Oh, God, what have I done?
Lauren stared at the distant speck that was Superman, flying away. Superman in denial? That—no. He wouldn't do that. It wasn't denial. Denial was when some part of you believed but you weren't ready to handle it. He wasn't even considering the possibility. And why should he? Why would he believe her? The dream theory probably made more sense. Unfortunately, it was wrong.
Footsteps sounded behind her. “What the hell?” A secretary came into view, looking like a million dollars: probably the executive secretary of whoever used the top floor of this building. “What was that noise? What happened to the roof?”
Lauren whirled. “Call the fourth floor. Get a photographer up here now.”
⛉ s ⛉
What of this is real? Is all of this just an illusion of some kind? If so, what is it for?
Clark concentrated, focusing his consciousness. He'd felt strange, ever since his arrival. What was different? What was poking through the illusion? Was he strapped to a bed? Floating in space?
For several minutes, he flew lazily over the city, trying to find discordant notes in his sensations. Perhaps, somewhere near his real body, someone was trying to wake him up. If he could listen for that…
A babble of voices reached his ears from all over the city. He concentrated, trying to sort it out, listening for his name. Ten thousand conversations bubbled and frothed in the air, on thousands of everyday topics.
“Help! Somebody, HELP!”
Clark turned to face the sound, hesitated. If this was an illusion, was he falling into a trap by responding? He rose until he had an unobstructed view, then focused in on the source of the cry. It was a burning building. A ten-year-old girl on the top floor. She was already trapped; the fire must have spread quickly. Clark X-rayed the rest of the building, scowled in anger. What kind of irresponsible landlord stored that kind of inflammable material in a residential building?
Clark frowned. What was this illusion trying to do to him? What was going on? If this was a trick…
If it wasn't…
Clark dove towards the flames.
⛉ s ⛉
Lauren stormed onto the fourth floor as if she owned the place. “We've got a scoop, people! Dave! Get online! Find out about anything happening today involving Superman. Mannie! Contact DC Comics, find out what they know, if anything. Judy! Go through the good news today—disaster stories that weren't, the things we usually don't print; look for unexplained rescues and Superman sightings. Debbie, bring me a black coffee and a donut, I've got to get this typed up fast—”
“Who put you in charge?”
“Ryan, as of one minute from now,” Lauren declared, turning towards the Managing Editor's office. Her way was blocked by the Managing Editor.
“We'll see about that.”
Lauren had been thinking about this on the way down in the elevator. “Ryan, there's a guy out there who thinks he's Superman. He came here because he thought this was Metropolis and that we were the Daily Planet. I've got an exclusive interview on tape about ninety seconds old.”
“Where was this interview?”
“On the roof.”
“Is he a jumper?”
“Suicidal? No.”
“All right, you've got a human interest story, but—”
“I've got more than that. Look what he did to your doorknob.” She held out the crumpled ball of metal; Ryan took it.
“What is this supposed to be?”
“It was a steel door handle. I asked him to bend it for me, and he did that.”
“Where is he now?”
“He flew away.” Ryan scowled. “Ryan, look at me. He flew. Away. You've got a roomful of reporters who saw the same thing, and if you don't have some good photos, you need to hire better photographers.”
Lauren took a breath. “Look, you don't have to believe me. I still don't know if I believe me, but whatever is going on, it is definitely a story. Ryan, whoever this guy really is, I don't think we were his first stop. Give me the people to backtrack him, and let me put this up before we get scooped by the New York Times.”
Ryan raised a warning finger. “If this doesn't pan out—”
“I'm writing the classifieds for my high school paper for the rest of my life. I know.”
“Bring the tape to my office. I want to hear this guy.” Ryan raised his voice. “Do what she says, people. I want the Superman story pieced together. Move.”
⛉ s ⛉
One fire engine had already arrived and was starting its hose. Another was on its way, and if they had any sense they'd be calling for a couple more as soon as they realized what was stored inside. Clark flew up to the window. “Come here!” he called. The little girl was standing still, staring at the flames around the door to her apartment. “Little girl!”
“Help!”
Down below, Clark distinctly heard a conversation:
“Hey! There's somebody outside that window!”
