Did you ever wonder as a kid what it would take to make a man beg for his life to end? If you haven't, well I guess you are not me.
Who am I you ask?
Nobody is probably what I would like to answer, but this wouldn't be much of a story if that was the case.
My name is Kain McRae, a odd name for a kid nowadays isn't it? Kain in this case is of Scotish origin, meaning fighter or battle, and McRae is the surname of a prosperous person in the past.
And before you start to think that I am related to that man, I sadly have to tell you that I am not. The reason for me being named that is mainly because of my idealistic idiot to great-grandfather. He chose the name on a whim, hoping that the name change would bring him prosperity, as the name in Gaelic means 'son of prosperity'.
He was truly an idealistic moron to the bone, but on the brighter side of things, his genes was of world class. Having good looks, both my grandfather, my father and myself were, and are, lookers. Sadly however, his moronic genes came with them as well. As they say ' The apple never falls far from the tree'.
This was especially true for my father, almost being an identical copy of his late grandfather, both in the moronic sense and in their ability to pick names.
He chose to name me Kain, hoping that I would be a fighter that would to fight my way to the top of the world. How ironic that would be later in my life, but in my childhood however, my name just became a false picture of something that my birth parents wished me to be.
My name would haunt me my entire childhood, as I would get bullied by the neighbourhood children for being named 'weirdly'. It didn't get better with the fact that I lived in a very catholic neighbourhood, as the children soon learned in bible studies that 'Cain' was the son of Adam and Eve that murdered his brother.
The children quickly came up with the nickname of 'Kain McSlain' that they would scream at me every time they saw me, and If their screams didn't provoke the response they wanted, a rock or something of throwable size would come flying towards my head.
But if dealing with bullies was my only problem growing up, I would probably still turned out quiet 'normal'. As I wasn't the first one to have to deal with bullies growing up, and I definitely wasn't the last one either. And those people turned out alright, didn't they?
The reason for why my fucked up childhood went from 'bad' to worse, was yet again thanks to my father.
Being dumber than a pack of Tic-tacs, my gullible father fell for every scam and pyramid scheme in the book. He would repeatedly turn our already meagre finances to something that only could be described as a flaming dumpster fire.
If it wasn't for my mother, we would have lived on the street before I was born. She would be pulling double-, and triple shifts regularly to pay the bills, all in an attempt to keep our sinking ship of economy floating for one more month. This at the same time as my father worked as a janitor at the local school, and falling for more scams.
But no matter how hard, or how much effort my mother put in, she couldn't stop the inevitability of fate. She got pregnant with my sister. The equilibrium that my mother had worked so hard to create by her pure grit and will, was broken just like that.
All I could do as a five year old kid was watch as our family fell into shambles. My mother couldn't work, and my father in his attempt to 'save the family' fell for even more scams, turning a bad situation even worse.
He started to turn towards loans to save the situation, and of course he with his genius chose the worst people in the world to loan money from, loan sharks.
It didn't take even a year before our savings were depleted, and we couldn't pay the sky-high interest rates. It was also around the same time that my father's undying sense of idealism finally vanished.
Instead of realising what an idiot he had been all these years, he just gave up on life. It almost was like his entire being was centred around his idealistic way of viewing the world, and when he finally realised that he was wrong, he could no longer find a reason to live any more.
With the little money we had, he started buying booze to ease the pain.
The alcohol changed him, as his demeanour took a turn for the worse. He become the aggressive, violent alcoholic who only left the couch to get another beer or for an occasionally 'let me teach you what misery is' moment of rage.
With his life falling apart in front of him, and him being unable to view life as he had for his entire life, he did the most human thing possible, he tried to blame it on someone else.
He wanted someone to blame for his misery, and the only one that fit that role in his eyes was my baby sister. His life had been perfect before she was born, hadn't it? It had to be her!
Every time she would make a noise, or cry as every toddler would at her age, he would loose his shit and explode in rage. My mother would try her best to calm him, but he would just get even more mad and punish her for protecting the reason for all the pain he was feeling.
My mother and myself had to take turns being his punching bag, as we tried our best to protect my sister. It became such a regular thing that I came to school bruised to the bone, that the teachers stopped asking questions as I always just said I was clumsy.
This was how my life looked like the following year. A cycle of beatings at home, being bullied at school, and the unbearable growling sound of my empty stomach.
It was an existence so bad, I even thought of ending it on multiple occasions. The only thing that stopped me was that I had to protect my sister from my father. She was my only reason for existing back then.
With the seasons changing and the leaves falling from the trees, winter came around the corner. It was my eight winter, but the last I would have together with my family. Around a week before Christmas, the lone sharks came knocking on our door.
