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Thread: Nights Torn Mad with Footsteps (NC-17)

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    Nights Torn Mad with Footsteps (NC-17)

    Nights Torn Mad with Footsteps
    Author: beantree
    Rating: NC17 (eventually)
    Spoilers: Futurefic, with references to Covenant, Magnetic, Forsaken. You know, all the few and far between Chlexy scenes we get. ;-)
    Disclaimer: Smallville and its characters etc, aren’t mine. I’m just borrowing them.
    Feedback: I cannot express how grateful I am for any and all feedback.
    Summary: Lex and Chloe meet again years after her summer of hiding under dangerous circumstances.
    Author’s note: I cannot thank June enough for the inspiration to get my butt in gear and write this fic. Encouragement made all the difference.

    ***Chapter One***

    “What is it Sullivan?”

    His tone was sharp with irritation, familiar now in its incremental escalation this past year. Chloe could remember a time when he smiled seeing her face crane around his office door, beaming at his very own local hero, there to save the day once again. But that seemed like ages ago, when her stories only just began to pick up. Still small time enough to keep her out of trouble, but important enough to seem like social triumphs to the paper’s readership. He loved her then.

    “Lucious, I need you to look at these notes. I’m onto something big with this.”

    She shoved her preliminary outline onto his desk and sat down in front of him, not waiting for an invitation. When he didn’t pick it up right away she shifted her eyes to the papers meaningfully. Her editor sighed, leaning forward to take her offering with exaggerated reluctance.

    “Why can’t you ever come in here to tell me you’re taking an extended sabbatical to write the great American novel, or even just a day to deal with the nightmare you’ve made of your personal life, like all my other reporters? You’re exhausting, Sullivan, you know that?”

    “There’s you’re mistake Lou, I can’t write fiction for shit and I have no personal life. I live only to bring you misery.”

    Despite the levity, she knew the thin ice she was on. Her recent articles had created more than a little trouble with the people holding the reins on this city. Chloe could feel the blade of demotion waiting to drop and knew Lucious Cole was just bidding his time for the right excuse to knock her back down the ranks and take his own feet out of hot water.

    But the thrill of chasing a compelling story remained too potent an allure to her work. Feeling the rush of engaging a potential source, of getting that first solid tip. How she struggled with the pounding adrenaline, brought on by hints of fear and delight, to stifle inappropriate giggles during critical interviews. Her dreams were leaping into reality and she felt giddy. From crooked cops, to local crime rings, to misappropriated funds on community projects, her name became a staple on the front page and her reputation in Gotham was growing. But as the praise began to roll in, her confidence increased and the aggressive bent behind the pursuit of her stories was accelerating.

    People were starting to learn her name. Sources were beginning to seek her out, but suddenly they were coming from positions with access to considerable information, resulting in the subject matter of her exposés reaching into higher and higher levels of influence in the city. Before she could get a handle on the subtle shifts in her reputation, she went from the Gotham Gazette’s rising star to its most serious liability. Still, she couldn’t imagine compromising her work just because some crooked assholes with bank accounts and some power were squirming. Then again, she had never been very good at the diplomatic aspects of newspaper work. Some more omniscient part of herself saw the self-destruction waiting at the end of this furious path, but she refused to confront the inevitability.

    But her unexamined fears were being confirmed right before her eyes as Lucious’ face began dropping shades of color the further he progressed in the study of her notes. Chloe started fidgeting in her seat watching him, felt the unbearable need to defend the importance of her story.

    “Lou, I know this guy, this Dr. Warner. But when I knew him his name was Garner. He had a neurological facility called Summerholt back then, doing the same kind of Mengele inspired mind control research on unwilling subjects. But now, somehow, he’s gotten the U.S. government to fund this medical research firm in Gotham. Or maybe the government recruited him, I’m not sure about that aspect yet, but regardless…Harrow Institute is conducting illegal experiments with the full knowledge and consent of the Gotham City Council. The feds have laid down money for the construction of the facility, all the research costs, and still had enough to give Gotham a few hefty subsidies to house the Institute. Those federal grants stink of bribe money, and what better place than Gotham to count on those making the big decisions to just take the money and look the other way? I’ve already done ninety percent of the background in an old article of mine, I just need to get in touch with the Daily Planet and…”

    “Stop.” Her editor’s voice boomed in the small office and Chloe felt her body jump from the force of the word. The sound of tearing paper filled the silence of her shock. He was ripping up her notes.

