The Lunacy of Tyler Lockhart ✔️

Chapter Forty Nine - Past

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.

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