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Broken	By : MidnightBard Category: G through L > Lois & Clark Views: 2191 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Clark's frown instantly deepened. He x-rayed through the cabin's walls for a moment. In the dancing light of the fire, he could see the source of the cries. A man, standing over the body of a nude and weeping child, zipping up his jeans. For a second, the man's head was bowed, obstructing Clark's view. But less than a heartbeat later, the man looked up, a self-satisfied grin on his face. As the man's face came into view, Clark had to fight the impulse not to vomit.
                Piercing, cold blue eyes beneath a too-wide forehead. Cheeks littered with freckles. Closely cropped brown hair with a fading stripe of green running back from each of his temples. A scar above his right eye - a crude yet unmistakable C-shape. A black dragon adorning the man's neck, streaked and highlighted with touches of red, looking as though the beast sat on the man's shoulder.
                "Alex," Clark whispered, struck momentarily immobile.
                Alex looked down again at the child, grinning, showing off the chipped front tooth that was all too familiar to Clark. Then he turned, moved toward a moldy, half scorched couch, and rummaged through a gray nylon duffel bag, which sat on a chair beside the couch. After a moment, he pulled out a gleaming hunting knife and faced his latest victim.
                "Ssh. Don't cry. It will all be over soon," he cooed to the boy.
                The boy saw the weapon and tried to back away, but his wrists were tied and his ankles bound. Thick rope ran from each thin ankle into iron rings in the floor, sloppily driven into the damaged floorboards and still shiny in their newness. His legs lay spread, unable to move more than an inch to either side.
                "Come now, my pretty orphan," Alex teased. "It won't be so bad. Just a sting and it will all be over. Your blood will spill. The ritual must be completed." He took a measured step closer to the boy.
                That galvanized Clark. Like a stone, he dropped from the heavens, angling his flight path slightly as he closed the distance between himself and the cabin. Straight through the roof he crashed, sending wood and rotting shingles into a heap beneath him. Before Alex could register what was happening, Clark broke the ropes which had once bound the poor, shuddering boy to the floor, and used them to bind Alex's hands and feet. He set the man down on the chair, knocking the duffel bag to the floor. Using a bit of extra rope from a coil he found within the bag, he bound Alex to the chair. Satisfied the man could not escape, Clark quickly spun as he would if he was going to change back into his normal clothes, though he did nothing but remove his cape.
                Coming to a stop, he reached a hand down to the boy, helping him off the dirty floor. Once the child was standing, Clark offered him the cape, for the child's clothes could be seen in the hearth, slowly being consumed by the flames which danced there.
                "Here," Clark said, extending the heavy red cape to the boy. "Take this."
                "Thank you," the boy said in a quavering voice.
                The child took the cape and wrapped it around himself, watching Clark warily with his eyes. Clark, for his part, couldn't blame the boy for his mistrustful stare. Superman though he was, the boy clearly couldn't find any trust within his heart toward another adult male.
                "Are you okay?" he asked the boy, attempting to get the boy to trust him.
                "No," the boy said, shaking his head and trembling. "He...he..." He pointed through the cape at Alex, his eyes wide.
                "I know," Clark said, nodding. "But he won't hurt you again. I promise. Can you trust me on that?"
                The boy hesitated for a couple of seconds, then finally nodded shallowly. "Okay."
                Clark smiled at the child. "Good. Now, can you tell me what your name is?"
                "Denny. Denny Miner."
                "Okay, Denny. I'm going to call the police now. All right?"
                Again the child nodded.
                Clark strode across the room to the discarded duffel bag. It had toppled to one side, some of the contents spilling from it. Clark plucked a cell phone from the mess and flipped open the mouth piece. It was a simple phone, one which Alex could easily and cheaply replace when he ran out of minutes. No wonder he and Lois hadn't found any cell phone trail to trace Alex through. Alex could have bought the phone in any electronics store, paid cash, and remained anonymous the entire time. Clark checked the battery and was pleased to find it mostly charged.
