Bloodlines

Chapter 3

 

 

Still spattered in mud with salt caking his hair, Clark returned to London in time to catch the last of the pizza and a dish of coq au vin. Lois waved him over with a bottle of beer.

"Don't worry, we saved you one of the pizzas," she said.

"We've also determined that Chloe should never go into acting," said Pete.

"Hold that thought; I have to change." Clark zoomed to his room for his discarded clothes and ducked into one of the bathrooms. Cleaning up only took five seconds; he could wash the costume later. For now, he stuffed it into a side pocket in his luggage.

"You were saying about the videos?" he said as he sat down beside Lois.

"We can't see a pattern so far in terms of watching the videos in numerical order," said Lois. "We've tried putting them in alphabetical order and chronological in terms of dates created but there's nothing obvious."

"We think the code is probably in the actual words used in the rhymes," said Lana. "But without a code breaker, we don't know what to look for."

Clark turned to Conner. "Did your mom--" he didn't quite trip over the word-- "have a favourite type of cipher?"

The skin between Conner's eyebrows wrinkled. "We did a lot of Vigenère tables. They're a sort of super Caesar cipher but it needs a keyword."

Pete rubbed his eyes. "Boutboul's coming in half an hour. I think we should hear what he has to say then get some sleep. If nothing else, something might click in the morning."

Both Lois and Conner shook their heads violently. "We have to solve this as soon as possible," said Lois. "What if the bad guy's getting away as we speak?"

"If it was urgent, she wouldn't have coded it so well," said Clark.

"Let's vote on it," said Lana. "Everyone for leaving it alone until morning, raise your hands." Clark and Pete lifted their arms. "People for working on it all night." Lois and Conner's hands went up. "Okay. Then as the tie breaker, I say we wait to see what Mr. Boutboul says. I'll make up my mind then."

Lois leaned back on the couch, stretching her arms over her head. "Great, meanwhile, let's stare at each other and make awkward small talk."

"Lois," Clark admonished.

"Clark," she scolded back.

They argued silently for a few seconds before Lois threw her hands up. "Fine, TV it is then."

Clark stood up with her. "I should shower. Excuse me."

Conner stared after them "Is telepathy a superpower?"

"No," said Lois.

"Then how the hell did you two just fight without actually talking?"

"That's more of a Kent power. Hang around them long enough and you'll get it, too."

"Lois, you never mentioned how you and Clark came to work together," said Lana. "Were you classmates at Met U?"

Shaking her head, Lois said, "No, Clark never made it to Met U until his final year. He sort of... saw the world and took distance ed courses. He sold a lot of articles while he worked on his second job. I think he was planning to do that forever."

"What changed his mind?" asked Pete.

Lois weighed possible answers. "Various factors came into play but you'll have to ask him for details. I'm sure there are articles out there about it; just do a search on the web."

"Of course, but we do have Superman's favourite journalist here," said Lana.

"Superman gives equal interview opportunities to all journalists not just the Planet," Lois shot back. "It's not my fault other papers don't take advantage of his availability."

Pete held his hands up. "It's just an observation, not an accusation. If you can't talk about it, just say so. I think we've established that we're all well-versed in keeping secrets."

Deflating a bit, Lois said, "I'm just so used to lying about it that telling the truth feels wrong."

"I thought Superman never lied," said Conner archly.

"He doesn't. That's my job."

"I came back because of the Zoners," Clark said as he re-entered the common room.

"Dude! Quickest shower ever," Conner noted.

"Years of practice with finicky plumbing. That is, on good days when Lois hasn't taken all the hot water."

"It's not my fault you're freakishly tall," said Lois. "Word to the wise, Junior. You might want to skip your Wheaties unless you want to be the size of a midget giraffe like this guy over here."

"You're just sore because my name came before yours in our last article, Lane."

"The score's still seventy-three to seventy in my favour, Smallville."

"That's not saying a lot considering you had a year's head start."

"Maybe if you didn't drop out after first year, you wouldn't be behind."

By now, Lois and Clark were nose to nose, grinning maniacally. Sexual tension thickened the air to the point where even Conner looked uncomfortable.

