Homestead

Summary: Tragedy strikes.

“Please, Father! Please stop,” Alex begged as he sagged to the floor. His arm was wrenched back in his father’s implacable grip, and he was weeping once more.

“Foolish!” he spat, whaling on his with the strap. His eyes held madness, and every trace of the smooth and stoic businessman was gone. “Unworthy, inconsiderate, mindless wretch!” He was careful to avoid his son’s face, but all staring into it did was enflame him further.

“LIONEL!” Lillian sobbed. “That’s enough! He’s heard you! He’s HEARD you!” Each time she tried to place herself between them, she was flung back. On her third try, his hand flew swiftly, connecting with her cheek. She spun back and jerked against the bureau. Her cheek stung and she tasted a drop of blood at her lip.

“I’ll decide when he’s had enough! I’m the master of this house! He’ll obey me!” WHAP! “You’ll obey me, Lillian, or I swear! I swear, Lillian!” He was possessed. Resentment flowed through his veins. “You’re a whore, and he’s a whore’s son! Worthless! Scum! You’re both scum!”

“Lionel,” she sobbed. “You don’t mean that.” Her voice was hollow. “You don’t mean that,” she chanted. “He’s our son. He’s our son!”

“Julian’s my true blood,” he grunted as he shoved Alex onto the bed. “Neither of you will ever humiliate me again. Your presence offends my sight, Alexander. Your mother is a weak-willed, lying whore, and that’s your legacy. It will hang over your head like a dark shadow for the rest of your life, and I wash my hands of you.”

“Lionel,” she whispered, stunned. “You’d curse your own son.”

“M’not…his son, Mother,” Alex grated through his teeth. “Never…be his son. Never be a…Luthor.” His voice sounded older and adamant.

His eyes were solid ice, and his young jaw was set. In that instant, Lillian knew her little boy was gone.

Lionel was enraged. His features contorted into a black grimace as he stared his wife down.

“Look what you’ve brought forth, Lillian! Look at the weak wretch that you’ve coddled! You spawned him from weak seed,” he pronounced.

“You never loved me like he did,” she murmured absently, as though she were talking to someone else. “I felt it when you proposed to me, Lionel. You can’t.”

“I can’t what?”

“You can’t love. Not truly. You try, Lionel,” she continued, letting her voice gather strength. She was ridiculously calm, even though her lip was swelling and she daubed at the blood with a lawn handkerchief. “It isn’t in you. It just isn’t in you, Lionel. That’s not how you were made. You’re strong and hard. And bright and cruel. But you don’t love.”

“You’d have me love a weak whore’s son, Lillian?”

“I’d have you love your son, Lionel. You pledged to me that you’d raise him, husband. That you were a better man. You promised, and you don’t break your word. Ever.”

“Hmmmm. Bravo, Lillian.” His shoulders quaked with laughter. Alex glared up at him as he knelt by the bed sullenly, calculating his father’s next move. Lionel shook his head. “You’d invoke our wedding vows.”

“I’ve never looked at another man since we’ve been married, Lionel. And I gave you a son. I’ve done my duty as your wife.”

“And gladly, I’ll wager, Lillian. Not that it matters. You’re easily replaced.” Her cheeks flushed scarlet and tears welled in her eyes. “And supplemented.”

“So the rumors are true,” she offered quietly. “Your eyes have been wandering, after all.”

“No. My hands have been wandering. My eyes see everything they need to see, wife.”

“You don’t appreciate anything you’ve got!” she shrieked, done with civility. Something inside her snapped, and she crouched protectively beside her son, drawing his head down to her bosom. Alex clung to her, but he was shaking with anger. “You surround us with things while you lock us up in this house, like caged animals! And then you cast us aside like trash! If you can’t love us, Lionel…if you can’t treat us with human decency, you don’t deserve sons or a wife!”

She and Alex were both breathing harshly. He resembled Goliath, holding the strap like a sword at the ready.

“Never deign to tell me what I deserve, Lillian.”

She fought against crying out. When it was over, and she lay bent and cringing, it was her son who helped to cover her weeping back with the remains of her basque. Downstairs, Lionel finished his chicken soup and strode out of the house.


