He tried to hide from the world in a janitor’s closet. Huddling among the mops and brooms, he locked the door from the inside right before Ms. Whitaker caught up with him. She knocked on it loudly enough to make him cover his ears again. Her knuckles rapped against the unyielding wood. It sounded like a tractor ramming into a barn, over and over again.
“Clark!” she called, her voice raised. “Come out of there!”
She tried the knob, wiggling it noisily.
No! Clark shouted inwardly. Leave me alone!
Panicky eyes turned red as hot coals. Incandescent beams shot from his pupils to the knob, raising its temperature. Through the door, Clark saw his teacher yelp and yank her hand away. She stared in shock at her scorched fingers, then backed away from the closet.
Ms. Whitaker ran to find the principal.
For a time, Clark had the closet to himself, but its cramped confines provided little refuge from the clamorous world outside, which continued to bear down upon his overwhelmed senses. His hands still over his ears, he squatted in a corner, squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could. There was too much to see, hear, smell—and all of it louder or more intense than he could possibly handle. It was as though someone had turned up the volume on the entire world.
Make it stop! he thought frantically. Please!
The booming racket made it hard to pick out individual sounds, but eventually, after what felt like forever, a familiar voice broke through the din. He heard his mother rushing down the hall.
“Clark, it’s Mom,” she said. “I’m here.” She didn’t shout. She knew she didn’t have to.
A crowd of teachers and students, gathered outside, parted to let her through. She knelt in front of the door. Her gentle voice penetrated the fragile wood that stood between them.
“Will you open the door?” she asked.
Clark hesitated, afraid to let in the scary world. He tried to focus on just his mother’s voice, but he could hear every other word being whispered out in the hallway. His classmates’ voices ganged up on him.
“He’s such a freak. He’s always doing stuff like this.”
“His parents won’t even let him play with other kids.”
The hurtful words were almost worse than the avalanche of noise. Only his mother’s voice, soft and soothing, provided any comfort.
“Clark, please, sweetie. I can’t help you if you won’t let me in.”
His longing for his mother helped him overcome his fear, at least a little. He slowly cracked the door open. His heart sank as he saw through her skin, too. All he could recognize was her caring brown eyes.
Tears filled his own.
“The world’s too big, Mom.”
She nodded, understanding.
“Then make it small.”
“I can’t!”
“Yes, you can,” she promised. “Just focus on my voice. Pretend it’s an island. Can you see it? Out in the ocean?”
He closed his eyes and tried to do as his mother said. It was hard, with all those living skeletons screaming at him from all directions, but he forced himself to imagine an island, far out in the water, where strange horned beasts roamed and giant dragonflies buzzed beneath a huge red sun. There was something oddly familiar about it.
“I can see it…”
His mother’s voice encouraged him.
“Then swim toward it.”
He visualized himself swimming out to the fantastic place, leaving all the jarring sights and sounds of the world behind. His own heart slowly settled, and the overpowering din began to fade away. He opened his eyes cautiously, ready to squeeze them shut again if he saw too much. But, to his relief, his mother looked more like Mom at last. Tanned skin covered her face just like it was supposed to. The shifting colors stabilized, going back to normal. The world became reassuringly solid again. The volume got turned down.
It’s over, he realized. For now.
He rushed out of the closet, into his mother’s arms. She held him tightly as he sobbed on her shoulder. Even though he was better, he couldn’t forget what had just happened. Or what the other kids had said.
“What’s wrong with me, Mom?”
CHAPTER NINE
Clark awoke underwater, surrounded by whales. He found himself drifting naked beneath the sea, his clothes having been burned away by the inferno. The humpbacks nudged him toward the surface, their lilting songs echoing in his ears. They, at least, seemed to want him to keep going.
Fair enough, he thought.
He shook the cobwebs from his mind, and poked his head above the waves. The burning platform was now several miles away, spewing clouds of black smoke into the sky. Eavesdropping on the Coast Guard and other first responders, he got the impression that the worst was over. Everybody who could have been evacuated from the collapsed platform had been. Numerous survivors, many seriously injured, had been fished from the water and were now receiving medical care. All that was left was the cleanup—and mourning the dead.
I couldn’t save everyone, he realized. But I made a difference.
Bobbing upon the waves, he knew that he couldn’t return to the Debbie Sue. There would be too many questions he couldn’t begin to answer, questions that had haunted him his entire life. The words of that dumbstruck roughneck, back in the galley, echoed in his memory.
“What are you?”
Clark wished he knew.
Glancing around, his extraordinary vision located a small Aleutian island only a few nautical miles away. He swam toward it, speeding through the water even faster than his cetacean rescuers. Powerful arms and legs carried him through rough waters that would have defeated even an Olympic swimmer. Hypothermia wasn’t an issue.
His bare body was still steaming as he emerged from the sea onto a rocky shore populated by a large group of sea lions. The barking mammals were the only witnesses to his arrival. A disturbing thought occurred to Clark and his hand went to his chest, where a spiky black key hung on a chain around his neck. The unusual pendant had survived the fire that had torched the rest of his clothes.
Good, Clark thought. I didn’t lose it.
A small fishing village occupied the island. A cannery dominated the remote community, which also boasted a post office, general store, and church. Painted wooden structures fought a losing battle against the elements. Boats were docked at the pier. Moving stealthily, Clark spotted clothes hanging on a line outside a weathered log cabin. A pair of muddy boots rested on a stoop.
Sorry, friend, he thought as he furtively helped himself. He felt bad about stealing, but what else was he to do? Walking around naked would attract too much attention. Crouching behind a rusty dumpster, he pulled on a flannel shirt and jeans. To his relief, the stolen clothes and boots fit, more or less. He tucked the black metal spike beneath his collar.
As he emerged from behind the dumpster, a bright orange school bus rolled down a gravel road nearby. Rowdy kids made faces at him through the windows. The bus looked just like the ones he’d ridden back when he was a kid in Smallville.
OCTOBER, 1992
Thirteen years old, Clark rode in the back of the bus as it rumbled down the interstate. Rain pelted the windows and highway. The Red Hot Chili Peppers leaked from a classmate’s Sony Discman. Another kid was playing Mortal Kombat on his Sega Game Gear.