[Stefan]:
The first time I committed murder, I was sixteen. I'd been mugged by a drunk man at one of the alleyways downtown and the only way to defend myself and leave with the only things I had in my life at that period of time was shoving a knife through his spleen and watching him bleed out as horror overwhelmed me.
I'd just ran from home a few days after I found my mother's dead body on the floor with several pills scattered around her.
After being unable to bear my father's faux grief around everyone who had visited to offer their condolences, I slipped out of the house with nothing but a few clothes in my bag, my devices and a wad of cash I'd stolen from his office.
I set out to town. We used to live in the countryside as my father was a wealthy and well-known ranch owner. Ge