                "Alex Harwood. I've been looking for you," he said, finally turning to address the man he'd been hunting for the last few weeks.
                "Ah, so you know who I am."
                Inwardly, Clark winced at Alex's voice. Even as a kid, the man had possessed arrogance and a very skewed sense of self importance. If anything, it sounded even worse to Clark's ears now than it had twelve years prior.
                "Yes, I do," he said, without nodding, without any emotion at all, aside from a harder than usual edge to his voice.
                "You're too late, Superman. You know that, don't you? The boy...he was delightful. He screamed just the right amount. Begged for help. Cried." There was no hint of remorse in Alex's words. Instead, they were dull, flat, without any emotion to speak of, except, Clark thought unhappily, for a bizarre sense of pride.
                Clark didn't respond to his words. Instead, he held up the cell phone to Alex's line of sight.
                "Normally," he said, biting back most of the disgust which threatened to drown his words, "I'd ask before borrowing a person's phone. But not this time. Enjoy the next little while before the police get here. I promise you, they will be your last moments as a free man."
                With that, Clark turned partially away from Alex. He quickly punched in the number for Inspector Henderson, then waited while it rang. He was about to give up and just dial 911 when he heard the phone being picked up.
                "Henderson," a somewhat sleepy voice greeted him.
                "Inspector? This is Superman."
                "Superman?" Instantly, the fatigue seemed to vanish from the policeman's voice. "What can I do for you?"
                "I found Alex Harwood," he said simply, enjoying, for a brief second, the way the man in question squirmed almost imperceptibly as Clark spoke with the cop.
                "You what? Where?"
                "Do you know the old burnt-out cabin, about five miles due east of exit 17?"
                "Yeah, I know it."
                "I'm at the cabin with Alex."
                "Alone?"
                For the slightest moment, Clark hesitated, looking for the right words. "I'm afraid not. He, uh, struck again." He chanced a quick glance at the boy, who stood leaning against the wall, nervously chewing his lower lip.
                "Oh no," the Inspector groaned. "Did he...?"
                "You, uh, better bring an EMT," Clark said, confirming the man's suspicions, unable to voice the words he really meant.
                I was too late.
                "Don't move. I'm on my way."
                The line clicked, went dead, and reverted back to a dial tone. Clark flipped shut the mouth piece and placed the phone on a rusted metal table, less than an arm's reach away. Then he turned back to Denny. He took a few, cautious steps toward the boy, giving him silent credit when he did not flinch away from him.
                "I'm sorry," Clark whispered to him, low enough so Alex could not hear. "I wish I'd been here sooner. The police are on their way. They're going to need you to tell them what happened. Do you think you can do that?"
                "I...I think so," the boy stammered, pulling his gaze from Clark's face to study the floor. "Superman? Please...don't leave."
                "I'm not going anywhere," Clark vowed.
                "Thanks for the cape," the boy mumbled.
                Clark just nodded. "It's pretty cold tonight. Are you warm enough?"
                "I'm a little cold," Denny admitted.
                "Here. Come over to the fire."
                Clark ushered the child over to the fireplace, careful not to touch him. The last thing the boy needed was another adult's hands on him, no matter how innocently, or how much comfort was meant to be behind the touch.
                A neat stack of wood stood off to one side of the stone fireplace. Clark choose a few thick pieces and added them to the meager fire that was already burning. With a few darts of his heat vision, he soon had the blaze roaring once more. Heat and light flooded the room. Denny pulled the cape around him even more tightly, then sat on the floor in front of the fire, staring into the depths of the flames. Clark watched as the boy wiggled his toes, working heat back into the freezing digits.
                Now that the immediate danger was over, Clark allowed himself to take a good look at the boy. Denny couldn't be older than thirteen or fourteen. He was thin and pale, a mop of unruly brown hair atop his head. His hair didn't appear to have been cut in a while. He had a hardened set to his jaw, a trait Clark immediately knew for what it meant. Denny was a street kid, like Clark had once been.
