Chapter 1: Orphan, Victim, Little Soldier
Andrew watched Jacob warily. He knew Jacob was his equal in the martial arts, he knew Jacob was also a complete psychopath. Andrew's breathing slowed, his heartbeat was slow and steady and his hands were steady. Jacob's eyes showed the multitude of emotions he was feeling, sadness, fear, confusion but mainly fury.
The Room was awash with blood, the furniture broken and overturned. In the center of the room. Andrew's remaining family lay dead. The blood on their corpses still warm, their eyes unseeing. Andrew knew he would be covered in blood. His uncle had never told him just how messy it could be.
That was irrelevant now, all that mattered was the remains of the most beautiful girl Andrew knew. Mary Lou, Jacob's sister, lay naked, her limbs splayed out at unnatural angles, her face contorted in pain, her eyes filled with terror, forever more unseeing. Her neck was broken. Her breats bared and covered in semen. Her vagina was a bloody mess.
She was the epitome or perfection, now destroyed, plundered, beaten and raped.
Jacob's eyes filled with pure hatred at the sight of his sisters corpse. He turned to face me. The bodies between us ignored. His entire body shook with undiluted rage. His hands, previously empty, now contained the knives he always carried on him. His feet were squared and his body tense.
"What did you do?" Jacob spat between his clenched teeth.
That was when things started getting ugly.
[This is the autobiography of Andrew Drake XIV, a memoir of my former life and the events leading to my ascension to power. My tale begins on this day, the day I committed my first murders, gathered my first and most loyal followers and the day I performed my first miracle.
However, I'm getting too far ahead of myself. How I reached this point is just as important as the subsequent events. I began with this moment as I see it as the single most important event in my life. If you can call the pathetic existence I had before now a life.
Prior to this point, I did not live. I merely survived. For as long as I can remember, I was hated. I was different, the outsider, the unwanted nephew, the weird kid next door.
When I was three months old my mother killed herself. In retrospect I can understand why she did it. At fourteen years old she had become pregnant. Her father beat her black and blue when he found out, then hospitalized her when he discovered that she did not even know who the father was. My mother was the victim of constant abuse.
In my grandfathers view my mother was a failure from the moment she was born. When he discovered the baby was female he refused to hold her as a baby and was never affectionate. After all he had three strong sons what need did he have of a weak female baby? Grandfather broke her completely as a child. He robbed her of any hopes or dreams. He tortured her psychologically throughout her miserable life pointing out her weaknesses and her inadequacies.
As a baby my mother was starved of affection and ignored by everyone except her mousy, spineless mother. When she was a child, her brothers started to take advantage. From the age of six she was used to fetch and carry, demeaned by being treated like nothing more than a slave. Deprived of affection, she worked hard for the smallest praise.
At the age of eight she became the family punching bag. All the males in the family were fanatic military men. The youngest brother being eight years older than her at sixteen, was preparing to leave for the marines training facility. Since birth the boys had been trained as ruthless soldiers. The middle brother was a marine. The eldest was in a secret black ops outfit.
From the age of eight her father started abusing mother even more, first increasing the psychological abuse and then he had started hitting her. By the time she was thirteen, he started raping her and beating her afterward.
At the age of fourteen, my mother conceived. My father, a horrible man just like her father, was an ex-marine and frequent visitor. When he visited, he always took liberties with her and this continued for weeks. When mother missed her monthly cycle her mother killed herself.
Upon hearing the news the soon to be father tried to leave town. Grandfather fought him and was killed by the younger fitter man. Her youngest brothers sought out the man and killed him. Both went to prison. One hung himself, the other was strangled in his sleep.
Custody of my mother fell to her oldest brother, Clive Anderson. Mother thought she was safe when she moved in with Clive. He was married and had a baby himself. While she was pregnant things were okay, she was still treated like a second class citizen, but she wasn't beaten or raped and that cheered her up.
Her brother's wife hated mother from the day she moved in. My mother never knew why. When I was born, her brother was elated. She gave birth to a healthy male. By the end of the day of my birth, everything changed. That night I was put in a crib in her sister-in-law's room. She wondered why, until uncle Clive came that night. Then the night after. Then the night after that.
Uncle Clive visited her every night for three months. Every night raping his own sister. Then beating her. It was no wonder that within three months she was suicidal. Uncle Clive wasn't surprised when she committed suicide, just annoyed that he lost his personal toy.
From this point, my life progressed in a simple way. I was accepted into the family as another son. From a young age, I was trained to be a soldier. By age five I went camping every weekend with my cousin and uncle. We never took tents. We were taught to survive in the wild. We were taught to hunt and mainly to kill.
By the age of twelve I was a dan in Tae Kwan Do, Thai Boxing, Aikido, Karate and Judo. I could survive in the wilderness for weeks with nothing more than a knife and my clothes on my back. In fact I could have survived without the clothes.
I was trained to be dangerous in hand to hand combat, but I was deadly with knives. I started playing with knives from the first day I met Jacob. His family moved next door to ours. He was the youngest child at nine, being three years older than me at the time. His sister was a year older than him. And he had three brothers older than them, aged 15, 19 and 22 respectively. His father was an old friend of my grandfather. Jacob was trained similarly to me, except with a very strong focus on blades. He always carried a pair of thin 8 inch knives which he had taken from the body of a boy he claimed to have killed in the last town he had lived in.
When my uncle heard about his professed killing of someone, he laughed it off, saying it was a kid bullshitting. But I knew different. Jacob was crazy. He wouldn't hesitate to kill at all.
Now back to that fateful day]
Edited by Bcw