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[Raising Kids in DC] Chapter 136: Another John—Yearning for Love Yet Receiving No Return
🕑 Added 2025-02-19 15:08:40 +0000 UTC"John... what are you doing here?"
Late at night, Clark stared at John standing before him, his voice filled with surprise.
"Don't speak. If Dad or Star-Lord finds out, it'll be a disaster."
John gestured for Clark to keep quiet.
"Get up, Clark. I'm taking you somewhere."
"I don't quite understand," Clark whispered as he climbed out of bed. "Where are we going?"
"Just follow me."
John handed Clark his clothes. "Hurry up. We need to be back before sunrise."
Though Clark found it odd, he ultimately decided to trust John and quickly got dressed.
With a ripple in the curtain, the two of them slipped out the window, vanishing into the night.
Standing under the dim glow of the moon, Clark turned to John with curiosity. "Where exactly are we going?"
"A place that's a little far from here."
As he spoke, John pulled out a shimmering golden key.
Clark's eyes widened in surprise. He had never seen John with such a key before.
"What is that?"
"A key—to a room where you can glimpse anything you wish to see."
John took a deep breath and explained, "It's the Secret Chamber, a place that has existed since the dawn of time. It's filled with countless mysteries, magic, and wonders."
"Why do you have a key to this place, John?" Clark asked, puzzled.
"Zatanna gave it to Dad. I just borrowed it."
"You stole your godfather's key?!"
Clark's eyes widened in shock. He hadn't expected John to be this bold.
"No, of course not! I only borrowed it. Dad and I— I mean, between us, 'stealing' isn't the right word."
John insisted confidently that it was only temporary borrowing.
Despite John's assurances, Clark still felt uneasy. "I think if Godfather finds out, he'll be furious. We should return the key."
"Are you sure?"
John put the key away. "This Secret Chamber can help you, Clark. It can show you the answers you've been searching for."
"Aren't you curious about your origins? Dad isn't your biological father. Jonathan and Martha Kent are only your adoptive parents. Don't you want to know where you truly come from?"
Clark hesitated at John's words.
"Don't worry. If we get caught, I'll explain everything to Dad. If there's any punishment, I'll take it alone."
John patted Clark's shoulder reassuringly.
"Alright..."
In the end, Clark gave in.
He knew this wasn't the right thing to do, but his curiosity about the Secret Chamber was too strong to resist.
Half an Hour Later
John and Clark stood outside Zatanna's house.
"Alright, this is it. We need to move quickly."
John motioned for Clark to hurry.
Taking a deep breath, Clark glanced around.
The neighborhood was lined with identical suburban houses—white curb stones, birdbaths, energy-efficient streetlights, lush lilac bushes by the mailboxes, graffiti-covered walls, and bright white rain gutters.
"All the houses here look the same. The first time I came, I almost got lost," John muttered while leading Clark inside. With practiced ease, he used the key to unlock the workshop.
As the Secret Chamber activated, the entire room came to life.
The walls twisted and reshaped themselves, staircases led to different realms, and furniture rearranged itself onto the ceiling.
Clark stood frozen in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"W-What is this?!"
His words caught in his throat as he struggled to comprehend the sight before him.
"According to Dad and Zatanna, the Secret Chamber is now revealing itself, shedding its disguise. But since we have the key, it won't see us as intruders. Otherwise, we'd be trapped here forever."
John explained, "That's the wonder of magic—so don't be too surprised."
It took Clark a few seconds to process everything. Swallowing hard, he asked, "So what now?"
"We find a room. If you're lucky, you'll see what you came for."
"And if I'm unlucky?" Clark asked uneasily.
"If you're unlucky, you might run into a monster. But with your strength, I doubt you'll get eaten," John shrugged.
Last time, when he sneaked in alone, he opened a door and was immediately chased by a tentacle monster—an enormous eye covered in writhing appendages that lunged at him.
Luckily, he had been fast enough to escape.
"Good luck. We'll meet back here later."
With that, John strode toward a door on his own.
"We're not going together?"
