“Goodnight, Mr. Robertson,” Lana Lang said as she opened the Talon’s main door, getting ready to leave for the night.

The janitor looked up from his mop and smiled. “Please, Lana, you’re going to be my boss when this place opens up. Just call me George,” he said.

Lana smiled and shrugged, her eyes going a bit wild. “If I can keep my sanity until then, I promise,” she said.

“You’re doing fine,” he assured her.

“At least one of us thinks so,” she muttered and walked outside into the night air. It seemed that lately she’d been pulling later and later shifts trying to get everything together for the Talon’s grand opening. She sometimes wondered if she would have taken the job if she’d known how much work and responsibility managing the community center would have turned out to be. Lana smiled and pulled her coat tighter as she walked to her car. “Stupid thought,” she scolded herself. “You would have taken this job no matter what.” Keeping the Talon alive had been Lana’s goal since she’d learned her Aunt was selling it to Lex Luthor to turn into a parking lot. She couldn’t let the place where her parents had met be torn down and paved over. It was one of the few things she had left of them.

“Still,” she muttered, “having a parking lot would have been helpful.” Having to walk so far to her car was a hassle she didn’t need. As she turned down the corner to where she was parked, Lana stopped in her tracks. Two men were hunched over by her car, whispering to each other hurriedly. Lana froze as they suddenly noticed her and stared as well. For a full second, no one moved. Then one of the men took a hesitant step away from the car.

“Wait,” the other ordered and grabbed his partner’s hand. He turned back to her and said quietly, “Turn around and forget you saw anything.” Lana backed up away from him, too frightened to scream. “Everything’s going to be all right,” he said calmly, advancing on her. He kept one hand out reassuringly while the other crept behind his back. “It’s alright,” he said again, coming closer.

As he took another step closer, Lana’s throat unclenched and she screamed. She scrambled away as the man broke into a run, pulling out a knife from behind his back. Lana was fast, but her boots had not been made for running. Her lift-heels caught against the pavement and she fell down. She hit the sidewalk hard, feeling the skin on her forearms scrape against the concrete. The car-jacker rushed forward, his knife flashing in the lamplight. Flinching against the pavement, Lana wished suddenly that it would be over quickly. But nothing happened. Stunned, Lana looked up and standing in front of her was a figure all in black.

The bright streetlights were behind him, casting him in darkness. She stared up at him in awe and fear, forgetting all about the man behind her. The figure looked past her to the first of the car-jackers and Lana felt the air tingle. The first thug held up his knife and waved it threateningly. “You want some of this, come and get it,” he offered. Without hesitation, the figure leapt adroitly over Lana straight at the man. “Yeah, that’s- ugfh,” he exclaimed as the figure blocked his knife thrust and kneed him in the gut. He snapped his elbow into the thug’s chin and finished him off with a roundhouse punch that sent him flying. He spared a glance at the first man, and then looked over at the second thug. The second thug stared at him in shock, then dropped a sliver of metal to the pavement and fled.

Lana hadn’t risen from the pavement, having watched everything from where she’d fell. “Clark?” she asked hesitantly.

The figure turned towards her and said, “Sorry, guess you were expecting someone else.” His voice was a pleasant baritone, but something rumbled in it like iron. Now with the streetlights behind her, Lana could see that it wasn’t Clark, though there were some similarities. He was a little older than Clark, but not by much. While his shoulder’s weren’t quite as broad as Clark’s, they seemed more developed. What she noticed most of all though was that he shared the same dark hair and strong jaw-line. He bent down and helped her up. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been here sooner,” he apologized.

“I’d say you got here right on time,” Lana said breathlessly. She took a step and almost stumbled, but the young man moved quickly to catch her. “I guess I’d better sit down,” she laughed a little. Nodding, he helped her to a bench where she tried to catch her breath. She took a quick peak at her rescuer and then looked away as he glanced at her. God, you’re acting like you’re fourteen, she thought. Get a grip.

She sneaked another peak at him, and then stared that ground, wishing her heart would stop pounding through her chest. He’s not that handsome, she told herself. Well, maybe a little bit more than Clark, she admitted. She started when he suddenly walked back down the alley. “Is everything ok?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said, bending over to pick something up near her car. He walked back to her twirling a thin strip of metal between his fingers. “Feeling any better?” he asked her.