    “What are you doing?” her voice quiet, curious and the atmosphere of the room took on a sharp seriousness she wasn’t prepared for.

    “I want you out of this office. Out of the building. You’re fired.” His voice ice cold.

    “What?” She was breathless, her mind desperately trying to wrap around what was happening.

    “I want you to leave a list of everyone you’ve gotten information from regarding this issue.”

    “Issue? You mean name my sources. You’re crazy. This is insane. Lou…”

    “Don’t test me Miss Sullivan.”

    She stood abruptly, the familiarity of his last words pushing her into silence. Wishing righteous indignation was the reason she felt so compelled to leave the room as quickly as possible, she reached urgently for the door handle. But as Lucious moved out from behind his desk, grabbing her tightly by the arm, a strange and long buried olfactory memory flooded her. Imported hair product and top shelf cigars. It was fear. An old, deep fear that brought the sensation of a veil being pulled back for a fleeting instant to reveal something vast and complicated that she didn’t even know was there, but swinging shut again before she could make any sense of what she saw.

    “Oh god. You too, Lucious?” her question held a certain timber of heartache. She had trusted this man.

    “Careful Chloe. This line you just stepped over isn’t the last one left to cross in this. If you walk away now at least you can find comfort in the knowledge that someone will be left to mourn you.”

    Her heart contracted in an unanticipated rush of terror at his words. Any fire she clung to drained into despair. Threats were part of the job and she had been the recipient of quite a few. But hate mail spouting vague retributions and a handful of barely coherent phone calls were worlds apart from this venomous ultimatum given by a man she worked with for four years, who she thought of as someone to help guide her career, someone who would protect her. She wondered if this thinly veiled death threat was his own impulse toward self-preservation or if he too had a role as a cog in this machine of corruption the city ran on. The thought brought back a small swell of indignant resolve as she ripped her arm out of his grip and moved out of his office into the bullpen.

    “I’ll just see myself out then,” spoken in a cheeky tone, loud enough for her co-workers to hear. She suddenly felt the need for witnesses. Paranoia honed from years of living with risk.

    Walking quietly to her desk, she grabbed only what she needed, making an effort to preserve composure for the benefit of the curious eyes watching her retreat. As she exited the building, she half expected security to detain her, but made it to the car and out on the road without interference. She hoped that was a good sign but feared the opposite was true.

    ***Chapter Two***

    Dana, she had to talk to Dana. Reassure her, warn her, something. This woman had risked so much in contacting her. She deserved to have an idea of what was just set into motion. Most likely Dr. Patrick had no conception of how far-reaching the sins of her employer stretched when she came to Chloe, bothered by experiments being touted as studies on memory and brain activity. “Not memory at all,” she had said, nervously twisting the keys in her hands, “mind control. Worse than that, mind rape. These test subjects aren’t at the institute voluntarily. They were targeted for research because of their gifts.

    ”Gifts?” Chloe had asked, already knowing the kinds of “gifts” Dana referred to. Mutants, geniuses…aliens. Chloe felt her body prickle uncomfortably with a rush of the past. As far as she knew, only one of the latter existed and she hoped he would never find himself anywhere near that kind of “research.” Though, with all the publicity he was getting these days, she wasn’t too worried. But things had a way of changing in an instant. She laughed dryly as she searched for Dana’s number on her phone. Certainly she knew that better than anyone at the moment.

    “Hello?” the voice on the other end sounded strained.

    “Dana? It’s Chloe Sullivan. Something’s happened, this story…”

    “I know,” the woman interrupted with false calm in her voice, “Can you meet me in twenty minutes? There’s a coffee shop across from the Institute, I could use a break.”

    “Is everything okay?” Her voice was so controlled. It was unnatural.

    “Great, I’ll see you soon.” Then dial tone. Shit. Bad. Very bad.

    ***

    “Dr. Patrick, please. We have an appointment.” Chloe saw the woman blanche at the name, but cover the slip quickly with a perfectly practiced smile of condescension.

    She had driven through three stoplights to get to the coffee shop, but as the minutes ticked by-- five, ten, twenty-- Chloe had realized Dana would not be meeting her. The panic that had been slowly growing around her escalated sharply, her eyes wandering to fix on the building across the way. Harrow Research Institute. The dark, imposing façade looked like armor designed to keep the world out and secrets in. Chloe found the impulse to cross the street overwhelming in that moment, but now, inside the cold, clinical lobby, she wondered what she expected to accomplish by coming here.