The sound of oak breaking echoed in the run-down apartment as a group of five large men broke down our rotten door, and walked into our living room with baseball bats, tire irons and crowbars in hand.
I will never forget the pale whiteness of my father's face as he saw them barging in, whilst he was still hugging his favourite bottle of single malt whiskey and still being in his undies. I almost remember him peeing himself, but that might be my imagination.
" Well, well, well. Frank how is it that you haven't payed us back yet? We even gave you that extension on the repayment date as a courtesy between friends. Because, we are friends, right? " The tone of mockery and sarcasm in his voice was impossible to miss.
Have you ever seen a deer being stuck in front of your car, staring into the headlights without moving an inch? Yes?, well that was what happened to my father.
This 40 year old man, standing 187 cm tall, were just standing there in his underwear, staring at the other group of men with his mouth agape doing nothing. It was like his soul had gotten sucked out of him, leaving the body standing there like an empty shell.
As a kid I was probably scared shitless watching this situation play out, but now looking back at it? I am having a fucking blast remembering my idiot of a father almost shitting himself.
The leader of the group, with of course tattoos all over his body, with especially one menacing looking tear drop under his left eye, just strolled up to my father and put his left arm around his shoulders whilst shoving his baseball bat against his throat.
" For fuck sake Frank, were is my fucking money?"
You could literally hear Frank McRae swallowing his saliva, as he tried to get a word out.
"M-r-r-r Camo-r-r-a-a, s-i-rr, I just need a tiny, just a tiny bit of more time. I will get paid on Monday, so by then I will have your money"
The man known as Camorra just smiled widely.
"Eey Franky, we have talked about this. You gotta keep the payments coming or you know what happens. You wouldn't want'cha family ending up like that old friend of yours, now would you?"
Frank fell onto his knees, clearly shaken by Camorra's words.
"N-no, sir I beg you. Don't hurt them, I will pay, I promise!"
Camorra sighed heavily, and looked around in the apartment.
'It doesn't even seem like he has anything of value that he can sell to pay me.' He stopped mid thought as something in the corner of his eye caught his attention.
"Franky boy, why haven't you told me you have a baby daughter? Why wouldn't you share something such a happy thing with your friend?" Camorra said whilst grinning widely from ear to ear.
" Yo-uu-you, what are you implying? "
" Me? Nothing my dear friend. I just want to help you in your time of need, as a friend of course. And it isn't nice to let the little one live under such bad conditions isn't it boys? "
The group made sounds of agreement whilst internally laughing at the pitiful man in front of them.
" But eyy Franky, you know me, I am a nice guy. It's your decision to make. I will give you to Monday to make up your mind. Let's go boys! "
The group of men left the same way they had come, leaving the apartment to it's deadly silence, and the wooden door hanging on its single unbroken hinge.
My mother still sat in the same corner she had been the entire time during the conversation. Clutching my sister in her arms, with fingers that had turned ghostly-white because of how hard she had clenched them around her.
Frank, my father, on the other hand was still down on all four in the middle of the living room. Probably thinking the worst kind of thoughts at the time.
' If it wasn't for her, my life would still have been perfect! It's a sign from god, it must be! He has given me an opportunity of redemption. I have to sacrifice her to Camorra, like Abraham sacrificed his son Isaac to God. If I do, God will surely reward me. My life will become perfect again! '
Frank stood up with shaky knees, turned his head with his bloodshot eyes focused on the only thing that in his mind stood in the way of his perfect life, and started walking towards his wife and daughter.
For an outside spectator this scene could as well had been from a movie. With Frank playing a brain-dead zombie that was walking towards the smell of brain. His dead fish eyes would scare even a grown man straight.
As I watched this play out in front of me, I can just remember the thought of what would happened to me if my sister disappeared. What reason would I have left to live for? She was my everything, my reason to live, and he would take her from me? I couldn't let that happened.
What followed was a struggle between Frank and my mother, as he tried with all his might to take his daughter from his Wife's deathly-pale fingers. If you forgot that they were pulling in a baby, you could have thought that they were playing a sick game of tug-of-war.
Whilst this was happening in front of my seven year old self, something snapped inside of me. I can't remember much of what followed, but I learned in hindsight by the police´s criminal investigation that I apparently had walked into the kitchen, grabbed the largest knife I could find, then proceeded to walk back into the living room were my parents were stillin a tense fight over my sister. Then as my father was engaged in the struggle with my mother, I apparently stabbed him with all my might in the back twice.
It was around this time of the story that I regained my consciousness, as I remember thinking to myself as I saw my father stumble down in to his own pool of blood.
' I wonder if this is enough to make him beg for his life to end?'
Prologue part one - Fin