Clark was stunned to see John leaving him behind.
"Nope. I don't share secrets," John said with a casual wave, never looking back.
Clark watched him disappear, feeling uneasy but left with no choice. Taking a deep breath, he hesitantly moved forward.
Creak!
John held his breath, peering into the darkened room.
The space was pitch-black, eerily silent—so quiet he could hear his own heartbeat.
Clap!
The sound of the slate snapping echoed through the space, and the dim room gradually brightened.
"Are we good?"
"Yes."
"We can start filming?"
"Yes, it's already begun."
Hearing the director confirm that filming had started, the John of the mirror world instantly transformed his previously stern expression into one of warmth and charm.
He was introducing his house to the film crew.
To his shock, the adult version of himself was presenting a house identical to the farm where he had grown up.
"This home was built by my grandfather," the John explained as he walked forward. "He was a farmer his whole life, a great man."
Stopping in front of the sofa, he pointed at the television across from it.
"Every evening, my father and I would sit here and watch TV together. I remember one show in particular—it was about werewolves. Sorry, I can't recall the exact name."
Then, he gestured toward a nearby bookshelf.
"And these... these were my favorite books as a child—The Monkey's Paw, The Mermaid..."
His fingers brushed the spines of the books, and his expression turned complex.
"My father used to read them to me before bed. Those were beautiful memories."
Smiling faintly, he moved toward a framed photograph.
The picture showed "Peter" and him together, both wearing baseball caps and holding gloves, a scene filled with joy and warmth.
"This was taken the first time I hit a home run," the John said. "My father took this picture to celebrate."
Then, he gazed at the photo, kissed his fingers, and pressed them against the frame.
"I love you, Dad."
Watching the John in the mirror world, the real John was completely stunned.
This guy had stolen his entire childhood—and was now shamelessly narrating it on camera as if it were his own life story.
How could he be this brazen?!
"And even though he's gone, I'll always remember him," the mirror John continued, now wearing an expression of deep sorrow.
"Wait a damn minute!"
Furious, the real John roared, his eyes ready to unleash laser beams.
Not only had this impostor fabricated everything, but he was also acting like his father was dead?!
Meanwhile, the mirror John led the reporter into another room.
"And this... is the Baseball Hall of Honor. It holds many of my trophies and awards."
He brought the crew into a display room filled with trophies and certificates.
"This is my secret room," he said. "I rarely show it to anyone."
He picked up a framed photograph.
"This was taken with the Tigers. Not the real Tigers, but a team we formed for a little league game. I played as shortstop. Of course, there are many more, but I can't introduce them all one by one."
Taking a deep breath, he suddenly appeared lost in thought.
"It feels good... I mean, being back here again."
His words faltered as he glanced at the bed.
For a brief moment, his expression twisted, his lips trembling slightly—but he forced himself to stay composed.
Logic told him to stay professional. He was being filmed. He had to keep it together.
But in the end, he couldn't.
With a sudden crash, he hurled the framed photograph onto the ground, shattering the glass.
Then, he furiously pointed at the white blanket on the bed, his face contorted in rage.
"Who the hell put that blanket there?!"
Seeing his outburst, the director quickly stepped forward.
"I'm sorry! John, I thought adding a blanket would make the room feel more homey..."
"Get rid of it! Now! Fuck!"
John, visibly losing control, snapped at the director.
"I told you—everything must follow my instructions! Are you an idiot?!"
Watching his mirror self break down, the real John furrowed his brows.
He had often dreamed about this version of himself.
He knew that in the mirror world, the white blanket was a nightmare.
A cold, narrow, colorless room.
His only companion as a child had been that white blanket.
Taking a deep breath, a realization suddenly struck him.
As a child, he too had owned a white blanket.
But unlike the mirror version, his blanket had represented warmth and love.
In the reflection, he saw his other self crouching behind a trash can, clutching the white blanket tightly, staring at it in a daze.
At that moment, the hatred in his heart faded.
Perhaps this other John was just another version of himself—someone who had always craved love but never received any.