    “I’m sorry, that name doesn’t sound familiar. Do you know what department she works in?”

    “Dana Patrick. She’s a fellow here.” The keys tapped lightly under the woman’s hands, stopping short a moment later.

    This was a mistake.

    “The database indicates that there is no Dr. Patrick employed at this facility. But you say you have an appointment? What is your name please?”

    The woman’s voice remained casual, cold as she picked up the phone at her desk, pressing only one button. Obviously not an extension.

    This was more than a mistake.

    Backing toward the entrance hastily, Chloe barely mumbled an “I guess I was mistaken.” Before bursting through the double doors, unsuccessfully fighting the urge to sprint for her car.

    God Damn Lucious.

    ***

    It was a miracle she wasn’t pulled over on the drive home, a reckless race to her apartment, but there was no relief there either. Instant sensations of vertigo hit her as she stood in front of the slightly ajar door. A sharp, frustrated kick revealed the extent to which the news of her snooping had spread. Wall to wall disaster. They worked so fast.

    One foot following the other, she stepped lightly though the carnage, almost reverently regarding the scene. A powerful rush of defeat hit her and she wondered for the first time if she could just walk away from this, whether dropping this inquiry would make her a coward or a realist. The world was not a just place after all. She never had any illusions about that. One could only fight so much before more powerful forces came to impose their will, with or without consent. Maybe this was that very moment in her life where doing the smart thing, the sane thing, was as simple as taking up no other cause than self-preservation. Really, who did she think she was anyway? A woman whose judgment had gotten her life to the point where she would sacrifice everything for a fucking newspaper article with barely a second thought. Madness.

    She entered her bedroom, sheets stripped from her mattress, pages from books torn and scattered over the floor. Though she knew they hadn’t found anything connected to Harrow Institute, she had no idea what personal information they had gathered on her in this little search. Numbness settled in as she leaned back on the wall for support and let herself slide down to the floor. The momentary release from emotion allowed her to catch a glimpse of herself.

    She couldn’t ignore the story.

    The realization was agony.

    Even now, surrounded on all sides by the destruction of her worldly possessions, she understood that she was incapable of letting Harrow go. Reporting was the only constancy in her life; she had nothing else. A shutter jostled through as her selfish motivations confronted her. She chose years ago to isolate herself from everything she’d known and loved, all to avoid making a decision to change. And here she was again, willing to walk right into the mouth of the dragon, prepared to drag others with her, all in order to cling to the only thing she had left, the perception of her own identity.

    She needed to talk to Lois.

    ***Chapter Three***

    She felt cold despite the temperate breeze betraying the onset of early spring. It seemed to have taken years to get here, though it had only been twelve short hours of driving back roads and small state highways from Gotham to her cousin’s apartment in Metropolis. She’d swiped some poor motorist’s front license plate in an impulsive moment of panic. But there was no helping having to take her own car. She wasn’t ready to graduate into car theft just for the sake of caution that may or may not be warranted. Prayers that she remained undetected were less comforting travel companions than she hoped they would be, but she made it free and clear as far as she could tell.

    She hadn’t been back here in years and the city of her birth was completely foreign to her now. Smooth clean surfaces with blade-like metallic sheen were a sharp contrast to the rotting, rusted insides creeping outward in her adopted home. After a tumultuous freshman year at Met U she transferred and never looked back, but Metropolis brought back a familiar rush she missed during all those absent years. She turned away from Lois’s apartment complex for a moment. Hesitant to face the vacuum that time has a habit of creating in relationships. Hastily scribbled postcards every few months were all that was left of their bond that in childhood had seemed so untouchable. The last postcard she sent had been over a year ago. She felt guilt sting her as she looked out at the familiar skyline taking over on every side. LexCorp Tower dominated the lesser buildings, not so subtly intimating the source of the power and influence keeping this town a shining beacon of prosperity. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine Lex standing before a wall of picture windows on some penthouse level floor, looking out over this city of his, a small smile on his lips. But even in her imagined vision, his eyes remained haunted. She turned suddenly, fleeing her thoughts and resolutely pressed the buzzer, determined to face the music of her extended absence.

    By the fourth buzz, she decided against her whole plan. Panic fluttered at the edge of her mind. Where else to go? Nowhere. But she refused to let the worry in, knew that one fear would spiral into thousands. Such a weakness was not a possibility at the moment. She couldn’t bring Lois into this. It wasn’t a fair burden to place on her. On anyone. Noticing an approaching figure, she sidestepped, trying to let the individual pass, but their movements were mirrored and they ran *smack* into one another.

