The Son Also Rises

"Double-crossing me is also bad for you," my father said.

Again, I nodded. There was nothing else I could do.

"Why didn't you sign those papers like a good boy?" my father asked.

"I didn't want to do those public service messages," I said.

"Why didn't you want to be on national television?" my father asked.

"I don't want to be famous," I said, "I just want to be left alone."

"Do you know why I took the money?" my father asked.

"Why did you take the money?" I asked.

"Because you owe me," my father said.

I had heard that phrase from my father all my life. I thought of all the times I worked for him for free. I carried wood studs, scrap metal, gasoline, dirt, rocks, pool chemicals, paper, computers, broken glass, and packages for him. When I was ten, I decided to protest. I didn't want to carry any more things for him. I wanted to be paid like the rest of his employees. That was when I received the beating of a lifetime. When everything was said and done, I had welts up and down my back. My buttocks were bleeding so much that it hurt to wear pants. I was afraid of my father for years after that. Since then, I came when he called. I decided not to question him anymore. I decided it was quicker and less painful to carry out his menial tasks with speed and accuracy than to carry on a conversation.

Ten years later, that phrase from my father made my blood boil. I bit my lip and looked at my father with equal coldness. I hid the emotions on my face, because my father wanted a reaction from me. Instead, I just nodded in mock agreement. I knew I was not going to win a war of words with my father. My father expected complete obedience and I knew it. There was no use in arguing anyway. I had never won an argument with him anyway.

"That's right," said my father, "Don't you ever forget it."

One of my father's employees appeared beside him. From the automatic pistol in the man's jacket, I guessed that this was one of my father's bodyguards. They seemed to hover around my father like buzzards looking for easy prey. These hired gorillas were the other reasons why I stopped arguing with my father. I had the sneaking suspicion that any overt rebellion against my father would end with my quick death from a bullet.

My father turned to the hired gorilla.

"Go get my wife, Betty," said my father.

The man with the gun nodded his head and left the room. Silently, I breathed a sigh of relief. At least Betty was alive. Like me, Betty was probably abducted late at night. I wondered if my father even cared that kidnapping was going to be added to his list of criminal offenses. My father had already added arson to his repertoire of crime in his bid to escape the justice system.

"I want your mother to see you die," said my father.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, "Haven't I done everything you wanted me to do?"

"You should have turned over that check to me," yelled my father.

"You already have the money from the check," I said, "What more to you want?"

"I want you to suffer," said my father, "I want people to realize that no one double-crosses Michael Skinner and lives to tell the tale."

"Just send me somewhere far away," I pleaded.

"No," said my father, "I am the one who will be going somewhere far away."

"Are you going to shoot me?" I asked.

"No," said my father, "That would be too quick."

I waited for my father to answer.

"No," said my father, "I want something slow and painful."

At that, one of my father's employees wheeled a cart from one corner of the room. There was a car battery and two jumper cables on the cart. I swallowed hard. I had heard of soldiers being electrocuted with car batteries during an interrogation. Soldiers would have jumper cables attached to their testicles. Their private parts were literally cooked in order to obtain their military secrets.

With one good eye, I continued to scan the giant room. I was hoping against hope that there was a way out of this situation. I spotted only one visible exit. Above me, the ropes were secured to a single open-web roof joist. The joist was covered in rust. In fact, most of the steel frame in the building was covered in rust. Then, my mind recalled a warehouse that my father owned. My father used to dump a tenant's possessions into that warehouse. I remembered the graffiti on the walls and all the rust-covered metal. I wondered if this was the same warehouse. If that was true, this building was probably under surveillance by the police. If and when the police discover that my father was missing from jail, the police would probably send a squad car to investigate this same warehouse. Unbeknownst to my father, I had already divulged the location of this warehouse to the bankruptcy lawyer and law enforcement.

My father was looking over the cart with great interest. He grabbed the jumper cables and attached them to the car battery. With great enthusiasm, my father briefly touched the black jumper clamp with the red jumper cable clamp. Sparks cascaded down from where the two clamps had briefly joined. The metal cart was so close to my toes that I felt the sparks on my exposed feet. I jumped when the sparks touched my skin.