“Oh, God, we've got a nutcase in a superhero outfit! Joey, get that ladder moving!”
Clark reflected that he was not having one of his better days.
The window was closed and locked. Clark ripped it out of the frame, looked below, decided it wasn't safe to drop the glass, and flew inside with it. The little girl was clutching a teddy bear and a handheld computer game, both of which she dropped when she caught sight of him.
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There wasn't time to deal with her panic; Clark simply scooped her up, and wrapped her in his cloak. As an afterthought, he grabbed the teddy bear and gadget before flying out the window.
“How in the hell…?”
“Look! Up in the sk—” A fireman cut himself off with a cough.
Clark landed gently next to the ambulance that had just arrived. “I think she's all right,” he called, unwrapping the child. “But check her for smoke inhalation, just in case.” An Emergency Responder jumped out and ran over. Clark knelt next to the child. “Are you okay?” The girl looked confused, but nodded. “You dropped these.” Eagerly, she clutched them to her chest, and stared at him. “Where are your parents?”
“Mom's at work. I don't have a Dad.” She stared. “Did you just save me?”
Clark tousled her hair. “You did a very smart thing in calling for help. If you hadn't yelled, I wouldn't have known you were trapped up there. I've got to go help with the fire. You do what the doctor tells you, okay?” Somberly, the girl nodded.
Clark rose up about fifteen feet and X-rayed the entire building again. There were firemen searching the first and second floors, but no one else. “ALL THE CIVILIANS ARE OUT OF THE BUILDING,” Clark bellowed. He rose back up to the window he'd broken, and flew back into the girl's apartment.
Warily, Clark eyed the flames. The last time he'd tried using his breath, it hadn't worked right. Bracing himself, Clark inhaled deeply. The flames flickered madly; some guttered to almost nothing. Stepping closer, he exhaled as forcefully as he could manage.
Some of the flames went out. Some guttered, then leaped to greater life. What's going on? Clark wondered. Does air act differently in this universe? It was clear that it would take a long time to put out the flames this way. Clark flew back outside to see how the firemen were faring.
A second hose was in operation, but they didn't have a proper angle on the source of the fire yet. Clark landed next to the first hose. “What can I do to help?”
“Who are you?” Not that again.
Clark heard a small explosion; another roomful of chemicals had just caught. “No time to explain.” Clark grabbed a fireman around the waist, and seized the end of the hose with the other hand. “Hang on!” Ignoring the shouts of the others, Clark rose into the air, yanking the hose out of the grip of the other three firefighters—and promptly started sailing backwards!
Clark hit the upper part of the fire engine with an embarrassing CLANG, and managed to keep the firefighter in his left arm from hitting the vehicle. It was like his breath all over again. He had to push forward, just to keep from going backwards. It didn't make sense, but there wasn't time to argue with the laws of nature; Clark had to fly forward, so he flew forward, and also rose up so that the stream of water thundered into the third floor window.
“Where should I aim?” he asked the fireman.
“Just hold me here for a minute, then down one story,” the man responded automatically. He was looking rather alarmed at his situation, but the job came first.
“Yeah, this is a little odd for me too,” Clark confided to him in a low shout, as the fireman concentrated on aiming the water correctly.
“Don't they have recoil on your planet?”
“No; what's that?”
⛉ s ⛉
“Next!”
The young man who had finished made his way out of Michael's appropriated office, and a middle-aged woman entered. Michael gestured at the vacated seat. “Please have a seat, ma'am.”
“Thank you. I presume you want to hear me tell you about Superman.”
Michael held back the first comment that came to mind, and said carefully, “I would like to hear anything you saw or heard concerning the accident.”
“Young man.” Michael couldn't remember the last time someone had called him that. “Young man, I know exactly what those foolish idiot passengers have been telling you, and it's a load of rubbish. It's embarrassing how easily some people can be fooled.”
“Ma'am, I would be delighted to hear what you saw. You were in seat 19I, is that correct?”
“Yes, it is,” she answered, primly.
“That seat would have given you a fine view of the starboard wing outside your window.”
“It did, indeed.”
“Please tell me what you saw.”
