There was a light thump on the balcony outside, as if a cat --- a large cat --- had just jumped onto it.
Louis wondered if Supergirl had come to pay him a visit. Who else could be out there, more than two hundred feet above street level? But he had never heard Supergirl coming before. He got up and started toward the door.
He'd only taken the first step when the glass shattered, sending sharp fragments flying into the room. Miraculously, none of the flying glass hit him. He jumped back belatedy just as she stepped inside.
For his visitor was most definitely female. There was no mistaking the voluptuous figure in the sheer white outfit. An outrageous outfit, with a large circular cutout on the chest exposing the deep valley between her large full breasts. Despite the strangeness of the situation, he felt his body beginning to respond.
Brushing off fragments of glass from the shelf of her incredible bosom, the girl took another step inside.
"You are the male called Louis Lane?" she asked.
"Y-yes," he stammered, taking a step back as she took another one forward. "Who... who are you?" He was sure that he'd never seen her before. If he had, he'd certainly remember.
Or had he?
Her face resembled... Claire Kent's? A little. Her voice was deeper, like... Supergirl's? Not quite. And with a trace of an unidentifiable accent. She also wore a red cape like Supergirl's. From the front he couldn't see if there was a big red S on it. There certainly wasn't one on her chest. There wasn't anything on that chest, except... well, her chest.
The chest that was now a step closer.
Whoever she was, she had just come in from his balcony, over a hundred feet above the ground. She had come in through the plate glass.
"Who are you?" he asked again. What are you? might have been a better question.
She held a hand out toward his. "I am to take you to her."
"Take me? Where? Meet who?" The reporter's questions gushed out even as he pulled his hand back.
Her hand flashed out like a striking cobra. What felt like a steel vise clamped around his wrist, instantly halting his arm. He tried to pull it back but couldn't budge it a single inch. He swung his other arm, delivering an open-handed slap to her cheek.
Powergirl had seen the male's swing coming. Having been struck by males before, she did nothing beyond a slight tensing of her neck muscles to brace her head. Even that wasn't necessary as the male's hand simply bounced off her cheek.
It had all the effect of slapping a bronze statue. The blonde's expression didn't change and her head didn't move a single inch. Louis couldn't quite suppress a yelp as pain shot up his arm. A corner of his mind was glad that he hadn't used his fist; he might have broken some fingers that way.
Still, it was bad enough; his palm stung. He cradled his hand against his stomach.
Then the girl's expression changed. The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile as she continued to look at him.
Then a simple flick of her wrist sent him flying across the room. He fell heavily against the couch. The couch fell over from the impact, and he rolled over the back onto the floor, scattering the cushions.
Louis had done no more than recovered his breath and rolled onto his back when a shadow fell across him. He looked up to see the girl in white standing over him, looking down at him with a bemused expression on her beautiful face.
He tried to scoot away from her.
"Come, we must go," she said, taking a step forward and reaching down for him.
"Go... go where?" he asked, scooting back a little further.
She took another step forward and, once again, that vise-like grip closed about his arm. Giving no sign of effort, she lifted him up to his feet.
"Someone wants you, Louis Lane."
"Who?"
"Come." She pulled him toward her.
His chest struck hers, knocking most of the air out of his lungs, and then bounced off. Only her grip on his arm kept him on his feet. A grip she used to pull him to her again.
Gasping for air, he brought up his free hand, intending to put it on her shoulder and try to push her away from him. His hand landed instead on the top of her breast, just beside the large cutout in the middle of her chest.
It was like trying to push a mountain away. There was initially a little give in that large mound of womanflesh but it firmed up as he pushed against it. Just like Supergirl's, a corner of his mind told him.
Despite his efforts to keep her at arm's length, she easily pulled him closer until she could slip her other arm around his waist. Then she slid her arm lower and swept him off his feet, releasing his wrist at last and putting her arm under his back.
"Hey!" he managed to yell out despite having his chest pressed against the underside of one large breast.
She ignored him completely, turning toward the balcony.
Grimacing against the pain still in his hand, he balled up a fist and brought it down on her chest. It bounced off as if he'd just struck an over-inflated beachball.
He didn't have time for a second blow as she turned sideways to pass through the shattered door and stepped out onto the balcony.
And over the railing.
Suppressing a rising scream, Louis instinctively wrapped his arms around the girl's neck. As if holding on to the girl was going to do him any good when they struck the ground more than two hundred feet below.
But they weren't falling, he quickly realized. They were rising, going up as fast as they would have dropped in free-fall. The sensation was the same as being carried in Supergirl's arms as she flew high above the streets of Metropolis.
They were still rising, though not as steeply. And still accelerating. Louis was having trouble snatching breaths from the air rushing past.
Looking down at the man in her arms, Powergirl realized that he was having trouble breathing. She could slow down, but then that would make the return journey too long. There was only one solution. Slowing down, she began to lose altitude.
Louis was on the verge of passing out when the girl slowed and descended. Thank God! he thought. They weren't going far. Hopefully the real Supergirl would be able to track him down and rescue him from this mysterious super-girl.
They landed in the middle of an empty stretch of road and she let him down to his feet. But as he was still trying to find his balance after the dizzying flight, something smothered his head. Louis realized that she was wrapping her cape around him. He tried to fight, but she handled him as easily as a mother swaddling her newborn infant.
Completely covered from head to toe by the silky red fabric, he felt her picking him up again. Then they were back up in the air.
For the umpteenth time that morning, Claire Kent looked across her desk at the empty chair. Louis Lane still hadn't come in. He hadn't called in to say that he was sick, nor had he said that he was out working on a story.
Well, sometimes a reporter didn't have any time to notify anyone when tracking down a story. It wouldn't be the first time. While Claire and Louis made a good team, there were times when one or the other of them went off on his or her own. And it wasn't as if they were working together on anything important right now.
So what was he working on? Was he trying to dig up more background on Supergirl? Or did it have something to do with the still-missing Lex Luthor?
Further musings were interrupted when the editor-in-chief bellowed her name across the newsroom from the door of his office.
Claire jumped out of her chair, nearly knocking it over. She grabbed her notepad, sending her pen spinning to the floor. She bent down, picked up the pen, and hurried across the newsroom to Perry White's office.
She knew that something was wrong even before she landed on the balcony.
The curtains were fluttering in the breeze as if the doors were open. But the doors weren't open. Or they were, but not in the usual way. The frame was still closed but most of the glass had been broken.
Landing on the balcony, she extended her senses inside the apartment.
She could hear the faint electrical hum of appliances. The refrigerator motor. But no sign of Louis. No signs of life.
At least there were no signs of death either. Feeling a slight twinge of relief, she parted the curtains and stepped inside.
Fragments of broken glass littered the carpet. Apparently whatever had broken the door had come from the outside. The couch had been dumped on its back, the cushions scattered.
Careful to keep her feet from touching the carpet, she went into the kitchen. Everything seemed to be in order, no dirty dishes in the sink. The same with the bedroom. It didn't appear as if he'd packed for a trip.
His laptop computer was sitting on his desk, turned on, showing images of... her. He'd obviously rigged the screensaver himself. Feeling a little embarrassed, she touched a key and got nothing of significance. He hadn't left her any notes.
So where was he? Where had he gone?
She returned to the kitchen for another look. No dirty dishes in the sink. He apparently hadn't eaten breakfast at home that morning. She knew enough about his personal habits to know that he usually didn't do the dishes until after coming home from work.
Of course, he might have grabbed a bite on the run.
But something had happened since she'd last seen him yesterday. The mess in the living room was proof of that.