Jonathan Rey-Bellet was dead.

His killer was simply a handful of common pain-killers. It was all it took and it suited his needs perfectly. His freshly deceased corpse was found by a concerned neighbor, who called the police quite promptly as soon as he removed the watch from the man's wrist. When the investigators and law enforcement were called to the site, they were the ones who discovered the one item in his bedroom that was more valuable than his Rolex.

Jonathan Rey-Bellet had only two wishes the hour before his death. His first was to die with dignity and grace. His second was that his death would gain the attention of a single individual.

-

Franklin Manta sipped at his ridiculously cheap and ridiculously hot coffee, holding his greasy, shaggy, blonde hair out of his face with a gloved hand. Any normal person would refuse to stick anything at that temperature into their mouths, but Franklin had a valid reason. If he burned his tongue badly enough during breakfast, he wouldn't have to taste the garbage that he ate for lunch and dinner.

As the liquid brand scalded its mark into his tongue and down his throat, he noticed two uniformed men walking toward him at a brisk pace. He stared at them with dull brown eyes as they came nearer. Of course, they only walked past him. Nobody paid any mind to the homeless these days. Not that he cared. He eyed the officers as they jogged up the small set of stairs that led to the front door of the donut shop where Franklin always bought his coffee. The man couldn't help but chuckle to himself. The officers entered the shop and emerged once more in less than a minute with the owner talking to them.

"...doesn't work here. Just comes here to get his coffee and bum change. There he is." He pointed directly toward Franklin, who blinked up at them in confusion. A portly, balding officer approached him with a solemn expression.

"Mr. ...Manta?" the policeman inquired quietly. The blonde cocked his head to the side.

"Yeah?" he answered in a hoarse tenor. The other officer, a young black man, stepped up as well, holding a slip of paper in his hand.

"This is for you. Or at least it was addressed to you," he explained, handing the note to him. "We were hoping you might be able to explain it to us." Franklin looked perplexed, but took it from him, frowning. He glanced at the note, inhaled, and unfolded it. His dark eyes scanned the paper once. Twice. Three times. After the third, he stiffened. What little color had been in his gaunt face was now completely gone. The shorter cop glanced at his companion and then back to the disheveled young man.

"Well? Do you know? What does it me-"

"When's the funeral?" Franklin cut him off. The younger cop shifted slightly.

"It's tomorrow. We can escort you there if you-"

"I know where it is." The older of the two officers scowled.

"Sir, it's a four hour drive." Franklin's thin lips pulled into a weak smile.

"Oh yeah. Yeah, you're right. It is, isn't it?" He laughed a bit nervously, scratching his whiskers. "...Yeah...escort away."

-

Franklin was the only person at his father's funeral, as the note requested. It was a bright, sunny afternoon in his family's cemetery, and after the priest had read out of his dusty bible, he insisted that Franklin try to enjoy the rest of the day. The man only barked with laughter and asked the man to leave him alone with his father before they buried him for good.

And now he was alone.

Franklin tugged his dark coat off, removing the crowbar he had brought with him. He had never actually seen a dead body, but his father's corpse was one he felt would make a good first. He approached the coffin, biting his lower lip in anticipation. The heavy lid came off with a loud popping noise, causing the young man to yelp loudly in surprise. After looking around and confirming once again that he was alone, he pressed his weight against the lid of the coffin and shoved. It slid to the ground with a thump as it sunk against the grass.

There was his father. Jonathan Rey-Bellet. Even in death, he seemed to carry the air of a dignified politician about him. Or maybe that was just the smell of gradual decomposition. Franklin couldn't tell. He took a step back and stared.

"Hey...Dad," he murmured weakly, not quite sure what to say to his dead father. "...I...had a shower this morning. 'Specially for you." There was a long silence. "So...yeah. Came here like you wanted." Nothing. Franklin frowned at the casket and sighed. With an annoyed grunt, he moved to place the lid back on the coffin.

"...glad to hear it, boy." It was his father's voice. This didn't seem to surprise the only living person there. Instead, Franklin whimpered softly. He knew what was coming.

"Don't talk to me. Please don't talk to me...I can't handle it right now," he choked, putting his hands up to his face as if to hide himself. There was a grumbling chuckle coming from the casket, but nothing inside the box moved in the slightest.