                "Is there anyone else I can call for you?" Clark asked, carefully choosing his words.
                "No," Denny replied, shaking his head. "It's just my brother and me. We don't have a phone where we're staying right now."
                "And where is that?" Clark pressed, wanting desperately to help the boy.
                But the boy wouldn't answer. He simply shut down and stared silently into the fire.
                "You got what you deserved," Alex growled from across the room, taunting the child.
                Clark snapped his attention away from Denny to glare at the older man. "No one deserves what you've done here tonight."
                "He stole from me!"
                "So you raped him as punishment?" Clark scoffed, incredulously.
                "As if you understand anything," Alex shot back. "As if you could possibly know what real life is like for the average person. You fly around, doing your thing. You don't bleed, don't hurt, don't have any of the problems facing the rest of us. You aren't one of us real people. You're nothing but a freak in a blue suit and a cape."
                Freak.
                The word slapped Clark like a blow to his midsection.
                Freak.
                Alex had called him that every single time he'd raped Clark during those hellish months of living in the Harwoods' home.
                Freak.
                That one word alone had hurt Clark more than anything else Alex had said and done to him during that time. It had been hard enough, growing up, losing his parents, and developing his powers - powers which had terrified him beyond belief. He hadn't needed or wanted to be reminded that he wasn't normal - that he could never be normal. And it had only rubbed fresh salt into his wounds, knowing his parents had always and unquestioningly accepted his abilities. Not only accepted, but embraced them as blessings.
                "I understand a lot more than you think," Clark said evenly, using every ounce of his self control not to yell at the man, or to cross the room and shake some sense into him. "I understand that you don't commit horrific crimes against anyone, especially a child."
                Alex snorted his disgust. "Spare me the lecture, freak. The boy got what he deserved," he repeated.
                "What makes you think there is any sort of justification for what you did tonight?" Clark shot back, ignoring the jab. "For what you attempted to do to Ryan Mann? For what I'm going to guess you've done to other innocent children besides?"
                For a minute, Clark simply held the other man's eyes, daring him to respond. Alex fixed him with a cold stare, but did not answer. When Alex failed to speak, Clark turned, putting his back to the man. He took up a sentinel position at one of the grimy windows in the cabin. The glass was half broken at the top, crisscrossed with a spider webbing of fracture lines. Beyond the window, the moon rose higher, throwing milky white light over the quiet woods. It was almost peaceful, he reflected.
                Almost.
                Perhaps it would have been, had he caught Alex before the man had laid a hand on the poor child in the cabin.
                I failed, he thought bitterly. I failed Denny.
                Within half an hour, his sentry duty came to an end as the wail of sirens rent the brittle night air. Soon after, the unmistakable flash of alternating red and blue lights lit up the woods, throwing splashes of color onto the trunks of the trees which lined the rocky dirt road leading up to Alex's hiding place. Clark sighed softly in relief as the police vehicles came bouncing their way up the narrow roadway. He left his post by the window and knelt for a moment beside Denny.
                "Hey," he said softly, not wanting to spook the child. "The police are here now."
                "That's good," the boy said hollowly. He started to stand.
                "No," Clark said, that one word stilling the boy's movements. "Just stay put. Stay here by the fire, where it's warm. I'm going to speak for a moment with Inspector Henderson, then I'm sure he'll come in to talk to you, or have one of the other officers do so. Don't worry, I know them all. They're all good people."
                "Superman? Please, don't leave me alone with him," Denny begged, flicking his eyes briefly, as if to look over his shoulder to where Alex sat.
                "Aww, is the widdle baby afwaid of the big, bad man?" Alex taunted from his seat. "You gonna cry now? Like you did when I..."
                "Shut up!" Denny snapped at the man, throwing his hands over his ears to block out Alex's voice. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
                "Just...try to ignore him," Clark urged in a soft voice, as the boy once more let his hands drop to his lap. "The thing about people like him is, they crave the attention, the reactions. Without it, they have no power. And I won't leave you alone with him. I promise."
