Charlie Savage
by Daddy's Boy and Brother Ted

This story describes a very strange family. In this story there will be lies, deceit, murderous intentions, and a lot of sex. This story contains scenes depicting both homosexual and heterosexual sex scenes. This story features a chemical that doesn't exist in reality. The story describes sexual relationships and acts between males and females of various ages and even incestuous acts. If you are offended by this, don't read the story. This story may be long, but I'm not promising anything. I do promise to update it as much as possible. I would like to hear what you all think of this story, but please don't make requests. The story is finished by the time the first chapter is posted to any site.

I'd also like to introduce the writing of my brother, Ted. He wrote parts of this story with me, so he gets at least half the credit. I'd like to take this time to thank Kandor259 for editing the story and at least trying to make us sound like we know what we're writing about. Go to https://donate.nifty.org/donate.html and donate to Nifty to keep the site free and give us all something to read.

Charlie Savage
Chapter 1

When I was fourteen, my father tried to kill me. I've since learned that it was a plot devised between both my mother and father to collect on an insurance policy they'd taken out on me when I was ten. They were never the best of parents. Most of the time they seemed to have forgotten that they even had a son. I was an only child, and for that, I was very grateful. Who knows what they'd have done to a sibling. My father once told me that I was never meant to be born, that he wasn't meant to be a father, and that I had ruined my mother. I suppose he took that last part as truth because he was constantly cheating on my mother with younger, more beautiful women.

My mother was one of the biggest bitches I'd ever known, so it wasn't all that shocking that my father sought out the bleached-blonde ditzy girls he fucked. I caught him when I was twelve, and he'd held me against the wall by the neck, telling me that if I told my mother about what he was doing with my then babysitter, he would kill me. The really interesting thing is that Mom already knew. She wasn't the least bit bothered by the fact that her husband was fucking babysitters. She hated sex anyway. She told me so when she let me know that she knew about Dad. Still, he'd threatened to kill me, and I had believed him.

Let's get one thing straight here. My parents rarely, if ever, lifted a finger against me. No, they were more subtle and a lot crueler. I was locked in my room for two weeks the summer I turned eleven and fed only three times during my stay in my room. When I was twelve, my father locked me out of the house in the middle of the biggest snowstorm the city had ever seen. I was dressed in my lounge pants and a t-shirt. I'd been sleeping, and he'd decided it was time to do away with me. That was the first time he'd tried to kill me and failed. It wasn't the last.

My father was a chemist who worked for a big drug corporation. What I didn't know until later is that he was trying out his latest drugs on me. He'd grind them up and put them in my food. So far, the most that any of the drugs had done was put me to sleep for eight to ten hours. He was growing more frustrated by the week. Then when I was fourteen, he hit on a drug that he thought would kill me once and for all. He'd even ground up six of the pills and put them in my food. I'd eaten the food without knowing what he'd done to it. It had tasted a bit off, but then I was used to being given food that wasn't what they would eat. I thought nothing of it when I suddenly got dizzy. I went up to my room and crawled into my bed. This time I slept for three days. I also shit and pissed my bed. When I woke up, the smell was horrible. There was no one in the room with me, so I just got up, stripped the bed, and then proceeded to the shower. My head hurt, and my mouth felt as if I'd swallowed sand.

I gulped water, using the plastic cup that I usually used to rinse my mouth after brushing my teeth. Then I actually did brush my teeth and tongue twice. I got into the shower and washed the filth off of me. I was drying off when I happened to glance at the mirror and pay attention. My dark hair was wet and clung to my skull. That wasn't what got my attention. It wasn't the state of my body either. I was a bit skinny from getting substandard food, so that wasn't a shock. No, it was my eyes that shocked me. My eyes had always been green, but now they were ringed with black around the outer edge of the iris of both eyes. It was arresting. I turned my head from side to side to look at my eyes from different angles. Then I finished drying off and got dressed. I used trash bags to bag up the soiled linen. I was sure it would never come clean. I sighed as I thought about the fact that I'd probably be sleeping on a bare mattress from now on. I turned on my box fan to help the mattress pad dry.

I went downstairs and shocked the hell out of my parents. They'd no doubt thought I was slowly dying in my bed. I doubt they'd even checked on me. My father looked me in the eye for the first time in years. I told him that I needed new sheets and a comforter for my bed. He surprised me by getting up, grabbing his keys, and walking out the door. My mother watched him go with a look of confusion on her face.

