Mansion on the Hill: A Shipper's Alternate Ending to "Cool"

            CHAPTER THREE - Closer
 

            He opened the door, the handle instantly icing over at his touch, and he surveyed the dark, inert foyer.  Yanking his hand away from the metal shank that had cemented itself to him, he listened grimly to the crisp sound of ice breaking as it filled the hushed, large and overtly magnificent room.  He pushed on the heavy door, not even blinking as it slammed behind him.
            Shawn was used to the fact that even though he didn't want to take the heat from certain things, they still got cold after contact with his skin.  Liquids, of course, were the worst, and he strayed from them like Lara Flamboyle fled from anything edible.  Metals and stone were also pretty bad and he avoided them whenever he could.  He hated having to avoid everything that was once touchable but there was no alternative to his seemingly ever-worsening condition.  Not one that he foresaw, anyway.  The only other choice was to be dead, and he didn't want to die.
            To be suddenly gone and nothing surrounding him; no thoughts, no presence, no vexing chill or gratifying warmth...  Focusing on staying alive- it was what kept him going mentally.
            It scared him though to think that even if he did want to die, if he wanted to give up, that maybe he wouldn't be allowed.
           Why the hell am I still alive?
            Walking ahead, he ignored this internal contention and looked around only half-heartedly at all that Alexander Luther had at his fingertips, knowing that the spoiled young man probably never gave any of it a single glance; adornments of birth, the decor of ornate blood.
            After all, how often had he looked at the cat shit-stained carpets, the pealing wallpaper, the broken fireplace and the rusty furnace thinking he was damned lucky to have them in the first place.  To the right person's eyes, his house was the castle.
           Anyone in a lower station in life is going to have a certain fixation on people and things above them- out of reach.  It's only normal.  And healthy.
            He shook off the jealousy, the envy and concentrated on things other than expensive furniture and suits of armor, Van Gough and the huge replica of David.
            Things like the chill, like finding people, warmth.
            Like the fact that he had drowned.  It wasn't something you were likely to just forget or gloss-over as far as life-changing events go, especially since he hadn't just drowned.  He had drowned and died and risen.  All beneath the frozen fez of impenetrable ice.  The weather and water had been so cold that his weight and eventual fall had only very temporarily placed a hole in the ice.  Yet, he had broken the surface of that ice patch hours later and come out stronger, more vitalized, and-
           Colder
           Even his mouth was cold, tongue glossed over with a constantly shifting sheen of ice.  If he were to move his tongue around [which took too damn much patience and exertion], it felt cold and alien to his mouth, like something was moving around in there that had nothing to do with him  It made him feel uneasy and greasy for some reason, so he didn't move it unless he spoke.
            It had taken him a awhile to realize he was no longer swallowing, and that little insight both scared and elated him.  He was becoming something that no other human was: independent of even his own body's needs.  He was so much stronger now: all he had to do was find out how to stay warm indefinitely and he'd have it made.
            Even though I'm getting worse, I'm getting colder and it's getting harder to stay warm.
            He knew from his body's reactions that his internal temperature was well below zero, but how his blood, his heart, kept pumping- it did, didn't it?- he'd never be able to guess.  He wasn't hungry, he wasn't thirsty, he didn't need to shit or piss or sleep.  He just needed to get warm and rarely thought of anything but.  Because it was getting worse, it was getting chillier, and harder to stay warm.
            He looked up at the ceiling, it's gorgeous vault-like stature, amazing glory of religious devotees on each tile.  Clearly a hand-painted replica of some church ceiling.  Shawn rolled his eyes in disgust just as his foot snagged on the edge of an oriental rug, sending him sprawling face first to the floor.  He winced at the slight pain in his nose.
           Fuck it.
           Another thing affected by being so damn frozen were his reactions: they were slower than usual, more stiff and jerky.  He stayed there for a moment, growling, then moved his hands out to push himself up and abruptly stopped.  In bracing himself, he had placed his right hand on top of the rug, and his left on the stone floor.  It was this hand of which had caught his full attention.
            If a person were to place their ear to a wooden or stone floor, they could sometimes hear people walking around, music, etc from other rooms.  Sometimes maybe even feel vibrations from people walking around.
            Shawn could feel heat.
            Not a heat he could take, not a heat that he could absorb into his body at that moment, but a heat that he could trace.  A heat that formed a trail that he could follow.
            He could feel the whole house bursting with warmth just under his touch, but he couldn't yet make out the confusing melange.  It felt like a jumble to him, like the first time he ever played Mahjongg.
            He thought of ants.  Kick an anthill and the insects all come running out, panicked and in different directions.  Shawn had placed his hand to the floor and felt it: little live wires running around under his palm, frenzied and scattered, with seemingly no order to the random and abrupt movements.
            Knowing this was his map to the heat- his body had become so conditioned to thinking about warmth, had become so attuned to seeking it out that he knew heat's every telltale sign- he pushed himself to his knees, replacing his left hand with his right, and reaching his left out to the wall beside him.  He felt it there too, though not as strongly as from the stone floor.
           Marble must be a better conductor than plaster.
            He stood up, abandoning the floor in return for the more convenient wall, and concentrated, trying to find the strongest wire, the most intense pulse.  He guessed that the stronger it was the closer, and the weaker, the further.
            After a moment, he deduced that they all were fairly far away, a couple even on the second floor.  He couldn't sense any higher, but-
           What's that?
            He could make out that one was almost infinitesimally stronger, closer than the rest and moving towards him at a comfortable rate.  He let go of the wall and took off quietly down the corridor, replacing his hand after a moment to feel out the direction again.
            He turned a corner and quietly entered another room, shutting the door behind him.  After a second, he could make out that he was in an immense dining area, decorated for some large banquet or such.
            He placed his hand back to the wall and focused hard, trying to pick out the previous wire.
           Little confusing.  It's getting a bit easier, but it’s still gonna take some practice.
            Concentrating so intensely on the one line that Shawn almost let another pulse, bigger and stronger escape his attention.  He redirected his focus towards the newer one finding that it was coming from where he had come from. The front door exactly.
            For a moment he stood, unsure of how to proceed as the new pulse had scattered his senses a little.  He tried to concentrate on the newer, closer one, but found that it disappeared only a moment later.  He thought for a moment.  If either of the Luthor’s were as smart as they were considered to be, they would have some sort of emergency plan for when the house lost power and it probably included reinforced security.  The larger heat blip on his little internal radar was probably a police officer.
            Deciding that he didn’t want to test his body’s semi-invincibility with bullets just yet, he dumped trying to find the additional line and centered back around his original intent.  There was more than enough heat in this house to keep him safely occupied without going after the security.
            At least for a little while.