                "Okay," the boy said, a little shakily after his outburst.
                Clark gave him a warm, reassuring smile, then stood. He went to the door and opened it wide, just as the first of the police cruisers came to a skidding halt, small pebbles crunching beneath the new looking tires. Henderson was the first one out of the car, throwing the door open almost before the vehicle was stopped. He broke into a jog, heading for where Clark stood, as other officers began to flank him.
                "He's in here," Clark called to them, waving them in closer.
                "Thanks, Superman," Henderson said, nodding, as he closed the final few feet between them and entered into the cabin.
                Clark nodded in return. "He's all yours."
                "I appreciate it," the Inspector replied. Then, looking toward his men, "Orso, read him his rights. I'd like to speak with Superman a moment, get his statement."
                "Yes, sir," the man in question said, edging around where Henderson and Clark stood, taking out a pair of handcuffs from his belt.
                "Are you okay, son?" Henderson asked, catching sight of Denny for the first time. Clark had rarely ever heard so gentle a tone in to the man's voice.
                "I guess," was the only reply the boy made, his eyes never leaving the fire burning in the hearth.
                "You're safe now," Henderson said, trying again.
                "I know."
                "Listen, I'd like to have our EMT take a look at you, if that's all right."
                Denny only shrugged beneath Clark's heavy cape.
                "Denny?" asked Clark.
                "Fine," the boy said, shrugging again.
                "Tucker?" called Henderson.
                Phil Tucker, the EMT that had responded to the call that night, obediently and wordlessly stepped over to where the three were. He gently set his bag of supplies on the floor and knelt beside Denny.
                "Hey there," he said. "I promise, I'll make this as fast as possible. Okay?"
                "Whatever," the boy mumbled.
                "Denny, Phil's a good man," Clark said, trying to reassure him. "I know him a long time now."
                It was true. The man in question was almost a constant presence at crime scenes. Clark had gotten to know him quite well, both when he was playing the role of Superman and as Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet. Clark liked Phil a great deal - he had a very gentle manner to him that made it easy for victims to relax somewhat in his presence.
                Behind Clark, Alex had been handcuffed and his rights had been explained to him. Officer Orso escorted the man out from the cabin. Clark followed behind, watching. He saw Alex put into the back of one of the police cruisers, then sighed to himself, knowing the hunt was finally over. Alex was caught. He would be brought to justice. No more children would have to suffer his touch. No more parents would have to fear that Alex would abduct their children.
                It should have made Clark happy.
                But it didn't.
                He'd been too late. Too late to save Denny. Too late to stop Alex from ruining another boy's life. And, he admitted, shame burning him, he'd almost been too late to stop Alex from killing Denny. All because he'd taken the night off from the search. All because he'd needed a break from his relentless patrols. All because he'd never once imagined Alex would have found this cabin.
                "Inspector?" Clark called, shaking himself from his thoughts. "Can I have a word with you?"
                "Of course," Henderson said, leaving Phil to his work, and giving Denny a little privacy.
                "Let's take a little walk, shall we?" Clark asked in a low, confidential tone. "Besides, the poor kid's been through a lot tonight. He doesn't need the extra eyes around while Phil examines him."
                Henderson nodded. "All right."
                Clark led his friend out of the cabin and toward the edge of the encroaching woods, where they would be out of earshot. He leaned his back against a slender white birch and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he sighed and shook his head.
                "He's shutting down," he said, more to himself than to the Inspector.
                "Come again?"
                "Denny. He's shutting down. He was a little more open with me earlier, but now, with all the police activity...he's closing up again."
                "That happens sometimes. It gets to be a little overwhelming for some people. We see it all the time."
                "I'm sure," Clark said, nodding. "I was able to find out a little about him. He said his name is Denny Miner. He's got a brother, but he can't reach him by phone. He said it's just the two of them."
