Now You're Gone

16

Lois snuck upstairs to do what she does best, and unearth the truth.

Lois was no stranger to Wayne Manor. It was Clark's favorite place to host Game Night. The waxed floors were also perfect for sliding across wearing fluffy socks and dancing like nobody was watching. Bruce had an entire shelf in the movie theater dedicated to embarrassing videos of Clark. The kind of videos a relative would use to blackmail their baby brother . . . or cousin.

There was one room in the East Wing that without fail was always locked. That was about to change. Lois pulled her lockpicking kit out of her pocket and got to work. She never left the house without it. She twisted the lock, but it didn't budge. "Come on!" Lois explained in frustration. "Alohomora!" she jiggled the lock. Nothing.

There wasn't a single room Lois Lane could not break into. She was not about to lose her winning streak now. She grabbed the door handle and pulled. The bronze crumpled like playdough under her hand.

"That's new," Lois said to the empty hallway. She looked both ways to make sure no one saw the return of Ultrawoman and pushed the cursed door open.

A cloud of dust hit her in the face, the air stale and musty. The room was an active crime scene. Not a single object had been moved in the last twenty years. A Grey Ghost graphic novel sat open on the bed, the pictures discolored, a thick layer of dust coating the pages. The closet door was ajar as if the Waynes had left in a hurry and forgot to close it. The blush container on the dresser was still open, and a sticky makeup brush was abandoned beside it. Much of the rest of the room was the same. A teddy bear was abandoned on the floor, from the last time Bruce cuddled with his parents. Next to the window, Thomas Wayne's desk was buried beneath a mountain of paperwork.

Her reserve was starting to crack. Bruce would never speak to her again if she contaminated his active crime scene. But he should have thought of that before keeping secrets from her. This was no worse than Bruce bugging Clark and not telling him. Time for him to get a taste of his own medicine!

Her mind made up, Lois tore through the room, opening and shuffling through drawers. Dr. Wayne had been as fond of silly ties as his alleged nephew. On the surface, his wife seemed normal. Her jewelry box was filled with exquisite gems and diamonds that could end poverty. Beautiful evening gowns hung in the closet organized by color. A black storage box was shoved carelessly at the bottom of the closet, filled with inconsequential art supplies. The dresser was much of the same mundane knickknacks. Except for a framed charcoal sketch of baby Bruce.

She picked up the frame, chuckling to herself. "What happened to you? You were so cute," she cooed.

Bruce couldn't have been older than two or four, his cheeks round and chubby like a chipmunk. He sat in the middle of a pumpkin patch reaching up to the viewer eagerly. The tan paper gave the drawing a vintage look. It was an exquisite drawing, each stroke executed with utmost love and care. There was something about Bruce's lopsided smile that irked her. She had seen pictures of pre-Batman Bruce and even as a kid his smile was forced. She studied the drawing closer. Bruce won't be caught dead in those ratty overalls.

It was Clark.

She opened the frame and carefully slid the drawing out. On the back of the paper was a child's drawing. No surprise Clark used primary colors to scribble a picture of two boys riding a cow. The blue grumpy stick figure was no doubt Bruce. While Clark wore a yellow cowboy hat that matched the sun. Lois's heart melted and tears pricked her eyes. She knew Bruce and Clark had been friends for a long time, but she hadn't realized their relationship went that far back. Martha Wayne had taken the time to visit Smallville and build a relationship with a farmer's son.