"If you're hungry, there are leftovers in the fridge," she said as she walked past me out of the living room. I just stood there and watched her go.

I had no idea where my father had gone. I sat on the couch and ate cold chicken while I watched mindless television. I had a bottle of water to wash it down with. I had eaten all of the chicken by the time my father came back. I was washing the platter the chicken had been on as he came in the back door with a bag. I looked at him, and he blushed. I'd never seen my father blush before. I didn't know what to think of it.

"I got you this," he said, pulling the bed-in-a-bag out of the plastic shopping bag. "It's green. I hope that's okay."

"It's fine," I said in confusion. I hadn't expected him to run out and buy me new sheets, much less and expensive set with matching pieces.

"Good," he said, looking me in the eye again.

"I'm using the box fan to dry the bed," I said. "How long was I asleep?"

"Three days," he said. "I put a lot more in your food this time."

"What did you put in my food?" I asked.

"It's a new drug we're working on at work," he said. "The side effects were erratic. I hoped it would kill you."

This conversation was bizarre and a bit terrifying. He wanted to kill me. That was the first time that I think I had been aware that he'd actively been trying to kill me. I didn't know what to do with this information. He was still looking me in the eye, and I noticed that his pupils were slightly dilated. There was more than enough light in the room. I didn't understand it. He was looking at me like he expected me to say something more.

"Why do you want to kill me?" I asked.

"The insurance," he said, looking pained for a moment.

"That sucks," I said. "Don't do it anymore."

"Okay," he said simply.

"The bed is still wet," I said. "I put the other sheets in a trash bag. Could you take that out to the trash for me?"

"Sure," he said. "I'll leave this in your room. Where will you sleep tonight?"

"I suppose I'll have to sleep on the sofa," I said.

"Okay," he said. Then he went off to do what I asked him to do. It was very strange.

Something strange was happening. He'd done everything I'd told him to, and he'd answered me with the truth. He'd looked like I was trying to pull his teeth without Novocain but he answered me. I didn't know what to think about it. Did he feel guilty for trying to kill me? Stranger things had happened, I was sure. Somehow I didn't think that was it. Something else was at play here. I decided to see what my mother would do. I found her in the den and stood before her until she looked up at me. Once she was looking me in the eye, I started to talk.

"I'm going to need a doctor's excuse for the three days of school I missed," I said. "Will you take me to the doctor tomorrow and call the school?"

"Okay," she said.

"And um, could you make me French Toast and bacon tomorrow for breakfast?" I asked.

"Okay," she said.

"Please don't put any of Dad's pills in my food anymore," I said. "I don't like the effect."

"Okay," she said again.

I went back to the living room. My father was just coming into the house after putting the trash bag with my filthy sheets in the trash can outside. I was still trying to figure out what was wrong with my parents. Had they screwed up and put drugs in their own food? Would they go back to normal tomorrow? I didn't know what was going on. I just sat and watched television until my mom told me it was time for dinner. I'd been sitting there since around one.

"I'm taking Charlie to the doctor tomorrow for a doctor's excuse," Mom said when we were seated at the table. This was the first meal I'd eaten at the table with both of my parents in years. She'd made pork chops with white gravy over them. There were roasted baby potatoes with some kind of herb on them, and she'd even made a custard to go with it.

"Okay," my father said.

"You put drugs in his food. Will they show up in his blood?" she asked.

"No," he said. "That was out of his system by the time he woke up."

"Okay," she said. "Then I'll say he had the flu that's going around. It shouldn't be a problem. We can't put drugs in his food anymore."

"I know," Dad said. "I promised him I wouldn't."

"Okay," she said.

It was a strange conversation, and I almost laughed at it. They were definitely on something. I wondered what it was. I decided I'd enjoy the ride as long as it lasted. I had no idea how long it would last. I just knew that I was having the time of my life. Strangely, I also felt better than I had in a long time. I couldn't describe it, but it felt like I was healthier than usual. Whatever it was, I felt good.

That night, I used the new comforter on the couch. I slept there until my mother woke me up at six to tell me breakfast was ready. I was shocked when I got to the kitchen and found a plate of French Toast with bacon. She'd even sprinkled powdered sugar over the six-quarter pieces of toast. I added syrup and we ate in silence. As soon as the meal was over, she told me it was time to go to the clinic.