The woman stared off into space, composing her thoughts. “A flash of light, and a deep roar, simultaneously. A horrendous shrieking sound, like when metal bends, you know the sound I mean? Like a car in a trash compactor, the way they show on TV. The plane tipped over; that obnoxious young man in the next seat over spilled his drink all over my cashmere sweater—it's totally ruined. I thought everyone was going to fall on me.” She frowned at a memory, looking frightened.
“Go on.”
“There was a great deal of bouncing and turbulence. We seemed to be losing altitude rapidly. Naturally, I began to pray. There was time for three Our Fathers and the first line of Hail Mary before the plane began to right itself.”
“Were you praying quickly, ma'am?”
“Certainly not. I expect the Good Lord wants a certain amount of decorum in our prayers. If I died before finishing, I expect that would at least warrant me the opportunity to finish, if nothing else.”
“Yes, ma'am. What happened next?”
“People near me started shouting about Superman. They said he was holding up the wing.”
“And did you look out the window?”
“I did not.”
“You…did not?”
“No, sir. As I said, I was praying.”
“With your eyes closed?”
“Well, of course! I finished three Hail Marys, in proper fashion. Then I looked outside.”
“And what did you see?”
“The ground. We had landed during the third Hail Mary. But I assure you, sir, that there was no Superman out there that I observed.”
“Yes, ma'am. Thank you very much for your clear observations. They are much appreciated.”
The woman stood. “Good luck with your investigations, sir. I know it must be difficult; God's handiwork leaves no sign unless he chooses it to.”
⛉ s ⛉
“Hey, thanks, pal,” one of the firefighters called. “That was a big help, getting the hose into the corner storage area.”
“Happy to help, gentlemen.”
There was an awkward pause. They clearly looked as if they wanted to ask questions. Clark felt the same way. He glanced around, checking that no one else was in earshot besides these four firemen. “Actually…I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
“Like what?” “Name it!” “Sure!”
Clark clasped his hands and leaned a bit closer. “I've been having a pretty strange day, and I was wondering whether you could answer a couple of questions for me.”
“Shoot.”
Clark hesitated, then smiled. All he had to do was pretend he was in his other clothing. “Do you know who I am?”
There was some nervous shuffling of feet. “Well, you look like…I mean, you're dressed up like Superman.”
“What's your name?” Clark quickly asked the one on the left.
“Benito. Benito Roselli.”
Clark nodded, then spoke to the one in the middle. “Does he look like Benito?”
“'Course he does.”
“So how do you know he's Benito?”
“'Cause he is.”
“Then why don't you think I'm really Superman?”
“Well—” The man's face contorted strangely. “Are you?”
Clark nodded. The man rubbed his neck.
“But…but…where did you come from?” Benito sputtered.
“I'm not exactly sure how I got here. This isn't the Metropolis I know.”
“But…but you're real! I mean, I thought you were just a story.”
“He is just a story!” One of the others argued.
“Then, how did we just put out that blaze in the back quarter?” The previous speaker looked stumped.
“You see my problem?” Clark asked. “I'm trying to figure out what's going on, and people keep telling me I'm just a story. For example, what do you think I do all day?”
“Well, when you're not saving people, you're a reporter for the Daily Planet. You—” The firefighter stopped talking abruptly. “Oh, hey, I didn't mean to spook you, Superman!”
Clark got his reaction under control. “Sorry, it's just a bit surprising.”
“Are you really from Metropolis?” Clark nodded. “But then where's Metropolis?”
“I don't know. I need to find out how to get back there.”
“Oh, hey! No, Superman, you've got to stay! People need you here!”
“This isn't my home. This isn't where I belong. I've been pulled very far from where I'm supposed to be. This whole world is strange.”
“Well, maybe you're here for a reason, Superman! Huh? Maybe you were supposed to come here!”
“You may be right. I think I may have been summoned here for a reason; but so far, I haven't been able to tell what the reason is.” A squeal of tires and crunch of metal reached his ears. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I just heard a serious car accident about ten blocks down. As long as I'm here, I might as well help out. Thanks for answering my questions.”
“Hey, no problem! Go get 'em, Superman!”
Clark launched himself, heading downtown. Behind him, he heard faintly as one of the firefighters called, “Benny! Got your phone? Well, call the fuckin' news station already! They're never gonna believe this!”