Clark set the helicopter down on the hospital roof. The doctors climbed out, grinning at him and at the rotors drifting idly in the wind, the gas tank still full. Clark shook their hands.
“Thank you for helping out, gentlemen.”
“A pleasure. Superman, why don't you come downstairs and meet people?”
“I'm sorry, gentlemen, I can't. There's a lot happening in the world.”
“The pediatrics ward would love it if you came down,” Dr. Harper coaxed.
Clark smiled. “What floor is it on?”
“Sixth.”
“Thanks.”
A moment later, he was diving down the side of the building, neatly evading further offers of hospitality. Outside the sixth floor, he peered in at the kids and waved, then flew back and forth for them for a minute, before gaining altitude and heading back north.
On the way, he checked his hearing again. As long as he was supersonic, he couldn't hear anything behind him…but if he stayed at a safe altitude, he couldn't hear much in front of him either. Another oddity.
Boston looked the same as before; Clark flew up to the Goldbergs' window and paused. Had he closed it upon leaving? He wasn't sure. Clark had an eidetic memory, but it didn't capture each and every detail of his life (fortunately, or his mind would get too cluttered—that had been a problem when he was younger). He only memorized perfectly when he chose to, now.
He opened the window, flew in and reached for his suitcase. That was when he noticed the second odd thing: his notebook was gone.
Someone had been here while he was away.
Quickly, he scanned the building; they were no longer around. A quick fly-through revealed luggage in the spare bedroom. Rotten timing: the daughter was home from college for a visit, or some such. She had moved his notebook. Clark gave another quick scan of the apartment. No, wherever she had gone, she had taken his notebook. Why?
Clark opened his suitcase and changed while pondering that. Perhaps she hadn't liked that he was investigating her father. She had found his possessions there, without explanation, and the father was in the hospital—Great Krypton, does she even know that? Clark found a piece of paper and wrote a short note for her.
A minute later, Calvin Ellis left the apartment by the front door, letting it lock behind him, and headed for the hospital.
⛉ s ⛉
Sarah followed the nurse into Room 413, then ran to her father's side. “Dad!” He looked so frail. He was wearing one of those tubes under his nose and it seemed that he had aged five years in the past few months. He was so pale, and looked smaller, and fragile. He raised one hand weakly to grasp hers, and when he turned his head to face her, there were tears in his eyes.
“My little girl,” he whispered. “You're alive.”
“We both are. Dad, you've gone and worried yourself sick! Dad, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, the plane had engine trouble, but we were on the ground before we knew it, it wasn't that bad…Are you going to be all right? Are you in pain? Is he in pain?” she demanded of the nurse.
“No. The doctor will be in to speak with you, in a minute.”
“I'm fine, Sarah, I'm wonderful. You're alive.” Still he spoke quietly, as if with effort.
Tears were in her own eyes, now. “You foolish man, Dad. Look what you've done to yourself.”
“I had to try, pumpkin. You were falling out of the sky.”
Sarah lifted her head in puzzlement. “How did you know that? And what do you mean, try? Try what?”
“You were on CNN. They were broadcasting something west of the city, and caught your plane on the video by accident. I saw the wing fall off, and I just knew it was your plane, I just knew it.”
Sarah smiled. “You're exaggerating, Dad. The wing didn't fall off…it was engine trouble.”
“Pumpkin, look at the footage. It's sure to be on all night.”
“Okay, Dad, okay.” It was easier to agree with him; she knew without being told that he didn't need any serious stressors right now. “How did you get here?”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“I don't know. I was home when I collapsed.”
“You mean the man in the apartment brought you here?”
“What man?”
Sarah worried at that. Forgetting that she was not supposed to alarm him, she blurted, “Dad, someone broke into the apartment. I found a suitcase, and a notebook full of notes about you and me…like a spy or a reporter.” He stared at her in puzzlement, and she mentally kicked herself. “It's not important right now. I'll call the police; they'll take care of it.”
“My notebooks?”
“Everything seemed to be there. I didn't see anything stolen. Have you been here since I landed?”
“I just woke up a few minutes ago. I'm a little surprised to be alive.”
“No more CNN for you, Dad. For heaven's sake, it might not have even been my plane! Wouldn't you feel foolish if you had a heart attack and died over the wrong airplane?”
He looked at her with amused condescension. “I knew. You think I don't know when my own daughter is screaming?”
“I was not screaming.” Well, actually, she had been, but Dad didn't need to know that right now.