I was living in an alternate dimension or something. My mother was nice to me after fourteen years of being indifferent to the point of uselessness. My father did everything I told him to do even though I knew for a fact that he'd rather kill me than look at me. It was very strange. I didn't know quite what to think of them for a few days, but I was sure of one thing. I was done being their victim. I thought about that as she pulled the black Mercedes into the parking lot of the Hamphton Clinic. We had never been here before. They had stopped taking me to the doctor once I'd had all of my wellness checks and immunization shots.

The building was a one-story cream and white brick building with a tan roof. A big sign was constructed of the same brick as the building had white wood plaques on both sides with doctors' names on them. I got out of the car and followed my mother into the building. She talked to a red-haired woman and told her that I had an appointment at eight with Dr. Andrews. We were given forms to fill out and told to take a seat. I let my mother fill out the forms. It was easier. She sighed as she started to fill them out. Yes, I thought, she still hates me. That was fine. I hated her, too. This was going to be interesting. She'd no sooner taken the forms back to the receptionist when I was called back to the doctor's office by a blonde woman with a ponytail and dark blue scrubs. Her name badge said that her name was Theresa Killinger, RN.

"What seems to be the problem?" she asked as I sat on the little examination table.

"I'm fine now," I said. "But for the last three days, I've been weak. I had an upset stomach, and could barely keep down water."

"Okay," she said as she looked into my ears. Then she shined the light in my eyes and looked. Next, I was following her finger. Then she put a thermometer in my mouth and proceeded to take my blood pressure. She wrote things down on a clipboard with a form on it. "Do you know how much you weigh?"

I shook my head. She took the thermometer out of my mouth and looked at it. She wrote that down on her form and then had me stand up and step on a scale. She made a sound when she saw my weight. She wrote that down and then she told me the doctor would be in soon. I sat on the examination table again. My mother looked bored as she sat on the little chair by the door. I looked at the plaques on the wall in silence as I waited for the doctor to come in.

"Remember," my mother said. "You had the flu."

"Isn't that what I described to the nurse?" I asked, turning to look at her.

"Yes," she said as I looked her in the eye.

"Then don't worry about it," I said. "I'll stick to the plan. I won't tell them what really happened."

"Good," she said.

She'd have said more, but the doctor came in then. He was an older gentleman with dark hair that had gone white at the temples. His dark eyes were kind, and I liked him on sight. He read from the chart and then looked at my mother with a strange look. I didn't know what that was about. He stepped in front of me and looked me over. Then he sighed.

"Son, have you been eating regularly?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "I know I'm losing weight, but I've been sick."

"Okay," he said. "It sounds like what you had was the flu. I understand that you need an excuse for the last three days of school and today, is that right?"

"Yes, Doctor," I said.

He scribbled something on a pad and handed it to me. This was my excuse. Then he handed me a card with a follow-up appointment. It was for a month from now. I looked at him in confusion.

"I want to see you in a month to make sure that you're eating healthy," he said. "Now I know that you said you'd been sick, but this state is from much more than three or five days of the flu."

"Doctor, I'll see you in a month," I said with a smile. I understood what was happening now.

"Is there anything you want to tell me," he asked, looking at me pointedly.

"No, Doctor," I said. "Everything is fine. I'll see you in a month."

"All right," he said. He wrote his home phone number on the back of the card. Then he turned to my mother. "See that he eats three square meals per day, Mrs. Savage."

"He will, Doctor," she said, smiling at him. I noticed that the doctor didn't smile back.

We left the office and headed back home. She didn't say a word to me in the car. I was trying not to laugh. It was clear from the way he'd looked at my mother that he thought she wasn't feeding me. I understood a lot more about the examination as well. The nurse had checked my mouth and teeth. She'd been looking for signs of bulimia. She'd found none. It was also a well-known fact that teenaged boys would eat you out of house and home if you let them. That could only mean that they weren't letting me get enough food. He was right, of course, but there was no way I was going to tell him that. I'd heard horror stories about foster homes.

