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The Irrational Mind, Escapes ***Lex remembers. They don’t understand it. No matter how much they increase the dosage of the drugs, his answers to their questions don’t change. *What is your full name*? *Who is the president*? *Can you describe the events leading up to your being brought here*? They particularly don’t like his answer to the last one: Yes. He knows what they want, what it is they’re trying to do. They talk about him like he isn’t even there. Or like it doesn’t matter, since, hey, in the end he won’t remember what they said. He’s a little bit crazy of course – he knows that his roommates here aren’t real, although that knowledge doesn’t make them any less believable, and certainly doesn’t make them any more inclined to leave him alone. His personal staff don’t care about the little things like Louis’s presence. Lex thinks he’d maybe find that funny, if it wasn’t him that was inadequately insane, yet still in a straightjacket and locked up. They whisper Lionel’s name fearfully. ‘Mr Luthor will be disappointed.’ ‘Mr Luthor expects results.’ ‘Mr Luthor will not stand for failure.’ Personally, Lex is disappointed in Mr Luthor. His father has all the facts: every scrap of information that Lex has gathered on the meteor rocks and their effects is undoubtedly in his hands; the knowledge that Lex hasn’t been ill since a very specific time. For someone supposedly all knowing, Lionel is taking a long time to make the connection. Especially considering that every single boy that Lex went to school with could have told Lionel the truth – Lex Luthor is a freak. A freak who knows, however, that it’s only a matter of time before they find a drug combination, or some other therapy that works on him. So Lex repeats the important facts over and over, keeping them close because they’re the only things he has. Helen betrayed him, tried to kill him. He can’t let her fool him again. Lionel, with Morgan Edge, murdered his own parents. To hide the truth, his father put Lex here in hell and poisoned him to make it seem necessary. Edge changed his face. He shot Edge but it didn’t kill him. The car crash did. Clark believed him. Clark *chose* him. Clark lied to him, but that was what Clark did. Lex had tried to learn that if he wanted to call Clark a friend, then he had to accept the lies; that was the condition he had to live with. But Lex forgot, he didn’t keep quiet and he let slip what he knew. Only after watching a car fold around Clark in an embrace that would have killed any other man, but he knows Clark won’t accept that as an excuse. Because Clark left. Lex shouldn’t have been surprised but he was. And they brought Lex here, and this was where he was going to stay, because no one was coming to save him after he’d been bad like that. That’s what his father reminds Lex when he visits. Lex isn’t sure when that’s real and when it’s not, but he thinks mostly not, based on the way Lionel suddenly appears in the room. Lionel tells him what a disappointment he is, how ashamed his mother would be at this, at everything Lex has done since he drove her into an early grave. Lex hides his face against the wall and tries not to listen. It’s not his fault that his mom died. Or that Julian did, or that his father never wanted him. It’s not. Clark’s definitely not real but at least he’s mostly nice. Mostly. Grinning and dressed just like he had been that day he’d come to the mansion wanting him and Lex to run away together, he whispers things that Lex is sure Clark shouldn’t know. Clark never touches him though, only tantalises Lex with the promise of warmth and then pulls back, still wearing that same smile. Clark keeps encouraging Lex to fight them. If only Lex could stop them giving him the drugs, then they could be together, Clark says. Lex tries to explain that it’s not that easy because he’s weak (his father smirks at this admission if he’s there) and he can’t use his arms, and they’re always *waiting* for him to struggle. But he tries, just like he always does. And he fails just the same too. It doesn’t matter how many times he yells that he’s sorry, Clark always looks so disappointed in Lex when they pin him down and force the needle in. Lex would close his eyes against that look, but when he does, he still sees Clark, only it’s the real version and he’s terrified – of Lex. Some things he isn’t so desperate to remember *** Lex is staring at the wall. No particular reason why, there isn’t much variety in what he has to look at. He wonders if this sensory deprivation is another piece of their plan, or if everyone here is lucky enough to get this treatment. He’s counted the number of padded squares in his room