"Clark, you were saying about the Zoners?" Lana asked, attempting to steer the conversation back on track.

He tore his attention away from Lois with visible effort. "Pete, you'd moved away by then but I think Chloe must've told you about the criminals that I released from the Phantom Zone."

"By accident," both Lois and Lana added. "Don't you dare do the sheepish guilt thing again," Lois continued. "One metaphorical headline about Atlas and he really thinks that the whole world is in his hands."

Turning to Pete, Clark said, "I spent two years chasing Zoners around the world but I inevitably found myself back in Metropolis. Ollie and the others had been doing their... extracurricular activities for a while then and I knew I needed their help. They agreed to help on the condition that I do research for them in return especially about a certain entrepreneurial shark concentrated in the area."

Lois jumped in the narrative. "I kind of replaced Chloe as his researcher until I told him that I had a life."

Clark snorted.

"Then, he also needed a place to stay since he barely bothered to go back to the farm so I lent him the couch."

"She wasn't trained well enough to know that couches go to the owner and beds to the guest."

"He spent so much time in the Planet's bullpen that Perry just gave him a desk. Next thing I know, he's sitting right across from me, sharing my byline."

"The rest is history," ended Lana.


Mist coated everything in a fine sheen of cold water the morning of Chloe's funeral. As per her instructions, she wanted the wake and the funeral in one day so, hard as it was to believe, this would all be over in five hours. Lana arranged everything. Clark shouldn't have been surprised; she'd been managing people since sophomore year.

For a virtual nomad, Chloe amassed a lot of friends. Field journalists were a tight bunch, competitive as hell when there was a story but bonded by experiences that no one, not even other journalists, could understand. They filed in, laughing a little too loudly and drinking a little too much. The war journalists left before the actual burial; they always did.

The kids -- Clark felt ancient referring to them like that -- mostly stayed in the main waiting area, congregated around the small refreshment and snack table. They seemed to be trying to cheer Conner up, their voices subdued but with an occasional tremulous smile or a friendly punch to the arm.

Lois, seeing the direction of his gaze, said, "He might've gotten his looks from you but he got his social skills from Lana by osmosis."

Clark arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Conner's got three girls hanging off of his arms and another one looking for a strategic yet socially acceptable place to snuggle."

"He's young; he'll learn to value quality over quantity." Turning back around to face front, Clark stretched an arm across her shoulders. "How much longer until you're ready to go up there?"

Lois shook her head stiffly. "Five minutes after never. There's something intrinsically wrong with this entire scenario. Did you know wakes were traditionally a preventative measure against live burials? It was apparently quite common before ECG machines and licensed professionals could distinguish between dead and alcoholic coma. In light of modern technology, I think we should do away with the practice altogether. It's kind of ghoulish, don't you think?"

Rubbing her shoulder lightly, Clark said, "I can't believe she's gone either."

A commotion at the refreshment table drew their attention once more. One of Conner's friends appeared to have lost control of her kneecaps. She giggled as she fell into Conner's arms, gazing up at him fatuously. Conner's other friends roared in laughter, garnering glares from the adults.

"I'll see what's going on," Clark said, standing up.

Conner's irritation changed focus from the girl to Clark he approached.

"I can't believe that's your dad," said one of Conner's male friends, his voice a touch too loud. "He's an utter swot."

Clark adjusted his glasses. "Would you and your friends like to go outside for a while?" he asked in his Metropolis-pitched voice.

"We'll be fine," said Conner. He hitched his floppy kneed friend higher in his arms.

"O-Okay but keep it down, please?"

The stutter set s few of the teenagers into convulsions of laughter. Conner blushed but didn't say anything. "I can handle this. Believe it or not, I survived fine before you came."

It was easy to look hurt. Clark hunched his shoulders and studied his shoes. "It's not for me, really, I mean, I know it's hardly appropriate and I'm not exactly hip and happening or anything much and whatever swotty is I-I suppose that's me but I guess I just assumed you wouldn't want to make a ruckus at your mom's, uh, you know." He peered up at Conner over his glasses.

The boy's lips pressed into a thin line. "Yeah. We're out of here."