When we got back to the house, I went upstairs to check my mattress. It was dry, and it didn't stink. My father must have sprayed something on it. I quickly made the bed with the bed-in-a-bag kit my father had purchased. Then I opened my closet and looked at the ratty old clothes that I had. I decided to test my parents a little more. I knew that we had money. The house was huge, and they both drove Mercedes-Benz cars. I went downstairs and stood before my father. He looked up at me.

"I need new clothes," I said. "I can't wear what I have anymore. They're falling apart."

"Well then, let's go get you some clothes to wear," he said. "Do you need anything else?"

"Yes," I said as I followed him through the living room, across the hall, and into the kitchen. He went through the door to the garage, flipping the switch that raised the garage door as he walked out. I followed behind him.

He took me to the shopping mall. I'd never been inside it before in my life. We rode the escalator to the second floor and walked to a men's clothing store where he bought me six pairs of jeans in two different styles and three colors. He also bought me socks and underwear in that store. Next, it was a t-shirt shop where he bought me ten t-shirts in various colors. Some had slogans and some didn't. We went down the escalator to the first floor. He took me to a shoe store where he bought me two pairs of athletic shoes. One, he told me was for gym class. Then we went to another store on the first floor where he bought me new three pairs of gym shorts and three t-shirts. He bought me jockstraps and a cup there as well. The shorts and shirts had to have the school logo on them, so we took them to another store where they put those on. Then he took me to a formalwear store and bought me three suits, one black, one blue, and one brown. He bought me black patent leather shoes to go with these as well as black socks.

"That should do for the school year," he said. "I noticed that you got two sizes too big in the jeans, shorts, and all of the shoes. We'll have you fattened up in no time. Your mother told me what the doctor said. We can't have him thinking we're bad parents."

"But you are," I said.

"I know, but that's about to change, Charlie," he said as he drove down the street.

He said no more all the way home. Once I was home, he told my mother to wash my clothes and get them ready for me. She did it without comment. I sat in the living room to wait. He sat with me, but he turned on the television and said nothing to me. I still didn't know what to think. I sat there and thought about all that had happened as he watched whatever it was that was on the television. Things were definitely strange. I had expected things to go back to normal once I'd woken up this morning, but it had turned out to be another very strange day. At the doctor's office, I was sure that my mother would flake out. She didn't, though. Whatever was behind this change in my parents was holding. I just didn't know what it was.

One of the things I'd never understood was why we didn't have maids or a cook. My father prided himself on living the rich lifestyle. He had two gardeners that kept the grounds of the house looking immaculate. Carlos Garcia was the head gardener. Manuel Alvarez was the other gardener. Manuel had a son my age named Edguardo. He was deaf. Manuel used to bring Edguardo to the house with him while he worked. I would play with him in the back yard. My mother had put a stop to that, though. She'd told Manuel that this job was not suitable for bringing his child to work. Then she'd told my father that she'd told Manuel not to bring his defective son to her house anymore. She had lied to my father, but the effect was the same. Manuel never brought Edguardo to the house. He did take me to his house, though. I'd met his wife, Maria. She was what I thought a mother was supposed to be. She'd had baked goods and seemed happy to have me. I played with Edguardo in his room, and he even taught me sign language. My parents never caught on, because they paid so little attention to me.

What they didn't know was that I was friendly to both Carlos and Manuel. I made it a point to be friendly with them because I knew that my parents thought they were beneath them. It was because they were all Mexican. I didn't think they were anything other than human. My parents hadn't given me any lessons about right and wrong. I'd figured most of them out on my own. Some I'd learned in school. I'd also learned about bullies in school

There were two of them that were the stand-out bullies in the pack. Most would leave you alone as long as you stayed under their radar. Tommy Markham and Jackson Epping weren't like that. They sought me out to torture me. Jackson had an identical twin brother named Richard. Richard never said anything to or about me. He ignored me completely. I wished that Tommy and Jackson would ignore me.

Last year Jackson Epping started to call me a dirty little fag. Now, puberty began for me fairly early. I believe I found the first hair above my dick when I was nine. I know that I could ejaculate at ten. How did Jackson Epping know that my secret masturbatory fantasies centered around other boys? I had never done anything to call attention to myself in that respect. I always looked down when I was walking, I paid absolutely no attention to anyone in the gym locker room, and I tried never to be in the boys' bathroom when anyone else was in there. So, how the hell did he know anything about me?

