Prologue
1997
“Kyle…Kyle! It’s time for dinner!” The little boy looks down at the blood on his hands and then looks out of his tree house window. With the sight of blood on his hands now forgotten, he sees his mother standing in the doorway of the kitchen drying her hands from recently preparing the night’s dinner. As she stood there, he could not help but notice her perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect body, and bright red lips. He could never remember a time when his mother didn’t look perfect in every way. His father called her his little vixen with a wink anytime they were flirting back and forth with one another. Kyle knew that one day he would grow up and get a vixen of his own, it was his right. After all, his daddy said so when Kyle asked him what it was like to be married.
With adrenaline running through his system from the feeling of slicing the cat’s throat, he smiles and then leans out into view.
“Yes mother, I’ll be right there!” he may just be a little boy on the outside right now, but he had felt a life slip out of his hands and the exhilaration of power filling him up on the inside. The cat never even saw it coming after scratching Kyle and hiding up here in his sanctuary.
“This is MY place; you should have known better than to come here to hide. You hurt me, and I hurt you back. Daddy says a real man stands his ground.” As Kyle descended from the tree house to wash the blood from his hands using the outside water hose, he hummed a new song he heard earlier on the radio and thought about how wonderful it felt to take control of the situation.
“The lady in red is dancing with me, cheek to cheek, there’s nobody here, it’s just you and me, it’s where I want to be, but I hardly know this beauty by my side, I’ll never forget the way you look tonight…”
The cat had hurt him and, therefore, needed to be punished. Was he not punished when he did wrong? It was too bad he couldn’t tell mommy and daddy about his new discovery of power. Whenever he talked about when things died, they gave him that look and whispered back and forth before. Then his perfect mother would tell him that he was to think happy thoughts. How could he explain the feeling that he felt the blade of his boy scout knife sliced the throat of his cat made him feel like the king of the world.
