Kyle's father had vented all the pain and resentment of his wife's death on young Kyle, convinced that he was a harbinger of misfortune.
The abuse ranged from mental humiliation to physical beatings, day after day.
A child who wasn't loved by his father would naturally be looked down upon by everyone else as well. His uncle Bart had been even more vicious in his abuse, while his adoptive mother—the woman trembling downstairs at that very moment—had never once offered a helping hand. She had merely watched it all coldly, even with a hint of disgust.
"He even, last week..." Kyle's voice caught in his throat. He suddenly yanked open the collar of his tattered T-shirt, exposing his thin chest.
A hideous scar, not yet fully healed, ran from beneath his collarbone to near his heart.
"He got drunk and said he was going to carve out this 'source of misfortune' with a knife. And by then, I could already feel that I had this kind of power." He pointed at the fruit knife still floating by the doorway, aimed toward downstairs, while tears of humiliation and fury rolled down his face.
"But I... I didn't even dare use this power to fight back against him. I was used to being afraid, used to enduring it!"
Sam stared at the scar, feeling a surge of rage shoot straight to his head as his fists clenched tightly.
He completely understood why Kyle had gone to such extremes. This accumulated despair, with nowhere to escape to, was enough to destroy even the strongest-willed person.
But understanding and empathizing were one thing; condoning murder was another.
Sam tried to guide Kyle, telling him that revenge couldn't bring true relief and that the law might be able to deliver justice.
But words like "law"