Gail turned in her bed, something waking her up. It was dark outside, and she glanced around, looking for a clock. There was none though in the hospital room and Gail flopped back in her covers, trying to go back to sleep. She brought the sheets up to her neck, shivering even though it wasn’t cold out. As she closed her eyes, she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. She sat up in a rush, staring around the room. In a deep patch of shadows across the room, something moved. “Who’s there?” she asked quietly, her voice wavering.

“Not so loud,” a dry, cracking voice whispered. It grated like broken glass against her ears. It was also, slightly familiar.

“Richie?” she asked, her voice almost nonexistent. In response, he stepped out of the shadows. Naked from the waist up, he stood ramrod straight, like he was at attention. There were cracks and pockmarks all over his body, but they didn’t seem to be bleeding like wounds. The three circular scars in his gut were a dull gray now, not the bright green she remembered. His face was emotionless, almost like it was frozen in place. He gazed at her without blinking, if he still even needed to do that. He’d washed the blood off of himself, but as she stared at his long, slender fingers, she could remember them dripping red.

Richie took a step towards her, and she tried to scramble away, slamming against the wall behind her. She glanced at the call button by her bed, readying herself to spring for it. Just as she was though, he spoke.

“Don’t.” She looked up at him, and he nodded his head slowly towards the other three beds in the room. The other patients were still asleep, totally unaware. He reached out his hand over the nearest one, an old woman dozing quietly. His fingers, sharper than daggers, floated over her exposed neck.

“No,” Gail whispered quietly. “No, please.” He looked up at her and pulled his hand back. He took another step towards her, and this time Gail sat still. Satisfied, Richie walked stiffly over to her bed and looked down at her. His face was still frozen, but his eyes were dripping with sadness. They were the only things in his face that seemed truly alive, like two gleaming jeweled eyes stuck in a statue. He reached towards her, and Gail flinched back. He seemed to understand, and didn’t touch her, but he traced out the contours of her face with his fingers in the air. This close up, she noticed that the ends of his fingers were slightly pointed, like claws. She shivered and closed her eyes, trying to pray.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered. “I just wanted to see you again, while I can control myself. I’m still changing, it’s hard to describe. I can’t feel much, physically, anymore, but it’s like my emotions are making up for it. I can’t control them; they just keep rolling inside of me.”

He sighed and his neck cracked briefly as he shook his head. “When the sun came up today, I almost cried with joy because it was so beautiful and I was so glad to be alive. But the night before….”

“You tried to kill me,” she remarked, some of the fire coming back to her. He nodded, his eyes sadder than ever. “You tried to kill my dad. You killed yours!”

“I know,” he replied. “Everything was a blur, I don’t even remember killing him. I just remember hate, and red…” he paused. “I’m sorry that everyone else got in the way.”

“Got in the way…” she repeated, horrified. He nodded, holding up his hands. He stared at them, turning them over and moving his fingers.

“I killed my dad because he needed killing, but everyone else…” he paused. “I guess I killed everyone else because I was still too angry and they were right there. I was mad, no, that’s not right,” he argued. “I just couldn’t help myself; I was just so angry, I needed to hurt something. It’s like, my emotions are the only thing I have left, and they’re so powerful now.” He looked at her, his eyes haunted. Flexing his fingers, he started to reach for her face again, but stopped himself. Gail watched him, almost frozen in her bed.

“I have to go now,” he said suddenly, getting to his feet. “I can’t stay here any longer. I might do something to hurt you.”

He walked over to an open window, but paused before he climbed through it. “I’m sorry about everything, Gail. I don’t want to go back to the ways things were, but I wish things had turned out better. For all of us.” He looked down, and when he next spoke, his voice was almost normal, the way he used to sound. “I loved you, did you know that?” he asked her. She shook her head and Richie’s mouth twitched a little. The corners fought to move upwards, and after a moment, Gail realized that he was trying to smile. “It’s alright, it was my fault I never told you,” he said. “I should have said something then, but it’s too late now.” His eyes were wistful as he looked at her fondly. Then he sighed and looked away, his eyes lost in darkness.

“Tell Tom that I’ll be at the circus,” he said, his voice harsh again. “He’s only got a day before the army comes to take me in, so he’d better hurry.” He started to climb out the window when Gail called after him.

“Wait!” she said, forgetting to keep her voice down. “Why does it have to be this way? Can’t you turn yourself in or something?”

“I’d never let anyone take me without a fight,” Richie told her. “I can’t help it, I’d have to fight. Tom and I, we’re a little alike that way. He can’t let the army try and take me, he’s got to do it himself.”

“What if I don’t tell him?” she asked. “He can’t find out then and he’ll be safe.”

Richie laughed and started to climb out the window. “You’ll tell him,” he promised her as he left. “Goodbye, Gail.” She sat in her bed, listening as the wind blew through the window, rattling the charts at the end of the beds. They clattered against the sides of the bed, sounding like the rattle of bones. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very cold and alone.