            +_+_+_+_+

            He grabbed for the door handle again and this time she saw he was clearly determined not to let go.  "Jonathan, I said don't!"
            "We have to-"
            Martha shook her head.  "Look at it.  It's frozen."
            She watched her husband pocket his small flashlight and turn to her, grabbing hold of one of her shoulders and lightly caressing her face with the other hand.  His palm, the one that had just jerked back from the handle at her hiss of surprise, was surprisingly warm.  "There's no other way that I know of to get inside.  You?"
            Frowning, she looked to the entrance.  "No, but-"
            "Shawn's already in there, right?"
            Christ.  "Well, yeah, if the door's any indication."
            He ignored her angry sarcasm.  "Okay.  Then how long before he finds his way to Lana and Whitney?"
            She winced and closed her eyes.  If only there was some other way...
            "Not long.  But how are we going to save them?"  She looked up at her husband.  "You said yourself that the kid bent the bars back on the gate, right?  What can we do without Clark?”
            "Not much, Martha, but I'm not looking around for another entrance while he goes after the kids."
            She glared at him, chin trembling.  "I didn't-"
            "I know, I know.  You don't want to waste time either.  The only thing we can do without Clark is try."
            She nodded, feeling sick to her stomach and wondering where the hell her strong, little boy was.  "So, let's go."
            If her words were weak, the determination on her face must have convinced him that he had her full endorsement.  He turned back around, grasping the manor's double doors with both hands and pushing down on the levers above the handles.  There was a slight pop of cold and adhered metal separating itself within the lock, and he opened the wooden barriers a sliver, peeking in.
            Fully expecting the doors to be yanked open by a frosted teen with some bizarre power and her husband to be thrown to the ground, Martha grabbed Jonathon's upper arm and was greatly relieved when he relaxed within her grip.
            He started in.
            "Jonathan-" she said, worry staining her hushed tone.
            "If he's already in the house," he started.  "-then he came here looking for people.  He's not gonna wait around for someone to come in the front door when there are others spread throughout the house."
            "I know, I know."  She winced as she followed him in.  The pain from her leg was bad but not as agonizing as it first was.  The muscle was warming up and loosening a little.  “Let's just get back to the study and fast."
            She watched as he pulled out the flashlight and flipped the switch.  Nothing happened.  "Shit."
            "You've got to be joking." She ran her hands through her mussed hair, feeling leaf flakes, grit and knots.  "Now we have to get there in the dark?"
            He bent down to the ground and tapped the light on the floor.  Not even a flicker.  Standing up next to her, he unscrewed the head and peered in.  He looked up at her, faced contorted in anger and shoved the base in her direction.
            Wincing at the acrid smell, she didn’t have to see the battery acid to know what had happened.  “Okay...  The batteries are leaking,” she started carefully, softening her voice before she continued.  She was treading on dangerous ground and her husband's pride was at stake.   “It’s not his fault, Jonathon.”
            “'Not his fault'?!” he said loudly then, realizing the situation, muttered a curse under his breath.  She knew he was angry at himself for letting temper get the better of him.  “Not his fault?” he repeated, whispering harshly.  “It’s common sense to check batteries when you haven’t used them in a long while.  Especially in emergency situations.”
            “Common sense for you and me.”
            “And Clark and every other occupant of Smallville and-“
            “And what?  Put yourself in Lex’s shoes.  When was the last time you think he had to use a flashlight?”
            “I’m sorry, Martha.”  His vicious sarcasm surprised her.  “I know I should be grateful that the spoiled kid could even find the damn things in the first place.”  Jonathan walked to the stairs and started up in the direction of the study, angrily tossing the flashlight to his left.  It landed on carpet somewhere in the darkened room to the right.  "I hope you were paying attention to the surroundings when you left, because I know I wasn't."
            She struggled to keep up, her leg burning like crazy.  He had obviously forgotten about her little handicap.  "You could have broken something with that."
            He shrugged.  "Not like Lionel Jr. couldn't afford to replace it."
            His indifferent shrug inflamed her, and, despite her aching leg, she drove herself to walk faster, parallel with him.
"It's not Lex's fault the damn flashlight broke."  Silence greeted her words and, as they reached the top of the stairs, she knew her reiterated point had fallen on deaf ears.
            When they came to the second floor landing and turned to go up the next flight, he noticed her leg and looked chagrinned, but did not slow his pace.  They were still trying to get to the unprotected trio in the study, and needed to get there as fast as possible.
            They walked up the rest of the way in silence and when they reaching the third floor they both went in opposite directions, her to her right, him to his left.
            "It's this way," she called out without waiting for him.  He turned around and caught up with her, encircling her protectively with his right arm and bending down to kiss the top of her head.
            She sighed, fully aware of her stupid heart's reaction to the small gesture.  He wasn’t sorry for his comments or opinions, but he loved his wife and was worried about what Shawn’s influence might bring to the night.
           He can still do it after all these years, she thought. He can still take my breath away with the slightest sign of affection.  Her stomach had gone warm inside, turning her anger into mushy, goopy irritation, and she was opening her mouth to say something that would hopefully be deemed sarcastically lovable when down the hall the study door flew open.

            +_+_+_+_+

            “Whitney!” she gasped, feeling his tongue in her ear.  She shivered and pressed herself closer to him, backing him into the wall.
            They had been lucky to find the tiny closet just a few hallways away and on the same floor as Lex’s study, feeling uncomfortable in the bigger, more elaborate rooms.  Here she felt as though there was an infinite amount of privacy, no possibility of anyone watching.
           Paranoid, Lana.
            It was also more intimate and forcibly close.
            Whitney moaned, his hands nervously moving down to rub her ass and she shivered again in pure delight.
           The feelings he's causing...!
            He moved to overtake her mouth, kissing her with raw and breaking lust that they had never before shared, and she held on tighter to the muscular shoulders opposite her.
            As his mouth broke away to find her neck, she felt one of his hands timidly moving up from her rear.  Lana knew what she wanted, and she shyly pushed away from her boyfriend.
            He looked confused.  “What did I-“
            Before he could finish she unzipped and pulled off her jacket, throwing it to the ground.  He smiled, still unsure, and he took off his own.  Lana grabbed the base of her turtleneck and pulled it over her head.  When the neck of the shirt had passed her eyes, she saw that Whitney was staring at her body, eyes half hooded in obvious arousal, and she blushed.
            He looked up into her eyes.  “C-can I?”
            She nodded, not sure just what he wanted to do, but anything was fine with her, as long as they were together and just kept going.  She didn’t want to ever stop.
            His forefinger reached out, shaking, and traced the bottom of her left breast.  She panted at the incredible sweetness and newness of the situation.  They were both virgins and Whitney had only been as far in his life as she would let him go.  He’d always been loyal and patient and his eyes showed the longing he’d manage to control for the couple of years that they’d been together.
            Her eyes closed as she felt both his hands cup her breasts and his thumbs rubbed feather-light over the cotton material covering her hardened nipples.  She giggled.  “That tickles,” she whispered, keeping her eyes shut.
            “I thought it would feel good.”
            She didn’t have to look to see the disappointment on his face.  She knew the expression that went along with that tone and figured that his eyes would have held a little bit of embarrassed vulnerability.
            “It did,” she said stepping into him, her stomach pressing into his erection.  She heard him groan.  “Here.”
            She took his hands, surprised at her courage and fearlessness in telling him what he could do to make things better, and she pushed them into her breasts.  He instinctively tightened his fingers and shifted his hands, the movement creating the much-desired friction against her sensitive and hardening buds and she cried out softly.
            “Better?”  She could hear his confidence kick in and nodded.
            “Much.”  She pulled away, opening her eyes, but not quite able to meet his.  “You can take it off it you want.”
            He didn’t have to ask what she meant.  “You know I love you right?”
            She nodded.
            “And you don’t have to-“
            “I know.”  She looked up at him, hazy and warm.  “I want to.”
            The next five seconds were a blur in which Whitney dropped his hands to her waist, spun them around, crammed her up against the wall and kissed her fiercely.  She responded by dropping her hands to his waistband and tugging hard, driving his groin into hers.
            He broke away, gasping.  “Lahny!”