~0~

Alex would have rather marched into Hades in his bare feet than show up at school.

A hush fell over the classroom as he took his place in the back. He hung his coat and cap over the peg and immersed himself in his arithmetic book. He felt Jason and Whitley’s eyes on him, and eventually Pete’s. Once they turned away, Mrs. Sullivan called roll. His voice sounded weak to his ears when he gave his name.

When she began writing their cursive lesson on the chalkboard, he saw Clark’s dark head pop up. Jewel-like eyes implored him and begged his attention.

“Turn around,” Alex mouthed at him. Clark’s chin jutted out at a stubborn angle until Mrs. Sullivan swooped down and rapped her ruler on Clark’s desk.

“You will give me your complete attention, Clark. That’s how we learn.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The rest of the lessons went on without further interruption, but Alex fumed.

Alex evaded Clark and Pete at lunchtime. On the way back inside, Alex paused to wash his hands at the water pump to free them of sticky jam and crumbs.

“Lex,” Clark said breathlessly as he ran up alongside him. “You didn’t come play ball!”

“I didn’t want to,” he shrugged. “You and Pete can go play ball by yourselves.” He ignored Clark’s hurt look.

“You got in trouble,” he blurted out.

“Of course I got in trouble. I told you, Clark. I knew we would.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“I still got in trouble.”

“Pa was angry at me,” Clark shared. Alex watched him in interest. Clark looked genuinely ashamed.

“Did he whip you?”

“Pa never does. But he told me that I made him and Ma sad. He made me go to my room and stay there til he said I could come out. He wouldn’t let me play with Shelby or help him in the barn last night, and I went to bed without supper.” Clark hung his head and drew pictures in the gravel with the toe of his boot.

“If he didn’t whip you, then he wasn’t that mad. So you got me in trouble, and you didn’t get whipped. Go away, Clark.”

“Lex…!”

“Don’t call me that anymore! My name’s Alex!” He tore away, leaving Clark behind. “Just leave me alone!” Clark looked stricken. Pete sidled up to him and tugged on his sleeve, and the two of them wandered away until the bell rang.


~0~

Alex arrived at home after giving the coachman a perfunctory goodbye.

He felt something wrong as soon as he walked into the house. There was no scent of dinner on the stove, and Julian wasn’t playing on the carpet in the sitting room with his mother.

“Mother?” he called softly as he went to set down his books and lunch pail.

He headed upstairs and searched for her, still feeling uncomfortable at how quiet the house was. Their cleaning woman had already come and gone; he smelled furniture wax and fresh flowers as he walked down the corridor and arrived at his mother’s bedroom door.

When he opened it, Julian was napping in his cradle. His mother looked up from her chore. A large carpet bag yawned open on the floor, and she was folding and packing piles of her underthings in it, along with some of Julian’s clothing. Alex recognized his own shirt atop the pile along with his woolen stockings.

“Hello, Alex,” she greeted calmly, smoothing her skirts with her palms. They were shaking.

“Mother,” he replied, watching Julian slumber. His small chest rose and fell, and his eyelids looked like flower petals. He sucked noisily on his thumb and made a soft whicker under his breath.

“I need you to help me. Go downstairs. Prepare Julian a bottle for now, and several for the rest of the day. We’re taking a trip.” Alex’s mouth worked, but no sound would come out. “Last night changed things, Alexander.”

“Mother…”

“We’re leaving your father.”

He was awestruck. “How?” He didn’t react beyond surprise. He longed to believe her. Ached to believe her, but it was a pipe dream.

She looked beautiful, eyes shining with hope and arms stretching out to him for a warm, gentle embrace. He inhaled her sweetness, but he still wallowed in doubt.

“We’re going to take a train. It will be a big adventure, Alex,” she described. “I have money left from my own family, Alex. I have a cousin in Bludhaven who owns a cottage for us to rent.”

“We can’t live with Grandmother?”

“No.” His mother’s voice hardened. “She doesn’t understand how complicated our lives are, Alex. She wouldn’t understand why we would want to leave.” She still held him as she knelt, taking his hands. “It will be the three of us for a while, Alex. I know…I may have disappointed you. Your father –“

“You’re my mother.” Alex emphasized it as though confirming that was all she needed to know of how he felt. His slim fingers crept up to gently stroke her cheek. It felt cool and smooth, and she leaned into his touch. There was still so much pain in his eyes, but now they held dim hope. She’d teach him how to smile again.