                "Miner?" Henderson repeated. "You're sure?"
                Clark nodded. "Of course I am. Why?"
                "It's just...a kid named Jack came into the station a couple of hours ago. Said his brother was missing. Wanna guess what his last name was?"
                "Miner," Clark said, finishing the man's thought.
                "Bingo."
                Clark ran his hand through his hair, careful not to disturb the distinct, slicked-back look that was one of Superman's trademarks. "I think they're street kids," he said after a moment.
                Henderson nodded. "Yeah. I got that impression."
                "The Superman Foundation has a good half-way house," Clark said, thinking aloud. "Maybe I can convince them to stay there."
                "Maybe," the man agreed. "Listen, Clark, what happened here tonight? I've never seen you look quite this pale before or so...disturbed...since I showed you that sketch a few weeks back after the attempt on Ryan Mann."
                "I just wished I'd been here sooner," Clark said, sighing heavily. "I wish I'd been able to save Denny."
                "Don't tell me it's all just from guilt over getting here too late tonight," Henderson said, leaning against a tall pine tree and crossing his arms. "I'm not buying it."
                "It's nothing."
                "Kent...I swear, if I find out that you knew something that you didn't tell us..."
                "Bill, I promise you, I didn't hold back any information that could have helped us find Alex sooner. Why would I? I've hated every moment Alex has been free, knowing he could strike again at any time, and that I might not be able to prevent it. Geez, Bill, you know me better than that."
                Henderson sighed. "Yeah, I know."
                "You want to know why I'm so shaken? I took the night off, Bill. I thought it would be safe for me to take a couple of hours worth of a break from my patrols to have dinner with Lois. And look what happened."
                "It's not your fault," Henderson said, shaking his head. "I'm just glad you got this guy off the streets."
                "He didn't just rape Denny," Clark said in a low voice, as if uttering those words could cause new injuries to the boy in the cabin.
                "What do you mean?"
                "He had Denny chained down to the floor. When I first heard Denny's cries, I x-rayed the building. Alex went to his duffel bag and pulled out a knife. He was going to kill him."
                Henderson let out a heavy breath and closed his eyes for a moment, tipping his head back to rest against the pine's rough bark.
                "You're sure?"
                "Positive."
                "Okay. Thanks for letting me know. But, you know I have to get the whole story, in order, for the record. You okay to do it now?"
                Clark dipped his head in a nod. "Absolutely."
                For the next few minutes, Clark gave Henderson a fully detailed account of the events of the evening, beginning with his departure from the prison. He told the man how he'd been flying along when he'd noticed something was off in the area. He recounted smelling the smoke and hearing Denny's soft cries. He told the man of how he'd seen Alex go for the knife and of the threats he'd made. He went on to detail everything he, Denny, and Alex had said and done, ending with the arrival with the Metropolis Police Department.
                Henderson took notes in a small leather-bound notebook, and Clark made sure to pause in places so that his friend could keep pace with him. When he was finished, Henderson pocketed the notebook again, though Clark knew it would soon be out once more when Denny told his version of what had happened that night.
                "Thanks, Clark," Henderson said, inclining his head toward Clark slightly. "Just one last thing."
                "Yeah?"
                "It's to protect you."
                "What is? And from what?"
                "My guys are collecting DNA evidence...from Denny and from Alex."
                Clark nodded. "Yeah?"
                "Could we...get a sample from you? To protect you. Guys like Alex, they always try to blame others. If he tries to implicate you...I want to be able to shoot that right down. Not that there are many people who'd believe Superman to be capable of such an atrocity. But when he goes to trial, we have to be ready to show that it was all on him."
                "Good point," Clark agreed. "You guys can do it from hair samples, right?"
                Henderson nodded. "Yeah. Thanks. I know it's a bit of an awkward thing, to think of anyone accusing Superman, of all people, of something like this. But, like I said, I want to protect you as best I can."
