In the end, it was good old investigative work that found the spot. David called Lauren back with the news that a father and daughter had both been saved by Superman in the first two sightings, and managed to deliver the address of the Goldbergs' apartment building. Sure enough, it was near the middle of the zone Cassandra had identified. Lauren also took note of a couple of other people who seemed to be looking for something. An old woman was pacing on the sidewalk in a seemingly random pattern, and a young man dressed all in black sat on a stoop, looking around with darting glances and scribbling furiously in a notebook.

Abruptly, a yowl of cats and dogs started up. Everyone in sight jumped; from inside apartments, cats screeched and dogs barked; a squirrel started chittering in the tree next to Lauren. In the middle of this, a cab pulled up and stopped in front of the Goldbergs'. A young woman got out of the cab, and started helping an older man out. Bingo, Lauren thought, a bit relieved that the temptation of trying to break into the apartment went away before she had to consider it seriously.

“Excuse me. Are you Murray and Sarah Goldberg?” She had to speak a bit louder than usual to be heard over the animals.

“Who wants to know?” the young woman asked warily. As suddenly as it had started, the animal chorus faded away. There were a few more desultory barks, then quiet. The humans all let out a breath.

“I'm Lauren Cooper, from the Chicago Tribune. This is Cassandra Starbow. Mr. Murray, I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you're feeling well enough. I know you just got out of the hospital, but I've come a long way and I'd greatly appreciate a few minutes of your time.”

“Look, my father just got home, could you leave us alone for a while, please?”

“Sarah, it's all right.”

“Twelve bucks,” the cabbie reminded them.

Lauren whipped out a twenty. “Keep the change.” A bargain, if it got her on their good side.

“Thanks!” The cabbie checked that everyone was clear and the door closed, then pulled away, leaving the four of them standing on the sidewalk.

“Can I help you with anything?” Cassandra asked on cue.

“No, thanks—” Sarah began.

“Give me your arm,” Mr. Goldberg suggested. Cassandra did so, on the opposite side from Sarah. When he took her arm, both of them inhaled sharply, then looked at each other's faces. “Why don't we take this inside,” he suggested. “Sarah, would you get the door for us?”

She did, and when Lauren passed her, the girl ordered in a low tone, “No recorders unless he gives permission.”

“You've got it.”

Sarah tried to settle everyone around the kitchen table, but both Cassandra and Mr. Goldberg seemed fascinated by something in the living room. Lauren shrugged at Sarah and followed.

“What did you do?” Cassandra asked in a whisper.

“You can feel it? Yeah, I seem to have left a mess.”

“A mess? You died.” Cassandra seemed to be avoiding a spot on the floor. “Right there.”

“Yeah, well, couldn't be helped. Watch out for the—”

“Oh. Thanks.” Cassandra seemed to dodge nothing. “I don't actually see anything, you know. Can you?”

“After a fashion. You work by feel?”

“Like pressure…”

Lauren noticed Sarah glaring at her, and threw up her hands in self-defense. “Hey! I'm not making fun of this. She's with me, remember? I just want to know what's going on.” Lauren eyed her. “So, how does it feel knowing your father saved your life?”

The daughter frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“You don't think an airliner can actually fly on one wing, do you?”

She wrinkled her brow. “What does that have to do with my father?”

“Who do you think is responsible for the miraculous rescues that have been going on since yesterday?”

“What are you talking about?”

Lauren sighed. “Why do I even bother reporting the news? Nobody pays any attention anymore.” She looked at the young woman. “Sorry. I know you must have been watching over your father in the hospital.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“Why are you here?” Sarah demanded.

“You and your father were both saved by Superman, within five minutes of each other.”

“By Sup—? Is this a joke?”

“You want proof?” Lauren fished out the crumpled door handle she carried everywhere. (It had been a pain getting it past airport security.)

Still not seeming to get it, Sarah stared at the metal ball in confusion. “Is this why the other reporter was asking about my dad?”

“What other reporter?”

“Uh…this one.” Sarah looked around and found a business card, and handed it to Lauren. Lauren read it twice. Calvin Ellis. Cal Ell—Kal-El! His birth name on Krypton!

“Son of a bitch. I knew it!” Lauren felt her lips twist in a combination of triumph and self-recrimination. She fished out her cell phone, and dialed the number quickly.

It rang three times. “Hello?”

“Hello, Clark, it's Lauren Cooper from the Chicago Tribune. Care to stop by the Goldbergs' apartment? The gang's all here.”

⛉ s ⛉

Doug hung up the phone after speaking to a colleague at Boston University. He stared at his map again, and reworked the calculations. Finally, he shook his head. He'd done everything else he could think of; he reached for his coat, checking that his car keys were in the pocket. He would drive in a big circle, as well as the roads would allow, and see what there was to see. Maybe he'd get lucky. He headed for the labs for some more equipment; at the very least, a Geiger counter was in order.