    “Hey, watch…” the woman stopped mid-sentence, dropping the bag in her arm, her mouth fighting for words through shock. “Oh my g…,” she managed before gathering Chloe to her, her hug a vice grip. As relief of the familiar washed over her, Chloe let herself sink into the hug and catch a bit of a giggle off Lois’ tearful laughs of amazement. So she was this selfish after all, there was a time when she would have guessed herself to be stronger.

    “Let’s take this reunion inside.”

    ***Chapter Four***

    Lois couldn’t stop staring. It had been more than seven years since she laid eyes on her cousin and although there was no question as to the identity of the woman sitting before her, Lois couldn’t help but be a little amazed by how time had changed Chloe. Memories of their long past childhood together seemed barely more than dreams to her now.

    Once they had been so much alike.

    Unsuspecting strangers asking the undividable girls if they were sisters were always treated to insanely unreasonable tales of their dramatic history.

    “We were separated at birth, you know”
    “Yeah, grew up on different continents, but fate brought us together.”

    “Our father led a double life. Two wives, two daughters, a complete scoundrel!”
    “We didn’t know about each other until his funeral when both of our families met. Now we’re
    inseparable.”


    For years they would get good-humored laughs, condescending pats on the head. But as they’d grown, their stories became impossibly tangled webs that walked the line of plausibility so tightly, those they told would find their faces falling in confusion, unsure of whether to believe or not.

    Lois could remember how Chloe would grasp her hand behind the barrier of their backs in conspiracy, in the triumph of another successful deception. It was a memory she loved, a perfect moment of a simple and true bond. When Chloe had moved to Smallville at the age of 13 the loss had been acute. Teenage politics and posturing had taken over and Lois had learned to take up the mantle of perfection to protect herself. Friendships like the one she shared with Chloe had eluded her after that. Eventually, whenever they did find chances to visit, people stopped asking if they were sisters. Lois supposed they never really looked alike, though they both resembled their mothers, sisters themselves. But Lois had inherited her father’s dark thick hair which she wore long and straight down her back, while Chloe kept her ever-blonder locks short and wild in those days. Trite as it seemed, without their little game to play the depth faded.

    Strange that now they looked more similar than they had in years. But even so, seeing Chloe was almost like looking at a stranger. The once bleach-blond let her hair grow long and darken with age. The brilliant white was now more of a tawny gold and darker streaks lingered in her hair from a lowlight job two months past due for a touch up at the salon. They could probably take up their old game with significant success. The thought numbed her.

    Still… Chloe seemed so faded. Distraction haunted her eyes to the extent that Lois could practically see her mind jumping from thought to thought with little connection. Chloe was operating on exhaustion and was having a lot of trouble hiding it. Lois fought off a smile at the thought that even after all these years she could still read the subtle physical tells that Chloe had never learned to conceal. She was running on excitement, on fear. It was so obvious she had discovered something, a big something. Definitely something she couldn’t handle on her own, though she would be loathe to admit it. And maybe that was why she was here now. Of course it was. After a year and a half of no word, why else?

    “What are you smiling about?” So she hadn’t fought off the smile after all, it felt too good to know someone so well. She hadn’t had that in a long time.

    “You don’t have to tell me you know. I can mind my own business.” She quipped instead of answering her cousin’s question.

    “Ha! If only that were true. Besides, you know I’m going to tell you.”

    “Because you need something.”

    “Because I need something.”

    Neither party had ever been able to deny the other a serious request, not once in their lives. Even now their relationship retained that much. There was still so much loyalty there; they had always been able to rely on one another.

    “So tell me.”

    “Tomorrow Lois. It’s already late…”

    “It’s eight thirty, Chloe.” Her voice lacked the humor she intended to put in the statement and she watched Chloe’s body stiffen at the words. She looked like she wanted to jump up and run right out of there, but instead she spoke. Her voice was halting and uncomfortable.

    “I’m afraid of what might happen if I tell you.”

    “But you want to tell someone?” Lois felt confusion scratch at her thoughts. What was this exactly? Both of their smiles dropped away, playfulness gone for the moment.

    “No,” Chloe’s eyes found hers, sharp and bright, they held a steely warning that changed the earlier confusion into a feeble fear, “I need to tell you.”

