PROLOGUE
It all started on a blistering hot summer's day in 1988, in a small town called Wishman Valley with average daily temperatures of around 42 degrees Centigrade, at the ripe young age of 17 years old. Wishman Valley was a small quiet town with a population of about 260 000 people. The sun was beaming down, birds were chirping and singing, flowers were blossoming in the gardens with green grass surrounding them, but my life was slowly falling apart and I had no idea what the future may bring for a dropout loser like me. To be honest, I was scared shitless. I have just been suspended from my second high school in as many months and living in a small town meant that there was no other schools within the next 50 kilometres and seeing that I had no transport to speak of, I knew that it would be impossible to get to there and my parents sure as hell would not take me. I was always in their way and I believe they wished that I would just disappear or better yet, die. I was failing each and every subject I had, subjects that I hoped could help me become an orthopaedic surgeon someday as the idea of cutting people open for a living really intrigued me and to top it all off, I had just found out my 15 year old girlfriend, Jo-Anne Washington, was pregnant. I was completely lost, hopeless even. I could not see how I would be able to raise and support a kid if I did not have a decent career and it would be near impossible to get a decent job seeing that I'm failing and can't seem to even hold on to a school position. I could only see one way to deal with this entire mess and that was to commit suicide and rid the world of the horrible person that I am and rid my family of all the shame, discomfort and embarrassment that I was causing them. The only problem was that I was too much of a coward to take my own life. This made me feel even more hopeless. What was I going to do? Would life change at all or was I meant to be a useless piece of shit that would go through life alone until I eventually died?
My parents wanted nothing to do with me and threw me out of their house as soon as I got suspended from school for the second time so I was sleeping over at Pete Scully's place mostly, either on the couch or on the ground, wherever I could find a place to rest my head for that matter. I would even sleep on street corners and park benches if there was no other alternative. I haven't eaten properly in over two weeks, but I was not bothered about food as the need to eat has surpassed me thanks to the amount of alcohol and weed I was consuming on a daily basis. Seemed that when I got pissed out of my socks or high as a kite, nothing else mattered and for that short while I was free. I got addicted to that feeling and then I would find a place where I could spend the remainder of the day just drinking whatever form of alcohol I could find and smoking pot with Pete. My personal hygiene went completely out of the window as I barely bathed or washed myself, rarely brushed teeth or combed my hair and I would go for days on end without even bothering to change my clothes. I mostly sold what clothes I had left so that I could feed my addictive personality and ensure my relationship with alcohol and drugs was always well looked after and stayed intact. After my parents kicked me out, I really didn't have much belongings that I could sell and if the need arises, I would steal anything that I could sell.
I always believed, Pete Scully –my one and only friend – never really liked me or was actually my friend at all. I believed for a long time that he was just around to see how my life has fallen apart and what an utter fuckup I have become. Seemed like he was taking joy out of all pain and discomfort I was enduring and he never let the opportunity go by to give me a mouth full for who I was and what I had or didn't have. It would only be later on in my life that I would realise how wrong I was and that Pete Scully truly was my friend and that he always carried my best interest at heart although he did it in a very strange and harsh manner.
I really had quite a good childhood, until I went to high school. Then it was like my parents lost interest in me or didn't love me anymore. Seemed like they were more interested in their social life and social status than anything else. I was an only child and money was never an object as my dad George Wilson was a big shot engineer at some or other big company and also living of all the money he inherited when his grandparents passed away. He inherited close to R20 million from them. My mother, Susan Wilson was a stay at home mom entrusted with the duties of raising me. My dad always gave her shit for raising such an "utterly disappointing fuckup who only stole oxygen", as he always put it. But she never cared about anything, not even me and my father. Only thing that mattered to her was herself and the image she presented to her upper-class friends. To be frank, she was a real bitch and my dad was an even bigger prick. My dad was never home. He was always working or flying to other countries for work and my mother was always with her friends at a spa or holiday resort, flashing their fake tits and throwing money around as if it was nothing. I was mostly alone, fending for myself and trying to keep head above water. When they left me alone, they made dead sure that I had absolutely nothing and at times I was not even allowed to stay at the house when they were not there to keep an eye on me, for fear that I might break or steal something. I hated my mother but I hated my father more and deep down I had images of slitting both their throats and hanging their insides on the washing line. At that point I didn't know it, but later in my life I would get the chance to hurt them more than they hurt me.
As a kid I had some strange fantasies and interests. I loved hurting any animal and as I later discovered, people as well. Hurting people gave me more pleasure than anything else I ever did. I loved the idea of blood and gore and everything associated with that. Curiosity once got the best of me and I dissected our cat just to see what its insides looked like. I later told my parents that the cat probably left because it was always alone I hoped that the thought of that might help them look differently at their one and only son but to no avail. I've been to psychiatrists and all sorts of other doctors but no one could ever seem to figure out what's wrong with me. Same words came up after every session with every doctor. "He's just a young boy, he will grow out of it", but I never did and it just got worse and worse and every person, including my parents, would rue the day they ever treated me like a worthless piece of shit. Everyone would truly see the real me and the monster they created. As the old saying goes, "Karma is a bitch".
It all came to a head on a day that I was as broke as church mouse so I could not even get a pill or sip of alcohol and I was wandering around the city, trying to clear my head and suddenly the urge to cry just hit me. It was like being smashed in the face with a brick. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me into the closest alley and fell down to my knees, holding my head in my hands and the tears rolled from my eyes like a dam wall breaking. It felt like an eternity that I was just sitting there, crying, like I was lost to the world and every person on earth. Then a mysterious man crouched next to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. I lifted my head and looked into what seemed to be the future of my life and the world that I lived in. A better life than the one I was currently living and for the first time that I can remember, I felt hopeful of the future but still felt like I have failed in every aspect of my life. The man wore a pitch black suit with a long coat that went down to his ankles, a top hat and a greyish tie. He also had three men walking behind him, not too far away. He just smiled and that gave me immense comfort and pleasure. This would be the start of my journey to a new and better life but I still had a long way to go to achieve the greats I wanted to and what I felt I deserved after everything I went through in my life.
I finally found the person who would change me and help me become the person that I was supposed to be, that I was destined to be and the person that I would be for the rest of my life. Revenge will surely be served and everyone will regret they ever crossed my path. Vladimir Vasiliev would be my mentor, my father, my best friend and the person to whom I look up to and am thankful for meeting and having part of my life but there would still be consequences and things needed to be done in order for me to reach the pinnacle and be the most powerful man in Wishman Valley.