My thoughts were interrupted by my mother telling me to come and eat. I followed her to the dining room. I had been so wrapped up in what I was thinking that I hadn't even noticed that my father had gotten up and walked out of the room. Mother had prepared pork chops with mashed potatoes, corn, and bread rolls. She poured me a glass of iced tea as I sat down. I wouldn't have touched it, but she poured another one for my father. He took a drink almost as soon as she set the glass in front of him.

"I want you to eat everything on your plate, Charlie," Mom said as she sat down to her own plate. "The doctor expects you to be gaining weight. I'm going to start cooking things designed to put weight on you. Alan, if you don't want to gain weight, I suggest you use that gym you just had to have installed in the spare bedroom."

There was plain contempt in my mother's voice when she spoke to my father. I'd never really paid attention to the way they talked to each other, so I didn't know if this was normal. Judging from the glaring look he was giving her, it wasn't normal at all. I just started to cut up my pork chop and eat. No one said anything else while we were eating, so I didn't have anything to respond to. When my plate was clear, my mother insisted that I have seconds. I wasn't really hungry anymore, but I took another pork chop and some potatoes. My father ate his plate and then left the table, leaving his empty plate and glass behind. My mother sighed openly when that happened.

"I'm so full now," I said when I had cleared my plate the second time.

"Good," she said. "That's a start. From now on, I want you to eat until you're full."

"I will, Mom," I said.

"You haven't called me Mom in years," she said as he took my empty plate, stacked it on top of my father's, and then grabbed our glasses.

"I know," I said.

Later that night as I snuggled under my new comforter in my bed, I thought about the way my parents regarded each other. It was almost like they hated each other. I wondered why they'd stayed together for so long. It wasn't for me. I was sure about that. There was something else between them. I wondered if I'd ever find out what it was. At that time I had no idea that my life was going to change so drastically. At that moment I had switched from wondering about my parents to dreading the school day that would come in the morning.

"Charlie, wake up," my father said as he gently shook my shoulder the next morning. "Your mother has breakfast ready, and you have to go to school today."

"I'm up," I said as I sat up and stretched.

"You're not a morning person," he said. It was a statement, not a question. I looked him in the eye without thinking.

"You've never bothered to make sure I got up for school before," I said.

"I know," he said. "But things are changing around here."

"You hate me," I said. It was true. He'd told me so countless times.

"Maybe I hate you a little less lately," he said with a strange look in his eyes. "Hit the shower and get dressed. I'll drive you to school on my way to work."

"Okay," I said, wondering what was going on.

I got up and showered. Then I dressed in my new clothes and headed downstairs. My mother had biscuits and gravy on the table. She really meant to make me gain weight. I had adjusted the belt I was wearing to almost the last notch to keep my pants up. They were baggy, but at least they were new and not ratty old second-hand crap. I ate my biscuit and gravy and washed it down with a big glass of milk. Then I followed my father out to the garage and got in the passenger seat of his car.

"You have trouble at school?" he asked as he backed out of the driveway.

"There are a couple of boys at school who love to pick on me," I said.

"What for?" he asked.

"Well, one of them used to pick on me for my clothes and appearance," I said. "The other calls me a dirty little fag all the time."

"Are you gay?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," I said. "Would you hate me more if I was?"

"No," he said. "It wouldn't really matter to me."

"Well then I'll tell you when I figure it out," I said.

"Okay," he said.

He dropped me off in front of the high school and told me to have a good day. Somehow, I doubted I'd have a good day. I could see the Epping twins already. Jackson was already smirking at me. Oh well, I thought. Let's get this over with. I walked up to the front of the school and they watched me walk by them. I went through the doors only to be met by none other than Tommy Markham. He looked at me and then looked me up and down.

"Wow," he said as he walked around me. Jackson had joined him by now. A lot of others were crowding around to see what he would do to me this time. "Aren't we trying to fit now?"

"Well, you just can't leave me alone," I said as I looked him in the eye, a feat I'd never attempted before. "You just pick on me because you're afraid the others will find out how little your dick is."

"Fuck you, Savage," he spat, still looking me in the eye. "My dick is big enough."

"Oh yeah?" I said, smiling at him and pissing him off. "Why don't you prove it? Whip it out here and now, and let everyone judge for themselves."

"Fine!" he spat. Then he surprised me by unzipping his jeans and hauling his dick out. I didn't know what to think of this development. Unfortunately, it wasn't only students who had come to see what was going on.