“I think so,” she said slowly. He nodded and pulled out a cell-phone from his jacket and hit the speed dial.

“A young girl was almost car-jacked at the corner of Washington Avenue and Bridge Street,” he said quickly into it, glancing up to read the street signs. “She’s safe now, but now you can pick up one of her attacker’s here. The other one got away; I’ll call you when I find him.” Snapping the phone closed, he tucked it away and walked back to the unconscious thug. From another pocket he produced a slender rope and swiftly bound the man’s hands and feet.

“What are you doing?” Lana asked in confusion. The young man barely cracked a grin and finished tying the man up.

“Don’t want him to get away before the police get here,” he said quietly. “You’re sure you’re alright?” he asked again.

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“Yes, I’m fine, but,” Lana said, when she heard police sirens in the distance. She turned to look, but they were too far off yet. When she turned back to him though, the young man was gone. Lana stared down the street in confusion and then at the tightly bound thug nearby. “But,” she complained, “I never even got your name.”

Richie felt like skipping around his father’s trailer, that was how good he felt. For years he’d put up with every sort of insult his father could sling at him, endured all the bruises and cuts that his father could dish out, but tonight, he’d felt that he’d finally gotten a little payback. He put his feet up as he sat back in his father’s chair and sighed in sweet contentment. “Hope you like a night in the drunk tank,” he muttered. He cracked a beer, his father’s beer, and took a hesitant gulp. “I might even join you,” he laughed, and then choked as the drink burned down his throat.

For something done on the spur of the moment, everything had really worked out nicely. The cops had confronted his father and had asked him to step out of the car. True to form, his father had argued with them loudly until begrudgingly doing so. Noticing the beer stains down his pants and on his breath, the police had then had a few questions for him. From an alley corner, hidden from view, Richie had watched in almost glee as his father first tried to bluff his way out of the mess, then to argue, and then finally been reduced to wheedling and begging. All throughout it, the cops remained stone-faced and in the end had cuffed him and taken him away. Seeing his father shoved into the back of the squad car had more than made up for hitchhiking home. Richie took another sip and this time forced himself to savor the taste.

“Never let me have a beer before,” he remarked. He took one gulp after another till it was dry. “Not bad,” he said, trying not to make a face as his stomach churned. “Never let me sit here either,” he said, leaning back in his father’s chair. “Can’t stop me now,” he laughed. His stomach rumbled again and he stood up quickly. “Maybe a snack would help,” he decided.

He made his way to the other end of their trailer into the small area that had been designated as the kitchen. Really, it was nothing more than a small counter with a hot plate, microwave, and a refrigerator since they got most of their meals from the circus cooks. Richie started to crush the can up in his hands, then laughed and threw it on the counter. One of his father’s pet peeves was that the trailer had to be spotless and all garbage was triple bagged and compacted swiftly. He swung open the fridge with his foot and grabbed a handful of snacks along with another beer. “Why not?” he laughed. “Can’t stop me now.” Then he turned around to see his father standing in the open doorway.

Richie stared at his father, dropping the snacks and the beer at his feet. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. His father waited patiently, calmer than Richie had seen him in his life. That made him nervous, very nervous. Something spoke up from the back of his mind that this was bad, very bad. His father might only hurt him if he was mad, he might do anything in this state.

Finally he managed to choke the words out. “I… I thought you were…” He almost said arrested, and his mind shuddering away from what would have happened if that had slipped out. “I mean,” he said, switching gears, “I came out of the store and you were gone. What happened?” His father shrugged and stepped inside, his face still unearthly calm. He walked past Richie; making him flinch back expecting a punch, but nothing came. Roger walked to the side of the trailer and stared at, of all things, the old family photos that had been hung there. He stared at them silently, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I was just about to have something to eat,” Richie said, wishing his father would scream, yell, anything. “You want something?”

“We were all happy then,” his father said softly, still staring at the pictures.

Richie could feel his Adam’s apple press against his throat as he swallowed. “Sorry? What?” he asked.