            +_+_+_+_+

            “Clark!”  Before his mother could even start to run towards him, he was there, a flash of obscure speed and light the only tale-tell signs of his passage.  He gripped her small frame to him tightly, and breathed out in relief.
            When he had found the study completely empty he had almost fallen to the floor in utter despair.  Keeping from doing just that was the fact that the room was thoroughly vacant and not, instead, littered with the bodies of his neighbors, family and friends.
            And Lex.  He was so grateful that he had not seen the body of his handsome, rich comrade sprawled frozen and inert.
The study was a stupid place to start, an idiotic waste of time as it was too small to hold all of the farmers that Lex had invited.  That was the problem with being as fast as Clark was:  he often acted without completely formulated plans and well thought out motivations.  It was just that Clark had been in so few rooms in the opulent castle and Lex's study had seemed like the perfect place to start.  It was the place he knew Lex was the most comfortable, his own personal space in a large abode owned and dominated by his father.
            It had struck Clark how almost hopeless this whole deal was; that the group could be anywhere in the castle.  Of course, Shawn could not have taken them all at once, but Clark had still trembled with worry at the thought of anyone but him up against his ex-teammate.
            Knowing his father and Lex as well as he did, he was so sure that some horrible showdown had already occurred where the two had tried desperately to get everyone out of the mansion and had foolishly tried to fight off the teenager by themselves or possibly with the help of a handful of farmers.
            Lex not knowing about the kid’s superpowers made Clark even sicker to his stomach.  At least his father, used to strange events and circumstances, would have a predilection to be careful, but Lex?
            Too bright and cocky for his own good.
            No matter how much Clark cared for the older boy, no matter how much he stuck up for him, he knew Lex had a stupid and stubborn side.  Anyone that challenged a Luthor would, in Lex's mind, pay the full price, and someone threatening his guests in his own house?  Threatening his own life?  Clark knew that Lex would not take that kind of disrespect.
            His heart had restricted painfully at the thought of his friend, thinking himself so completely invulnerable-
            No matter what he says, I know the fact that he’s still alive after the car accident just instills the sense of invincibility.
            -attacking Shawn, trying to protect anytthing that the lethal boy threatened.
            And now, even though he had his parents near, his mother thankfully and protectively clutched in his arms, he knew that out there Lana, Whitney, the farmers and Lex, his Lex, damn it, were still unsafe.
           So many things unsaid, he thought and sighed again into his mother’s soft hair, realizing he should have just kissed the boy in front of the Beanery.  Lex had looked so cocky, so smug and so damned adorable.
            ---"The hardest thing in the world, CClark, is telling the girl you love that you like her."---
            Every sexual innuendo, every physical hint, every heated look he thought he'd caught coming from the young Luthor's direction had come back to him in that moment.  The boy's eyes were somber and serious and Clark knew that he had been right about Lex's attraction towards him.  He had later daydreamed about what he would have done, had society's pressures not been constantly upon his back.
           "What about the boy I love?" he would have whispered, then grabbed Lex, pulling him close and taking that lovely mouth with his own.  There was no worry inside that Lex would reject him.  For a Luthor, he had yet to evolve his poker face past an amateur status, and wasn’t fooling anyone- least of all, Clark- when he tried to throw a canvas over those hot liquid eyes.
            Clark knew that Lex was oblivious to his feelings.  Years and years of hiding just who he was and what he could do...  Well, it made a person better at lying, at stashing away emotions.
            His heart stopped, recalling just how sweet those feelings for Lex were, how happy he knew they could make each other, in each others arms- how long had he been dreaming of just that?- and he painfully realized that now it might be too late.
            He swore to himself that if it wasn't, he'd throw civilization's opinion to the wind for the companionship of the man he knew he could love completely and without reserve.  Lex couldn't have been more right about destiny.  He knew Lex needed him, could see it in the way the older boy drifted towards him whenever they met "by chance".  The way Lex touched him, the smiles, the words...  The fact that he was the only one that ever got to see the many different sides of Alexander Luthor.
            Clark just hoped he could make it obvious to Lex just how much he himself needed the flippant, smarmy, older boy.
            Feeling his father's hand on his shoulder, he pulled away, keeping one arm around his mother, and looked to the man.  With his free arm he embraced Jonathon just as tightly as he was his mother, creating a tight seal between the three.  "I was so worried," he whispered, surprised that his voice worked and not at all ashamed of the weakness in the timbre.
            "We know, Son.  We were, too."  His father pulled back.  "Is everyone else alright?"
            Clark let go, looking up.  What did he just ask?
            "Because Shawn's in the house now.  We don't know where, but-"
            Clark frowned and interrupted.  "What do mean 'is everyone else alright'?"
            Jonathon looked at him strangely.  "Lana.  Whitney.  Lex."
            Clark shook his head, barely even noticing the menace infecting the last name.  "I don't know, Dad."  He was beginning to panic.  "Why should I know?  I just got here."
            His mother looked more panicked than he felt.  "We went out to check the generator."
            "And the front gate," his father threw in.
            "and left the three of them in the study."
           Oh, god, what the-
            Clark’s thoughts trailed off as he looked more closely at his mother, putting a hand to her face.  There were various cuts and scrapes, her hair was wild and tattered, and she looked frightened and in pain.  "Did Shawn do this?"  Rage was quieting his voice and making his stomach boil.
            "No, no.  I-  I got spooked outside and ran from your father."
            "What?"
            "It's a long story," his father started walking towards the study.
            Clark wrapped his arm protectively around his mother and turned.  "There's no one in there, Dad."
            "Maybe they left a note."  There was worry in his voice, but an angry growl that Clark couldn't understand.
            "I gave it the once over.  There's no clue to where they would have gone."  He turned back to his mother.  "If you guys left Lana, Whitney and Lex in the study, then where are the farmers?"
            She looked down at her feet and took a deep breath, bringing her fingers to rub her temples.
            He knew that gesture.
            His stomach fell, not out of worry for the safety of the farmers- who he now guessed weren't an issue at all- but instead out of anxiety.  He knew Lex too well and wondered just what his friend had done.