"Mr. Markham," said the voice of the Assistant Dean, Mr. Larry Whitlock. "Put that away and zip up your fly. You're going to have to come with me to the Dean's office."

He looked at me with a withering look, but he did as he was told. The others gave me a wide berth as I walked to my locker. I paid them no attention. I was still reeling from what had happened, and I wondered what kind of trouble my bully was going to be in for exposing himself there in the quad. I quickly spun the dial of my combination lock to open my locker and get books for my first and second classes of the day. Then I headed off to first hour.

It was in the middle of first hour that I learned what had happened to Tommy Markham. He'd been suspended for two weeks, and the school liaison officer had arrested him for indecent exposure. His parents were called, and he was taken out of school in handcuffs. It was all anyone could talk about. Of course, that wasn't the end of it for me. It wasn't until lunch that I encountered Jackson Epping. He stepped in front of me in the lunch line and turned to face me, glaring at me.

"You got Tommy arrested," he snapped. "He'll be on the sex offender's list for this."

"He shouldn't have pulled his dick out of his pants," I replied, stunned that I wasn't shrinking in fear as I usually did.

"You told him to!" he spat.

"So, if I told you to make out with Adam Vance, you'd do it?" I spat back.

Adam Vance was the other boy in school that Tommy and Jackson had labeled a fag. He probably wasn't even gay, but he was short. He stood at about five-foot-three with dull brown hair and completely plain blue eyes. To make matters worse he had one of the worst cases of acne. He looked at us when he heard his name, but he was even more stunned when Jackson Epping turned around, grabbed him by his shoulders, and laid a kiss on him that the girls that swarmed him would have killed for. I stood in stunned disbelief. Everyone was cat-calling and making lurid sounds around us. Suddenly, Jackson pushed Adam away and turned to glare at me again.

"What the hell did you just do to me, Savage?" he demanded, looking me in the eye once again.

"I didn't do anything to you," I said, though now I was starting to wonder about that. "You just proved to the whole school that you're the fag you tell everyone that I am. Funny, isn't it? I have never done one thing to make anyone think I am anything other than straight. You're one of the biggest jocks in school, and you're kissing a boy in front of everyone."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" he demanded, stepping closer to me and glaring into my eyes.

Suddenly, I felt something. Something inside me was welling up as I prepared to either fight or run. Instead of running, I heard myself tell him to watch his tone with me. He stepped back like I'd slapped him, yet he was still looking me in the eye. I told him never to talk to me again, to turn and walk the other way when he saw me coming, and he was never to mention my name to anyone again. He turned and walked away from me after that.

It was at that moment that I started to understand what was going on around me. My father had tried to kill me with an experimental drug. He'd said the side effects were erratic. What had he meant by erratic? Could it have been that he'd given me some sort of ability? Could I control people with words when they looked me in the eye? I was almost so wrapped up in my thoughts that I nearly missed my chance to get food from the lunch line. I quickly grabbed a tray and let the students serving lunch put the items on my tray that they had at the stations they were manning. Then I chose a table that no one was sitting at and sat down. Then I suddenly had my chance to test my theory when the most popular girl in school sat down across from me. I looked up into her big blue eyes.

"What the hell happened between you and Jackson Epping?" she asked.

"You've never spoken a single word to me until today," I countered.

"No, I haven't," she said. "I'm starting to think that was a mistake on my part."

"You're into me," I said with a grin. Then I noticed that her pupils dilated and then shrank back to normal. She inhaled like her body was starved of oxygen.

"Of course, I'm into you in a big way, Charlie," she said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Um, probably because Jackson Epping always calls me a fag," I replied, trying not to laugh at what had happened.

"Well, it sure seemed to me that he was the one kissing that poor kid in the lunch line," she said. "It wasn't you. So, when did you want to go out?"

"I'll get back to you on that," I said with a smile.

"Here," she said, ripping a page out of her notebook. She scribbled her name and number on the piece of paper and handed it to me. "Call me."

"Sure," I said, though I wasn't really sure I would. I watched her as she got up and walked back to her own table of friends.

