The Aftermath
By early Friday morning, the dramatic bridge incident was the absolute talk of Smallville High.
Clark Kent and Alex Carter…
the humble farm boy and the quiet orphan…
had somehow pulled Lex Luthor, son of the infamous billionaire Lionel Luthor, directly from a sinking car in the freezing Elbow River.
The Smallville Ledger immediately ran a massive front-page story.
Principal Kwan made a glowing, school-wide announcement over the crackling intercom during homeroom.
Three different, over-eager teachers enthusiastically congratulated Alex in the busy hallway before he had even managed to reach his locker.
Alex absolutely hated every single second of it.
Perfect invisibility was his primary, most valuable asset in this new world.
Being the sudden, bright center of attention was the very last thing he needed right now.
But there was simply no avoiding it…
when you save the life of the richest man’s only son in all of Kansas, you entirely forfeit your anonymity, whether you like it or not.
Chloe, completely predictably, was utterly delighted.
“Here comes our very own staff member… a genuine hero!”
She was practically bouncing on the heels of her feet as she proudly pinned a fresh, crisp copy of the Ledger article right to the center of the Wall of Weird.
“This is exactly the kind of deep, human-interest angle the Torch desperately needs. Clark, Alex… I am going to need full, in-depth interviews from both of you. Direct quotes. Gritty details. The complete emotional journey.”
“There was no emotional journey,” Alex stated flatly from his desk.
“A car went in the water. We pulled the guy out.”
“Modesty!” Chloe delightedly clapped her hands together.
“Even better. The reluctant hero angle. Our readers will absolutely eat that up.”
Pete grinned widely at Alex from across the cramped room.
“Just let her have this one, man. Resistance is totally futile.”
Clark, sitting quietly by the dusty window in his usual spot, said absolutely nothing.
He had been noticeably quieter than usual all day long.
Alex knew exactly why.
The bridge incident had deeply shaken him…
not the frantic rescue itself, but the terrifying nearness of absolute exposure.
Clark had come within mere seconds of violently tearing the steel roof off a car in broad daylight.
If Alex hadn’t been there…
Clark slowly caught Alex’s eye and offered a small, deeply grateful nod.
Then, he quickly looked away.
Alex calmly nodded back.
They didn’t speak about it.
They absolutely didn’t need to.
Saturday…
Homecoming
The annual Smallville Crows homecoming game was exactly the kind of loud, raucous small-town spectacle that Alex had only ever seen in cheesy movies during his first life, and had certainly never experienced in person.
The entire town eagerly turned out…
weathered farmers, local shop owners, tired teachers, and massive families packing the groaning metal bleachers around the football field, all while the struggling high school marching band enthusiastically played fight songs with far more energy than actual musical skill.
Alex didn’t bother attending the game.
He had absolutely no interest in watching Whitney Fordman confidently throw a football around.
Instead, he spent the entire long afternoon hidden away at the public library, meticulously reviewing everything he could possibly find about bizarre, meteor-infected incidents in Smallville’s recent, bloody history.
Dr. Steven Hamilton’s name repeatedly appeared in several older articles…
a thoroughly disgraced Metropolis University professor who had quietly moved to Smallville specifically to study the strange meteor rocks.
Alex carefully made a mental note.
He also felt the pulse again.
Jeremy Creek’s unique energy signature had been steadily growing stronger throughout the long week…
a low, dangerous electrical hum that Alex’s dampened magical senses could now clearly pick up from all the way across town.
Violently surging and fading.
The distinct, chaotic pattern of a terrifying power that its young host couldn’t fully control.
According to Alex’s perfect memories of the old television show, Jeremy would finally make his move tonight.
Homecoming night.
He would go directly after the starting football players…
the arrogant successors of the cruel boys who had viciously strung him up as a helpless scarecrow twelve years ago.
He would try to brutally kill them with the exact same electrical fury that the radioactive meteor rocks had cursed him with.
And Clark would undoubtedly stop him.
But stopping someone and actually killing them were two very different things entirely.
Alex quietly left the quiet library at seven o’clock sharp and walked straight to Riley Field.
The massive cornfield situated at the edge of Riley Field was towering and dense in the lingering September warmth.
The thick green stalks rose high above Alex’s head, completely blocking his view of absolutely everything except the narrow dirt path between the rows.
The humid air smelled richly of dark earth, dry husks, and the faint, sharp metallic tang of electrical ozone.
Alex stopped walking and slowly crouched down in the dirt.
Exactly twenty yards ahead, starkly illuminated by the pale light of the rising autumn moon, a heavy wooden post stood firmly planted in the clearing.