“Goodbye, Richie,” she whispered to herself. She started to cry bitterly, holding her sides, alone in the darkness. The other three patients slept on soundly through it all.

Clark stared at the array of tools that Bruce had laid out on their kitchen table. There were a variety of chemicals from his mother’s cabinets, an eight foot steel pole from the barn, a few knives he had scrounged out of drawers, and a particularly nasty axe with a hooked blade. “We use this to chop up roots, Bruce,” Clark said, picking up the axe. “Are you really sure you want to bring this?”

“Before it became a garden tool, that was called a lochebar axe,” Bruce explained. “They used it in the Dark Ages to shuck people out of their armor. I’m hoping I might be able to get the hook in Richie’s leg, slow him down.” He touched the point, frowning as he ran his finger along it. “I only wish it was sharper,” he muttered.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“And my bleach, ammonia, and floor soap?” Martha asked. “What are they for?” She picked up a canteen that Bruce had poured them into and sloshed it around, experimentally.

“Incendiaries,” Bruce remarked off-hand. “Best to let the mixture sit for a bit, makes it safer to carry around. It burns almost as good as napalm.” He seemed to think of something and looked up. “You know if we can reach my car, I might be able to salvage a few things from it. I’m pretty sure I actually have some napalm left over.” Martha blanched and gently put the canteen back on the table.

“Here, I might have something that could help,” Jonathon said, coming downstairs. In his hands, he held the shotgun he kept up in the closet in case of emergencies.

“Jonathon, no!” Martha said, seeing it. He ignored her and snapped the chamber open, checking the gun before he handed it over.

“Now, I won’t give this to you unless you promise me you’re going to take him in alive,” Jonathon said firmly. “This boy might have done a lot of terrible things, but he still deserves a trial. I want all three of you to come back alive, but if there’s no other way…” he trailed off. Clark stared at the gun, the cold meanness of it reaching him. If there was no other way… He shivered and tried not to think about it. He didn’t want to kill anyone, not even Richie, despite everything he’d done. Still, if Richie wouldn’t allow himself to be taken… Clark touched his side, remembering the burn of the cut, and the fear returned for a moment. Hating it, Clark pushed it back and shook his head forcefully.

“No,” he said. “I’m not going use that.“

“Me either,” Bruce said, screwing the cap back onto the canteen. “I don’t use guns, ever.” Jonathon nodded and looked down at the shotgun.

“That’s nice to hear boys, but right now I feel like I’d almost pack you down with a bomb if it would bring you both home,” he said, weighing the gun in his hands.

“We’ll come back,” Clark promised him. His father nodded and leaned the gun against the stair post. The phone rang in the kitchen and Martha rushed off to answer it. “Anything else?” Clark asked his dad, feeling awkward and nervous.

“Lose the jacket,” Bruce commented from the table. Clark turned around and stared at him.

“What’s wrong with my jacket?” he asked, fingering the flannel cloth.

“Nothing, unless you want to fight in it,” Bruce muttered. “Just a shirt and loose-fitting pants, no jacket or any other nonsense. Nothing that could possibly hinder movement.” He looked down at Clark’s sneakers, frowning. “You have any work boots?” Clark lifted one foot, confused. “If you plan on kicking him, it would probably be a good idea to protect your feet,” Bruce remarked.

“I’ve got some steel toe work boots upstairs,” Jonathon muttered and hurried up. Clark stripped his jacket off and threw it onto the couch.

“Anything else?” he asked, a little irritated.

“No, that’s adequate,” Bruce replied, hefting the steel pole absently.

“Clark,” Martha called, coming out of the kitchen. “It’s Chloe, she says that Gail called her and she’s looking for Bruce.”

“What now?” Clark said under his breath as he took the phone. “Chloe, what’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

“Richie, what else?” she replied on the other end. She sounded tired and upset, but her voice was steady. “Richie broke into Gail’s room at the hospital tonight.”

“Oh my God! Is she alright?” Bruce looked up at Clark, alarmed.

“Yes, she’s fine,” Chloe assured him. “She just called me a few minutes ago. She said he had a message for Tom- Bruce, I mean.”

“What about Gail?” Bruce asked quickly.

“She’s fine,” Clark said to him, and then back to Chloe, “What is it?”

“Is he really there with you?” Chloe asked. “Your mom told me he was, but how did you find him?”

“He sort of found me,” Clark replied. “But what’s the message?”

“Right, sorry,” Chloe said quickly. “Richie said that he’d be waiting at the circus. He knows about the troops being called in, but he wants to see Bruce again. Clark, what’s going to happen? Bruce isn’t going to go, is he?”

Clark glanced at the weapons on the table and tried to keep his voice level, “I’m not sure, Chloe. Look, I’ve got to go, is there anything else?”

“Yeah, one more thing,” Chloe said quietly. There was silence on the line then, and Clark thought for a moment that they had been disconnected.

“Chloe?” he asked. “You still there?”

“Yes, yes,” she said, distracted. “I just wanted to say… be careful.” Clark started at this, wondering for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, “I’ll pass that on to Bruce.”

