Best Form of Flattery

by mobiusklein

At first, she thought it was just her imagination that she was missing a few pieces of her underwear. She thought she had just misplaced her favorite hair clip. However, it was getting scary when she noticed that the new makeup she had bought had been used.

It was during these times that she wished that she could call Clark even though he was an insufferable liar who had kept things she needed to know from her for years. He had been gone for the past three years. His alter ego still patrolled the city, but on a sporadic basis rather than a daily one. However, the man he used to be had suffered some sort of nervous breakdown. He had said something about "not being able to live a lie" anymore and left the Daily Planet. Surely, he could find out who was doing this to her though her few attempts to call out for help from her window had so far been ignored. She had called Martha but had gotten a somewhat vague response to her inquiries.

As for Chloe . . . Chloe had left Metropolis and gone to work in London. Also, they had parted on very poor terms though she couldn't understand why Chloe had come to resent her so much. She wasn't likely to help even if Lana paid for the plane tickets and the hotel.

As someone who had been stalked countless times, she had this horrible feeling that she was being watched constantly. She decided to keep a diary at work about the small things she noticed like someone else's odor on her pillowcase or how her shampoo seemed to be disappearing much more quickly than usual. She hired a private investigator who did a stakeout of her house but saw nobody go in or out though things continued to be shifted around. He later advised her that she try moving to another apartment. The problems of her personal items disappearing or appearing in places they weren't supposed to be and obviously used by someone else followed her there. It was so persistent that she wondered if she had an early form of dementia or was having blackouts. A trip to the doctor disabused her of that notion.

One night, she came home from her job as an art gallery manager. She made some coffee and went to her living room to watch a TV show about a duo investigating the supernatural. She went back into the kitchen to and poured herself a second cup. It tasted more bitter than the first cup but figured that all she needed to do was add some cream and sugar.

When she awoke, she was chained to a bed in a bedroom she didn't recognize. The walls and ceiling looked like they were made of white crystal. Clark was standing at the foot of the bed wearing his dark hair down past his shoulders, dressed in an open pink coat revealing the fact that he was wearing a black bra and lacy panties. His eyes were glowing red and insane.

"Clark?" she gasped.

"My name isn't Clark, anymore," he whispered.

"What's wrong with you?" she shrieked.

"I thought all these years in Smallville I wanted YOU. It was only after I moved to Metropolis that I realize that I wanted to BE you!"


"Because you're everything that I've always wanted to be: normal, loved, perfect."

"You're the one who's been breaking into my house and going through my things!"

"Yes. I needed to know."

"Know what?"

"What makes you perfect. I had to prepare."

"Prepare for what?"

"There can only be one Lana Lang, right? There can't be two of us, can there?"

Lana screamed.

The End

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