Part of me wanted to throw into the fireplace and let the flames eat the pages so I could pretend none of this existed, but a greater part of me knew this was my ultimate chance. The diary entries were made on Saturday's and today was Friday so it was highly likely he would want to make an entry tomorrow and find the diary missing. I would be in trouble if that happened. I took a deep breath and continued reading the pages.

During the years, I've lied to a lot of people to hide my true nature. The true nature that my mother promised would put me in prison if I ever let it come to light, and I've always listened to her. I could be in juvie or locked in an asylum if I hadn't listened to my mom.

I think my life is a lie, at least most of it anyway. My family likes to think they are perfect which is not the case. Since childhood, I've been conditioned to cover up the truth with a lie when I needed to, I've been taught to never talk about what happens within the four walls of the mansion, and pretend that things are pretty normal. Well, news flash, things are fucked up.

Let me talk a little about this incident that happened when I was just a kid, I was around ten, I think and just returned from my horse riding lessons. Like most young kids, I was curious about a lot of things. I often ventured into the deepest parts of the woods, and sometimes even the unexplored rooms in the mansion and exploring had become one of my favorite hobbies mostly because it pissed my dad off pretty major and I liked that. It was a Monday, and on Mondays dad mostly spent his time being cooped up in his study and that gave me plenty of time to indulge in mischief.

I walked deep into the woods, and I have no idea how long I'd been there because, by the time I decided to walk back, it was dark. The Lockhart's property sat on acres and acres of land and there's a reason the mansion is surrounded by a forest. Most of my ancestors were batshit crazy and God knew what they needed a private forest for. Anyway, I saw this cabin, a comfortable looking place. I decided to knock on the cabin door thinking it must be servant's quarters and someone could help me find my way back.

No one answered the door when I knocked so I walked towards the other side of it and luckily the kitchen door was open. I walked inside and the place was well kept, nothing fancy but I remember that it was a nice place to chill. There was a bedroom with my dad's stuff in it, a kitchen, and a living area. I should have stopped the exploration there, but I decided to check the basement. Maybe there was a pot of gold or some treasure that my family didn't even know about, you see, kids are naïve at ten, and reading comic books had tarnished my brain.

I was majorly disappointed when I didn't find any treasures, what I did find was a man chained to the wall like an animal, half awake and half unconscious. I recognized the man, his name was Jeffrey something....I didn't understand certain details and company politics at that age but from some of the conversations that happened in my dad's study, I knew this man had sold confidential information of the Lockhart's Enterprises with a rivaling company so it was obvious Jeffrey wasn't about to go down easy. My dad hated liars (even though he was one too)—and what he hated more were people who betrayed him. When Jeffrey saw me there, he begged me to call for help. As I said I was super disappointed by the turn of events.

I left that place quietly and walked out into the woods. A few hours later a maid found me and brought me back home. For the next few days, I didn't tell anyone about my dad's captive in the cabin even though I should have told mom. I pretended to know nothing and continued with my daily routine. I returned to the cabin on the fifth day, went back into the basement and found Jeffrey still there—or at least what was left of him. His left leg was clean-cut and he was still chained. There was a lot of blood on the floor, seeping through the wooden floorboards and a bucket kept next to where he lay. The room stank of urine and blood. Dad planned to come back and clean up later on.

It was clear my father would never let Jeffrey go. His corpse was going to join an army of bones in our backyard. He liked to have fun killing people, and as a child, I should have been horrified but I had so much vengeance for him inside me that I wanted to rob off any kind of pleasure that he was seeking. I had a hard time in school because of him, because of the Lockhart's name attached to mine. I wasn't special or invincible or cursed. I just wanted to be me and Jasper Lockhart had taken that away from me the day I was born and I hated him with every fiber in my body.

My dad is a perfectionist, a hypocrite, a fucking liar, and a psychopath. Too bad, I had inherited some of his genes but I promised I won't be like him. I wanted to be better. He'd taught me how to ride a horse, a bike, swim, martial arts, and how to shoot. Our family had a shit ton of enemies and if I were to be kidnapped, my father wanted me to learn how to defend myself.

