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Damage Author: jenn
She hasn't changed. Sometimes, she gets dragged into dreams where colors can slick her tongue with flavor. Blue's salty-sweet, like the ocean in summer; green's fresh, like mint found growing wild outside, but red always tastes sharp-metal-cold, like licking an open wound on a winter night. The sky stretches out beneath her and the ground's far away, and she wakes up sweating through her t-shirt with a name on her lips that isn't any she should know. It's different names each night, and they disappear with every dawn she chases, pacing her floor for long hours until she imagines her own footprints sunk into the surface of the carpet. The kind of mark that doesn't show on the surface of her skin or the curve of her smile when she looks in the mirror. There should be something, though, and the carpet is the only way she has. But that's not often anymore. She's coping. Metropolis is a dangerous city, she can hear her father say as she steps on the subway and pulls her backpack close. Be careful, honey. You've been in small town life too long. Smallville is safety and security, some idyllic dream of small town life with city industry hidden away like an embarrassing cousin. When she walks Smallville's cobblestoned streets downtown, she doesn't pull her purse too close or look over her shoulder too often, and she can leave the Talon late at night and go to an unlocked car without a thought. In Metropolis, she does, but it's city habit. She doesn't jump when someone stands beside her and doesn't scream when someone touches her, and she can even go dancing on late Friday nights with her fellow interns and never so much as wince. This is after, and she thinks it's coping, and she thinks it's working. She hasn't changed. She hasn't. She'd just wanted to know. And now she has answers. ************************************************************************ From: Chloe Sullivan [csullivan@thetorch.org] Clark, I get why you're upset, but this is how I'm dealing, 'kay? I need to know if--if that was him. I have to. Call me, okay? Please? Chloe ***** From: Jamie Madigan [eros1213@mail.com] My boss is going to kill me if he finds out. Here's a copy of the original coroner's report. I had to look through like, the entire drive to find it. And you do get that if this gets out, it's lawsuit city, right? And why are you so interested, anyway? Jamie ***** From: Chloe Sullivan [csullivan@thetorch.org] >>My boss is going to kill me if he finds out. Here's a copy of the original > >And why are you so interested, anyway? You know. Mystery. Cover-up. Conspiracy theory! Okay, stop laughing. I'm just bored this summer, that's all. Internships are a lot less interesting than you think. The report says that it was a physical attack, but the public reports say was with a blunt instrument. WTF? Chloe ***** From: Jamie Madigan [eros1213@mail.com]
>>You know. Mystery. Cover-up. Conspiracy theory! Okay, stop laughing. Why am I seeing myself in a courtroom and being fired all of a sudden? > >The report says that it was blunt force trauma, but the public reports That's why the original was deleted. Doc says there's no way Alfie was right when he did the autopsy. Something about force and everything and it had to have been some kind of weapon involved, not fists. *shrug* You're asking the wrong morgue intern, honey. You free for lunch? Call me. Jamie ***** From: Chloe Sullivan [csullivan@thetorch.org] Clark, where the hell are you? Look, three weeks, no email, no phone. Your mom says you're just busy, but you know, you've never been that busy. You're avoiding me and I want to know the fuck why. Chloe ***** From: Chloe Sullivan [csullivan@thetorch.org] Hey Pete! Sorry for the long wait--The Planet is busy! They keep me running day and night, I swear. Anyway, what's up with you? Enjoying the summer? Email and tell me everything. A vicarious life through you is better than no life at all. Anyway, just checking in, nothing interesting going on. You seen Clark around? Tried to reach him a few times, but no go. Gotta run. Reporters to wait on hand and foot and all. Byes! Chloe ***** From: Pete Ross [pross@thetorch.org] Nope, no Clark around here. His mom says he's up in Metropolis for a few days. Maybe you got your wires crossed? Okay, so I thought the summer would suck, but hey, life hands you lemons, make lemonade. There's this new girl in town….. <cut for space> Anyway, miss you. If you see Clark, tell him get his ass on the phone already. Pete *********************************************************************** Chloe picks up the