"Do you have any final words, son?" asked my father.

"No," I said.

"I know you want to say something," said my father.

"Not really," I said.

"So are you going to die like a coward?" asked my father.

"Are you going to kill my mother?" I asked.

My father shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe," said my father.

"Are you going to kill me like this?" I asked, "Isn't that cowardly?"

"Not really," said my father, "You have gotten too big and too strong for me."

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"I heard about what you did to Tom," said my father.

"How did you know about Tom?" I asked.

"I heard you gunned down his friends and beat the pulp out of Tom," said my father.

I stayed silent. My curiosity was getting the best of me. I had to focus on getting out of harm's way first.

"Greta had no idea you just killed her biological father," said my father.

"That is not true," I said.

"I don't care if you don't believe it," said my father, "Tom gave me a lot of money so he could turn your mom into a hooker."

"Why in the world would you let Tom do that to Mom?" I asked.

"Tom told me that a lot of powerful people wanted to sleep with your mother," said my father.

"How much money did Tom give you?" I asked.

"Tom gave me enough money to start my real estate empire," said my father.

I shook my head. I felt sick inside.

"With your mom out of the way," said my father, "I was free to marry your babysitter."

"But you never got divorced," I said.

"Your mother never signed the divorce papers," said my father.

"And you married Elaine anyway," I said.

"That is none of your business," said my father, "You would have done the same thing."

My father held a separate jumper cable clip in each hand. There was a filthy smirk on this face. At the moment, I realized that my father may have performed this interrogation technique more than once before. My father seemed to relish his moment of triumph.

"The father shall rise again," declared my father.

At that, the hired gorilla appeared. Strangely enough, the man was holding a few articles of women's clothes.

"Where's Betty?" asked my father, "What the hell is this?"

"Your wife is gone," said the man, "This is all I found."

My father's eyes grew big. Carefully, he set the jumper cable clips gently on the metal cart. Afterwards, my father picked up the clothes and threw them in the man's face.

"Why are you such an incompetent asshole?" said my father, "Where is Betty?"

The man turned around and starting running towards the door.

"How hard is it to find a naked woman?" yelled my father, "Don't you come back until you find her."

My father turned around and looked up at me. He picked up a jumper cable clip in each hand. He seemed to relish his position of power.

"Now where were we?" my father asked, "Where do you want to be electrocuted first?"

"Just make it quick," I said.

"No, my son," said my father, "You are going to die a slow and painful death."

"I just can't believe you would kill Mom," I said.

"I have killed many people in my life," said my father, "You have already killed people, too."

"What?" I asked.

"I am not stupid," said my father, "You already killed two of my guys."

"Sorry, I forgot," I said, "Those where the guys that tried to kidnap Mom."

"How in the world did you kill two guys with ballpoint pens?" asked my father.

"It is not my fault that they gave me the two ballpoint pens," I said.

"That is why you are tied up," said my father, "I can't take any chances with you."

"I guess you taught me well," I said.

I glared at my father. My father glared back at me. We stared at each other like two gunfighters in the middle of wild Western town. Silently, I waited for him to make the first move.

Then, my father started to lower the two jumper cable clips. His hands were moving towards my mangled manhood. There was a maniacal look on my father's face. I had the feeling he was enjoying every minute of danger until my ultimate destruction.

With a mighty push, I pulled by feet up. My abdomen was still sore from people kicking me in the stomach, but I focused the force of my legs on my father's face. The bottoms of my foot slammed onto his chest. My father was caught by surprise. He stood there stunned. He was not expecting any resistance.

"Nothing is going stop me from killing you," roared my father.

Once more, I focused my energies on lifting my legs in a mighty kick. By this time, my whole body was starting to swing back and forth. Silently, I groaned. Fortunately, adrenaline started to flow through my veins. I was not about to die without a fight.

"What do you think you can do?" asked my father, "What are you going to do being all tied up?"

I tried to figure out where my legs were going to be as my body swung back and forth. With little effort, my father gingerly stepped away at the last minute.