            +_+_+_+_+

            Lana felt his trembling hands on the clasp and she breathed in nervously.  He broke their soft kiss to drop his mouth to her neck, licking and kissing and nibbling, while his hands slowly unhooked the bra from the back.  She reached up and slid the straps off her shoulders, impatient to feel his athletically coarse hands on her sensitive skin.
            The bra fell to the ground.  He pulled away to look and Lana wanted to close her eyes, but instead found herself fascinated at the heady look he was giving her body.
            "Lahny…  You're so beautiful."
            She flushed and let her eyes fall closed, a little embarrassed but also happy that he favored her body.
           See?  Now being naked in front of him isn't that bad.  It's actually kind of-
            His hot, wet mouth clamped down around one breast.
            "Whitney!" she screeched and grabbed his hair with her hands, fingers ensnaring the strands and tugging roughly.  His tongue flicked over her nipple and she gasped.  She felt his laugh at her reaction and briefly thought something over.
            She could tease him in almost the same manner.
           It would make him happy.
            The world told her she was a slut if she did it, a skanky little devil, but then again, she was already fitting that label by going as far as she had with him.  And in a closet, no less.
            She knew that it was just the same as any other sexual act with a person that you truly loved and trusted, nothing degrading about making the person you love feel ecstatic and ravished.  She could see spending the rest of her life with him, so wouldn't that make him the pinnacle?
           Of course.
           She quickly and silently thanked Nell for her encouragement to not be afraid of 'sex and the one-eyed snake' though she knew Nell would very much not approve of Lana's choice in timing and scene to take the advice.
            She pulled on Whitney's hair, reluctantly taking him away from her nipple.
            "What?" he asked, now very much confused.  "I thought you liked that?"
            His words were slurred, his eyes were heavy and his skin was deeply flushed.  He was more gorgeous in the moment, then she could ever remember him being and she pushed him towards the wall opposite the door.  "I did, but I wanna try something."
            He shook his head.  "I can't take much more, Lana."  He looked away and she could tell he was overwhelmed with embarrassment.  "You should get dressed, and just-"  He swallowed thickly.  "And just wait outside.  I'll be out in a minute."
           Needs release, she thought, smiling.  It was just the sign she needed to strengthen her confidence.
            She kissed his cheek and resumed pushing him.  "Close your eyes," she told him, her voice low and steady.
            "Lana, I-"
            Her hand slipped down the outside of his pants and she cupped his erection, finding a damp spot already forming on his jeans.  His eyes shut instantly and he hissed, clearly trying to keep from thrusting.
           He really needs this.
            "It's okay."  She rubbed him adamantly and he responded by pushing into her hand.
            "I don’t-"
            "I like feeling how much you want this,” she interrupted.  “How much you want me."
            His expression became pained as she pressed her naked breasts to his shirt-clad torso.  "Please, Whitney.  I just want to make you feel good."
            "You do, Lana.  You always do.  But-"
            "Better, then."  They bumped into the wall and she kept massaging his hardened appendage, deeply enjoying the expression of anguished longing that was etched onto his face.  "I want to make you feel better."
            "Oh, Lana- oh, please…  Stop.  You don't understand."
            She did stop rubbing, but only long enough to unzip his pants and slip her hand in and underneath the elastic of his jockeys.  She grabbed hold of the hot and moist erection.
            "Lahny!"
            She moved her hand up and down once, awkwardly, then used her free hand to try and push his pants down.  They didn't move more than an inch or two.  "Help me?"
            He shook his head.  "You d-don't… have to-"
            "I know.  But I want to.  You need this taken care of, right?"  She squeezed him for emphasis and he jumped, whispering her name weakly.  She panted.  The control she found herself wielding was more than a little seductive.  "I don’t want you to do it alone.  I want to do it for you."  She moved her hand up and down his weeping shaft again, a little tighter this time.  "Now help me."

            +_+_+_+_+

            The hallway he was in was almost pitch black, save for the slight glow coming from the small row of windows a the very top of the walls.  He guessed that the rich folk never bothered to come to this part of the house, for it was lacking in lavish and fabulous things.  The thin, hard carpet was harder to sneak around on, but the tiny, cell-like windows gave him the perfect amount of illumination.  It was quiet and, due to the curves and carpeting instead of stone flooring, sounds didn't carry as well.
           Almost perfect for a soundless approach.  Shawn grinned as he neared the kitchen.  This was where the wire of heat ended.  And it brought him closer to the others.
           This has been a pretty good night.
            He heard someone moving around inside, opening and closing cupboards, walking around, turning on the sink.
            He placed the toe of his shoe on the metal of the swinging doors, ready to enter when he heard a chopping noise.  He stopped for a moment, pulling his foot away.  It would do him no good to walk in on someone armed with a knife.
            After a moment, he raised up and looked through the pane of glass in the door closest.  Finding it too dark inside to see that well, he pressed his nose up against the small pane of glass, rolling his eyes as the thin pane cracked under the cold.
           Screw it.
            He kicked open the door and quickly moved into the dark, crouching on the ground behind a large table, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
            "Phillip?  …Jackson?"
           Intriguing accent.
            "I'm jahz taking some food-"
           Italian.  Hmmm…
            "-up to the rehz of the girls, and…"  There was a pause.  "William?"  The tone was softer, sweeter.  "Is tha you?"
            He heard footsteps approaching the door and he slipped under the table, trying hard not to giggle.  When he'd started out killing, he hadn't really wanted to, but it had been necessary.  Then he'd found himself growing apathetic.  Now, it was hard not to find everything funny.
           Why not find it funny?  There's no one whose going to say, "Oh, poor Shawn.  Let's find a cure for the Killer Ice-Boy."  They'd rather just shoot on site.  Shoot first, avoid questions later.  Smallville's license plate motto.
            Checking out the young legs in front of him, he reached out slightly and the woman, still a foot away from him, shivered, stepping closer to the door and further from him.  He snickered at her reaction and she spun around.
            "William, dis is noh fahnny," she hissed.  "I thoughd I say I'd be ri back.  Told you to stay puh.  Now why you follow me down ere, uh?"
           Okay, he decided with a grin and a nod.  No more Shawn.  Just Ice-Boy.  Just Ice-Boy that needs to stay warm and can have some serious fun while doing it.
            "William?" asked the woman, becoming hesitant at the lack of response her chiding had received.
            "Nope," he whispered and saw the legs jump back.
            "Who's dere?"
            "Take a look, babe."
            The face of a young woman, a girl really at maybe nineteen or twenty, hesitantly looked under the table.  Seeing him, she sighed in relief and offered him a hand.  "Get out of zere, silly!  What are you doing undah de tabahl?"
            Realizing that the dark of the kitchen and the shadow that the table threw on him obscured his hideous color and the ice constantly hanging from various facial extremities, he grinned and grabbed her hand, not yet sucking the heat out of her, but instead letting her feel his chilled flesh.
            She gasped.  "Oh mio Dio!  Lei sono cosí freddo!”
            The girl tried to pull her hand away, but he held on tight pulling himself up and finding himself almost a full foot taller.  “I’m afraid I don’t speak Italian, lovely.”
            “Congelamento!  Cold!”  She was still trying to pull away.  “You’re so very cold.”  He let her go and she stumbled backwards glaring at him.  Realization burned in her eyes.  “You are not living here.  Who are you?”
            Finger trailing along the edge of the island, polished marble top condensing around the farthest edge where cold met warm, he slowly made his way towards her.  She watched the top freeze and fog over, fear increasing the whiteness around her dark eyes.  “You don’t watch much TV do you?”
            She said nothing but saw her glance towards something behind a large pot.  He pulled his arm to his chest then slammed it into the pot, denting the side and sending it flying into a large metal cabinet at the end of the room.  The young woman jumped back into the fridge, making him laugh before turning back to the stove in the middle of the island.
            A good sized flashlight lay on the dead burner.  He grabbed it and flipped it on, shining it in her face.  “This what you wanted?”
            She said nothing.
            “What’s your name, cutie pie?  Or should I say 'pizza pie'?”
            “S-S-Sermi.”
            “First name or last?”
            “Fir-first,” she whispered.
            “Well, Suh-Suh-Sermi, you really don’t know what the hell’s going on here, do you?”
            “De power and de lights,” she said moving to her right, his left, and away.  “It went off and now we’re lef in de dark.”
            He chuckled, guessing that she was heading towards the knife he’d heard her chopping with only moment ago.  “But do you know why the lights went off he asked, coolly.
            He turned around the island and over the several sandwiches she had prepared, saw that Sermi was indeed headed to one of the countertops.  He knew he couldn’t get to her before she reached the knife, but he still had to stop her from taking it.  He didn’t really feel up to experimenting with painful stab-wounds, didn’t really know if he wanted to see just how far his newly acquired strength went.  He looked around for something to throw but all of the pots and pans had metal handles.  They'd stick to him.
           Shit.
            His eyes suddenly came to rest on a thick drinking glass, full of water, and an idea sprung to mind.  He gauged the distance between him and Sermi as about seven, maybe eight feet.  If he lunged just as she was putting her hand down on the knife…
            “You have to do wit de lights going off?”
            He flipped off the flashlight and shoved it into his pocket, then grinned at her.  He shrugged in the best ‘aww shucks’ manner he could pull off, even scuffing his foot to the floor.  “Maybe a little.”
            He saw her hand moving towards the counter and he pretended to keep his interest on the floor.  He had to time this just right.  He knew that he was cold enough that the glass wouldn’t last long before breaking and though the glass was full, it might not be enough to reach her.
            He tensed as he saw her hand inching closer to the cutting board.

