I have to preface this story with a historical note simply because it has been misunderstood so frequently.

That is, people seem to think this story is based on real life.

Or more specifically, MY real life.

This story is based on real life - but a friend of mine's. It's wish-fulfillment. She had an abusive father. I could do nothing (he was already out of the picture) but write my unfocussed anger out.

The only way to keep from being too obvious was to change names and genders - and by changing the names to the ones I did, it distracted even further.

I just wish I could have done something.

He enjoys the night air flowing through his thinning scalp, one arm listlessly hanging from the open window of the '88 Omega. His thoughts briefly flit back to Susan, his wife, now dead two years, as he looks at the empty passenger seat beside him. She would've enjoyed this, he thinks. She always liked driving around at night; she thought it was romantic.

A small grin creases his face as the car comes to a shuddering halt in the gravel driveway. He removes the key from the ignition and opens the car door; locking it as it shuts. He takes a deep breath of the cool night air, smoker's lungs rattling. Staccato footsteps sound on the pavement behind him as he sees the front door open wide, spilling light into the yard, turning as a blossom of light jumps from the door into his skull, slowly fading until everything is black.

It is relieved by a sliver of light shining from a carelessly boarded window high in the room. The musty air lays still upon his naked body, his arms aching from the ropes holding him up. He giggles, softly, as he realizes his resemblance to da Vinci's famous man, aged and withered, but spread eagle in the air, waiting for the artist to return and resume the work. He peers into the dark corners of the basement, seeing only the absence of light.

The fitful flame of a cigarette lighter spurts in the dark, the hissing of the gas filling the silence, illuminating a face he'd never thought he'd see again.

"Steven."

The lighter snaps off, Steven's face only illuminated by the occasional red glow as he sucks on the cigarette. Steven waits for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He'd always had better vision than the old man, giving him the edge in the desperate games of hide and seek. But it was no longer time to hide. When he can see the old man again, he speaks.

"Franklin."

"I've told you not to call me that."

"You're not in a position to demand much anymore..."

Steven stands before the old man, unseen by the weaker eyes until he flicks the lighter again and ignites a candle, the old man's pupils shrunken by the sudden flame. Steven studied the old man's form, now pitiful from age. Not like eight years ago, when he'd been a muscular, funny guy, a good man any twelve year old would have been proud to call

"...Dad."

Steven places the candle on a table, gleaming reflections of metal tools reaching Franklin's eyes as a small bead of sweat runs down his back, meeting a chill screaming upward. He flexes his muscles briefly, trying to make the ropes give, but the muscles have desiccated on his bones, now withered and frail. He sees Steven grin at his weak efforts. Keep them talking. Whatever you do, keep them talking.

"Steven...why? Why all this?"

A small choking cough comes from Steven's throat.

"Why?"

Steven crosses to the window, carefully avoiding the ropes that suspend the old man. He stares out through the gap in the boards covering the window, barely able to see the grass and blue sky outside, the smoke from the cigarette a barrier between it and him.

"All those nights, after Mom had gone to sleep, and you have to ask me why? All the `favors', all the `you owe me ones', the goddamn `fishing trips', and you're such an ignorant fuck that you have to ask me why?"

Franklin sees Steven turn from the window, a silvery tear gliding over his son's cheek. Franklin thinks he sees an opening.

"Son, I love you..."

Steel drops behind Steven's eyes. He drops the butt of his cigarette, grinding it under his boot in a shower of sparks. He turns, shifting the boards over the window until the sun no longer looked into the room. Franklin tenses as Steven paces to the table and blows out the candle.

The clink of metal on metal reaches Franklin's ears.

"You remember when I went to the social workers?"

Franklin tries to see through the darkness, hesitating, then, "Yes."

"Did Mom ever know? Did you tell her that you lied to them? That you bribed the doctors?"

"No."

The lighter flicks in the blackness, near, tears spilling down Steven's face. The flame dies.

"Good."

Echoing footsteps. The lighter flashes again, across the room. This time, Franklin can see the scalpel in Steven's hand.

"Do you remember that Kathy and I have a son? We're married now. I'm taking good care of her and Anthony. Set up trust funds, insurance, the works. He's cute as a button, you know."

The lighter flickers out. Footsteps. Franklin can feel the breath against his cheek. A tear splashes onto his chest.

"Guess what? You rubbed off on me."

The breath slowly moves, downward, along Franklin's body, teardrops preceding it's path. The cool blade of the scalpel caresses his inner thigh. Franklin unsuccessfully fights the arousal he feels. The breath finally stops, and blows on him, softly around him as the scalpel continues it's circular path.

"And I like it. I forgive you, Dad. You only wanted to love me."

A warm hand counterpoints the steel, caressing him in the darkness. Franklin gives a small moan of pleasure.

"And you did. You taught me the only way you knew. You taught me to love, Dad."

The slick tongue makes his limbs quiver in sympathy. Steven had been taught well. It was good that he finally realized what it was all about. Franklin feels the tension rising in him, and he gasped, and he gasped

and he screamed as Steven moves, abandoning him to the knife arcing upward, red and white fountains spurting in the darkness onto Steven's face.

Steven smiles in the darkness and says through the screams, "Then again, you also taught me how to lie."

Franklin screams again, praying for Death to come.