    So Lois wasn’t a random choice for this impromptu visit. A part of her felt she should be insulted that Chloe would need a reason greater than simple trust to come to her, but the thought passed quickly, unexamined. Chloe leaned back into the chair, sighing in discomfort at the inevitability surrounding the impending conversation. Chloe really didn’t want to tell her did she? The realization made Lois shift uncomfortably in her seat. Maybe she didn’t want to know.

    “Do you remember that year in high school when I had a column with the Daily Planet?”

    Of course she remembered; the year of ever increasing trauma. Chloe’s freshman year at Met U had reunited them briefly and Lois had learned a lot about her cousin’s high school days, maybe more than she wanted to know.

    “I tried to get a story published, but Lionel had already… I couldn’t publish the thing under my own name without the paper facing retribution from Lionel so I told my editor, Max, to print it under a pseudonym. But now I need that article.”

    “Why not just pull it up from the archives?”

    “It never actually made it to print.”

    “Why not?”

    “Max Taylor was killed before there was a chance...”

    “Jesus,” Lois sighed. Death followed Chloe around like a virus, “So they won’t just let you walk in and ask for an article submitted almost ten years ago that never was published? Fascists.”

    “They might, but I highly doubt it. I may have to prove that I’m the person whose name is on the piece before they give it to me. And even then there may be issues surrounding who officially owns the article, but I’m hoping they won’t care. Jesus, I’m hoping they still have it.”

    “Chloe, whose name is on the article?” Caution in her voice, she had just caught on.

    “Yours. I’m sorry. I would never ask you to do this, but if I waltz into the Daily Planet right now, I have a feeling there’s going to be someone waiting there to shut me up. If you go, it will arouse less suspicion because your name is already on the article. Plus, I have a friend who works there. He doesn’t have a whole lot of access, but he might be able to help you.”

    “Oh lord, so I’m going to be the one walking in, asking for information that may or may not tip off that certain someone waiting to put you in the river to my presence. You have to have duplicates of this.” Lois watched Chloe cringe slightly at her words.

    “My computer had some security issues back when I wrote the article, being property of Luthor Corp and all.”

    “But you backed it up, right?”

    “I loaned my copy to a friend, but the disk never made it back to me.” Lois saw her cousin’s face darken as her last words trailed off and decided not to ask which friend that might have been. Instead she sighed lightly, trying to fend off the escalating anxiety of the conversation.

    “And here I thought you were the queen of copies, upon copies, upon copies, so things like this wouldn’t happen.”

    “How do you think I picked up that habit?”

    Lois smiled at her cousin. What a mess she was. But through the chaos of her situation, here was a brilliant, driven woman, exuding a breezy confidence in her own skin that she didn’t even seem aware of. An amazing mess. Chloe’s gaze lingered on Lois’ face for a moment, a bit of emotion emerging in her eyes.

    “It’s good to see you Lois.”

    She felt her own eyes tear up, but suppressed the impulse to give in to nostalgia.

    “Alright, what was this article about and why are we now in mortal peril? I want to know what I’m getting into before I inevitable agree to help you.”

    Instead of smiling at her attempted humor, Chloe sighed, conflict emerging on her face just for a moment before she started in on the story of the last 48 hours.

    ***

    Light footsteps rustling over the carpet, a foretaste to the knock on the door. It was morning already.

    “Chloe,” whisper, “you awake?”

    “As always.”

    The room was cold and half of the bed was offered, then accepted as an invitation to warmth. No comforting touch that in youth would have been given without question, just space and eyes searching the ceiling between them.

    “You left because you anticipated something like this would happen. Didn’t want to be a hazard to those around you.”

    “That’s what I told myself, but as much as I wish selflessness was my primary motivation, I had other reasons.”

    “I know.”

    “Do you?”

    “You were never as subtle about matters of the heart as you imagined yourself to be. Especially concerning Lex Luthor.”

    A small choking laugh filled with tears sprang up, parting the air around them.

    “You should go see him while you’re in town.”

    “No, there are too many years separating us now. Besides, we have a secret mission to complete.”

    “Oh right, right. Well, let’s put on our super-spy cat suits and get going, shall we?”

    Humor cutting through layers of anxiety surrounding their dubious reunion, through doubts that they were nothing more than strangers now.

    The sun lingered behind the haze of new the morning sky. Cold enough to bring shivers through layers of clothing. The streets silent and deserted at the early hour.

    “We should get your car off the street and into the garage, less prying eyes and whatnot.”

    “I’ll move it.”

    “Okay. No wait, you don’t know the punch code. Give me your keys. Here, you can move mine out to the street and I’ll pull yours into my spot. Phase One of Covert Operation Sullivan-Lane.”

