Geno beast, and Jeremy Shane: Thanks!

Madlenita: sort of;)

Shonnia22: Lol. Yeah that was a lot of questions; but thank you.

Dispatcher652: Lol. I'll bet I do!

The fallen sky: Lol. And your issues just keep becoming more and more prominent! And yes Chloe is truly a blonde. I'm not telling you where Lizzy got her red hair…yet. I'm not telling you anything…yet

Dizzy78: Lol. I think some of you would find me and but=rn me to the stake if I made this all a dream…but it does sound like something I would do…so…what are you trying to say huh?

DecemberPaintedWings: Lol. You want to believe so bad that Jonathon is Clark's don't you? I can understand that;)

~~{(O)(O)(O)(O)(O)(O)}~~

I'm here to pay my respects. It's been seven years; but I'm finally here for her…and for him. The saying "better late than never" comes to me briefly; but I push it aside. It doesn't apply to me. That saying is for procrastinating college students who forgot to do their homework; or for a girl who'd been kept waiting just a few days longer by her cycle, relieving her of any fears she might have over being pregnant from that one guy who's name and face she can't remember. 'Better late than never' does not apply to a woman who is just now coming to visit her friends' graves after seven long years.

"Lana Elizabeth Lang" and "Charles Jeremiah Loveleigh"; those are the names on the headstones. Looking at them, one can't help but to be confused. Lang and Saunders shouldn't be side by side. Charles Loveleigh should be way over there; right next to Sean Love, nowhere near Lana Lang.

Maybe his last name, his real last name started with the letters L and A, I think to myself without humor. It's a tiring subject; the fact that Charlie isn't Charlie's name. I obsessed over it for months, nearly a year; searching for who my friend really was.

In the end it didn't matter. In the end, he was still my friend. Clark told me that. I was angry with him for telling me that because it does matter. Charlie not being Charlie, Lois spending so much time with Charlie even though she was dating Oliver, Oliver being okay with it, Lana dying, Charlie dying…I was/ am missing something; a lot of somethings; and I thought that if I could at least figure out who Charlie was, then I would have a clue. I'd have a piece of the puzzle; and maybe I'd be able to see the whole picture a little clearer. That maybe I'd be able to guess the rest based on what I saw.

But nothing came of it. I never found out who Charlie was; and Clark never told me about Lana. I don't think I want to know; because I think I have an idea. I think it had something to do with the time he spent away; the time he spent in the phantom zone; and the time he spent with Jor-el. The way Clark had been acting…it was almost like the time he told me that Lana died after he proposed to her; and then he went back and asked Jor-el to fix it; then his father ended up dying of a heart attack the same day. Like someone had to die. Just the way Lana and Clark kept implying that one of us had to die.

I don't ask him about it. If something like that happened; it's not his fault. I imagine he feels like it is though. And I can't help but to feel relieved that he still seems to love me; and that he doesn't seem to blame me at all.

"Mommy, don't cry," my daughter, Moira, whines just before grabbing my hand in hers. I look down at her and smile. She gets more and more beautiful every day. The red hair, it compliments her in the way that sweet and sour can mix and be something phenomenal. It's…feisty; her hair. It's the only word I can think of to describe it. It's wild and thick with curls and just plain untamable; it contradicts her personality. She's so soft and gentle. They're nothing alike. Her and her hair. It's an absolutely stunning combination.

I feel guilty every time I look at her. How could I have ever thought she was an evil…thing? How could I have ever thought she was Lex's? She's so much like her father; like my husband. They both are. Jonathan is just as sweet and gentle as Moira.

Clark didn't have a lot of time to doubt the fact that Jonathan was his. Our son nearly cut off Martha's circulation in her pinky the first day he was born. I imagine Clark feels guilty about doubting his son, the same way I feel about the way I doubted my daughter. I can see it when he looks at him. And it's probably why he asked to keep Jonathan with him today.

Jonathan had been so excited; and I expected Moira to stay behind too; but she didn't. She told her brother bye, kissed her father goodbye, and then came up to me, telling me that she was ready to go now. It shocked me at first. Our children are hardly ever separated. They don't like it; but when I asked Jonathan if he was sure he didn't want to come with me, he said he wanted to stay with his dad so he could learn how to fix a tractor. I smiled at him. Seven year olds shouldn't be learning how to fix a tractor; they should be finger painting.

"You're still crying," my daughter observes with the cutest frown upon her face. Then she reaches up to me, attempting to wipe my face with her hand. She's so small still. Even for a seven year old. She's always been so much smaller than all the other kids in her class.

I drop to my knees before her so she can wipe my face. Again, I'm reminded of how much she's like her father; and again I feel a wave of guilt wash over me for thinking that she wasn't his.

"All better," she smiles before kissing my cheek and wrapping her arms around my neck. I hug her back; as hard as I can. I can do that because it doesn't hurt her.

When she pulls back, I stare into the deepest brown, almost black eyes I have ever seen. Even those are contradicting to her personality. There's nothing dark inside of her; but against her pale skin and the red hair. The combination is just…striking.