The next half hour was a blur. Everything was done in a hurry. Food was bundled into a basket. His mother fetched a small purse and filled it with several crumpled bills and coins. Her jewelry was wrapped carefully in a handkerchief and tucked deep into the carpet bag, along with a small Daguerrotype of Alex as a baby.

The coach was waiting for them minutes later. It was two-thirty; Lionel wasn’t due home until four. Alex donned his cap and coat, and he returned stares from the passing locals as he helped his mother into the car, climbing inside with Julian. He instinctively tucked his blanket around the baby more snugly before handing him to his mother. Julian yawned and gazed at him, rubbing his eyes with a tiny, chubby fist. Before he could fuss, Alex already had his bottle and coaxed the teat into his mouth. Lillian gave him a grateful look.

They were nearly gone when Alex heard a shout from down the city block.

“LEX! WAIT!” Fear clawed at him at the sound of Clark’s voice.

He couldn’t stop them. He couldn’t.

“We have to go, Alexander!” she hissed. Julian puckered his face, sensing the change in his mother’s mood.

“In a moment, Mother, please!” He knocked on the door of the coach to let their driver know that he needed to get out.

Clark was out of breath, cheeks flushed and healthy looking, confusion written on his face.

“Where are you going? Are you leaving?”

“We have to.” Alex didn’t dissemble. “We’re going away.” Clark rocked back on his heels.

“Are you in trouble?” Alex wanted to harden himself against him, but the soulful look on Clark’s face pinned him.

He was so much like Julian, so fresh, innocent and trusting, and he admired Alex just as much.

“Not anymore, Clark. But I will be if I stay. Mother and I are going away.”

“Are you coming back?” Alex shook his head sadly.

“No. I can’t come back.”

“I don’t want you to go!” Clark insisted, hunching his shoulders and hugging himself.

“It’s okay, Clark. I don’t want to stay.” He couldn’t come up with any words of comfort. “I’ll be with my mother. And Julian.”

“Will your pa be mad?” He hadn’t fooled Clark in that regard.

“Maybe.”

“Alexander, stop dawdling!” his mother urged impatiently. He heard Julian fussing inside and desperately sought to end their talk.

“Look, Clark, I have to go. We have to hurry.”

“I want to be your friend,” Clark complained. “I don’t want you to go.”

“You can play ball with Pete.”

“Pete can’t catch!” he shot back. Alex felt a smile from nowhere bloom on his lips.

“You’re a little snot, Clark.” He clapped him loosely on the shoulder, as he’d seen Lionel do with anyone whom he was fond of. “I’m going now…”

“Goodbye, Lex!” he cried, launching himself at his friend and hugging him hard enough to bruise. The genuine emotion and affection he felt in that embrace radiated from Clark’s small frame, wrapping around Alex like a blanket.

He patted him, then pried himself loose. “Bye, Clark.” He climbed back into the coach, and his driver firmly slammed the door behind him. He tried but failed to ignore Clark’s forlorn looks as they pulled away from the walk.

They reached the open road within minutes. Alex watched the houses and stores retreat in the distance. The sun was still slightly high in the sky, and he felt a surge of hope.

~0~

Clark loved to run.

Jonathan and Martha warned him against it when he was within sight of the school or the town store where Jonathan bartered for goods with his butter and cheese. Clark could skip, walk, or trot, but running, giving himself his head and letting his legs carry him as far as they could was forbidden. No questions asked.

He felt the delicious burn of wind in his nostrils and lungs and the tingle in his muscles as he plowed through the brush. Trees swayed in his wake, pulled by the back draft he kicked up, and he trailed copious clouds of dust kicked up in the gravel.

All he wanted was to see where Lex was going. Then he could go home, and he wouldn’t get in trouble. He’d only he gone a few minutes. Once Clark knew where Lex was going, he could go see him again. It made sense to his six-year-old mind…

The coach grew bigger, closer in his line of vision. He wondered if Lex would see him if he ran past the window.