Jeffrey was sobbing his eyes out, snot and everything, and he kept pulling at the chains, poor thing because his arm had bright angry wounds on it. I wanted Jeffrey to be free. Free of this cruel world.

So when I returned to the basement a day later, I stole my dad's gun. I knew the drill. It was a little heavy for me but I could handle it no problem.

No, I didn't really want to kill the man, but just kill dad's fun.

I cocked the gun, loaded it, and shot Jeffrey. The bullet lodged in the artery and the blood continued to squirt everywhere like a fountain. I felt the warm liquid trickle down the side of my face, and the man squirmed and made gurgling noises. That was a very painful way to go, not to mention the mess he was making so I cocked the gun, loaded it again, and shot for the second time, and thankfully he stopped moving.

I can't forget the look on Jeffrey's face until this day. His glassy lifeless eyes stared into the distance with a serene expression on his face. I couldn't feel sad or scared so I knew I was different than most kids in my school. My mom always told me that.

There was a lot of blood on the floor, bright crimson, almost too dark and nothing like what I usually saw in the cartoons and I remember staring at the liquid in fascination. Staring at death. My shoes had gotten stained with it, the ones that uncle Vincent had gotten for me from Italy so I tried to dry them off on the welcome mat outside. I went inside and tried to think of a way to hide the gun when I heard a loud sound and at first, I was scared that Dad had found me and that I'd be canned for what I'd done but it was just Morgan.

The butler stood near the door visibly shaking and at that moment I thought maybe it was because I'd killed my dad's hobby. I held out the gun towards him and said 'Look, Morgan, I can shoot too.' He took the gun from my hand and wiped it on his dress-shirt and told me that I was to pretend that this never happened, that I never killed the man. I agreed because I didn't want dad to find out I'd done it. He brought me a fresh shirt and led me away from the cabin. I remember asking Morgan on the way home what the cook had made for dessert that night.

That was my first murder. The second one happened a year later. This one had nothing to do with my dad's company. This man had tried to grab my mom's ass at a party and openly flirted with her. He'd chosen the wrong woman because later that week he was chained in the cabin too. I didn't know his name, so I called him Thomas. Thomas was in a far worse situation than Jeffrey had ever been because Thomas had both an arm and a leg missing. He was also being injected some kind of fluid, probably to keep him alive so he could watch himself being tortured.

I didn't hesitate when I picked the gun again and shot the man in his forehead and popped the eye instead. I had to watch the hollow of one side of his eye as it remained missing, the blood tricking down like teardrops, and his scream filled the empty cabin. I killed him the second time around. It was quick and I tried my best to make it painless. Morgan found me again and cleaned me up before we went to the mansion. He promised me there was pecan pie cheesecake for dessert so I was happy.

I'd picked the thrill for the kill. Although I'd done those victims a favor by giving them a quick death, it was still murder. My dad found out what I'd done eventually and the look on his face was worth it. I'd wanted to prove that I wasn't like him, that I didn't enjoy watching people get tortured but at what cost? I didn't want to be cleaning up after my pops and lose my insanity in the process.

As I grew older, I didn't forget what I'd done to Jeffrey or Thomas. It stayed with me, every gruesome detail of those nights, and every plea for mercy coming from those men. I had a small keychain from Jeffrey that I found that night, an Egyptian pyramid, and an old coin from Thomas that I'd kept safely tucked away. My mom doesn't know that I'd executed two men in mercy killing, and I planned to keep things that way.

When I turned thirteen, the nightmares started and my constant craving to experience that feeling again, that rush for kill began to resurface and I tried to down those thoughts by being busy with school, hockey, and other activities. It's the same time around that Vicky started to grow boobs and I began jacking off to her pictures. I had friends but I was completely lonely in this. I don't think my friends would understand or accept what I'd done in my past even as a child. I had a penchant for violence, and my mom still thinks I'm a boy-scout.

I had to stop reading the diary midway and close it because I felt sick all of a sudden. Bile rose in my throat and there were goosebumps all over my body. I had to run to the bathroom to throw up.