“We were so happy then, me, your mother, and you,” he repeated. He straightened one of the pictures slightly and sighed. When he turned back to face Richie he was smiling. “I was arrested this afternoon,” he stated simply.

“Really?” Richie asked, his voice cracking. “What happened?”

“Oh,” his father said, “you know.” Richie almost collapsed before his father went on. “A pair of cops drove by and zeroed me out somehow. Must have been some small town cops who don’t trust out of state plates. When they had me step out of the car, they had a few questions about the beer all over me.” He walked past Richie again and closed the trailer door. He paused for a second, and then Richie heard the sound of the lock falling. “But you know what happened when they took me to the station?” Roger asked him.

Richie felt like his voice came up from his stomach. “No,” he croaked out.

“They gave me a blood test and released me. Bet you didn’t know it takes more than one beer to get you drunk, did you?” Richie shook his head and backed away from his father. Roger followed him, a vein beating steadily in his forehead now. “And do you know what they accused me of when I left?” he asked his son, his voice becoming a shout. Richie backed up against a chair and fell back over it. His father stood over him and said, “They told me some kid had accused me of throwing beer cans at him. Pity he didn’t stick around to press charges. I could’ve had it out with him then, but I figured I could always just wait until I got home,” he grimaced.

Roger grabbed Richie by his shirt hurled him half the length of the trailer. He landed hard on the coffee table and it shattered beneath him. Richie moaned and tried to get his feet under him as he heard his father rushing towards him. Cursing at him, Roger landed a vicious kick to his son’s stomach that knocked him down again. He tried for another kick, but somehow Richie managed to tangle his legs with his father’s and knock him down first. Scrambling away, Richie raced for the door, but he tripped face first into it as his father caught his legs. Blood sprayed out of his nose and for a moment, Richie almost blacked out. Spitting blood, he tried to squirm away from his father, but his dad’s grip was too strong. Then through the blood in his eyes, Richie saw the metal trash bin by the door and grabbed it. He lifted it over his head and threw it straight at his father. Roger looked up just as at it hit him straight on the nose. He let go of Richie and clutched at his face in pain. Blood poured out between his fingers.

Pulling himself up by the door handle, Richie fumbled with the lock and finally got the door open. His father roared behind him and reached blindly for him, but Richie managed to slip out the door just before his father could grab him. He ran blindly, the blood still clouding his vision. He could hear his father stumbling out the trailer door and yelling for him to come back. Richie ran past the circus trailers, all dark and silent. No one came out to help or to see what was wrong. No one ever did. Far off, Richie could still hear his father, still yelling for him. He didn’t stop or even slow down. When Richie reached the edge of the circus, he kept running, deep into the fields around them.

His eyes still half-blind from blood and tears, sobbing and gasping for breath, Richie kept running. He ran through the fields and then into the forest. Before long he was tripping over roots and stumbling into thick bushes. Sagging against a tree, he stopped, trying to breath. His lungs felt like tight fists in his chest and he could barely stand. When Richie could finally take a deep breath, he looked around at the dark forest. Everything was pitch black and full of nighttime sounds. Owls hooted overhead and things scurried around in the underbrush. He couldn’t even see the stars from where he was standing. Suddenly something screeched to his left, sounding very close. Richie jumped and stumbled away quickly. He’d never been so much as hiking before; he didn’t know his way around the woods. He stared around and turned in circles, trying to find his way. An owl hooted again, almost directly overhead, and Richie shivered, starting to feel a chill from the night air.

Holding his arms close now, Richie walked aimlessly, hopelessly lost. He didn’t know how long he walked before he heard the sound. He stopped, cocked his head back, and listened. It sounded like the chiming of glass, or a flock of birds. He took a few steps towards it, when all of a sudden it grew much louder. His eyes widened as the sound grew louder and louder, and then it was all around him. Things were flying around him, shrieking at him and hitting him with stiff wings. They were bats, he realized and he tried to get away, beating his head with his arms fearfully. He couldn’t stand bats and they were all around him. Then his foot came down on nothing and he tumbled down, far below. Everything was black all around him for a moment, then he landed on razor sharpness and everything went white. Then everything faded into a dull pain and warmth all over his body. The last thing he saw as he faded away; was the white changing into a bright green.