            +_+_+_+_+

            She let go of him long enough for him to push his pants and underwear down around his ankles, trembling a little as he did it.  He stood back up, looking at her breasts, then her mouth and finally her eyes.  His shaking hands whispered against the skin of her stomach.
            “Thank you,” she whispered, glad that he had managed to push his pants down.  “Now close your eyes.”
            She had finally convinced him that this was what she wanted to do and he was acquiescent to her demands, far too gone to put up anymore chivalrous struggles.  She let her hands travel briefly under his t-shirt, then down to massage his lower back, then his naked cheeks.  It was the first time she’d ever touched his naked body.
            His whispers were constant now and she began to trail kisses down the cotton covering his stomach.  She pulled the shirt up as she reached his abdomen and began to kiss and lick at the skin.
            “La-Lahny?!”  He sounded shocked and pleased, scared and hopeful.
            “Shhh…”

            +_+_+_+_+

            At the same time she reached for the knife he grabbed the glass and lunged quickly, tossing the water towards her hand.

            +_+_+_+_+

            Her kisses formed a trail eventually leading to his erection and she breathed in deeply, a little nervous.
           Here goes.

            +_+_+_+_+_

            It had worked.  The glass had shattered into only about a million or so pieces falling to the ground, but the cold from his hand had reached the water freezing it in a little half arch.  Most of it stood up in the air, but it was attached.  Attached to the cutting board and Sermi’s hand, hanging.  A gorgeous, delicate looking ice sculpture.
            She winced and tried to pull her hand back. “Oh mio Dio! Per favore, Dio!”
            "Yes, oh please, Dio!" he laughed, then immediately frowned, biting his bottom lip and putting his right forefinger to his cheek.  "Um... What exactly is Dio, signoria?"
            She just glared at him, eyes becoming shiny, and frantically started tugging on her hand.
            To Shawn’s very pleasant surprise the cutting board was actually attached to the counter.  He stepped up to the sculpture and touched it lightly with his forefinger.  The top-heavy ice cracked, breaking off from its base and crashing to the floor.
            He looked to the girl’s hand, still frozen to the cutting board under the base.  She was too scared and incredulous to look away from it, until he grazed his hand against her warm cheek, leaving a shadowing trail of transient blue.  She shivered, begging him with puppy dog eyes to just disappear.
            “Not quite what you were expecting," he said softly.  "Was it?”

            +_+_+_+_+

            She licked the tip his penis, just trying out the taste.  He shuddered, moaning loudly, and she grinned.  “What do you want, Whitney?  Show me.  Help me.”
            After a moment she watched his hand move and felt it on the back of her head, ever so slightly nudging her forward, towards his erection; sweet, not wanting to ask for anything she didn’t want to do, but she was offering, so he knew it was okay.

            +_+_+_+_+

            This was not good, not good at all.
           God damn you, Lex!  Where the fuck are you?
            Clark’s parents were walking beside him, checking the rooms on the right as he briefly scanned the rooms on the left with his X-ray vision, head pounding almost as hard as his heart.
            He was internally torn.  He knew that if he left his parents, Shawn could find them, but if he didn’t maybe Shawn would find his friends before he did.
           Lana?  Damn it, where are you guys?
            He knew they had to be safe.  They had to be.  If Lex felt the study was a risky place to be, he would have taken Lana and Whitney somewhere better, more reliable.  He didn’t leave a note because maybe he knew Shawn was in the house and didn’t want to just invite the damned teenager along for the trip to safer territory, making the whole point moot.
            But why didn’t he wait until John and Martha returned?  Had he feared them already dead?
            Or had they been running away from a killer teen?

            +_+_+_+_+

            Her mouth closed around the very tip of his erection and he shuttered, moaning, abrupt and loud and Lana wondered if he was fighting to hold back more.
            She took more of him into her mouth but was honestly clueless.  The romance novels always stopped descriptions after 'she devoured him' or 'she took him into her mouth' always going directly to what the guy was doing afterwards.  She thought for a moment and teasing him with her tongue was the best she could think of.
            So she did.
            “God, Lana. God, just-“
            She started to suck on him a little and wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft.

            +_+_+_+_+

            He brought his hand down hard on the ice, hurting himself in the process; at the same time he’d shattered not only the ice on the block but the bones in her hand as well.
            The knife fell from her shattered paw and she dropped to the floor, curling immediately into the fetal position, shaking from so much pain she could barely breathe.  Not breathing was good, because that meant she couldn’t scream.
            He dropped himself on top of her and begin to stretch her body out, uncurling her limbs.

            +_+_+_+_+

            Whitney pulled her away from him and up, embracing her with one arm around her waist and grabbing her hand- still on his erection- with his.
            He nuzzled her face.  “Do you still-“ he started, strained and painfully on edge.
            “Want to help?”  She nodded.  “Yes.”
            He rearranged their hands, slipping his fingers in between hers, and started to pump.  It was a little awkward at first but she soon got the hang of it and started moving faster.
            “I can take it from here,” she dropped a kiss on his lips and felt him let go.

            +_+_+_+_+

            Sermi struggled, twisting beneath him, trying to get away, but he used each of his four limbs to hold her down.  As he did she felt the stiffness of his groin straining against his pants and looked horrified.  She tried to struggle, but he had her down too tight.
            “no! no!!” she gasped out, trying to scream.
            He laughed at her assumption.  “You know why it’s so hard down there?  Nothing to do with you, sweetheart, so don’t worry.  It’s frozen stiff."  He laughed again.  "Can you believe that?”
            He thought for a moment, looking her over.  Her face, her breasts, her slim waist and those killer legs.  Shame to waste them, but…
           Ah, well.
            He grinned down at her, chuckling slightly.  “Of course, if I wasn’t so damn cold right now, you’d definitely be on my ‘To Do’ list.”