I spent the rest of the school day testing out this ability that I hadn't realized I had, or that I had been using it for the last two days. I told two boys that never talked to me that we were friends and had been friends since the third grade. They'd both gone to grammar school with me, but I'd never said more than two words to them in all the time that I'd known them. Their names were Jason Walsh and Eric Anicen. They were in my last three classes, and for today, I sat in the back row between them both. By the end of the final hour of classes, I had both of their numbers, and they'd put mine in their cell phones. Then I was surprised when my father pulled up to pick me up instead of making me ride the bus.

"How was your day?" he asked when I climbed into the passenger seat.

"Interesting," I said. "How was yours?"

"Well, we've decided not to use the drug that I tried to kill you with," he said as he pulled away from the pick-up lane.

"You said the side effects were erratic," I said. "Could you tell me how?"

"Well, I'm not sure," he said. "The doctors in the trial told us that the drug didn't do what it was supposed to do and that the test patients had a wide variety of side effects. I'll look into it if you want."

"Sure," I said. "Thanks for picking me up today."

"It's all part of the better parent thing," he said as if it was no big deal.

"Dad, I need a cell phone," I said, thinking of the fact that Jason and Eric had been surprised that I didn't have one.

"We can stop and get you one," he said. "Could you do me a favor, though?"

"Sure," I said, wondering what it was that he wanted.

"Could you call me Alan?" he asked.

"Okay," I said. "If that's what you want."

"Thanks, Charlie," he said, grinning at me. I looked him in the eye.

"I'm your favorite person in the world," I told him. I watched as his pupils dilated and then shrink back to normal.

"Of course you are, buddy," he said with a grin that held more warmth than I'd ever seen on his face. "So, a cell phone?"

"Yeah," I said with a grin. "I want the best one on the market."

"Of course," he said as he turned into the cell store. "Only the best for a Savage man, right?"

"Right," I said as I got out of the car.

The whole store was white and gray with gray carpet, white walls, and shining glass countertops. There were cell phone displays everywhere. There were also tablets and a station for a satellite company that was popular. He waited while I walked through the displays. I found the most expensive of the cell phones and told him I wanted it. He got a salesman to come and get the number. Then the guy who was dressed in black pants, a white shirt, and a black nametag that said his name was William went into the backroom to get the phone. He brought it back and we sat at one of the glass counters while he put all of our information into the computer, creating a third line on my father's account. Dad paid for all of the bells and whistles. I had unlimited data, talk, and text, and we weren't sharing anything. It was my own phone to do with as I saw fit. It was bigger than the ones the boys at school had. It was all silver. The phone had a 6.5-inch display, triple 12MP camera, face or touch ID, and 512GB of onboard memory. Like others of this brand, you could share photos and information by pointing the triple camera on the back of the phone at another triple camera on the back of another phone of its brand.

"Well, what do you think?" asked Dad.

"It's sweet," I said with a grin. I took the slips of paper out of my pocket and created contacts quickly. I loved the little pen that popped up out of the top of the phone when I pressed a button on the side. It let me write their names like I was writing with a regular pen on paper. I smiled at this.

"I'm glad you like it," he said. "We'd better get home, or your mother will wonder about us. God knows I don't need to give her anything more to bitch about."

I said nothing to this. I waited while he thanked the salesman, collected the box, and his credit card receipt. Then we left the store. Once we were safely in the car, I decided to ask him some questions. I asked him why it seemed that he and my mother were both unhappy. He told me that he'd been unhappy with my mother since before I was born. They'd stayed together because she was the heiress to a fortune, and he didn't want to lose it. He said he hated to even sleep next to her. I told him that he could always just sleep with me if he wanted. He looked at me, and I looked him in the eye.

"At least you like me," I said.

"I love you, Charlie," he said, and I knew that this was just part of the favorite person in the world command I'd given him. "If you wouldn't mind having me, I'd love to sleep with you every night."

"I wouldn't mind," I said.

"Consider it a done deal," he said.

He wasn't a bad looking guy. I know what you're thinking, though. He was my father. Sure he was, but did that really matter in the scheme of things? I mean, I'd only meant that he could sleep in my bed with me. I hadn't meant sex, but the thought did cross my mind. I decided to think about it some more. In the end, I knew that I had to look my mother in the eye and do some talking, so she would accept the loss of her husband in a basic sense. I also wanted them to hire a maid and a cook. We needed more people in the house. I was sure that they hadn't hired anyone because of the way they'd treated me. That was all over now that I was my father's favorite person in the world.