    “I’m glad you’re enjoying this so much.” But the truth was, they were both high spirited in these first moments.

    A chugging sputter, followed by light laughter, hit the air.

    “I swear to god, Chlo, you should just get rid of this piece of shit. It won’t even start.”

    “Here, let me see.” Steps reversing, moving back towards the chokes of a stubborn ignition.

    Then blinding light and scorching heat and blackness.
    ************************************************** **********************************
    Her heartbeat coming down off the nightmare, she took in deep breaths. Shaking the feeling of smoke filling her lungs and fire consuming her flesh came easier these days. In the beginning, she couldn’t make the shift into the waking world quite as easily. But if nothing else, she had the opportunity to let time fade the terror. Being in this place barely seemed worth it.

    It was a lot of loneliness, a lot of thoughts she wished she didn’t have time to think, a lot of secrets whispered through the unreal tendrils of twilight. It was a constant electric realization that her innocence was being chipped away piece by piece in a manner that she never expected. The most horrible summer of her life. The most beautiful, destructive lessons learned about herself.

    *I know you won’t let anything happen to me.*

    But he had never guaranteed and she never expected him to. Only spoke those words in an attempt to make them both feel better. But upon hitting the air, her words lacked any of the comfort they seemed to carry when in her head. The summer had been a disaster, but not in the manner she had foreseen. Without her father there to give her a reason to act as though everything in her life were roses, without Clark there to prove herself an expert in all things for, without Lana there to bring out the façade of ‘sister’, without the Torch to distract her racing, jumping mind, all she had left was herself. Oh, and Lex, but that had come later. Nearly a month later, walking into her little cottage, very pale and shaky. His eyes blurry and shifting. The relief of being distracted by the arrival of another human being, melted into a strange fear. Something was wrong with him. There was a reason he hadn’t been to see her.

    “Jesus, he got to you too,” she whispered.

    But Lex had shrugged off the hand she placed on his forearm and proceeded to talk strategy. Only strategy. Her role in this, his. How long she would be there. She knew he could only guess really, but he spoke with such finality. An unalterable plan firmly in his mind, mechanically conveyed to her. But he wouldn’t look in her eyes, gave her nothing comforting to latch onto before he hurried away. And she hated him for it. There was so much pain in his movement, stiff and weak as he moved slowly around her cottage, surveying the accommodations. She felt bitterness rise up in her.

    *Don’t shut me out of this. If you walk out of here without telling me what is going on, I swear to god…,*

    But she didn’t speak, just watched him breeze in and out again with the promise of laptops and laser printers as he slipped his trembling hands into the pockets of his slacks. He’d noticed her staring.
    So she was alone again, unable to slide Lex comfortably into her mind as a constant then, she felt worse for his visit than she had at the stretch of seemingly unending solitude of the month before.

    She still remembered that first day with wretched clarity. Only hours before she and her father were scheduled to be driven to the safe house, Lex had called. An efficient, hurried voice telling her about explosions rigged throughout the house, telling her that he had the whole thing under control. His instructions were to go with the feds, as planned. He didn’t bother with details and she didn’t bother telling her father anything was amiss. Funny how they all seemed to be keeping each other on a need to know basis. Chloe figured her father didn’t need to know their danger level had skyrocketed, Lex figured she didn’t need to know the specifics of how he planned to keep her alive, and Chloe figured Lex didn’t need to know she already knew the feds were dirty and planned for her father and her to be long gone before morning. Until Lex’s phone call. She wished her instincts weren’t so keen to put trust in him, she could smell the half-truths in everything he said, but for some reason she listened. She always listened.

    She woke up that morning plastic and silent after hours of pretending she was asleep. She even fooled herself a few times, a trick she eventually learned to perfect in a summer’s worth of sleepless nights. Her father was obviously less accomplished than she at self-delusion. The purple bags under his eyes gave him away. He was twitchy and too bright for seven o’clock in the morning, filling her silence with endless babble and too enthusiastic chuckles, but his face remained tight. And as much as she wanted to ease his discomfort, she couldn’t play along that morning.

    The feds drove them in silence as her father cracked hideous witness protection jokes to an unreceptive audience. God, she loved him. This sweet man, hell bent on embarrassing her, willing to do anything in this world for her, trying to make light moments even at this dark time. Her heart was breaking as she watched him in the seat next to her and on impulse she slid her hand into his.

