"As the old saying goes, you'd better know what you want because you just might get it," Christopher Reeve.

When I get to the mansion the cop takes me into a small room and sits me down to ask me what he assures me are only procedural questions. Where were you last night between the hours of 8:00 and 10:00? Is there anyone who can verify that? How would you characterize your relationship with your father? The whole thing is over in less than an hour, when another cop comes in and whispers something in the cop's ear. The detective, who isn't actually one just yet, jumped to the conclusion that since my father was dead I had to have had something to do with it. Turns out Lionel's death really was a "tragic" accident after all.

After the cops leave, I stand at the base of the stairs, looking down at the spot on the floor where he had been. My fa—Lionel Luthor, the man who had been torturing me since the day I was born, the monster in all of my worst nightmares, gone. No. It's impossible. People like that don't die. I can't even count the number of times I've wished for this phone call and yet, I'm not at all satisfied. I'm mad, and maybe even a little depressed.

Part of me wants to see the body just to be sure, but I think that part of me would not be happy if he just saw Lionel's body. He'd have to kick it a couple hundred times before he felt anything at all and even then he would want more. I try not to let that part of me out, ever, and I try not to think those thoughts. Now that Lionel's gone it shouldn't be a problem anymore.

Still, even with all that he did to me I wish he were here. I wanted a chance to show him that I am stronger than him. I want a chance to win, beat him at his game. I wanted to succeed and rub it in his face. It's stupid, pathetic, and weak but—I—I don't even know. He just held me under his thumb for so long and now that I've gotten out I feel nothing at all. Suddenly all of the pent up rage, and fear and sadness overwhelms me and I just start screaming.

"I hate you! I hate your fucking guts you sick, twisted, horrible monster! You son of a bitch, you ruined my life. I hope—I hope you rot in Hell," my words get quieter and lose all of their strength as I go on until I get to the point where he might as well be on top of me because I am shaking, crying, and stumbling over my words.

I get down on my knees rocking back and forth, like a small child. "Please. Please Dad. I just have to hear the words. Just once. Tell me that you love me. Please. Tell me why you did it. Explain it to me. Make an excuse. Anything. Please." Naturally nobody says anything. I'd give it all up for five more minutes, for a chance to hear him apologize or explain. I desperately need those answers and I don't know what I'm going to do with out them.

As I make my way to the car, it hits me suddenly. My father is dead. He's never coming back and yet I'm not free. I have to take care of the arrangements, plan the funeral. He left me everything and even though part of me (a large part) wants it, I have no idea how I'm going to handles this. I don't even know what I am goanna do right now. All I know is that I'm scared out of my fucking mind and I'm in pain. It hurts. It hurts so much and I'm so scared. All I can do, is sit down, in the front seat and lay my head on the steering wheel, sobbing. I just keep on crying, and crying so hard that my whole body aches. When it feels as if there is nothing else left inside of me, I drive home.

It's late, getting dark out and I feel awful for having stayed out all day. I feel worse that I was thinking about my father all day. Even before I get out of the car, Clark is at my side, wrapping me in his arms, and I allow myself to just collapse. Alexander stands back a little, watching us.

"Are you okay?" Clark asks, pulling back a tiny bit so he can look at my face. He rubs my shoulders softly.

"I don't even know how to answer that question. He left me everything, Clark. I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think I can give it away, say no, even I wanted to but I don't want that. I—there is so much good I can do with that money and power. I can help so many people. I want to help them, but. . ."

"But what? If you can help people then you should do it."

"It's not that simple Clark. We'd probably have to move to Metropolis. And I'd have to spend a significant amount of time—working."

"We can go to Metropolis. It would make things easier. I'd be closer to the planet and, I think Alexander would like it there too. We can go, if that's what you want."

"I don't know. Alex is in school here. He has friends here. We can't just pull him away from all of that. This is his home. I never had a home growing up. I can't just—take that away from him."

"His home is wherever his family is. It's got nothing to do with the house. Why don't we just talk to him, ask him what he thinks."

"I don't wanna put that kind of pressure on him. He's gonna feel like if he makes the wrong choice—," Clark cuts me off.

"He's five. We're not going to let him make the final decision, but we can let him think about it, let his opinion count. Then he'd feel like we all made the choice together." It's a good idea so I agree.

"I have to go to Metropolis for a few days. I've gotta take care of the funeral and stuff. I want you guys to come with me. I don't think I can do it alone. And we'll let Alex see how he likes things, and then I'll talk to him about it." Clark turns his head towards the house.

"Alexander, why don't you come over here for a minute? I need to do get some things together inside the house." Clark rushes inside, to pack for us. Alex walks over and looks up at me.

"You've been crying," he says as I bend down to hug him. Alexander touches the side of my face, and then kisses my cheek, and hugs me. "What's wrong?" Clark comes out side with the suitcases, and tosses them in the trunk. "Where are we going?"

"We're gonna go to Metropolis for a few days. Clark, can you drive? Me and Alex have some stuff to talk about."

"Daddy Lex, what's wrong?" he asks again, more concerned and more demanding. I don't want to talk to him about this right now. I don't want to talk about it period. But he should know, and he'll feel better if he doesn't have to worry about Lionel anymore. It takes me about an hour before I can get my head on straight enough to

"That phone call I got this morning, it was the police. My father died last night. And well, he had a lot of money and he gave it all to me, to us."

"What are you gonna do with it?" Alex asks.

"I'm not sure. I want to help people with it. I think if I change the company he created, then I could help a lot of people. But I think I'd have to live in Metropolis if I was going to do that." Alex looks at me like he's going to cry.

"Don't leave us Daddy-Lex. Please."

"No, Alexander, I'm not leaving. I'm sorry, I said that wrong. I meant we—all of us, would have to live in Metropolis, as a family. I want us to stay there."

"Oh, okay. So we're gonna move then?"

"Well I wanted to talk to you about it first. I wanna make sure you're okay with it." Alex yawns, snuggling closer to me, his eyes closing slightly. I look out the window. We pass a sign that says only 10 more miles to Metropolis. "Why don't you sleep on it tonight? We can talk some more in the morning. Okay?" Alex nods, closing his eyes and yawning again. Then he lays his head against my lap and falls asleep.