more times than he can remember. There’s no division between day and night when there’s no light and dark. All there is for him, is green, and he can’t measure the passing of time by that. Seconds could stretch out, infinitely long, but it’s just as likely that days contract and pass by in the time it takes him to force himself from sitting to standing. They’re not particularly meticulous about feeding him, but they can’t teach him anything about hunger that he didn’t already learn on this year’s summer vacation. And the prospect of having baby food spoon-fed to him doesn’t fill him with great anticipation for mealtime. Lex pulls his knees up to rest his chin against them. He keeps getting distracted like this, thinking about these things that aren’t important. He’s losing the details about what is. He knows he shot a man. Maybe more than one, because he certainly seems to remember different guns clutched in his hands, palms sweating as he pulls the trigger. Why would he do something like that? What kind of person does that make him? The only thing that stops him from labelling himself as a monster is the surety that someone else in his life has already claimed that title, even if he can’t recall whom exactly. He remembers a man with two faces, but that’s madness – no one outside his father’s tales is really like that. Lex moves to bite his nails, a habit broken for him before he was even school age and one that he can’t resume now anyway – his muscles tense as they are instantly brought up short by the thick fabric binding him. He swallows and forces his arms to relax into their loose hold of his body. His fingers continue to move, nails scratching at the material of the jacket instead. There are flashes of red hair in his mind. Warmth. Home. He has a moment of triumph when he thinks he has it, but when he actually lifts his head to look in the mirror, he’s surprised to see there’s no hair there at all. He remembers dark hair too. Lots of it in fact, different lengths and textures. But he’d known someone truly beautiful, with a blinding smile. A refuge. But the figure is indistinct and fading fast. Lex tries to hold onto it but as soon as he concentrates it’s like fire, flashing through his skull. And the image crumbles to ash. Lex can’t breathe and he wishes that someone would stop that screaming. It’s hard enough to try and focus in here with just Julian’s cries. *** Shock. Burnt out. Catatonic. A few of the words being thrown around by the people towering over him. He’s slumped in his favourite corner, not moving, and drooling. His feet are cold and his shoulder aches. But he’s aware of this, so he can’t be dead. He’s still in here, somewhere. Not that he thinks anyone cares. These people, for all that they’ve possibly turned their star patient into a vegetable, have yet to make any attempt to move him. They’re talking of calling his father. Like there’s anything he can do. Lionel has already thrown more than enough money at this ‘problem’. His father isn’t God, or even Satan, though he does wield the power of life and death over Lex. It’s not really something to be proud of, Lex thinks, but being properly conscious would still be a good idea if he doesn’t want them getting any more inventive in their treatments. Under the guise of ‘tough love’ of course. It’s another thing he has no control over. He doesn’t care. He remembers again - his mother, and Pamela and Clark. The only people who have ever really mattered to him. He hasn’t lost yet. *** The memories came back, but they left again. And came back, and left and… It’s a constant ebb and flow of his life, played out behind his eyes. It’s never going to end, he knows that. This is his purgatory, caught between memories that burn as they fade out, and scrape over every nerve in his body as they return. Lex was wrong to let himself be hopeful. If there’s any lesson he should have learned from his life so far, to stop fucking expecting things to go well for him should have been it. Lionel will destroy him. Clark stood by him. The only two things he desperately tries to hold on to now. He’d wanted three because he’s always preferred odd numbers but he can’t make it work. And in the end, Helen isn’t that important. He can’t make himself stop trying, but it’s inevitable that he’ll reach a breaking point. And then he’ll be remodelled into his father’s perfect right-hand man, the perfect son and heir. Every shred of Lex removed leaving only the Luthor, and the world will cower at his feet. There are tears sliding down his cheeks and he’s too emotional and Luthors don’t cry, but he’s going to die here, regardless of whether his body is carried out in a bag or he walks out the door, and that should