"You're so beautiful, Lizzy," I tell her. In my thoughts, she's Moira; but out loud I've been calling her Lizzy ever since my fried died. It's short for Elizabeth; her middle name; one that she shares with my deceased best friend.

"Mommy," she groans out.

I smile at her as she blushes and covers her eyes with her small hands. For some reason she hates it when I tell her that. She's so bashful.

"And you're just like your daddy," I tell her.

"Yes she is."

I stand up abruptly at the sound of that voice. I'd know it anywhere; but I haven't heard it in seven years.

She's supposed to be dead.

"Lana," I breathe out.

"Hello Chloe," my friend says softly.

She's close. Too close. How did I not notice she was here?

I back away from her; pulling Moira along with me.

"I'm not a ghost," Lana smiles sadly.

I can tell. She looks solid. She looks older too; like maybe she's aged about seven years. She looks…real.

Lana looks down at my daughter. "She's beautiful Chloe," she says softly.

I look down at Moira, who has the biggest smile on her face.

"Hi Lana," my daughter says; and I pull her back a little. My daughter hates it when I tell her she's beautiful; yet Lana says it and she's happy; and how does she know that this is Lana anyway. I mean, sure, her name has been dropped around the house a few times, but there are no pictures of Lana in our home. Clark and I mutually agreed that it was too painful to have them.

"Chloe," Lana says softly. "I may have given birth to her; but you're her mother. I know that," Lana says gently.

"You're not real," is my response.

She tilts her head a little to the side before saying, "of course I'm real."

"No. You're dead."

"Did you ever see my body?" Lana challenges as if I'm missing something that I should have figured out a long time ago.

She's right. I didn't see her body. I didn't see Charlie's body either. I never went to the funerals. Neither did Clark.

"Go ahead," she says while placing a hand on Moira's shoulder. "Ask me."

I shake my head. "You're dead."

I can't seem to get passed that.

"Go ahead and ask me Chloe," Lana sighs. "Ask me what's going on, and why I'm here and what happened seven years ago. I know you've been wondering."

I bite my lip; my curiosity getting the best of me despite the fact that this situation is totally a "run!" type moment in most thrillers.

"What's going on?" I finally relent.

Before I can even blink, I'm pushed to the ground. I nearly close my eyes when my head hits Lana's tombstone; but my baby…Lana holding my screaming child.

"Mommy!" my daughter screams over and over again; but I can't get up to help her. I can't move.

Lana covers my child's mouth with her hand; then comes to stand over me. "You're husband made a deal with the devil," she says; and I watch in absolute horror as Lana slowly morphs into Lex Luthor.

"I've come to collect."

Then he's gone. Just like that, and so is my baby.

I wake up abruptly, unable to take enough air into my lungs. It was a dream…No, it was a nightmare. The worst nightmare…

"Chloe?"

It's Clark, my husband.

"Bring her to me," I gasp out.

It wasn't real. She's safe and sound; but I still need to see her…

"Chloe? The babies are fine," Clark tells me while rubbing my back soothingly. "I can hear them."

I shake my head repeatedly; unable to forget the image of my seven year old being take away from me. I should have known it wasn't real. My children aren't seven years old. They're not even seven days old yet.

"Clark, go get her, or I will."

He sighs heavily before getting out of the bed. I knew he'd go if I threatened to get up. I'm supposed to be on the most strict diet of bed rest ever. I haven't walked by myself for nearly three days; but if he doesn't get up and get my child, I will.

I stare at the doorway until he comes back; and when he does, he pauses there.

"Chloe?"

I get a little irritated with him; wishing he would just bring her to me and save all the melodramatics for another night.

"Did you put Moira in Jonathan's crib?"

I frown at him. I've been on bed rest. I haven't put anybody anywhere.

"She was in Jonathan's crib," he reiterates as if I didn't gather that bit of information by myself. It's just…that's not really important to me right now. Holding my baby is.

"Maybe Lois or Martha did it," I answer once he finally puts her in my arms.

I ignore the way he's frowning at me; and I ignore the fact that Lois hasn't been by recently, and the fact that Martha left around three in afternoon.

"Don't worry Lizzy," I croon. "Mommy's not going to let anything happen to you."

~The End~

~~{(O)(O)(O)(O)(O)(O)}~~

A/N: Next story, Bring Her to Me, won't be posted for a while. I know, I know. You want to kill me for leaving it here; but it's truly not my fault. If you want to blame someone, blame The Fallen Sky, he's the one who kept hinting at a sequel, otherwise I would've ended this one with a very nice pretty bow on top. And while you're at it; you can blame dizzy78 too. If it weren't for them, you guys wouldn't have to suffer through another sequel.

I will warn you that "Bring Her to Me" takes place 15 years after this one, so there'll be OCs galore. If you don't like OCs I won't be offended if you don't check it out. Really.

But since I'm not totally evil, I will be posting another Chlark story I've been working on for a while now; just so you guys don't suffer too bad while waiting for the sequel. The new story is called "Boundaries." I'll post it next Friday, November 19th. I hope you'll check it out!