Half-carrying the most inebriated of his friends, Conner led the others to the door. Clark fiddled with his glasses, and sighed. That wasn't what he wanted to say but there were too many people here and he didn't want to risk Conner's temper getting the best of his mouth.

The kids barely reached the entrance when Conner yelled out. The girl in his arms completely lost consciousness, dropping to the floor. Conner went down with her, his hand under her head for protection. Clark ran to his side, his long legs getting him there in seconds even without using superspeed.

The girl convulsed, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

Clark caught the eye of a gaping adult. "Call 999!" Then to Conner: "Keep her head still. How much did she have to drink?"

"One cup of punch." At Clark's raised eyebrows, Conner swore. "I wouldn't lie about that. Not now! We all had one or two cups and then everyone started acting weird."

"How do you feel?" Clark asked.

Conner shook his head. "I, uh, only had a sip. I don't like kiwi."

Lois kneeled beside them, Lana and Pete at her heels. "The ambulance is on its way. What's up?"

"Someone must've put something in the punch."

"Yeah, I doubt this was a mass allergic reaction to kiwi spritzer. Oh crap, incoming!"

One of the boys slumped against the wall, slid to the ground and vomited all over himself.

To Clark's surprise, Lana immediately took charge. "If I could have everyone's attention: apparently, someone saw the surname Sullivan, assumed this was an Irish wake and upended a gallon of whisky in the punchbowl. It would be best if you throw your drinks and stick to unopened bottles or cans at least until after three o' clock."

The nervous guests chuckled, their tension alleviated.

"Leave it to Chloe to have a mystery even in her own funeral," Pete said, his smile brittle.

Clark tried to smile as well but couldn't quite manage it.

"I'll guard the punchbowl to make sure the police can sample it," said Lois. "Junior, mind helping me out?"

"My friends--" Conner said.

"Pete and Clark have them. Let's go make sure no one else gets sick."

Surprisingly, Conner stuck to Lois' side even during the trip to the hospital. Only when Clark suggested calling the kids' parents did he head out of the waiting area.

"Where are you going?" Clark asked, tripping on a shoelace as he caught up.

"To call Gemma's parents," said Conner. "And everyone else's. I have their numbers on my cell and... did you think I was going to run?"

Clark blinked at the sudden change of tone from guilt to anger in no time flat. "I thought nothing of the sort. Maybe you'd like me to speak with them. Parents tend to take news like this better from other adults."

"They're my friends, my responsibility."

"That's very noble of you. All the more reason why I should do it." Clark held his hand out for the cell phone. "Stand right beside me if you want; you'll be able to hear the conversation that way."

The first phone call went to the parents of the girl who went into convulsions, Gemma. Gemma's mother went into a spate of German vitriol so heated that Clark winced. Even his deepest contacts in the East European mobs didn't use language like that. Conner twisted a corner of his shirt around his thumb, tight enough to rip.

"She's going to kill me," he said mournfully.

Clark covered the mike. "Aren't you more afraid of her mom?"

"Gemma can swear in English and German. It sounds worse when she mixes it."

After giving Gemma's father the details as he knew them and assuring him of his daughter's safety, Clark hung up. "Is she your girlfriend?"

Conner tamed the alarmed look on his face. "No way. She's high maintenance. We just hang. Besides, I'm too young to be tied down to one girl."

It was really difficult not to roll his eyes but Clark managed. By the sixth and final phone call, Lois joined them outside.

"The doctors have results back from the your friends' blood test," she said, crossing her arms. "There was enough rohypnol in that one girl's system to flatten a whole cheerleading squad. Are there cheerleaders in England?"

"Rohypnol ?" Conner repeated.

Clark pushed his glasses up. "Also known as roofie or date-rape drug. It's the reason why clubs in most countries have mandatory seals on the drinks they sell. There was a huge spate of druggings in ten to twenty years ago for robberies and rapes."

"You guys were at the food most of the time. Did you see anyone hamper with the punchbowl?" Lois asked Conner.

"You don't think my friends and me did it?" Conner asked bitterly.