“No, I mean you,” she said. “You be careful, Clark.”

Did she know? How could she, he asked himself desperately. “What do you mean, Chloe?”

“I don’t think a nuclear strike would be enough to keep Bruce out of there, and I somehow I just know you’re going to go with him.”

Almost in a panic, Clark asked, “What makes you say that?”

“Look, I know you’re keeping a lot of things from us Clark,” Chloe told him. “Pete and I, we both know something’s up. We’re not stupid you know; maybe we don’t have it figured out, but we know there’s something up with you. Too many things, about the meteor rocks, about this town, just don’t make sense. And it seems like all the questions lead to you.” Her voice was almost a whisper, but Clark didn’t have any trouble hearing her. His ear was pressed so tightly against the receiver that he was surprised the phone didn’t crumble in his hands. “I wish you’d tell us, but I guess that’ll only happen when you’re ready. So until then, we just have to keep guessing as you lie to us. Do you know how much that hurts, when we know you don’t trust us with the truth?” she asked him with venom. “We’re your friends Clark, your best friends, and sometimes I just can’t figure out why anymore!” There was a pause, and when she spoke again, her voice cracked with grief. “Just don’t get hurt, Clark!”

“Chloe, I-“ Clark started to say, but the line went dead as she hung up on him. He stared into the receiver, then put the phone back and walked away, into the empty dining room. He tried to think for a moment, but he couldn’t help remembering the anger in her voice. Do they really think that, he asked himself. That I don’t trust them? They’re my friends; I trust them with everything.

Except for one thing, of course.

“Who was it?” Bruce asked him impatiently.

“What? Oh, it was Chloe,” Clark said distractedly. “Richie slipped into Gail’s room and gave her a message for you. He said he’ll be at the circus.”

Bruce stood still, waiting. “And Gail?”

“She’s fine, he didn’t hurt her.” Bruce nodded slowly, his fists unclenching. Clark noticed it and glanced back at him quickly.

“You care about her, don’t you?” he asked. The question seemed to catch Bruce off guard and for the first time, Clark saw him start to flounder.

“I… I…” He hesitated and then straightened up, his face decisive again. “I don’t have room in my life for that,” he remarked.

“For friends? Or even someone you care about?” Clark asked him incredulously.

“How many people do you trust with your secret?” Bruce countered. “I noticed that Chloe didn’t know back at the hospital.”

“That’s different. If they knew, it’d be dangerous for them.”

“People are in danger everyday of their lives, Clark. From the moment we’re conceived we’re at risk. They’d be targets, sure, if someone found out what you are, but they'd be that anyway, just by being close to you. I think what you’re really frightened of is the risk to you of them knowing. They could take your secret and make a fortune, tell the world, send you off to a little lab in the middle of nowhere to be poked and prodded for the rest of your life.”

“What about you? Is that why you push everyone away from you?” Clark asked him angrily. “So you’ll never have to face losing anyone else again?”

Bruce stopped, glaring at him. Then he smiled sarcastically. “Touche,” he replied. He hefted a full duffle bag and tossed it at Clark. “We’ll take your car up to the circus,” he said going on like nothing had been said. “Mine’s still wrapped around a trailer.” They walked back to the living room, where Clark’s parents waited nervously.

Her eyes gleaming with tears, Martha struggled to say something to her son, then simply hugged him fiercely. “Please, be careful,” she whispered into him. Clark felt his knees weaken a little, but he steeled himself and hugged her back.

“I will,” he promised, knowing inside that going after Richie in itself, hardly qualified as careful. She hugged him tighter until Jonathon moved forwards to gently pry her away. “Dad,” Clark said, looking into his eyes.

“I know,” he said quietly, and pulled Clark closer. “Do what you have to.” Clark nodded and they separated. “Oh, here,” his father said quietly, handing Clark the work boots. “Almost forgot.” Clark nodded, bending down to pull his sneakers off.

“Keys?” Bruce asked as Clark pulled on the boots. Martha held them out absently, keeping her eyes on her only son. “I’ll bring it back in one piece,” he promised her. “Him too,” he nodded his head towards Clark. She turned and gave him a weak smile.

“You be careful too,” she told him. “And thank you for going with him.”

Bruce frowned, shifting his weight awkwardly. “Actually, it’s the other way around; he’s going with me. But you’re welcome.”

“Don’t go all sentimental there,” Clark muttered as he finished lacing on the boots. Bruce gave him a look and then turned away, shaking his head. He walked out the front door, heading for the truck parked outside. Clark gave his parents one last glance, and then followed. He climbed into the driver’s seat as Bruce tossed him the keys. Behind them, Jonathon and Martha watched from the porch, their arms linked together. Forcing himself not to look back at them, Clark started up the engine. Still, his eyes crept to the mirror and he caught himself giving his home one last look.

“We’re really going to do this, huh?” he asked out loud, his eyes on the mirror.

Bruce’s answer was a hard, mirthless grin.