"That's my boy," said my father, "Fight like a man."

"Do you want a fight?" I asked, "Why don't you cut me down so we can fight one on one?"

"Not a chance," said my father.

"I guess you are a coward," I said.

"Who are you calling a coward?" asked my father, "Who got all of this? Who put together this real estate empire?"

"You sold Mom to a crook," I hissed.

"What is that to you?" asked my father, "What do you care once you inherit everything?"

"Don't lie to me," I said, "I am not even in your will."

My father paused. He did not expected to hear my last comment.

"That is not true," said my father.

"I am not that stupid," I said, "I listened to your conversations with my stepmom."

"Would I lie to you?" asked my father.

"Yes," I said.

At that, one of my father's employees came into the room. The man's face had lost all of its color.

"Boss," said the employee, "The cops are here."

"That's impossible," said my father.

"What do we do?" asked the employee.

"How did they know?" asked my father.

At that, my father turned to me. i knew about this warehouse, because my father had asked me to drop off items here before. His angry face sneered at me.

"Why did you tell the cops about this place?" asked my father.

"I didn't tell the cops anything," I said, "But the bankruptcy judge asked me about this place."

"How can you do this to me?" asked my father, "What kind of son are you?"

"Who said I was your son?" I asked, "How can I be your son if I am not in your will?"

"You are a complete embarrassment to me," said my father.

"Are you serious?" I asked, "Am I the one who ended up in jail?"

"I am in jail because of you," said my father, "The cops are here because of you."

"What kind of father are you?" I asked, "Do you ever take any responsibility for what you do?"

"Oh I see," said my father, "Now you think you are smarter than me because you went to school."

"What are you going to do now?" I asked, "Are you going to run away from your problems again?"

"I don't run away from my problems," said my father.

"Didn't you abandon Mom?" I asked.

"Your mother went to work as a hooker," said my father.

"Did you take the money and run?" I asked.

There was an awkward pause. My father tried to think of something to say, but nothing came from his lips. He knew he was not winning the war of words with his own son.

"Why don't you do what you do best?" I asked.

"What is that?" asked my father.

"Run away from your problems," I said.

"I don't run away from my problems," said my father.

"I was trying to put a deal together so the apartments get sold at a higher price," I said, "Hopefully there would be something left for everyone."

My father looked at me quizzically. He was not sure if I was telling the truth.

"I don't believe you," said my father.

"Ask Stan," I said, "We are all trying to keep our jobs for as long as we can."

"Why would you do this for me?" asked my father.

I sighed. It did not matter what I did for my father. Nothing was ever good enough for him. He stood there with the two jumper cable clips. I knew what was going to happen next. My father was going to electrocute me to death and no one would ever know what I did for him.

"I think it is time for you to leave," I said.

I could tell that my father was trying to decide. He was looking at the jumper cable clips. That meant he was deciding whether or not to kill me before he made his escape.

"You have always left me behind to clean up your mess," I said, "You better go now before the police get here."

My father's employee nodded his head. Even his employee did want to be there when the police stormed the building. Carefully, my father set the jumper cable clips down next to the car battery. The employee gave my father soft nudge and they ran off to the far corner of the room. I could not see the door, but I did hear the sounds of a door opening and closing. Only then did I breathe a sigh of relief.

Outside, there were sounds of police sirens. I hung there waiting for someone to arrive. In the back of my mind, I wondered if my father would return to finish me off. My body was swinging back and forth very slowly now. As the adrenaline wore off, I started to feel weaker. Once more, I started to feel the pains of having been brutally beaten. I looked down at the many bruised on my torso. A little bit of dried blood slid out of my mouth. I coughed and some dried blood slid out of my nose. I tried to open both of my eyes in an effort to see anything out of the high windows, but I remembered that one eye had difficulty opening. In fact, pain emanated from that eye socket.

Thirty minutes later, the door opened and several policemen burst into the room with their pistols drawn. They stopped and stared at me hanging there by my arms.

"What happened to you?" asked one of the police.