Alex was sullen and quiet as he stared out the window. Julian was clutching his cap and drooling on it, chewing on it with his new teeth.

A strange flash of movement caught his eye, and he blinked. He watched for it again.

There it was. Something blue. The movement flickered away, and he saw something dash behind the trees. He pressed his fingers to the glass as though trying to capture it for better inspection.

The coach suddenly jerked to a stop. Lillian stared at Alex in confusion before she shouted up toward the ceiling.

“Perry, what’s the matter? Why have we stopped now?”

“It’s the horse, ma’am,” he explained. “She’s picked up a stone in her shoe, I’m sure of it. We’ll be but a moment.”

“Please, hurry! We can’t miss the train. We just can’t!” Julian grasped a tendril of his mother’s hair and twined it around his hand, tugging on it until she snapped. “Stop that!”

“MOTHER!” Alex yelped. “Here, let me have him.”

“Never mind, Alex,” she scolded. “He’s fine. Go. Why don’t you help Perry with the shoe?”

“Yes, Mother.” Alex grunted as he pushed open the stiff door of the coach, letting himself out.

From his vantage point behind a tree, Clark watched Alex disembark, looking confused and annoyed. Clark wavered; he wanted to help his driver with the horse like he did with his pa.

“Here. Let me help,” Alex offered, coming alongside Perry and kneeling down in the dust.

“Here, now, boy, back off! I don’t need any help, go with with yer ma, where ya belong!” Perry was nearly belligerent. Alex scowled.

“Mother said to help. We need to hurry and get to the station. You need to fix the shoe!” Alex thought he was being reasonable about it all.

He suddenly heard hoofbeats and the thundering clack of wheels coming in the distance. Panic wracked his chest, and he stood breathless and transfixed as his father’s personal coach came into view. Dread made him feel sick, and he wiped suddenly clammy hands on his pants.

His lips moved automatically, and he grasped Perry’s shoulder, jerking it insistently. “We have to GO! Don’t you understand, Mister? We need to get to the station!” His eyes looked wild, and he stood fidgeting as the coach came closer, seeming in his mind’s eye to resemble the Devil’s carriage, carried along by the horsemen of the Apocalypse.

The Devil had nothing on Father.

“MOTHER! MOTHERRRRR!” He rounded the coach and tugged the door open, shouting inside, “Father’s coming! He’s COMING! LOOK!” Lillian’s breath seized, and her face went white.

“No,” she whispered. “Oh, heavens, no! Not here! Not now!” Her anguish was reflected on her son’s face, and his hopes were dashed to bits. His mother, so strong as they strode out of the fine house, was gone and a scared little girl facing punishment stood in her place.

Alex’s mind raced. If Lionel took them back into town, he’d hurt them. He’d hurt his mother again, and he might even direct his anger at the baby, even though Alex had never seen him mutter so much as one unkind word to little Julian.

His decision was made for him as he turned back to face her, and he stared long and hard at his baby brother. “I’ll protect you,” he mouthed silently, and like a little man, he stood fast outside the coach, feet spread wide and hands on his hips.

Lionel’s eyes were hard and calculating as he stared down his son, amusement twisting his mouth. He disembarked. “Perry?”

“Yes, Mr. Luthor?”

“Job well done.” He approached and clapped the man on the back before he handed him a small, thick white envelope that he promptly stuffed in his pocket. Realization dashed Alex like icy water.

Perry never intended for them to make it to the station. Lionel had him in his pocket. They’d been ambushed.

“You can’t,” Alex chanted helplessly. “You can’t keep us, Father, I won’t let y-“ His words were cut off when his father shoved him, knocking him to the ground. He looked unappeased, shaking his head.

“How long must I teach you this lesson, Alexander? Never raise your voice to me. Ever.” His eyes beseeched Perry, but one thorough look at the man’s sunken cheeks and shabby clothing told him all he needed to know: Perry thought his own life was more desperate than a woman and two children’s, and he could be bought by a man like Lionel Luthor.