Lois lifted a hand to count off her reasoning. "Now you could be horrified that you over-dosed the bowl but why would everyone else drink it? You could be getting high but roofies are expensive since the bans and there are easier, cheaper ways to trip out. Also, you've probably discovered that you can't get poisoned unless the toxin's measured in barrels but you wouldn't purposefully OD your friends. But mostly I believe you because you're Chloe's kid and I highly doubt that she'd raise someone who'd do something like this."

"We should alert the police. They'll be able to-- What's wrong with calling the police, Conner?" Clark asked, seeing panic flit across Conner's face.

"Nothing," Conner quickly replied. "I... might have sort of helped myself to some crisps and things once. But only once I swear. One day, I mean. It might not have been one store."

"And you got caught?"

"One of my friends did and I was trying to help him get away." He twisted the undamaged corner of his shirt around his thumb, peeking up at Clark and Lois through his bangs.

A pang of regret shot through Clark's chest but before he said anything, Lois punched his arm. "Ease up, you two. You're acting like he invented shoplifting."

"That's not the point," said Clark. "Conner's not like other teenagers. He has a responsibility towards his powers and the attitude he presents to--"

"Just because you were born the perfect boy scout, it doesn't mean everyone can live up to it." Lois rubbed the exact spot she'd punched. "Conner's sorry for doing that and he'll never do it again, right?"

Conner shook his head, paused, then nodded just as frantically.

"Besides, the issue here is finding the person who slipped ten mickeys in the punch. I don't care how new you are to this game but no one puts that much rohypnol in a drink. Not unless you were planning to--" Graphically, Lois drew a line across her throat.

"No way." Conner's eyes went as wide as dinner plates. "Why? There's no reason to hurt my friends."

"Not your friends," said Clark with dawning realisation. "You. Whoever went after Chloe and Boutboul must think you have information, too."

"What makes you think that something's happened to Mr. Boutboul?"

"I wasn't sure until now," Clark admitted. "Think about it: he's followed Chloe's instructions to the letter until last night. We can't get his cell phone and his office in Vienna says that he's scheduled to be here until tomorrow. He didn't strike me as the type of person who'd skip out on a job."

"Maybe he saw the information that Chloe had for us and decided to reap the rewards himself," said Lois.

"Call it a gut instinct."

"Does your gut instinct say that Boutboul's in trouble or that he's an honest guy?"

Clark looked her in the eyes. "He's in great danger."

Lois nodded decisively. "We'll ask the police for a missing persons report and recent attacks on anyone of Boutboul's description. We should also alert the kids' parents about the attack."

"Why?" asked Conner. "I mean, this is just a guess, an instinct. You'll get them worried and angry possibly for no reason."

"Take note, Junior." Lois pointed at Clark, who tugged sheepishly on his tie. "The boy scout here believes in the best case scenario save for one or two extraordinarily evil people. The second he looks you in the eye and says something's wrong, you believe him."


Pete met the trio back in the waiting room. He smiled to himself; Clark, Lois and Conner looked like a family unit with Conner being the spitting image of Clark but by coincidence or not, Conner had some of Lois' mannerisms in the tilt of his chin and the directness of his gaze.

"They've got the girl stabilised," Pete told them. "The rest of your friends are staying under observation but their stomachs have been pumped. Outside of massive hangovers, the doctors think they'll be fine."

"We think Conner was the real target," said Clark. "I'm going to see if we can get a safe-house until we solve the encryption."

"What about Boutboul?" asked Pete.

"That's part of what has us suspicious." Lois briefly recounted their theory. "It might be a good idea for you two to come to the safe-house, too. If they've gotten anything out of Boutboul, they'll know that you're in the will."

Pete shook his head. "We've left the girls alone too long. If we're hiding out, I want them with us."

"I was going to suggest that or bodyguards," said Clark. "How's security in your place?"

"Pretty standard, I guess. Alarm system, gated community. I can request more if you think it's necessary."

"While I hope Lois' paranoia's just rubbed off on me, I think it's better to be paranoid than sorry. Call for a secure escort to the embassy, then clear a safe flight to Paris."

"You can just..." Conner mimed a flying plane.

Nodding imperceptibly, Clark said, "I don't want to tip anyone off. I'll have people from my second job watching it all but we have to leave a paper trail for the story and for safety concerns."