"I know you can't handle it, Frank. Why else would I invite you to my funeral?"

"Daddy, please stop it!" Franklin covered his ears, face twisted in a grimace. The voice ignored him, however.

"The crazy never quite stopped, did it? No, you're a smart boy. You were able to fake your way out of that hell hole. Dr. Richards wasn't convinced, though. No, she knew better. You got out though, didn't you? Did you like it? Getting away from your problems like that? Or maybe they weren't your problems..." The corpse seemed to mock Franklin with its eerie stillness. "No, they were my problems. Your mother's problems. Remember the letter you wrote? When you got a hold of one of Dr. Richards' notes and thought it would be fun to forge her handwriting? What did the letter say again? I can't quite remember it..."

"Stop it!" Franklin begged.

"Hmm...you'll have to say it for me, or I might have to recite it from memory. God knows I wouldn't remember something as trivial as that... But maybe I can try to paraphrase... 'Mr. and Mrs. Rey-Bellet. My deep-"

"...deepest condolences. I am terribly sorry to tell you that your son, Franklin Timothy Rey-Bellet, is dead. In the midst of a mental fit, he hung himself from his ceiling fan two nights ago. His death was quick, and I have arranged for his body to be returned home,'" Franklin finished, his voice no more than a croak. His wide eyes stared expectantly at the corpse.

"Ah, yes. Something like that. Now, tell me... when did you get the news about your mother? A week later, right? How did it feel to hear that she threw herself off of the roof for you? Remember the nurse telling you what her last words were?" Franklin was shaking as his father's voice interrogated him. He mouthed a few words, but no noise came out. "I'm sorry, boy... What was that? I couldn't hear you."

"...we'll be...we'll be in heaven," he whispered. There was another chuckle from the casket.

"Yes, indeed. Of course, this was after I found out what really happened. But you know that already, don't you? Remember how I signed my letter? I thought it was rather clever..."

"'I...I'm glad you d-didn't die...because now I'll get to kill you mys-self.' Th-that's what you wrote."

"Never told the nurse, did you? You were scared. Scared of me. Scared of everyone. But you were smart, remember? You learned to fake it. You learned to ignore your problems and they let you out. And then you ran far away. How did that work out for you? Eating garbage. That sounds like a worth-while life. Do you think it was a good life, Frank? Eating trash and living in fear that I was hiding around every corner?"

"N-no, Daddy..." the young man said softly. "No, Daddy, it wasn't. But you're dead now..."

"That's right. I am. Good news for you. You don't have to worry about it. Now smile, Frankie-boy. It's been awhile since you've smiled." Franklin's lips turned upward in an expression that looked much more like a look of pain than a smile. "Good boy. You can smile here. You used to play here as a kid, remember that, Frank?" The young man's eyes lit up.

"Y-yeah! I did! I...I had a favorite tree, too!" He gave a slight, barking laugh.

"You did. Do you remember which one it was? Why don't you go play?" his father's voice suggested. Franklin nodded, grinning widely.

He glanced over his shoulder and spotted his tree. A large, towering oak with thick branches that he used to climb. He ran toward it eagerly. It was so sunny outside. He had a favorite branch on that tree... It was at the very top. He loved to climb to it. With a loud laugh, he hoisted himself onto the bottom branch and worked his way up. He could spot it now... and there was something on it. As he approached, he realized it was a long, thick rope. One end was conveniently tied to the branch. The other end was tied in a loop. Franklin's grin widened. Perfect. He could swing from the highest branch.

He reached the top branch, grabbing the rope. His father told him to play... he had his father's forgiveness. That was all he ever wanted... Franklin placed the loop over his head, laughing and clambering to his feet. He stood on the branch, glancing down. With a smile, he stepped off.

Despite the sudden jerk, Franklin had time. He choked, trying to laugh without air as he swung his legs out wildly. His vision went dark around the edges and in moments, he was reduced to the occasional twitch. Fourteen seconds later, his heart stopped beating.

Franklin's wild jerking had caused a slip of paper to fall out of his pocket. It drifted to the ground, unfolding itself.

Franklin Manta,

If you are reading this, it means I am dead.

I have left you a gift, but you have to talk to me first.