This was a tall brunette policewoman with a high caliber pistol aimed directly at my head. I swallowed hard. I was not sure if I was going to be included as someone aiding and abetting a known felon.

"Did you catch my dad?" I asked.

The policewoman paused. I could tell she was trying to assess my true identity. Hopefully, the police had been briefed on my father's appearance. If I was mistaken for my father, there was a good chance that I would be shot on sight.

"Are you Mike Skinner, junior?" asked the policewoman.

Her fellow police officers waited for my response. Even though there was no way I could have been carrying a weapon, all of the police officers had their guns drawn.

"Yes," I said.

"Which way did he go?" asked the policewoman.

I turned my head in the direction of the second door behind me. The policewoman pointed to the second door and her fellow officers immediately continued the pursuit. Putting her weapon back into her holster, the policewoman looked around the room. There was a ladder in a far corner and she brought it back.

"I am Officer Brave," said the policewoman, "Do you mind telling me what you are doing here?"

"My dad didn't like me cooperating with the judge," I said.

Officer Brave was a middle-aged brunette. Even though I thought she was beautiful, I was not looking at her in a sexual way. In fact, my body was trembling slightly from the constant pain. I could tell that Officer Brave was trying to assess my need for medical attention. Finally, she pressed the button on her remote microphone that was strapped to her shoulder.

"Officer Brave here," said the policewoman, "Request medical assistance inside the building."

There was a short pause. I could hear the faint voice of someone responding to Officer Brave.

"The room has been secured," said the policewoman, "Officer Daniels and Officer Charles have gone to the rear of the building."

I waited for Officer Brave to finish her conversation. She watched as more dried blood fell to the floor. Looking down, I saw a tiny pool of blood on the floor. I had not noticed the blood on the floor before. As she looked over to the steel cart with its battery and jumper cables, Officer Brave seemed very concerned that I may have been electrocuted. I shook my head.

"My dad was ready to use those jumper cables," I said, "I am really glad you guys showed up when you did."

"You are quite welcome," said Officer Brave.

"Thank you," I said.

"What did they do to you?" said Officer Brave.

"Everyone had a baseball bat except for me," I said.

"You don't look so good," said Officer Brave.

"Did you find my mother?" I asked.

"Your mother is safe," said Officer Brave.

"Thank you," I said.

"Do you have any broken bones?" asked Officer Brave.

"I don't know for sure," I said, "Everything hurts."

"Hang in there," said Officer Brave, "Help is on the way."

"I appreciate that," I said.

"Why was your mother naked?" asked Officer Brave.

"She was going to be next," I said, "My dad was going to kill her, too."

Officer Brave swallowed hard. She suddenly came to the full realization of my father's evil plans. After I said that, my head fell forward and I lost consciousness. I could hear the emergency medical personnel yelling and screaming all around. My strength had finally left me. I went into a deep sleep.

When I awoke, I was in a hospital room. Once again, my arms were in a cast. Unfortunately, I could feel casts on my legs as well. My chest was bandaged and so was my head. One eye was covered and I could feel the bandages over that eye as well. I felt pain in every corner of my body except for my crotch. Still, there was a catheter attached to my manhood and I really did not like it there.

I knew there was a blanket over me, but I was essential naked with bandages and casts. I sighed.

"I hate hospitals," I said.

To my surprise, I had a visitor. I saw the vengeful eyes of my father. Michael Skinner, senior, was hovering over me with a large knife in his hand. I felt a sudden chill come over me. I tried to find the button to call for help, but I found nothing. There was a heart monitor above me. As I started to panic, the heart monitor started to beep faster and faster.

"Wake up, son," said my father.

Calmly, my father stood over me. He waved the giant knife over my body in an attempt to find the best place to stab me and end my life.

"Did you think you could get away from me?" said my father.

"Dad," I said, "You don't have to do this."

"Why not?" asked my father.

"There is no guarantee that I will ever leave this hospital bed," I said.

My father shrugged his shoulders.

"I didn't think you would make it out of surgery the last time you were in the hospital," said my father.

"You never visited me in the hospital," I said, "How would you know?"