"What could be safer than you?"

"Knowing secrets is dangerous," said Pete. "If anyone even thought that... outside help had a personal interest in our safety, they'd start asking why or using us to get to them."

Clark's feelings were as easy to read as ever. "I'm sorry you had to experience that first hand."

"Clark, it was ages ago."

"That doesn't keep it from being awful. There were so many times in school when you could have died--"

"But I didn't." Pete clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You've got to stop beating yourself up about things that you can't control."

"I've tried to tell him that but he's got a rock hard head." Lois rapped her knuckles on Clark's temple.

Lana slipped into the conversation. "I just heard from an inspector sergeant. They found a car matching Mr. Boutboul's rental abandoned in Bristol. That's seven hours' drive north at least. Unfortunately, the license plates were stripped."

"How do they know it's his?" asked Pete.

"They left the registration in the glove compartment." She bit her lower lip, worried but contemplative.

"Sloppy," said Lois.

"Or they just wanted to stall the investigation long enough to escape but still leave enough evidence to act as a warning," Clark said.

"That's gruesome, cynical and sounds right."

"Okay, Lana and I can handle things here," said Pete. "You two go with Conner and pack. We'll keep in touch every hour."

"I'm going back to the hotel room," said Lois. "I want to make sure that everything there is still non-lethal."

Clark nodded as Lois quickly reached up to kiss his cheek. He laid a hand on Pete's shoulder. "Stay safe."

"Always, buddy."

"I should call home and alert security," Lana said as soon as Lois, Clark and Conner left the building. "I put you down as the main contact for the police."

"That's good. The embassy should offer a lot of legal protection, too." Pete clicked around his PDA. "I should start making inquiries and clearing the way for the legalities. We're going to need a thick paper trail for this if it gets too serious."

"Conner, where do you keep all your things?" asked Clark.

"I have some stuff in my school," said Conner slowly.

"We're going there right now to collect them then swinging by the London condo to get Chloe's files."

"We?"

Clark nodded grimly. "I'm not letting you out of my sight until we get to the bottom of this."

London real estate rivalled Manhattan so Clark wasn't surprised when, upon arriving at his mom's condo, Conner unlocked the door to a mere five hundred square foot space. The building was actually in London proper, not an outlying suburb and the fact that Chloe actually owned it was a testament to her success as a writer.

Clark was sure it wasn't supposed to look like a train-wreck though. Furniture had been smashed to bits, upholstery slashed and cupboard contents thrown to the floor. Two mattresses leaned limply against a wall, its guts hanging out. House plants lay limp in piles of potshards and soil. Nothing was left whole.

Conner dropped his stuffed sports bag in the middle of the entrance. "What the hell?"

Clark placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't touch anything yet."

"They... our place." Conner clutched handfuls of hair. "Who did this... oh, shit, Mom's laptop."

He zipped to the splinters that used to be an office desk. Pieces of computer peripherals lay filled the spaces between the wood shards. Wilted vegetables and mashed fruit stained the walls and furniture. Clark picked his way through the tiny kitchen. They didn't leave a single plate whole. Broken bottles littered the floor, sauces mixing in a fly-infested soup. Meat lay in watery puddles on the counter.

"Mom's laptop is gone," said Conner.

"When were you last here?" asked Clark.

"Yesterday when Mr. Boutboul picked me up. I just had to... I didn't want to come straight from school. Everything was fine."

"That gave them at least twenty-four hours." Clark picked up a dented pan. "Did your mom keep backups?"

"She kept a stack of discs and drives on the table but they're gone, too."

Sighing, Clark said, "Take whatever you need; I'll request someone to secure the rest of the items. Are you absolutely sure that your mom didn't keep a hidden backup anywhere? Maybe she had a container where she kept a lot of important things."

Conner started to shake his head then paused, a reflective expression lined his face. "It's kind of stupid but me and Mom had this joke. I had a major book report due way back when and I couldn't find it. We looked all over the place and she was getting ready to call the school and fight for an extension or something. Then I opened the fridge and there it was. I must've gone to grab milk and left it there by accident. Ever since then, when either one of us lost anything, we'd go 'Did you check the fridge?'"