            +_+_+_+_+

            “Harder, please.”  He was begging quietly, but she could feel the urgency.
            She squeezed her hand around him tighter.  “Faster, too?”
            He nodded and she increased her speed.  She watched the expressions on his face.  Knowing that she did this to him was amazing.  He looked in pain, but she knew that she was close to taking that away and bringing him a level of pleasure that she had previously been afraid to give him.
            Now it was all she wanted.
            He groaned loudly.  “I’m gonna- God, Lana!!”

            +_+_+_+_+

            He squeezed her breast.
            “Allontanarsi da me!”
            He snickered.  “Sure thing, honey!”
            She whimpered and he opened his mouth, licking her face with his dry, cold and ice-caked tongue, relishing in the fact that the warmth it absorbed turned his tongue back to normal immediately.  Still a little dry, but the ice had quickly melted to give it a somewhat moist feel.  He flexed it finding it stiff and sore.
            The girl shrieked, her cheek cold and hard. “Non uccider me!  Lo supplico!”
            He shook his head, enjoying the tsk-tsking sound he was now capable of making.  “Isn’t a shame that the last words you ever spoke fell on uncomprehending ears.”
            She opened her mouth, but he slipped his tongue in, kissing her quickly then pulling away.  He winked at her, clamped his hand over her mouth and absorbed just enough heat to freeze her mouth shut.

            +_+_+_+_+

            “I think…  Well, maybe they’re- on the first floor?”  His mother glanced to Jonathon who looked miserable and pale.  The man just shrugged and they both turned to him questioningly, eyes asking him for further directions on what to do.
            Clark just wanted to scream, rip his hair out, pound the floor, and, most importantly, turn back time.  Since when was he the voice of reason?  Since when did he become the one in charge?
           Since you started using your powers to help people.  Since you realized you had the upper hand.
            He wanted to slam his fist into something big and solid and unbreakable.  He was so very, very worried about his friends, feeling cold inside and knowing something bad, something absolutely horrible was happening right this minute.  He didn’t know where, didn’t know what, but he knew it was happening and that he would not make it there in time to help anyone.
            "Fuck," he whimpered.

            +_+_+_+_+

            She felt Whitney start to shudder a little and then the semi-sticky warmth started to spread onto her hand in little spurts.  She kept moving her hand up and down waiting for a sign that Whitney was through.
            “Oh, Lana, Lahny.”
            “Do you want me to stop?” she asked quietly, still in new territory, uncharted land as far as knowing what he needed.
            “No, please, just a little more.  And slower.”
            "Okay."

            +_+_+_+_+

            Lex had heard the front door slam and he’d rerouted his course in the opposite direction, leading him back to the study.  He was sure that once he got there he’d find everyone back inside and most likely irritated at him for taking off.
           I couldn't be that lucky.
           He was so fucking pissed off now...  It had taken him what felt like an insanely long time, but he’d gotten back to his little study.  Unfortunately, he was too late, finding the door wide open, no one inside.  He wasn’t sure if he had just missed Martha and her husband, Lana and Whitney, or the psychotic teen, but finding anyone at this point would have been a plus.  And had it been Shawn he could have pounced on the boy, beating his skull into the floor and thereby taking care of the single cause of chaos.
            He stepped out into the hall, looking left and right.  There was no sign of which way anyone had gone, no sounds to follow, no ominous trails of blood or body parts.  Infuriated, he swung his flashlight at one of the insanely expensive Tiffany vases that littered the house.  He sent it sundering to the floor, hundreds if not thousands of little crystalline raindrops bouncing off of the walls and the statue across from him, falling to the rug and tinkling on the hard wood of the upper floor.
            He started forward.  Ugly little fucker.
            Seeing tiny pieces glinting off of his light purple sweater in the bright moonlight, he stopped, trying to lightly brush them off with his left hand.  He only succeeded in adding several shallow cuts to his list of annoyances.  They stung like acidic paper cuts.
            “Fuck!”  He stepped farther into the light watching the whole front of his shirt glitter dangerously.
            He sighed.  That’s what you get for losing your temper, Luthor.
            He put the flashlight on the pedestal behind him, where the vase once stood in all it’s intact glory, and pulled his hands into his sleeves.  He carefully lifted the sweater over his head and shrugged it off, warily thinking to shut his eyes and mouth, lest any glass assassins made the decision to go airborne.
            He tugged the sleeveless undershirt down his stomach and back where it had ridden up, shivering at the touch of cold fingers to his skin.  The custom cashmere with the thick inner lining of down had kept him warm, leaving him unaware until now just how chilly it actually was.  His body heat was evaporating and fast.
           This is utterly, fucking ridiculous.  I’m gonna catch a cold.  Just what I need.
            Tossing the sweater onto the floor of his study, he grabbed his flashlight with his unmarked hand and started forward again.  He really hoped he could get to a fucking sink.  He needed to get rid of the debris in his hand and soon.
            He flexed, trying the fingers and palm out and winced.  He just knew that some of the shards were going to stay in there until he got fucking tweezered by Marcy, his in-house nurse.
            Raising his left arm to waist level, he kept his flashlight off for the moment, hitting his leg with it rhythmically as he walked.  If he found the two teens and they were busy doing anything but struggling in the process of being killed, he’d take them out himself.
           There you go, he thought with a vicious grimace.  Get violent with the flashlight.
            Shatter Whitney and Lana just like he’d demolished the fucking vase.  As it was, if he found them with this Kelvin kid, he might just watch him hack them up from the sidelines, giving the teen tips then profusely applauding his finish.
           Here I am in my own house, on my own turf, with the possibility of a psychologically damaged teen running lose.  I’m practically tiptoeing around like a fucking coward.  Being quiet so as not to attract the wrong person’s attention.
            "Motherfucker," he growled.  This was insane.  This was his goddamned house and some stupid teen was not about to turn him into a little timid, craven recreant unable to find his what he considered to be his temporary charges.
            “Fuck this.  Lana?!” he yelled, instantly feeling the premonition that this was a bad idea, but pushing it away.  Stupid fear.  He was a Luthor and Luthor’s fought, they didn’t run.  “Fordman?! Get out here, now!”
            Silence.
            He swallowed, his bravery becoming unsubstantial, plunging from his mind and body alike.
            More silence.
           Shit.
            Well, he hadn’t been expecting a ‘Yes, sir.  Right away, sir,’ but something other than the silence would have been nice.  Anything but the-
           Silence.
            He shivered again, feeling goosebumps trail down his bare arms.
           Cold and scared, he thought, internally scolding himself.
            “Pussy,” he said weakly, but couldn’t shake the feeling that yelling out had been a very stupid move.

