Within two weeks, Lex no longer had the energy to devote to missing Helen.

He dreamt of food.

The first few days hadn't been bad. There had been a few naturally growing bushes around with different types of berries he recognized; he had picked them clean within a few days, and was dismayed to find that the rate at which they grew back was nowhere near the rate at which he consumed them. Same for the few trees with nuts and seeds he could eat. He tried fishing, but there was really nothing he could fish with. He didn't have any sort of bait, or string, or even anything sharp. He spent a half a day sharpening a stick to try to use as a spear, and another day and a half looking for fish to stab at, but the ones that came close enough to the shore for him to see would have been too tiny to eat even if he had been able to get any of them. And he never caught one, not even once. It was a complete exercise in futility.

He tried fashion a net of sorts out of leaves and pine needles and seaweed, along with a few strips from his shirt—he had to be careful how often he used that, because it was his only supply of fabric—and he caught a little handful of fish, but the energy it took was hardly worth the energy the fish gave him after he cooked them over a fire, not to mention the taste was absolutely foul. Desperation drove him back to the water the next day, but he'd either caught all the fish in the area or driven them away.

He couldn't hope to catch any of the local birds or rodents. He tried building traps, but he'd eaten everything he could use as bait; tried spearing them with his sharpened stick, but they were too fast, and they quickly learned to run when they saw him coming, which was apparently long before he saw them.

For a few days, the hunger pains were unbearable, but after that, the pain wasn't the problem. It was the fatigue. He could hardly pull himself up in the mornings. The bugs on the island were starting to look more and more appetizing as the days passed . . .

He had to get off the island. Had to find a way. He wasn't going there.

He doubted a smoke signal would do it. After spending the better part of one day trying to build a fire, he'd more or less kept it fueled for days. No planes or ships had even come within sight. There was no one to see him.

He could try to build a raft, but he doubted he would make it very far. The waves didn't get very high near the shore, but he remembered how they had been a little further out. Remembered how long it had taken him to swim from the plane to the island. He would most likely drown.

But it was something to work on. Something to give him hope, to keep them from going insane.

The only downside was that it probably was insane.

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Kal didn't know why he'd ever stayed at the Kent farm in the first place. He should have run the minute he hit high school. Maybe even sooner. That place was way too small for him.

And his future was bright. One ATM machine was enough to cover rent for an apartment suite in the heart of the city, and that was just the start. No one ever caught him stealing, and meanwhile, he had all the money he could ever need. He had always thought Lex Luthor had it good, but he never realized that Lex didn't use his money to anywhere near its full potential.

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It wasn't just stuff—cars, clothes, the apartment. It was the parties. The women. Every night, a different car, a new party, new faces, new food and drink, and a new girl on his arm.

The one and only downside was that he somehow managed to botch it each and every night, and the girl would end up ditching him before the end of the evening, which meant he went back to his suite alone. It might have well as been a deserted island.

The nights—well, early mornings—were the worst. There were times he even took off the red ring for just long enough to call the Kent farm and hear his mother's voice. And then the pain would overwhelm him, and he would put the ring back on, and everything would be okay.

During the third week in his suite, someone banged on the door at eleven in the morning. It might as well have been the middle of the night—Kal had been out until almost six in the morning partying—but on the off chance it was one of the women he'd invited by on the previous nights, he pulled himself up from between his silk sheets and dragged himself to open the door.

It was Sam. Sam Winchester.

Kal almost slammed the door shut, but it was clear from the look on Sam's face that he wasn't going to stop banging on the door until Kal let him say his piece.

Kal sighed and braced his hand against the doorway. "What do you want."

"How dare you?"

Kal raised his eyebrows, almost amused.

"You left your parents when they needed you most. You have a little sister."

"Are you talking about the Kents?"

The look on Sam's face was priceless.

Kal scoffed. "I share no blood with those people. If you're here to try to convince me to care about them, you can see yourself out."

Sam shook his head in disbelief, almost laughing, though there was no smile on his face. "You're unbelievable. They said you were hard to talk to with the red kryptonite, but you're not even yourself."

Kal grinned. "Hate to break it to you, but I'm more myself than ever. Now, are we done?"

Sam's eyes fell on the ring. "Give it to me," he said.

"Did you really think that was going to work?"

"No," Sam said, and he sighed. "You leave me no choice." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small metal box and opened it.

Pain overcame Kal, and he sank to his knees. "I'm going to kill you!" he cried. "I'll kill you . . ."

Sam grabbed Kal's arm. Kal could hardly pull away.

A moment later, Sam had tossed the red ring across the room, out of range, and then he snapped shut the lead box.

That's when the pain began. Overwhelming guilt, embarrassment, shame the likes of which he'd never experienced, not even in the hours after he killed his little brother. Tears stung his eyes. He'd never felt anything like it.

"Now," Sam said, tucking the box back into his pocket, "are you ready to go home?"

Clark hesitated. He knew there was only one answer Sam would accept; if he gave any other, Sam would probably pull out the Kryptonite again. But if Clark agreed to come along . . . "Okay," he said.

He let Sam lead the way, and he fell a little behind as they walked toward Sam's car. As soon as Sam was a few feet ahead, he bolted forward to pick the lead box from Sam's pocket, then turned in the other direction and ran so fast, Sam would only see Clark as having disappeared entirely.

Clark would grab a few things from his apartment—the ring, some cash, his car keys—and take them to the other side of the city, where he'd rent out a new apartment under a different name. He'd be miles away in less than five seconds. This time, he'd make sure no one could find him.

Because Clark couldn't face his parents. He couldn't. And Sam was wrong about one thing—it wasn't the red ring that had caused him to want to run away. It was wanting to run away that had made him put on the ring.

There was no going back for him now.