Part I

"What Was Lost"

Chapter 1

Phoenix, Arizona, February 14, 2019. Maybelle Ritter was in the midst of working one of her cons as she waited in the motel room for her mark with only the television to keep her company. The middle-aged woman lounged on the pillows propped up against the headboard, languidly flipping through the channels of the set down by her feet. A hair care infomercial came on and she unconsciously lifted a hand to her head, fluffing her limp, too dark hair with its dried split ends. Soon her vapid mind began to wander and she found herself taking a trip down Memory Lane to look back on her dismal life.

She had generally considered herself to be lucky, to a point; in her twenties and thirties she'd gotten by on her looks, associating herself with rich, powerful men who would buy her the material things she'd desperately craved during her youth. But all that changed after a year and a half as a married man's mistress. Their relationship had begun while he was married to a lonely, wealthy, 88 year old widow from an upright and respectable family. Her fortune alone had been what enticed him into matrimony and so long as the old bag was bedridden he treated Maybelle like a queen, keeping her in furs and jewels during their stolen time together while waiting for his wife to die. The exquisite frippery proved to be more than enough to keep Maybelle hanging around…even as his true, increasingly sinister nature became more apparent. It wasn't until several months after his wife's passing that she finally saw him for what he truly was and screwed up what little courage she had to leave him in the dead of night, disappearing like so much dust in the wind—as if she'd never even existed at all.

After the affair, her life took a decidedly downward turn. Her looks were shot at the ripe old age of thirty-five—her skin was brown and freckled, her black hair coarse and frizzy, and her teeth a bit yellow and jagged in places where the veneers had popped off. She also hadn't a penny to her name save for what little she'd carried away with her when all was said and done. Maybelle had become accustomed to the posh lifestyle her lover kept her in and when it ended she found herself without a pot to piss in, much to her chagrin; the intervening twelve years had not seen her recover her earlier footing either. In the rich men department she was being beat out for their affection and their wallets by tarts in too-short, too-tight miniskirts, and when she set her sights a tad lower even those men began to realize what a drain she was on their resources, dumping her before she got her hooks into them for too much cash. So Maybelle turned to running confidence schemes just like her mother had before her.

Phoenix saw her stringing along a forty-some odd year old man with thinning hair and a pot belly with one of her Alabama Real Estate games. He had at least 75,000 dollars in the bank that he was prepared to part with in the hopes of getting triple his money back in just six short months. His name was Dale Burton and as far as she could tell he wasn't all that bright—and that was saying a lot.

An amorous sigh escaped her lips. She hadn't had a man in her life in almost a year and all that time alone was beginning to take its toll on her self-image. He isn't bad-looking, she mused, ignoring the infomercial blaring on the TV. In a double-wide, trailer park kind of way. Still… A quick glance at the clock told her she had an hour and a half to kill before he arrived with the money. Maybelle leapt up from the bed and darted into the bathroom without a minute to lose.

Daily Planet, Metropolis, February 14, 2019. "Happy Valentine's Day, Honey," Clark whispered into her ear as he leaned over his wife while she worked, a bouquet of red roses in his other hand. Lois turned and matched his kiss with equal fervor then caught sight of the flowers

"Oh Clark, they're lovely!" she exclaimed, getting up and taking them into her arms.

"I'm only sorry I wasn't able to pick them out for you myself," he told her, standing up straight and glancing at one of the overhead TV screens. Lois followed his gaze and saw footage of Superman receiving a dozen red roses from several patients at Children's Hospital-Metropolis.

She playfully swatted his arm. "Oh you!" Nestling her face in amongst the sweet buds and inhaling deeply, she replied in a voice so quiet only he could hear, "You're forgiven…this time."

"Thank you, oh Magnanimous One." Clark smirked and made a deep bow before kissing her impertinently on the forehead and returning to his own desk. "So, what do you want to do for dinner tonight?"

"Nothing fancy; I might have to work late with Perry on the layouts again. The man's been grooming me for six years and he still doesn't trust me."