            +_+_+_+_+

            “Okay, Lahny,” he said sweetly.  She let go and he grabbed her head, fiercely pulling her to him and kissing her.  She wrapped her arms around him tightly and opened beneath his lips, whimpering in pleasure.
            “Lana?!”  They broke away and looked anxiously to the door.
            “Oh, God!” she hissed.
            “Shit!”
            She looked to Whitney, panicked.  “Was that- was that Lex?”
            He nodded, glancing at the door of the closet.  “I think s-“
            “Fordman?!  Get out here, now!”
            “He sounds close,” she said worried.
            “Yeah.”  He frowned.  “Do you think he just now got back to the study?”
            She shook her head.  “No.  He must have tried to find us first.  How long have we been in here?”
            He looked to his watch then back to her, wincing.  “About half an hour.”
           Oh, God.  Lex must be pissed. And-
            Her mouth dropped open with realization.  “I bet Clark’s parents are looking for us, too.”  Muttering curses they both frantically began to look for their various articles of clothing.
            "We can’t be caught coming out of this closet, Lana,” started Whitney.
            She nodded, agreeing completely.  They were already going to be in enough trouble for meandering around.  She thought for a moment.  “Okay.  So we’ll wait for a couple of minutes, just a few, then we’ll head back to the study.”
            He looked at her.  “We went looking for the bathroom.  I really had to go.”
            She nodded, knowing where he was heading with this.  She hated to lie but they really had no other choice.  “Right.  We waited for Lex, but you couldn’t hold it, so we went together.”
            He winced again.  “We forgot the flashlight.”
            “Not exactly the smartest thing,” she agreed.  “but we were in a hurry.”
            “Right.”

            +_+_+_+_+

            Up ahead, Clark thought, trying to remember the layout.  Would be the guest library to the left, and the guest gym and Lionel's War Room to the right.  He also remembered that there was another hallway running parallel to them through both the guest gym and the War Room, but had never actually been through there.
            He silently thanked Lex for the mini-tours he always gave while walking towards the elevators, kitchen, garage, private in-home gym, or wherever.  Still, he wondered just how much good they were gonna do him now.  Lex had never specifically said, "And this, Clark is the most strategically safe room in the mansion.  Yes, if anyone abnormally powerful and psychotically dangerous ever gets in and we're forced to run for our lives but stay inside the castle, this is where I personally would go.  You know.  Just one of those quirky fun facts."
            So here he and his parents were: running through yet another hall, opening doors, calling out in whispers, trying to stay quiet when all Clark wanted to do was shout out to his friends.
            Okay, no, that wasn’t entirely true.  What he really wanted to do was take off as fast as he could around the mansion and find them, but every time he was about to suggest that maybe his parents were right, that maybe it really was the only way to find his friends in time, they would hear a noise not to far from them.  A creak, a whisper, a rip, a footstep…  And every time Clark ran to investigate: nothing.
            He couldn’t leave his parents alone to that.  Not when he knew they couldn’t protect themselves and he had no idea where in the house Shawn was.  He had explained to Martha and Jonathon what he knew about the kid and was torn inside.  Leave his parents or leave his friends?  His parents were urging him to go, saying they would yell for him if they found someone or if something happened but…
           But what if they don’t have the time?  What if I don’t hear them?  What if, by leaving to find Lex and Lana, I give Shawn easier access to my parents?
            If anyone died here tonight, he knew he would be to blame.  It would be the fault of his own inaction and the accountability would rest squarely on his shoulders.
            This is getting us nowhere, he thought, frustration getting the better of him.  He didn’t want any of his friends to die because of him, but he couldn’t leave his parents.  He knew there was no other choice and slowed down from his light jog, watching as his mother and father did the same, turning to look at him.
            “What is it?” Jonathon asked.
            “I have an idea.”  He breathed in.  “I’m going to try and look through the entire house.”
            His father looked relieved.  “We’ll be on the look out for anything.”
            Martha nodded, smiling tightly with reassurance.  “Take your time, Clark.  We’ll call you if we need you.”
            He cleared his throat.  “I’m not leaving you guys.”
            Jonathon frowned.  “How are you goi-” he sighed.  “Your eyes?”
            “Yes.”
            His mother looked him up and down quickly.  “But Clark-  From here?  Your headaches are already hurting you too much and that’s just from looking through the rooms on this floor.”
            “I should be able to find them quicker this way."
            "How do you know you can even see through all of that?"  Jonathon asked, gesturing towards the walls.
            "I don't, but I’ve been getting better with using the sight.  The pain," he started, looking at his mother and knowing her next move.  "-is just something I‘m going to have to push aside.”
            “What happens if you can’t just push it aside, Clark?” his father asked.  “What if the headache becomes too much for you to handle?”
            Clark ignored the question.  There was no time to argue about this.  “I’ll check the first floor, first-“ his mother grabbed his father’s arm.  “-and then this floor.  They can’t be too far.  Right?”
            After the briefest hesitation, his father nodded, acquiescing to Clark’s plan.  “It's the best course of action, besides leaving us.  We might just be going in continuous loops anyway.  If they’re looking for us, that is.”
            “Exactly," Clark voiced, glad his father was on board, even if it was reluctantly.  "Okay, here goes.”
            His mother grimaced and his father stiffened.  He looked to the floor and concentrated hard.
            His vision flashed and the thick carpet of the floor began to disappear slowly, as if melting across his line of vision.  He could see through the floor to the foyer below.  There was nothing.
            Nothing but the thrashing of hammers against his skull, pulverizing the thick bone.
           Jesus.
            He rubbed his temples and began to move his eyes to the left, hoping to catch some movement, some discarded jacket, open window or other clue as to whether or not this was the right direction.  There were no farmers to worry about, but there were his friends and,
            His heart sped up as he suddenly realized that, also in danger were the many employees that Lex had currently working and holding residence at the manor.
           Why didn't I think of them before?
            Because he was primarily worried about his family and friends, then the farmers.  I hadn't hit him to think about hired help as he really rarely even saw them around on his trips to the mansion.  It wasn't in his nature to think of people as servants.
            Still, it was selfish for him to be looking just for his friends.  He should be looking for Shawn instead.  What if the boy had gone off in search of the maids?  The cooks?  Lex's servants living on whatever floor they were on?
           Shit!  I’ve been going about this all wrong.  I should be going against the whole problem, not searching for bits and pieces of the equation.
            Just as he was coming to the wall of the foyer a large crash came from behind him and he could hear glass shards descending to the floorboards beneath him.
He whipped around, worried that in his concentration he’d not heard nor seen Shawn sneak up on him and his parents.
           Oh, God, what have I-
            His mother and father watched him wild-eyed and worried.  The hallway was lacking and brown-eyed, blond-haired, blue-skinned teen.
            “What did you see, Clark?”
            “What is it, honey?”
            He frowned at his parents.  The crash…  They didn’t even look behind them.  “What was that noise?”
            “What was what noise?” his dad asked, following the direction Clark’s gaze, and Martha followed his.
            Clark was starting to get worried.  Whatever fell to the floor had been loud, like it was right behind them.  As he looked, however, he saw nothing splintered behind him.  Worse than that, the floor was covered with a thick, plush carpeting.
           But it fell on wood...
            “That crash,” he whispered.  “The glass.  Didn’t you-“
            His parents looked confused and he shook his head, turning back to the floor and staring ahead, wincing at the throbbing as he struggled to begin.
            “Honey, please-”
            His mother’s voiced echoed around him but he shook his head, “I don’t care about a little headache.”
            He knew the looks that both of his parents were giving him proved that they knew it was more than just a ‘a little headache’.
            “Clark.”
            He waved shook his head impatiently and stared through the floor, moving more quickly in the opposite direction of the foyer.  He saw a flashlight on the floor in the room and guessed it was the one his father had discarded.  He kept moving to the right.
            “Lana?!”
            Clark’s head about split open, but at the same time his heartbeat tripled in joy at hearing Lex’s voice.  The man was alive.  He sounded pissed off but healthy.  Clark concentrated hard on keeping his vision open.
            “Lex!” he hissed to his parents, surprised at the volume of his own whisper. His father stepped up to him, but he held out a hand to halt the progress.  He prayed that his father wouldn’t speak.
           Wait a minute, he thought.  Now I can hear things, too?  Do the sight and the hearing come together?  Or can I separate them?
            He'd never noticed anything with his hearing before and now was most definitely not the time to experiment.  He didn’t want to accidentally lose the hearing and lose his connection to the one friend he knew for sure was alright.
            He swung his head around in the direction of Lex’s voice and peered through the walls, seeing nothing in the next hallway but moving past.
            “Fordman?!”
            Clark's view entered the next hallway and he saw a skeleton walking and swinging something large and metal in it's hand.  The corridor was three hallways down from them, also separated from by levels of long and wide rooms.
           He’s so close…
           “Get out here, now!”
            Clark fell to his knees on the floor, grabbing his pounding head, and grinned.  One of his three friends was fine.  Alive.  Clearly infuriated about something to do with Lana and Whitney, but alive and breathing and not frozen and lacking a lively pulse, all vital organs working, blood pumping the way it was supposed to.
            All they had to do was get to Lex through the hallways and help him with Lana and Whitney.
           Could they have run off?
            “WHAT'S WRONG, SON?!” His father’s voice was probably no more than a whisper, but it sounded as loud as a thousand voices screaming in unison right up against his ear.
            The world around Clark went completely black.