And on that post, arms spread wide, bright red paint aggressively streaked across his bare chest in the crude, mocking shape of an “S,” hung Clark Kent.
The scarecrow.
Alex calmly studied the brutal scene.
Clark’s thick wrists were securely bound with rough rope…
totally ordinary rope that he could easily snap with a mere passing thought.
His shirt was completely gone.
The glowing green kryptonite necklace that Lana Lang wore every single day was currently hanging heavily around his neck on a thin leather cord.
That was exactly why he hadn’t easily freed himself.
The highly radioactive kryptonite was pressed directly against his bare skin, violently draining away his god-like strength, keeping him just as weak and utterly helpless as any ordinary teenage boy.
Whitney Fordman’s cruel work.
The arrogant quarterback had somehow taken Lana’s necklace…
probably told her some smooth, charming lie about wanting to carry it for good luck during the big game…
and maliciously used it to completely neutralize the one single person in all of Smallville who absolutely couldn’t be neutralized by normal, earthly means.
Whether Whitney actually knew what the strange necklace did or simply thought it was a brilliant humiliation tactic didn’t really matter.
The brutal result was exactly the same.
Clark hung limply, his heavy head bowed in defeat.
Actively suffering.
Alex could easily free him.
It would honestly take five seconds.
Walk confidently up, remove the glowing necklace, quickly cut the rough ropes.
Clark would fully recover his strength in mere minutes.
But Alex didn’t move a single muscle.
He quietly watched.
He waited in the shadows.
He observed.
Because this specific moment…
Clark Kent strung up like a pathetic sacrifice, stripped and painted and totally abandoned…
was incredibly important.
It was the crucial crucible.
The exact defining moment that would firmly set the trajectory of Clark’s entire freshman year and ultimately shape everything that followed.
And much more practically, Clark needed to desperately free himself and get to the school dance before Jeremy Creek did.
The timeline absolutely had to hold.
Besides…
Alex could feel something dark approaching.
A massive, crackling disturbance in the ambient energy field.
Furious.
Getting closer by the second.
A lone figure silently emerged from the towering corn on the far side of the dark clearing.
Jeremy Creek.
Alex had truly expected raw, unbridled rage.
He had honestly expected a wild-eyed, screaming teenager completely consumed by dark vengeance, violently crackling with uncontrolled, explosive power.
What he actually saw was much, much worse.
Jeremy Creek moved with the terrifying, eerie calm of someone who had completely passed through their rage and come out the other side into something absolutely cold and dangerously purposeful.
He was young…
physically young, still the exact same fifteen-year-old boy who had been viciously strung up in this very field twelve long years ago.
The deep coma had perfectly preserved him.
But his dark eyes were ancient.
Totally hollow.
The dead eyes of someone who had spent twelve agonizing years trapped alone in the absolute darkness with absolutely nothing but his boiling fury for company.
Small, violent arcs of blinding blue-white electricity crawled hungrily across his pale skin, actively jumping between his twitching fingers, dancing brightly along his tense forearms.
The still air around him sharply smelled of heavy ozone and scorched earth.
Jeremy walked slowly toward Clark.
He stopped.
Looked quietly at the helpless scarecrow.
For a fleeting moment, something almost human flickered across his dead face…
recognition.
A deep, painful memory.
A broken boy looking directly at the cruel echo of his own terrible suffering, vividly painted on someone else’s bare body.
Then, he reached up and simply pulled the glowing kryptonite necklace right from Clark’s neck.
Alex tensed in the shadows.
The restorative effect was absolutely immediate.
Healthy color rapidly flooded back into Clark’s pale face.
His broad shoulders flexed powerfully.
His limp fingers instantly curled into tight fists.
The thick ropes groaned and creaked loudly as his true strength…
impossible, alien strength…
violently surged back through his recovering limbs.
Jeremy simply turned around and walked away.
He hadn’t come for Clark at all.
He had come specifically for the football players.
Clark was just another innocent victim of the exact same cruel tradition…
a kindred spirit, at least in Jeremy’s shattered, broken mind.
The absolute moment Jeremy completely disappeared back into the thick corn, Clark violently snapped his bonds like they were made of dry paper.
He dropped heavily to the cold ground, staggered wildly for a second, then caught himself.
Looked around frantically.
Found his discarded shirt lying in the dirt and hurriedly pulled it on.
Then, without a single word, he completely disappeared in a supersonic blur of motion…
heading straight toward the school.
Toward the crowded dance.
Toward Jeremy Creek.
Alex waited patiently in the dark.
He slowly counted to thirty.
Then, he calmly stood up and followed, but not before quietly bending down and taking the glowing green necklace from the dirt.