phone twice before she dials information, but the sound of the operator's voice slams the phone back down in it's cradle before she's even sure what to say. Spread out on the table that doubles as a desk for her and the other interns, the newspaper's headline glares at her like a question mark that only she can answer. She clipped this out a month ago, the first story she'd seen when she walked into the office on her first day as an intern. Getting up, she folds it up to tuck into her bag, saying something about an early lunch. No one looks up. She's glad about that …the discovery of an unidentified body outside Metropolis. According to police, there is evidence connecting this case to the unsolved murder of an unidentified transient in the warehouse district some months ago. Police as yet have no suspects, but this could be Metropolis' first serial killer in twenty years. ***** Her hand shakes when she reaches up to the door, tapping lightly with her knuckles a few times. Too quiet to be heard, and she forces herself to fist her hand, the resulting sound echoing through the dorm rooms. It's summer. He's home for summer. He's moved. He's got an apartment. He's--somewhere else. The whiteboard's at a weird angle against the wall, written all over in shorthand that's indecipherable to anyone but college students and the mentally ill. She cranes her neck, trying to read it for some kind of clue, but it could be Greek for all she knows. Someone wrote 'hitting the clubs again?' at the bottom. Nothing useful. "You looking for Lee?" She doesn't jump, doesn't scream, doesn't wince, turns around and leans into the doorway, faced with six feet of blond boy who looks her over appreciatively and makes her skin crawl. "Yeah. And--and his roommate. You seen them?" The guy shrugs. "Left." Leaning past her, he pushes open the door, and Chloe closes her eyes at the brush of bare skin against her arm. "Emptied out. Parents came by to pick up their stuff." Shrugging, the guy steps back, eyes on her breasts. Chloe wishes she'd worn a coat despite the heat. "Where'd they go?" The guy shrugs again, taking a drink from a water bottle, and Chloe fixes her eyes on the wall behind his shoulder. "Dunno." Chloe frowns, hand automatically pushing into the pocket of her coat, closing around the paperweight she'd carried with her. "No one investigated?" "I'm not their keeper, baby." The guy shrugs again, now letting his eyes travel down the length of her body. Her mouth opens to say something cutting, but she's moving before she knows it. "You wanna--wait." Chloe almost freezes at the eager sound of his voice. "You need something?" Yes, she wants to say, but her mouth curls up in a bright smile even as she takes a step back. "Nothing important. Thanks." Her hand's still wrapped around the paperweight even as she walks outside, the sun beating down on the pale, bare skin of her arms, almost burning. *********************************************************************** From: Jamie Madigan [eros1213@mail.com] Heh. Okay, so you're playing detective, huh? Right. Here's it is, and yeah, similar much? My boss did the recent one personally, so no weirdness of multiple copies. Usual disclaimer, you didn't get it from me and I'll have you killed if you spill the beans. Or something. You really think it's a serial killer? Cool. I mean, in a bad way, but still. Hey, can I be deepthroat? And how about lunch already? Jamie ***** From: Chloe Sullivan [csullivan@thetorch.org] To: Clark Kent [ckent@thetorch.org] I'm worried, Clark. I have to talk to you. Call me. Chloe ***** email undeliverable ***** From: Chloe Sullivan [csullivan@thetorch.org] Pete, is something up? Clark's email is bouncing. Chloe ***** From: Pete Ross [pross@thetalong.org] I haven't seen Clark since he went to Metropolis last weekend. Weird. I'm going by to see his dad tonight. I'll call if something's up. Pete ************************************************************************ The receptionist looks at her over the edge of her glasses as if Chloe's some new form of insect that shouldn't be allowed access to the immaculate cool of the building. The sharp green eyes fix on the Planet badge around her throat, and Chloe wished she'd thought of taking it off. "I need to see Lex Luthor." "Do you have an appointment?" There's no way she's getting in, she already knows it. "No, but I really need to speak to Mr. Luthor." The woman folds her hands on the desk, eyebrows raised in something close to tired amusement. "Mr. Luthor is a very busy man, Miss--" "Sullivan." Both palms pressed to the surface of the desk, Chloe leans forward. "It's important. I need to see him now. A--a friend of his is missing. He needs to--" "Trouble?" Chloe almost laughs at the appearance of a security guard almost at her elbow. Looking between them, she backs off a step, looking longingly at the elevator executives and well-dressed people step on and off at random. "Can you get him a message?" The woman frowns but reaches for a pen. "Very well. Name?" It's impossible. "Chloe Sullivan. He knows how to reach me. Tell him it's important, about Clark Kent. Please." She's not walked to the door, but only because she goes on her own, and emerging into the sunny day, Chloe stares at the people passing her like it's any day in the world. ***** Five o'clock. 