                "It's not a problem, Bill," Clark assured him. "If anything, I'm happy to provide it. And I'm glad to know you're looking out for me. You're right, of course. People like Alex...I wouldn't put it past him to do something like that."
                "Inspector?" called Phil, poking his head out into the night from the door to the cabin. "I'm all set in here."
                "Okay, great," Henderson replied, yelling back just enough so the man could hear him. "I'll be there in a moment."
                "You got it," the man said, before disappearing back inside.
                "Are you going to take Denny's statement here?" Clark asked, nodding toward the cabin.
                "I'd prefer to take him back to the station, truth be told," Henderson said, sighing. "I'm just afraid being in the station will make him clam up even more."
                Clark nodded absently. "Give me a couple of minutes, Bill."
                "Trouble?" the Inspector asked, used to Clark sometimes needing to dash off in the middle of things to make another rescue.
                "No," he replied, shaking his head. "I just figure Denny's got to be feeling...well...rather exposed right now. Alex threw his clothes in the fire after all. Let me go get him something to change into."
                Henderson chuckled. "You're right. Go. But leave your hair sample with Phil first."
                Clark nodded and pushed himself away from the tree. He walked over to the cabin, then gently grasped the rusted, melted doorknob and went inside. Denny sat before the fire, Clark's cape pulled as tightly as possible around him. He didn't even turn around when Clark stepped into the room.
                "Inspector Henderson wants me to leave a hair sample with you," he told Phil.
                The man frowned but nodded. "Sure thing."
                Clark reached up to his head and isolated a single strand of hair. With a quick tug, he pulled the strand free from the rest of its brethren.   Without a word, he placed it in the sterile tube Phil held out to him in readiness. His task completed, Clark stepped back out into the cold night, then took off like a shot into the sky. Summoning up a great deal of speed, he raced into the heart of Metropolis, tearing through clouds and leaving a sonic boom in his wake.
                Once in midtown, he found a deserted ally and landed. Carefully ensuring no one was around, he spun out of the suit and into his Clark clothes. Then he left the ally and jogged lightly across the street. At that late hour, most stores were closed, with the exception of the one twenty-four hour store on the block. Clark stepped through the automatic sliding doors and walked with a purposeful stride through the aisles until he came to the boys' section. There were several clearance racks in the section, and Clark quickly selected several shirts and pairs of pants that looked as though they would fit Denny. Satisfied with his choices and the fact that he could get more out of the money he'd planned to spend, he moved on, adding sneakers, socks and undergarments to his hand basket. He was about to leave when a rack of coats caught his eye. Clark picked out a dark green one, then headed up to the register.
                Despite the hour, there were a few people in line ahead of him. Though normally a patient man, Clark couldn't help tapping his toe a little as he waited. His mind constantly strayed back to Denny. He wanted to get back to the boy as soon as he could. He didn't want the child thinking Superman had abandoned him. He waited as patiently as he could while the cashier called for a price check on an item for the man before him, and was infinitely glad when it was finally his turn at the register.
                To Clark's relief, his items were rung up without a problem, and less than five minutes later, he was on his way again, this time with four plastic bags swaying from his hands. He ducked back into the same ally he'd landed in. Again, he carefully checked to ensure no witnesses saw him, then he spun back into his suit, sans cape, and flew back to the cabin.
                In all, he'd been gone for only fifteen minutes.
                When he stepped foot back inside the cabin, he found Henderson trying to get information from Denny, but the boy merely watched the flames in the hearth without speaking. Henderson looked up as Clark walked into the room. Denny did not.
                "I'm back," Clark said in a low voice, knowing how absurd that sounded. He crossed the room to Denny's side, then knelt. "Denny?"
                The boy finally looked up at him, but he still didn't speak.
                "I brought you some things to put on," Clark continued, setting the bags down.
                "You...went shopping?" the boy asked, incredulous.
                Clark smiled. "I didn't. My friend, Clark Kent, did. I gave him a description of your height and weight. Hopefully, what he picked out will fit you."