"How conveniently we forget the giant, gaping hole that went out on the front page…"

Lois grew incensed at the recollection. "One time! That was one time five and a half years ago and it wasn't even my fault! I checked and re-checked that layout before I sent it down to the printers—they're the ones who lost the ad and printed the blank space, not me! For crying out loud, my own husband won't even let me live it down!"

Clark couldn't help but chuckle at her the more indignant she got. "Well since you two might be working late, is it ok if the kids and I do take-out?"

She grimaced at his segue. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Chinese?"

"Ok," she reluctantly agreed. Then, under her breath, she added, "Just don't let Jason pick it up alone; you know how nervous I get about him flying overseas."

"I won't," he replied, equally concerned for his son's safety.

"WHEE!" Haley called out as she soared through the clouds in the arms of her father. She wore a light brown coat over her clothes and her dark wavy locks swirled about in the breeze while she held her arms out on each side like a bird. "Higher Dad, let's go higher!"

He clutched the nine year old close to his chest as she stared straight ahead of her with glee. "Not tonight, Hales; any higher and the air will be too thin for you to breathe."

"Aww…"

"I can't believe Mom still doesn't trust me!" his seventeen year old son cut in, flying up alongside him on the right. "I've been able to fly for awhile now but she still acts like it's my first time out the window! Jes--!"

Jason." The curt admonishment was all the boy needed to stop himself mid-blaspheme and Clark un-furrowed his brow as he saw the opportunity to speak. "You've been flying, yes, but not nearly as much as I have and your endurance isn't anywhere near where your mother and I would like it to be. Neither of us is comfortable with you flying long distances alone just yet."

Jason turned to glare at his father. "But you used to let me fly by myself out to Smallville all the time!"

"That was different," Clark replied quietly.

"How? How was that different?"

"You were flying over land then, not large bodies of water, and were anything to happen to you we knew where you were going and how to find you."

The teenager frowned even deeper but no longer pressed the issue. Clark knew his children would be pushing boundaries and testing limits, not only in their daily lives but also where their super-powers were concerned, and he feared for the day when they went too far and he wasn't able to save them before they toppled over the edge.

"Perfect timing," Lois announced as she heard two pairs of booted feet land with a thud in the living room. She finished hanging up her jacket on the hall tree and strode into the kitchen. "I just got in myself."

Haley scrambled out of her father's grip and rushed straight into her mother's arms. "Mommy, we went flying! And Dad took me real high and I got to touch the clouds!"

"Oh really?" She arched an eyebrow at her husband.

"We weren't that high," he replied, strolling into the kitchen with several small parcels of food in his hands. Setting them down on the counter, he added, "The cloud cover was low tonight—at least over the Midwest."

"Uh huh." She eyed her son as he waltzed into the room with the rest of their meal. "And how was your flight, Jason?" The boy moved sullenly back out of the room without saying a word and sped down the hall to change and wash up for supper, for once without being told. Lois put her daughter down. "Haley, go wash your hands, and then I want to hear all about your day at school."

"Ok." The little girl super-sped down the hall after her brother and was soon out of sight.

Hands on her hips, she asked, "He's still mad at me about the flying thing?"

Clark moved about, setting the table. "Correction—he's still mad at us about the flying thing."

She moved to retrieve the silverware, continuing the conversation as she worked. "So you still agree with me that he shouldn't be flying alone, especially off-continent?"

He stilled at her comment, the last plate in his hands. "If I recall Iwas the one who told you I didn't think it was a good idea to let him fly alone overseas." Clark stood by the counter and considered how best to explain the situation to his wife. "Think of him as if he were a pilot, Lois," he instructed. "He's been practicing, yes, but he just doesn't have enough air time under his belt to be taking on any solo, globe-trekking journeys just yet."

"Ok." She set down the last fork and knife beside him and released the breath she'd been holding. "Ok. It's just that I hate feeling like the bad guy in all of this, you know? I have the sneaking suspicion that he resents me more for these restrictions than he does you just because I can't take off and jet anywhere I want like the rest of you can…or will." Lois let loose a sad sigh as she pictured the day her young daughter would take flight and leave her Earth bound mother behind.