⛉ s ⛉

Clark was in the middle of a gang fight when Lauren called. Apparently, neither side was particularly impressed by him, and they proceeded to break several weapons against his costume. His cell phone was in his cape pocket; he calmly fished it out, walking through the crowd to grab an emerging gun with his free hand. He pinched the barrel shut with two fingers, then yanked it away before the owner could pull the trigger and ruin his hand.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Clark, this is Lauren Cooper from the Chicago Tribune—” Clark raised his eyebrows and smiled. Not bad, he thought. Not bad at all. He reached out and collared a boy who was much too young to die, pulling him out of the way of the steel pipe descending where his head was a moment ago. “—Care to stop by the Goldbergs' apartment? The gang's all here.”

“I'm in Gotham at the moment. Is ten minutes all right?” He slapped one young man gently; he stopped and staggered, dazed. Tough constitution—that slap would knock out about half the thugs he hit with it; he didn't hit harder because weaker bodies would suffer concussions from worse.

“Gotham?”

“Sorry. New York.”

“…Right. Okay, we'll be waiting.”

“See you then. Goodbye.” Clark closed the phone and caught sight of a machine gun being pulled out of a trench coat. Uh-oh. He put on a burst of speed.

⛉ s ⛉

“So, while we're waiting for Superman to show up, would anybody care to explain to me exactly what I'm not seeing in the living room?” Lauren asked the others.

“Did you say…?” Murray Goldberg's eyes got wide. “Please explain.”

Lauren sighed inwardly. I thought I was going to be interviewing you. Why am I always doing all the talking? “I said Superman. Yes, he's here. In the real world. Presumably, thanks to you. Care to explain how?”

Mr. Goldberg sank slowly into a chair. “It worked.”

“Damn straight, it worked,” Cassandra agreed. Then she frowned. “What worked?”

The older psychic got a faraway look. “I was desperate. I needed a miracle. There wasn't time to design, or plan, or anything. I just went on instinct. I accomplished more than I ever had before, but it still wasn't enough. The pattern fell apart…only, it fell into the shape of his symbol. It just happened. I gave it everything I had; I thought it would kill me…” He swallowed. “It did kill me. That's the last I knew, until I woke up in the hospital. I knew something had worked, because Sarah was alive.”

“Superman saved the plane, then flew back here and found you collapsed. He took you to the hospital, got you resuscitated, then flew to Chicago and started saving people, thinking it was Metropolis.” Lauren shrugged at the looks everyone gave her. “It fits the timeline, and all the available facts.” Lauren pulled out the tape recorder, and started walking towards the chair Mr. Goldberg sat in. Abruptly, Cassandra caught her breath and grabbed Lauren's arm.

“What?”

“Stay away from…that spot,” she cautioned, waving one hand at an empty piece of air in the middle of the room. Lauren looked at her doubtfully, but did as she asked. Cassandra picked up a chair and placed it under the whatever-it-was.

“Mr. Goldberg, I'd like your permission to record this conversation. I need to write this up for the Chicago Tribune, and I'd like to get it completely accurate and not distort your words at all. May I record?”

“Not just yet, Ms. Cooper, if you don't mind. I have been very careful not to seek any publicity for my work up to now.”

“Mr. Goldberg, the entire world knows that Superman is flying around on the loose in the real world. There are going to be a lot of questions for you. I'd like to help you make a good first impression, if you'll let me.”

Just then the dogs and cats of the neighborhood started up again. There was a loud animal racket, and everyone looked at each other in confusion.

“Are you doing that?” Mr. Goldberg asked Cassandra.

She shook her head. “You?” He shook his head as well.

Lauren wrinkled her brow, trying to remember something. “A dog whistle, maybe? Something…something in here…” She trailed off, starting to walk around the room, peering at the walls and on the floor.

“We don't have any pets. We don't have anything that makes ultrasonic noise, do we, Dad?”

“One of those mouse repellent things, maybe? The kind you plug in the wall and it sends small critters running away?”

Lauren completed her circuit of the room, then started another, this time looking up. A dark spot high on the wall caught her eye. “Could I have another chair, or a step stool?” she asked, moving to stand under it.

“Why?”

“I want to see what that is.”

They fumbled with chairs for a minute, and Lauren still wasn't tall enough. Cassandra volunteered her shoulders, and a rather embarrassing slapstick routine ensued, but Lauren was nothing if not determined. Eventually, a pair of pliers were produced and passed up to her, and with much wobbling, the reporter pried the small black item out of the wall, and to her mild surprise, made it back down to the ground uninjured. She squinted at it closely, then grunted in triumph.

It was a tiny metal dart, not even a centimeter long, painted matte black, and molded in the stylized shape of a bat.