Clark watched in horror as his best friend was struck and kicked, writhing and crouching in the dust. Alex! All he saw was his agony and helplessness. And eventually, the utter loss of hope. Big, strong Alex, beaten and lying on the ground. And his father stood menacingly over him, shouting horrible words that never left his own pa’s lips. They were two different men.

Fathers didn’t behave like Mr. Luthor was to Alex. Ever. Clark’s adamant belief in this tightened his small fists.

“Leave Alex ALONE!” he blurted out, abandoning his hiding place. “Or I’ll go tell my pa!” In the meantime, Clark knew he couldn’t stand by and watch Alex being hurt again. He saw his friend’s mother through the coach window, tears streaming down her cheeks and looking horrified at the sight of two young boys facing down her husband. Lionel personified evil.

There came a day of reckoning in every person’s life when they realized how short their existence truly was, how fragile and fleeting. Lillian knew it to be true that she wouldn’t escape Lionel except in death, and it loomed before her, fearsome, heart-stopping and black. She clutched Julian to her bosom.

“I’ve ruined us,” she whispered. “I’ve ruined us! God, forgive me!” Julian emitted a petulant wail. His mother was clutching him too tightly, and he wriggled to get free.

Perry watched his employer uncomfortably, realizing he couldn’t stand by and watch Lionel potentially hurt the second child, who’d appeared out of nowhere. He spent no time pondering it. “’Ey, there! Come away, boy, it’s none of yer business!”

“Leave him alone! You’re a BAD man! Stop hurting him! STOP!”

Perry and Lillian both never would have believed it if they hadn’t seen it. The young, dark-haired boy with the kind of angelic face that made women sigh in the street at its beauty threw himself between Lionel and Alex. He covered his friend with his small, wiry body and shoved Alex’s face beneath his chin protectively, sheltering him like a baby chick. Lionel never reacted fast enough to the boy’s speed to draw back his hand, yet a part of him took savage satisfaction, too, in teaching Kent’s impudent pup a lesson in manners…

Lionel bellowed in outrage at the fierce, all-consuming pain wracking his hand and traveling along every nerve ending in his arm while the bones shattered. His cry was resonant and terrible. He gaped in disbelief, and his body spasmed and bent nearly double as he cradled the broken limb.

He stumbled back roughly, unable to control his feet from the blunt impact, and he flew back against the darker of the two horses drawing Lillian’s coach.

The horse sputtered and neighed fiercely, eyes wild as Lionel connected with its sturdy, sleek bulk. It skittered back, rearing up on his its hind legs. Its companion reacted sharply, dancing aside as a gut reaction and startling at the same rapid movement of Clark’s body, moving so fast that he blurred.

The back of Lionel’s head hit the ground with a faint crack as a hoof rammed into his shoulder like a hammer.

The horses continued to buck and rear. Clark’s heart raced, and he felt a throbbing in his temples.

“WAIT! DON’T!” he shouted. His throat felt raw with the effort. He let go of Alex, who fell back as Clark released him, and he kicked up dust in his wake as he lunged toward the errant horses. Perry never saw the young boy even move; he was focused on his employer’s ill pallor and the twisted, hideous angle of his hand.

The horses’ reactions to Clark’s sudden movement were more immediate. They skipped and shied to avoid the fleeting rush headed toward them, and they began to run.

All Alex heard were his mother’s shrill screams from inside…

The coach thundered away, and the reins of the first steed were torn away from the boy’s grasp before he could fully clutch them. He was strong enough, but still not quick enough, something that would plague him for the rest of his life…

The coach rocked and shook as it plummeted along the road.

“ALEEXXXXXX!” His mother’s face was pressed to the window, with her free hand banging against it instinctively as she searched for a way out. Julian’s keening cry reached Clark’s ears. His sharp hearing picked up myriad sounds that brought this scene of his life into sharp focus. Alex’s thundering pulse. Lionel’s weak yet steady heartbeat and his faint moan of pain. The baby’s plaintive cry at being jostled and held too tightly. And Alex’s choked intake of breath mingled with his sobs.

The horse caught a stone in its shoe. Perry’s false claim became prophesy.

The coach disconnected from the harness and tumbled down a slight incline, rolling head over end, over and over until it finally stopped. Its shell was a mangled heap of twisted metal and splintered wood and glass.