torched_reporter: (confused)
[personal profile] torched_reporter
It seems like something out of a dream. She can barely remember it, but the reminder of her nocturnal activities whisper to the fringes of her conscious mind. Chloe turns in the bed, hugging her pillow closer to her head. Her eyes remain close and, for a moment, she whimpers for Riley. There’s no one to hold in this bed in Smallville. There isn’t anyone to make these nightmares go away.

It’s dark and she’s driving down an abandoned road. Cornfields flock either side. The moon isn’t out. There is a car up ahead. She’s heading straight for it. The man on the car is on a cell phone. It’s black, it’s fancy: it’s clearly the car of a rich man. She’s in a truck, a big truck that she can’t remember ever purchasing. But it doesn’t matter how she obtained it. She has a goal ahead.

The game of chicken lasts until the very last moment. She won’t move from the tracks. The other car has no choice but to swerve off the road. It spins out of control into a muddy bank. Cornstalks are broken. With an even louder squeal, she stops the truck next to the crashed car. She walks out, slow and determined. Her boots prevent any slipping in the mud.

When she comes to a stop, it’s in front of the crashed car. She peers in through the driver’s side window. A bald head glimmers in the lights. She knows this man. It’s her target. He asks her what she wants and she ignores him. Using the butt of a flashlight, she smashes the window. The target is showered with glass but only has a moment to realize it. The flashlight head is now used to knock him unconscious.

There. That’s what she came for. A small device in the pocket of her jacket. It’s what she needs. She smiles, staring at the unconscious man.

“Thanks Lex.”

The dream is over. When she wakes up, Chloe cannot recall any of it. She yawns, blinking sleepily. It is morning and she’s supposed to meet Clark for coffee. After another yawn, and a stretch, she rolls out of bed. Eyes narrow in on a pair of muddy boots on the floor. She can’t remember how they got there – they’re certainly not Lois’.

Chloe walks over, forgetting all about coffee with Clark. There’s something more going on right now. And she has no idea what.
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Chloe Sullivan

December 2008

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