Clark drew her to him, and wrapped his arms and cape around her lithe frame. "Maybe on the surface he thinks that," he whispered to his wife, stroking her hair with one hand, "But deep down he knows that the two of us are united when it comes to doing what's best for him." He took her chin in his hand and led her gaze up to meet his own. "And as far as jet-setting goes you wouldn't want to go anywhere without me anyway so it's only convenient that I get to be the one to take you there."

"And carry my luggage—you're a very handy bellhop," she added cheekily.

"Right, right, and carry your luggage. See? You can't go anywhere without me."

Haley rushed back into the room, the glow from free flight still on her cheeks, and she brought with her a brown paper bag with several large construction paper hearts pasted on it; the bag itself was filled-to-bursting with cards from classmates. Holding it up under her parents' noses for inspection, she cried out, "Look at all the Valentine's I got! Look!" just as Jason sauntered sullenly back into the room for the family meal.

Phoenix, Arizona, February 14, 2019. She tossed her slinky, cotton candy-pink robe on over her negligee as Dale knocked on the door. He might be expecting a windfall that'll never come, but he sure as hell won't be expecting this. She threw it open and leaned against the frame seductively.

"Why, Maybelle, I…I…" Dale spluttered, eyes shifting nervously up and down the hall after spotting her scantily clad form. He clutched his briefcase closer to his chest.

The middle-aged woman grabbed his shirt collar and dragged him inside. "A pretty little surprise for you, I know," she practically purred. She kissed the top of his balding pate, leaving a bright red outline of her lips, and began going to work unbuttoning his shirt collar.

He nudged her away from him, sweat dripping freely down his temples. "Don't you think we should, uh, t-talk a little business, first?" he asked, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his grimy face.

Maybelle sat on the edge of the bed, petulantly crossing her arms in front of her chest and began to pout. "Fine."

"Ok then." Dale moved over to the desk with a bit more confidence now that she wasn't trying to climb into his suit, opening the case up while shielding its contents from her view. "I'm sorry, but I could only get about 50,000 dollars together on such short notice—the rest is tied up in other funds."

The news served only to deepen the frown lines around her mouth and face. "But Dale, Sugar, you told me you could get 75,000 dollars…"

"I know, but the man at the bank said I'd lose a lot of money if I pulled out of them long-term CD's now." He held up a small wad of hundred dollar bills over the top of the case.

"I don't know…" Her eyes went wide at the sight of the cash and she instantly reverted back into con mode, momentarily ignoring her personal needs. "My other investors might not be happy with this turn of events; they were expecting everyone to put in equal shares. They might not accept your new offer." She searched his eyes eagerly for any hint of desperation and she was handsomely rewarded.

"Aww now, Maybelle, don't go doin' that to me! I got you the money right here, all cash, and I'm still interested…"

The scantily-clad woman rose up from the bed and swaggered over to him at the desk, closing the top of the briefcase with a smile without looking inside. She clutched the handle tightly. "Well then, I guess I'll just have to work extra hard to make sure that they accept your offer—and don't worry, you'll get three times as much back in six months."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Guaranteed?"

"Guaranteed."

"And there's no paperwork I need to sign? No legal mumbo-jumbo I have to write out for the money, or taxes I need to pay?"

She shook her head, her too tight curls swaying and revealing several gray patches. "Nope, this is all under the table. If we get the lawyers involved then by the time they're through you'd find out you were better off just keeping the money in the bank in the first place."

"Alright then, if you're sure." His eyes trailed after her as she sauntered over to the closet, setting the briefcase down on the floor.

Closing the door swiftly behind her, Maybelle turned around and flashed him more of her leg. "Now what do you say we celebrate our partnership properly?" she asked coyly, just as he pulled his wrist down from his face.

His entire demeanor and tone of voice changed. "I'm sorry, Sugar, but the jig is up." Phoenix area police stormed the room as Dale strode toward her with a pair of handcuffs dangling from his finger. "Maybelle Ritter, you're under arrest for thirty-two counts of fraud."