“Forty years I've spent on the occult, and she doesn't think I can do even that much.” Dad was complaining to the ceiling again. Then he turned to her. “Untrained schmucks can do that sometimes. You think I can't tell when my daughter thinks she's going to die?”
“Okay, Dad, you win. You're the world's greatest psychic.”
“You'd better believe it. Did you see how the plane landed?” He sounded as if he were bragging about it. Sarah sighed inwardly. He was probably about to claim that he had foreseen the landing with ESP or something. It was annoying, but Dad was like that. She loved him dearly, but he spent most of his time living in a fantasy world of his imagination. She'd worried a bit about how he would cope when she went off to college. Not too well, apparently.
“No, Dad, I was on the other side of the plane, and they didn't let us look at the damaged side while we were getting off.”
“Did anybody else see?”
“I'm guessing somebody did, but all I heard were crazy fantasies and hysterical hallucinations from the other passengers.”
“Maybe they weren't so hysterical.”
“Dad, I'm warning you: you've just had a heart attack. So tonight, you win all the arguments. Tomorrow, maybe we have them again, and maybe then you don't win them all. But tonight, you win, so stop arguing.” Her throat constricted a bit around her next words. “I lost Mom, I'm not losing you too.”
The hug comforted them both, and Sarah got herself under control.
Her father whispered, “I just wanted to know what it looked like, is all.”
⛉ s ⛉
Clark fidgeted with his hat as he listened to the conversation taking place in room 413. He so wanted to march in and start asking questions, but his daughter Sarah was right; this wasn't a good time to give the old man fresh shocks. Clark wasn't sure the man knew what he had accomplished with his magic, but it seemed as if magic was not held in terribly high regard in this world.
All this probably meant that Clark was going to be stuck here for a while.
He could speed things up by researching other magicians; someone else might be able to build on what Murray Goldberg had created, widen the doorway between the worlds until Clark could squeeze through. At least, now he knew why he was here…it had all been just to save that one airliner. A proper summoning spell would typically have returned him to Metropolis as soon as that task was done, but if this man was a pioneer…Clark frowned and stood, nodding and trying to smile at the nurse who kept sneaking glances his way.
He walked for a while through Boston; it was a small enough city for that. No need to change and fly with everything so close together. It also helped him to think to walk around, be polite to strangers, get the human perspective again. A subway was a subway anywhere; Clark memorized the map, and noticed that there was a stop called “Harvard” on the Red Line. He hadn't been sure the school would exist in this world; back home it had the fifth-largest library in the world, after such notables as the Congressional Library and the Worthington Archives. It ought to be a good spot to get some more research done.
Harvard Square was an entertaining bustle of humanity. Clark gave a dollar to a homeless man, and another to a street performer, then realized that he was surprisingly hungry. A quick trip to a restaurant got him an impressive pile of fries and a hamburger that was not quite cooked well enough for his taste. Throwing caution to the wind, he gave another try with the heat vision while no one was watching, and was rewarded with a brief flash before it cut out. The headache wasn't as bad this time, either. Perhaps he was acclimating.
It was also the best hamburger he'd ever tasted, once he sank his teeth in. Clark devoured everything on his plate, ordered a salad as well, and had an enormous piece of chocolate cake for dessert. Something had given him a serious appetite. He got another piece of cake for the road, earning him an impressed look from the young waitress when he opened it at once and asked for a plastic fork.
It was always good to make the best of things while traveling. Clark had learned that early on, wandering the globe and picking up languages so that he could talk to people he met. He had often made wonderful friends, when he could have wasted the time instead by worrying or being in too much of a hurry. It also helped to have Lois as an example of how not to react, sometimes…
Clark felt a momentary pang of loneliness, but pushed it aside. He would find his way back soon enough. Of course, back at the Planet they'd wonder what had become of him, so he'd have to come up with a kidnapped-by-aliens story or something, and distract Perry with a big scoop as quickly as possible. It was always a huge mental challenge to try to construct an excuse that had no actual lies in it. He didn't always succeed, and Lois had nosed down worrisome trails more than once as a result.
Let's see…the last they saw of me, I was holding my stomach and heading to the men's room. I could imply food poisoning. I could tell them I'd gone to a hospital, which is true, and that I was having health problems, which is also true, and refuse to go into specifics. I could wonder aloud how they could possibly miss me leaving, without actually claiming I staggered right past them… Yes, that could work.
Clark abruptly realized that he had gotten turned around, and X-rayed the nearby buildings to reorient himself. The University was over that way now, behind this storefront. Clark blinked back to normal vision and stopped short.
He stared at his symbol—his own symbol—in the store window.
—On a T-shirt.