                "Thank you," the boy said, and Clark could see how truly touched he was by the gesture.
                "It was our pleasure. Inspector Henderson and I will step out for a moment so you can have some privacy. Okay?"
                "Okay," he agreed.
                Wordlessly, Clark and Henderson went out to wait for Denny to change. Once the door closed, Clark turned to his friend.
                "Any luck with him?"
                "Not a damn word out of him."
                Clark sighed.
                "He seems only to be willing to talk to you so far. I'd like to get him out of here though."
                "I agree. He'll be warmer and safer in the police station."
                "Think you could talk him into it?"
                "I'll do my best."
                "Thanks. You know, you look really odd without the cape," Henderson teased.
                Clark couldn't help but chuckle. "It feels weird to be without it," he admitted.
                A couple of minutes later, Denny emerged, dressed in a red flannel shirt, dark blue jeans, and the warm coat Clark had purchased for him. He gave Clark a half smile.
                "Hey," Clark said, smiling. "Looks like the clothes fit just fine."
                "Yeah," Denny agreed. "Tell your friend I said thanks."
                "I will," Clark promised. "Listen, Denny, I know it's been a long and miserable night for you. But, I'd like for you to go with Inspector Henderson down to the police station. He needs to get a statement from you about what happened tonight, so he can make sure Alex stays in jail for a long, long time. Would that be okay with you?"
                The color had drained from Denny's face. "I...I..." he said, starting to panic. "I can't. Please. Just bring me back to the city so I can go home to my brother."
                "You aren't in any trouble," Henderson said, taking a soft tone.
                "But...I..."
                "What?" the Inspector urged.
                "I tried to steal from him. I did steal from him. Just food. I was hungry. I didn't mean...I couldn't help it. Jack and I haven't eaten in two days." The words tumbled from Denny's lips and his eyes darted about in fear. "That's why I was out tonight. I thought I would go out, knock on some doors. It's Halloween. People are expecting kids like me to knock on their doors, begging for treats. I figured I'd just look like a kid dressed up like a hobo. When I saw the food in the guy's car, unattended, I just acted. I didn't think. Please, don't send me to jail," he finished, begging now.
                "Hey, hey," Clark said soothingly. "It's alright. We're here to help you, not punish you."
                Denny roughly wiped away the tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
                "Superman's right. You're not in any trouble," Henderson said. "I want to help you, if you'll let me." Denny nodded. "Good. Come on, let's get you in the car."
                "Okay."
                "I'll go put out the fire," Clark said, as Denny turned away to get into the nearest police cruiser. "Are your guys all set in there?"
                "Yeah."
                "Great."
                Clark went back into the cabin, intent on extinguishing the blaze in the hearth. He crossed the room, veering to one side, in order to retrieve his cape from where it lay in a crumpled heap. As he bent to retrieve the discarded piece of his uniform, the floorboard creaked and dipped slightly beneath his booted foot. He gave the floor a quick x-ray, for what reason, he was never really sure. Perhaps it was instinct. Perhaps he did it purely out of reflex. Or perhaps he'd seen too many old movies. Whatever the reason, he did so, and found, to his surprise, something beneath the wood.
                Slipping his fingers into a tiny gap where the wood had warped, Clark pulled the floorboard loose and removed it. There, in a shallow space, he found a beaten, tan moleskin notebook. He reached in and carefully removed the book, using his cape so as not to contaminate the book with his own fingerprints. Straightening up, he eased the elastic strap from around the book and flipped through it, reading the contents at super speed.
                Every word made him sick to his stomach. It was a Herculean task not to vomit. He closed the book and swallowed hard against the bile in the back of his throat.
                "Inspector...?" he called, his voice half strangled.
                In a moment, Henderson appeared beside him.
                "What?" the man asked.
                Clark held the notebook aloft. "Things are worse then they seem," he said in a whisper, unable to make his voice come any stronger. "A lot worse."
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Broken