The tiniest of smiles touched Conner's lips. For a moment, Clark saw the child inside the gangly limbs and square jaw. When the smile disappeared, he physically felt its loss in the pit of his stomach.

"Like I said, it's kind of dumb," said Conner.

"No, it's not." Clark turned to the narrow fridge and opened it. What little food that remained were scattered on the shelves.

"This is so not on," said Conner. "They didn't have to wreck things just to look for Mom's piece."

"Some people enjoy destruction for destruction's sake," said Clark.

"Why?"

Clark stopped his search to smile. "I'm so glad you have to ask that."

Returning his attention to the fridge, Clark continued his search using his x-ray vision. Between the wall and the side of the fridge was a small rectangular piece of plastic.

"Pull the fridge out for me," said Clark.

A flash of excitement coloured Conner's expression before he schooled it back to blankness. Gripping the sides firmly enough to press dents into the sidings, he grunted and heaved the fridge outward. The fridge moved without a creak. A large strip of silver tape appeared to be holding a corner of the backframe to the main covering box.

Clark knelt to rip the tape off. The flash drive fell into his palm. "Good job. Now let's--"

He heard the gun before seeing the gunman. Clark dove away at the last possible moment, dragging Conner down with him.

"Holy shit!" Conner crab-walked away, head swinging from side to side in search for their attacker.

"Move, move, move!" Clark could find anyone either but the bullets kept coming. He had toe the line between superspeed and "human" luck as he pulled Conner behind the overturned sofa.

"Holy shit, he's still here!" Conner's expression turned alarmingly angry. "The son of a bitch, I'm gonna--"

Clamping a hand on the boy's shoulder, Clark said, "Stay down." He scanned through the sofa, focusing on several levels until he spotted a skeleton standing in plain view. He went into shallow focus; the skeleton disappeared from the apparently empty condo. With a little concentration, he saw the faint outline of the intruder's body.

"She blends into the background," he whispered into Conner's ear. "Twelve o' clock."

Before he could relate a plan, Conner shoved the sofa away, hard. The intruder let out a groan, her body fleshed out as she doubled over. Moving so fast only Clark could follow, the boy levelled a dozen punches into the intruder's midsection. His teeth were clenched, his eyes wild.

"Disarm her!" Clark shouted but Conner was too lost in his revenge.

The intruder dropped suddenly to the ground. As the bewildered Conner paused, she pulled out another firearm and shot it, point-blank, into Conner's knee cap.

"Ow!" Conner's leg buckled but, thankfully, there was no blood.

The intruder gawked for a second then lifted both guns. Clark had no doubt that she would empty them into Conner. The boy was strong but young; two magazines from a Glock would eventually penetrate his forcefield. Casting around for a diversion, Clark found a dented toaster. He went long, his body still remembering how to make that perfect football throw.

The toaster smacked into her head. The intruder dropped like a rock. Conner breathed deep, recovering. Then he stood over the unconscious woman, an ugly look in his eyes.

"I had her," he said.

Clark's lips flattened. "You exposed your power unnecessarily. I had a plan that would have gotten us out of here without a fight."

"I wanted to fight her! Look what she did to my house!"

"Even so, you do not use your powers like that. You're ten times stronger than she is. She could have internal injuries, broken bones--" Clark leaned over the woman, x-raying for damage.

"She deserves it."

Clark looked up at Conner. He was young, his mother had been ripped from his life and his home destroyed. On top of all of that, he'd been given revelations about his origins that rivalled Clark's. He was understandably angry. But he was so powerful...

God, was this what his father went through every day?

Conner glowered but focussed it at a spot on the wall. "I guess you never flip out."

They didn't have time for this. Once they were in the safe-house, a safe place to talk and train, Clark would be more than happy to extend this conversation.

"Let's go," he said. "I'll contact the authorities about this but we need to leave in case she came with back-ups."

He spun into his colours-- there was no way Clark Kent would be able to carry anything bigger than a cocker spaniel-- slung the woman over his shoulder and held Conner to his side. Then he zipped away to find a safe place to contact the Justice League.

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