            +_+_+_+_+

            Shawn traced his finger down the hard, smooth cheek of the dead little Italian chick, admiring the way her face had frozen in a countenance of pitiful frenzy and fear.  Her skin felt like cold porcelain to his now warm touch and he grinned.
            “Thanks, babe.”
            He stood straightening out his letterman jacket around him.  Sermi had contained quiet a bit of heat for someone so tiny, but he could feel it already beginning to slip away.  He had to find someone else and soon.
           Is that really going to help, he asked himself.  What if the next person’s four times as hot and you can’t hold on to even that?
            “Shut up!” he hissed.
           But what if-
            He ran over to the metal fridge and slammed his fist straight through the stainless steel door.  Pain and stars invaded his senses, cutting off the thoughts of anything but finding more heat, something to ease the pain.
            He shivered.  Shit!  He looked down to see the tips of his free fingers turning blue.  Motherfucker!
            Sermi's heat was not lasting long at all.
            I took too long teasing her, took too long-
           “Lana?!”

            ……………

            He slowly pulled his arm out of the fridge and started towards the direction of the shout.  He smiled, knowing that the voice sounded… familiar.
            It also had sounded loud and tinny, as if it were echoing through a pipe, a tunnel, or a-
            “Dumbwaiter,” he whispered menacingly, seeing the little elevator designated specifically for food.  He pulled up the well oiled hatch and locked it in the up position.
            “Fordman?!  Get out here, now!”
            That was a voice he recognized.  The heir of LuthorCorp.  The scion of the multi-billionaire.
            Alex Luthor, the son of Lionel Luthor, the sole man responsible for Shawn’s grandfather; the man’s sudden change from a happy but stern man full of convictions and love to a repugnant, spiteful abusive alcoholic.
            Shawn's face twisted in a face full of intoxicating hate and utter contempt.  At eight, he had lost his hero, the man he loved more than anything.  More than ice cream Sundays, more than warm summer nights in tents with friends or jumping into Crater Lake with his best buds.  More than even the perfect secret fort that he, Eric Flankman, Peter Ross and Tony Schinder had constructed with wood from the surrounding trees in the forests of Smallville.
            He had watched for seven years as the man cheated on his grandmother, beat his only grandson- once his greatest of many admirers- and drink himself stupid and exhausted.  All because Manny Kelvin had stood up against Lionel’s tyranny, receiving in return a bogus lawsuit of which Luthor won, resulting in the loss of his grandfather’s farm and livelihood.  Manny’s whole world, his whole life and everything that had ever represented the Kelvin's in the old man's mind.
            Shawn’s hands clenched, the grip so tight it hurt him.   Lex Luthor was Lionel’s only heir.  Lex Luthor was Lionel’s life, his whole point in existing.  Making more money, passing it on and keeping the Luthor name alive.  Money was to the Luthor's what the farm had been to Manny and the senior Luthor had no brothers, meaning there were no.  Other.  Luthor’s.
           Lex is Lionel’s only son.
            Shawn grinned.
           Lex was Lionel’s only son.
            He shivered, his forearms shadowing over with blue chill, and nodded to himself, formulating a plan.  He was going to take away Lionel’s reason for living.  He probably loved his son in the way that only rich people could, which would be a bonus for Shawn.  The geezer was most likely too old to have another kid.  Too old to lose his only son and the last in the whole entire Luthor lineage.
           Should've had more brats you fucking bloodsucker.
            Shawn reached into his pocket and grabbed the flashlight he had taken from the counter, flipping it on and looking inside the dumbwaiter.  It was old but looked to be made of metal.  he pushed down on the base, finding it incredibly sturdy, and realized that with all of the guests the Luthor's most likely hosted, the dumbwaiter could probably hold at least 200 pounds of food.
           Really fucking old, though.
            It had no roof and the rope to the side looked frayed.  It wasn't fiberglass, but actual rope, which meant that, while he’d have to pull himself up, at least he'd get a better grip.  The whole thing was certainly big enough to hold him comfortably.  He could only hope that his assessment of it's strength was accurate.
            He climbed in carefully, shivering as he felt the heat leaving his body in waves.
           Focus on something...  Heat...  You'll be getting heat.  You'll be getting-
           "Luthor."
            Pictures of a dying Lex Luthor, gasping, crying out, screaming and pleading for his life and mercy; his bloodshot eyes overfilling with tears or pain and pure mortal agony...
            Shawn laughed and went for more images as he started to pull up on the rope.
           His bald fucking freak head turning icy blue and his body shuttering with fucking fearbeneath me.
            He pictured himself fucking the younger Luthor right up his pampered little daddy’s-boy ass with his frozen cock in literal interpretation of what Lionel had done to his grandfather; could hear the resonant, harmonious screams coming from the little well-to-do brat and reverberating throughout Shawn’s bones.
            "Don't worry, Pappy," he whispered.  "He's coming."
            Revenge was going to be sweet for his Manny's soul, waiting in Hell until the dead Luthor boy reached him.  Then he could have a turn raping the kid.  Only his could last until Lionel was ushered beneath.  Then he could fuck the senior Luthor for all eternity.