticed.

When the fog of concentration lifted, a full day of absently eaten snacks and quick snatches of sleep had gone by. Messages blinked insistently on the answering machine, twelve calls ignored. They weren’t for her anyway. But watching the light flash, the threat of discovery was remembered and she wondered who she should be calling to set minds at ease. Work, for one. Lois’ office. Number three on the speed dial and she punched the button nervously, waiting.

“Murphy and Lockhart.”

“Hi, this is C…Lois.”

“Lois, oh my god. We thought you’d dropped off the face of the earth. Is everything okay?”

“Actually there’s been an accident. I won’t be coming back. Would you mind just spreading the word?” God, the vagueness of her explanation sounded suspect to even her own ears. Fighting her mind to come up with something more concrete, she was startled out of thought by an insistent pounding booming through the apartment. Someone was at the door.

“I’ve got to go,” she mumbled, hearing a tinny “Lois, wait…” as she hung up the phone. A flash of apprehension hit as she approached the source of the sound. This was it. Test number one and suddenly she was terrified that she couldn’t pull it off. It was impossible. An uncomfortable chuckle caught in her throat when she looked though the peephole and swung open the door, revealing an artificially calm Lex Luthor. Immediately his eyes fixed on her, searching.

“May I come in, Miss Lane?” His tone on the name lighter than the rest of his words, like a whisper of conspiracy.

He knew.

She moved from the doorway, silently letting him pass, bracing against discovery.

[campbti]

Ok, just fabulous and amazing. The flashbacks are so well done they breathe life into her and shape the person she seems to have become "no personal life" and all. Thank God Lex seems to have come to his senses. Can't wait to see more of this unravel, and to see how Lex broaches the subject of her identity. Some very interesting things like the dental records. Love the detail.

[fussy_wuzzy]

Wow! Your descriptions of Chloe's state of mind are so vivid. You're doing a wonderful job with this story.

[Yarvarni]

I am hooked!!!!!

[lexchloe]

Just read the first six chapters and I have to say it's a really excellent start. Good build up of Chloe's character and the way she is today as well as the situation she's in and really good flashback scenes. Love the idea of Chloe taking Lois' identity (although it is sad that she lost someone who used to be so close to her). Can't believe that people didn't realise that she wasn't Lois (you would think her so called best friend have recognised her!!!). Glad that Lex seems to have seen it though, that should make for an interesting conversation. Great story so far and I can't wait for more.

[lilinny]

I need another fix of your story. Great chapter. But I'm still confused, how does Clark and Lana not know that's Chloe?

[darkangel]

This is good. I like that unlike those idiots Clark and Lana Lex has the good sense to realise that this is not Lois. This is really god so please update soon.

[Zannie]

This is excellent. Great premise, set-up, and development of the plot and Chloe's character. The situation is intriguing and compelling, and you're moving things along with a pacing that's precisely executed. I'm really looking forward to what you have planned next.

I love your use of flashbacks, and they provide really good insight into Chloe's past, particularly with Lex.

These are my favorite bits:

Smell had always been the catalyst for her and his was like nothing else. Scotch mingled with aftershave twelve hours faded and lingering scents of expensive thread used in clothing that could pay for a semester’s college tuition.

Wonderful. I can actual smell it, and it moves me nearly as much as it does Chloe.

But she refused to relinquish even one thought to this strange summer’s approaching finality as his body moved in hers, she fought to ignore any moment but this one. Warm, sweat kissed skin pressing against her own, the sweet, torturous sensations of her building orgasm threatening to spill over, and the tremored whisper repeating in her ear like a prayer for his salvation, “Chloe, Chloe, Chloe…”

Lovely. Gave me chills.

In fact, that whole flashback was astoundingly rich with depth and significance--revealing a lot about who Lex and Chloe were back then. I can't wait to learn more about who they have become.

You've spoiled us with so many chapters so quickly, but I'm selfishly going to ask for even more.