“I'm going home.”

Sarah was alarmed. “Dad, it hasn't been twenty-four hours yet.”

“So? It's been twenty-three hours. What are they supposed to learn in the last hour? I tell you, it's a scam so they can bill me for another day in the hospital. I feel fine. I don't need more antiseptic smell, what I need is a turkey sandwich on a bulkie roll that doesn't taste as if it was made in an oil refinery. Go tell the doctor while I get dressed. I'm starved.”

“You don't feel tired? Dizzy? Short of breath?”

“I'm tired of lying around, is what I am. I'm not dizzy, and if you don't get out of my room so I can change out of this Freudian slip they've got me in, you'll get to see me short of breath pretty damn quick. Now, shoo!”

He did look a lot better. Sarah reluctantly gave in and went to tell the nurse, secretly relieved. Her father was back.

⛉ s ⛉

Lauren sent the passenger list off to the Tribune for David to cross-reference with Superman sightings. Her second interview concluded, she called Cassandra's cell and got a rough location, then called a cab and set off in pursuit. The psychic was homing in, she claimed. She also reported that Superman had left the city, which was unwelcome news, but Lauren remained convinced that the story was here in Boston. She was pretty sure Superman had ‘started’ here, he had returned here, and there was something here setting off Cassandra, so here she would stay while she tracked this down.

⛉ s ⛉

Doug wandered into the lounge for a cup of coffee, trying to clear his head. The detector data had not gotten any easier to understand, except that an eclipse had been ruled out as the reason the supernova was nowhere to be found. Two physics graduate students were stealing some doughnuts with the complicity of another professor. The Ph.D.'s exchanged nods.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“But he doesn't have any reaction mass,” one student was saying.

“Well, what if he were partly made out of negative matter?” another countered.

“Antimatter?”

“No, negative matter, with negative mass. The stuff falls upward.”

“No way.”

“Do the math, it works.”

“But that would throw out action and reaction.”

“Well, doesn't that look like what he's doing?”

Doug was amused. “What who is doing?”

“Superman.”

Doug smiled. “Ah. Gedankenexperiments in cartoon land. Good practice. Any progress?”

“Well, it'd be nice if we could figure out how the real one is doing it.”

Doug frowned. “The real what?”

“The real Superman.”

“The what?”

“Haven't you heard the news? Apparently, people all over the country are reporting seeing someone who looks like Superman doing heroic things, rescuing people, catching criminals…”

Doug furrowed his brow, wondering whether the students were having a joke at his expense. “When did this happen?”

“Starting yesterday afternoon.”

Doug set down his coffee slowly. “Wait. What, exactly, happened yesterday, and at what time, exactly?”

⛉ s ⛉

Clark stopped in on Andrew, the purse-snatcher he had caught in New York the day before. The boy was still edgy, and shaken, and it seemed to do him a lot of good to see Superman again, reinforcing his change of heart. It probably also smoothed the way when Clark introduced himself to the new people in Andrew's life, so that they would know he wasn't just a tall tale Andrew had made up. Hopefully, the confirmation would encourage the teen to talk more openly with them.

He stopped a few more muggings, without particularly life-changing results, but it was hard just to make his way across New York without seeing crimes to stop. Besides, he had an errand.

He flew slowly down Broadway, checking the numbers on the buildings. Below, someone started shouting.

“Look! Up there!”

Was it this block? No. The next one.

“Look! Up in the sky!”

A second voice chimed in, “It's a bird!”

Clark had to smile a moment, then flew on another block and found the right building. X-ray vision told him which floor, and he rose to hover outside the windows, arms crossed over his chest. His mouth set in a firm line, and he pitched his voice to penetrate throughout the level. Employees gathered at the windows to stare.

“Gentlemen,” his voice rumbled through the offices of DC Comics. “A word, if I may.”