be a good enough reason for anyone who sneers. Lex is sobbing brokenly as he crawls over to the huge mirror. Every breath sucked in brings a fresh stab of pain to his chest and he’s just so tired, and this is never going to work (*has he tried it before*?) but he has to maintain the illusion that he has some kind of choice. He smashes his head into the glass with all the force he can manage. Again and again, as blood trickles into his eyes giving the world a red tint, proof that there is still colour in the world outside of sickly green. His ears are ringing: from the pounding and dead Julian, and even Louis, with his fucking ‘I Told You So’s. Lex isn’t sure he can die at all, let alone from this, but if there’s a chance, he’s willing to take it. Maybe if he’s lucky he can at least put himself into some kind of coma so that he’s no longer aware of anything. It probably (maybe. surely) takes less than a minute before the orderlies burst in and wrestle him away from his only chance of escape. They yank his thin pair of trousers down and Lex barely even feels the prick of the needle in amongst the other bruises. The hands linger on his skin, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing does. *** It’s too loud and too crowded in his small corner. Lex wants them to shut up… "Lex." …wants them to *leave*, but of course they don’t listen to him, no one does even though they used to because of his name and his money and he’d give… "Lex, please." …everything to just… "Lex, it’s me. It’s Clark." Yes, very nice, Clark, increasingly crazy, not deaf nor blind and… Clark’s hand is on his face. He looks up slowly. Clark’s eyes are very bright and his hand is *warm*. And he’s wearing jeans. "Clark?" It comes out as a croak but it results in the smile Lex remembers. "Yeah, it’s me, Lex. We’re getting you out of here, okay." Lex isn’t sure, thinks this might be some new trick, but Clark is easing him forward, reaching around his back and undoing the straps of the jacket. Pins and needles race up his suddenly free arms. They hang awkwardly, like they don’t belong to his body. His fingernails are ripped and the tips of his fingers rusty and dark with blood. Lex has to quickly clench his hands into fists before anyone can see. Clark helps him to his feet when his legs threaten to buckle and immediately pulls him into a hug. Lex doesn’t even consider resisting, though he knows he must smell disgusting. He can’t help flinching when Clark whispers though, but it’s not even close to the things Other Clark said. "I’m sorry, Lex. I’d wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t, and I shouldn’t have left you, and then I couldn’t see you, not properly in person and I’m so sorry." Lex feels the drip of tears hitting his back. He licks his cracked lips and opens his mouth but no words come out. Clark is still talking. "I thought it was never going to be over, Lex. We were so scared your father was going to come after Chloe before we had enough evidence. And it took so long." Lex doesn’t think it’s his fault he doesn’t understand any of this. "Clark, what are you talking about?" Clark pulls back to look at him, confused. "Putting Lionel in jail." The only thing that makes Lex believe this is real is that Clark is still holding him up. Clark looks surprised that Lex obviously didn’t know. "They were supposed to tell you. We - I mean, me, Chloe and Mr White – we worked on it every chance we had; it started with just your grandparent’s murders and then more and more suspicious things kept popping up. With everything we’d found, there was no way he could get off. And he was even tried in Gotham, to make sure he couldn’t have bought people off." His father owned law enforcement all over the country. This wasn’t… it couldn’t… "He’s not getting out for a long time, Lex. And they can’t keep you here any longer." Clark is leading him towards the door, and Lex is vaguely aware that there are a lot of other people around. But there had been something in Clark’s voice. "Clark, how long have I been in here?" "We had to wait until he was convicted. They wouldn’t let us…" Lex squeezes Clark’s arm desperately. "Clark." For a moment Lex thinks he’s not going to answer. Clark is staring at the floor, shoulders slumped when he mumbles his reply. Lex didn’t hear it. Couldn’t have heard it. "What?" His voice is lost again, barely a whisper. "Over a year. I’m sorry, Lex…" Clark’s voice fades out. Lex is shaking and he feels like the entire world took two steps to the left when he wasn’t looking, and he’s been left hanging here. He should have known. His father always wins somehow. Lex will remember next time. *** THE END |
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