    “I love you, Dad.” And for a moment his chatter stopped and he looked at her with surprised, damp eyes.

    “I love you too, pumpkin,” barely a whisper and from those words she heard more than just anxiety, she heard naked terror. The realization made her heart sink –*and he doesn’t even know what I know*.

    Moments later his feelings of fear seemed justified. The van stopped abruptly and they were hustled out, passing from the hands of one group of black clad cronies to another, the new vehicle driving them away almost an exact copy of the last. Friends and enemies so identical, there seemed no difference. One of the men’s voices, low and serious spoke into a walkie-talkie fastened to his shoulder.

    “Exchange has been made, set it off.”

    She turned to watch the ‘safe house’, less than a mile out of range, go up in flames. Her father nearly jumped out of his skin beside her, not expecting the explosion. His head whipped around, eyes wide and mouth agape seeing the column of smoke and flame rising in the receding distance. He wasn’t making jokes anymore.

    Chloe slumped back against the seat, not wanting to watch what should have been their fiery death any longer. Her father’s fist was grabbing the sleeve of her shirt in a vice grip, an absent reaction originating from some protective instinct. They drove silently on for a long time before her father began to break out of his shock, and Chloe could see the anger bubbling up to mask his fear.

    “Where are we going?” No answer, of course. These men were serious about their job. “Hello?”

    “Dad,” she whispered weakly, “just…”

    “No, Chloe. I want to know what is going on. For all I know we’re being kidnapped. We don’t know who these people are working for.” His voice was loud, agitated. He wanted them to hear.

    “Dad,” she pulled softly at his jacket, “they’re with Lex.” He ignored her mummer for a moment, not hearing it at first, but turned to look at her suddenly.

    “Lex? How do you know that?”

    “He warned me last night. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t have any details. I felt there wasn’t much point,” the words sounded cruel and poorly conceived as she said them.

    Her father’s eyes flickered confusion and hurt. As he began to speak, the car pulled to a stop and they were unceremoniously yanked from the vehicle onto a small airfield. A helicopter descended almost immediately. Her father turned his head from one man to another, grasping Chloe’s arm tightly, even as they tried to lead him toward the ‘copter.

    “I’m sorry sir, our orders are to put you on the bird.”

    “You’re separating us?!” he pulled her around his side, blocking part of her body from their reach with his own.

    “It’s okay,” she kept her voice neutral.

    “Okay? I’m not going to let strangers take my daughter to who knows where.” His voice was taking on a tinge of hysteria.
    .
    “Please sir.” --Please, Dad.--

    She was starting to feel sick. She had done this. She had done this to her father.

    “No,” he gritted and they gave up trying to reason and simply grabbed him by the arms, leading him away by force. “Chloe!” he screamed, fighting them, trying to get to her.

    She stood stock still, silently pleading for him to stop struggling. Once he was in the helicopter, shame washed over her as she turned away. Turned her back on her own father, she just couldn’t watch him so helpless and desperate. The men Lex had hired returned to lead her back to the car, drove her of to what would be her summer home of confinement. For the duration of the summer she never stopped dreaming of being trapped in that explosion, but somehow, the penance seemed more than appropriate.



    ***Chapter Five***

    A steady pattern of sound; that was the first thing. Something she found familiar and lulling. A tone repeating again, again, again.

    "She’s waking up."

    The brilliance of the light cut hard at her eyes. Her body felt heavy, immovable. Nothing made sense. She fought for focus, her mind struggling for any semblance of clarity with little success. Voices moved in and out of her awareness.

    "You stay, I’ll get the doctor."

    Movement, a door closing.

    “Hey,” A form loomed in front of her. “You’re going to be okay.”

    “What…?” her voice faltered, dry and graveled, “What happened?”

    “You’re in the hospital. There was an explosion.”

    A door opened, closed again. She was losing her focus quickly, the difficulty of concentration insurmountable.

    “How long have I been here?” she murmured, fighting to hold consciousness.

    “Three days,” she heard before slipping off into the void.

    ***

    When she woke again, her awareness was keener. A hospital room, of course. It seemed ludicrous she failed to identify her surroundings before. The stale, quiet air calmed her, made her feel contained and safe. She let her eyes wander slowly around the room, careful not to move her head too quickly and exacerbate the low throb residing there.

    “How are you feeling?” The voice startled her and she turned her head too quickly, wincing at the pressure it brought. She found a strikingly beautiful man sitting at her bedside. She knew him, every curve and plane of his face was intimately familiar. He met her eyes and let an unsuccessful smile make a play at his mouth, but the grief darkening his face didn’t seem able to allow the small gesture.