105 Eighth Street, penthouse. Security will see you up. ***** She hasn't changed. Sometimes, she gets dragged into dreams where colors can slick her tongue with flavor. Blue's salty-sweet, like the ocean in summer, green's fresh, like mint found growing wild outside, but red always tastes sharp-metal-fresh, like licking an open wound.. The sky stretches out beneath her and the ground's far away, and she wakes up sweating through her t-shirt with a name on her lips that isn't any she *should* know. It's the same names each night, and they disappear with every dawn she chases, pacing her floor for long hours until she imagines her own footprints sunk into the surface of the carpet. A kind of mark that doesn't There should be something, though, and the carpet is the only way she has. But that's not often anymore. She's coping. Metropolis is a dangerous city, she can hear her father say as she
steps on In Metropolis, she does, but it's city habits. She doesn't jump when someone stands beside her and doesn't scream when someone touches her, and she can even go dancing on late Friday nights with her fellow interns and never so much as wince. This is after, and she thinks it's coping, and she thinks it's working. She hasn't changed. She hasn't. She just wanted to know. And now she has answers. Stepping into Lex's penthouse, she listens to the door close behind her, a strange sense of déjà vu slipping through her as Lex takes her arm, leading her to the chair across from his desk,, and her legs barely hold her long enough for her to find a seat. He's--different, in some way she can't quite put her finger on. She knows this place, though, elegant furniture and pale walls burned into her memory. She knows gentle, impersonal hands that pressed her into a cool bed and gave her something to drink that put her to sleep, and the dreams hadn't been so different from the recent reality of her life that she'd woken up screaming and alone in the dark with phantom hands tracing her skin and leaving trails only she could see in red. *I could taste colors.* Clark hadn't been here. "How much do you know?" Her eyes flicker to the floor, unable to meet that cool, impersonal gaze. "Did--he didn't--" He wasn't here when she woke up that day, and the math's easy and so simple. He didn't. He wouldn't. "I heard about the body found in the alley that night. His. And now--now Lee--Lee's gone." "I can't find him, either," Lex says, and she knows he's not talking about Lee. "Tell me." Her hands are shaking, clenched into tight fists in her lap. Their names are on repeat in her head and she's not sure what she wants to know anymore. "Did he--" "Yes." He pauses, too long, and Chloe knows she's expected to look up. Somehow, she does just that. "But only the first one." Her eyes fall closed, breath hitching in her throat. The second death isn't hers at all, and that doesn't make it better, though it should. "Why?" Lex's feet pad away, expensive shoes on a soft colored rug. "He doesn't think about alibis and evidence. I do." ***** There's an email waiting when she gets home. From: [withheld] Lex said it first, but I didn't get what he meant. Now I do. I guess you remember Kyle. He--well, he said he had to go after what happened with Rickman, and I was glad, because I watched him kill a man and it was hard to see him after. I thought he didn't know that, but I think he did. It's not what you think. I know what was on my own face when I watched Kyle, and I saw it on Lex's and he didn't even know it was there. I can't see it on yours, too. I can't. Every time you looked at me, you'd know and you'd remember. I'd do it again, though, Chloe. I don't regret it at all anymore. Don't try to find me. I love you. Clark end Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to their owners/creators/copyright holders. This fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights. |
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