    “Actually, I don’t feel terrible. Whether I should thank the drugs or my own good luck, I’m not sure.”

    “Well, you, um, have been in and out of consciousness for the past four days. That hit to the head gave you a pretty serious concussion. Other than that, you seem to have only minor cuts and burns. As far as I know anyway. The doctors will only tell me so much, not being family. You’re very lucky, the force of the blast knocked you back pretty far. Probably saved your life.” His voice conveyed such kindness, but was almost hollow. She noticed his manner was painfully uncomfortable, eyes shifting around the room, fingers twisting the watch around his wrist. He wanted to tell her something, but couldn’t bring himself to say it.

    “What else?” she prompted, suddenly curious and tense.

    “I’m sorry, I should tell you who I am. My name is Clark Kent. We met briefly several years ago, but I don’t think you’d remember. I’m a friend of Chloe’s. I was…,” his voice choked over the correction, eyes swam briefly with the threat of tears, “I’m sorry Lois, your cousin died in that explosion. I—I wanted to be here to tell you when you woke up. It was the least I could do for her.”

    She opened her mouth, but words refused to come out. No. This was wrong. Some deeper instinct fought to understand why everything he was saying sounded false, but she couldn’t quite capture it.

    “Awake again, I see, and hopefully for good this time.” A scrubs clag figure interrupting the moment and Clark stood, heading for the door.

    “We’ll talk again later. I have some questions to ask you when you’re feeling better.” And she let him go. Squelching the desire to scream after him that she was the one with questions, that he couldn’t say something like that and just walk out. But medical personnel descended on her with tests to run and vital signs to record and she just let it happen, retreating into the chaos of her own jumbled thoughts.

  2. #2
    bored and dangerous Senior Member sabby's Avatar
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    Re: Nights Torn Mad with Footsteps (NC-17)

    Wow, this is good. This is a very good start and has me interested right away. You have more, right? I mean you just posted four chapters in a row, so there's got to be more. Come on now, I want to see how this continues.

  3. #3
    NS Full Member kimmie's Avatar
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    Re: Nights Torn Mad with Footsteps (NC-17)

    Whats going on? Is Chloe dead? No, she's the one in hospital right and they think she's Lois, am I getting this right? Anyway, I'm really intrigued, you've got me hooked, looking forward to reading the next update and the chlex, which is coming soon right?

    Kimmie

  4. #4
    Let's rub Lex's head! TheDragonLady's Avatar
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    Re: Nights Torn Mad with Footsteps (NC-17)

    I am so intrigued... I don't know how I really feel about this story. It's well written and incredible, but I think I'm too depressed at the moment to truly understand how good this story is... You're very talented.

  5. #5
    NS Full Member
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    Talking Re: Nights Torn Mad with Footsteps (NC-17)

    I'm a little confused here. Where is Chloe and is it Lois in the hospital bed?
    So many questions to a fantastic beginning. I'll be watching how this story develops.

  6. #6
    Spunky Chick Senior Member hfce's Avatar
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    Re: Nights Torn Mad with Footsteps (NC-17)

    What happened to Chloe? Is she gone? NOOOOOOOOOO More please...


    Hope
    "Everyone seems normal until you get to know them. "

  7. #7
    NS Full Member star del mar's Avatar
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    Re: Nights Torn Mad with Footsteps (NC-17)

    Well damn! That was the quite the beginning of a story. That was amazing, I got sucked in right away. The story line is intriguing not only because I can't wait to find out exactly what Chloe was looking into but because Lex is also entering the picture, besides Chloe can't be dead! The story just started Update again soon!

    Steph*

  8. #8
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    Re: Nights Torn Mad with Footsteps (NC-17)

    Squeal! OMG that was amazing! I love the plot so far....mistaken identities!!! Stupid Clark, can't recognize Chloe! One word....oblivious! I cant wait to read if Chloe realizes she's not Lois and what role Lex will play in all this chaos! Please quickly update!!! I can't wait for more!

  9. #9
    Lex's Devoted Love Slave darkangel's Avatar
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    Re: Nights Torn Mad with Footsteps (NC-17)

    This is good. They don't realise that she is Chloe. They are so stupid.

  10. #10
    NS Full Member teejei's Avatar
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    Re: Nights Torn Mad with Footsteps (NC-17)

    argh. it's Chloe, dammit!

    update please?

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