Screams echoed throughout the old farmhouse that the Springers had just moved into three weeks ago.

Even if the neighbors were home, they were far enough away that no one could hear anything.

The man walked into the kitchen on the main floor of the home and grabbed a knife off of the counter. He needed to end this.

A woman in her 40s lay bloodied but alive on the couch in the living room. He left her there and knew he needed to find the boy first.

He was twice the kid's age, but he didn’t care. The boy was the size of a man and he was going to find him. He was going to kill him.

The man ran up the old staircase and went into the first bedroom on the left. There he was. He ran at the kid with the knife raised.

“Please don’t kill me!” The kid yelled, terrified of what was about to happen.

The man was startled by a young teen girl sitting naked in the corner of the room crying. The boy jumped out the window of the second story house and disappeared. The man looked at the young girl, his anger swelled and he ran downstairs.

He saw the boy running into the distance toward the road. The man dropped the knife and retrieved a gun from the glove compartment of an old pickup truck in the driveway.

His military experience, which caused a lot of his problems, was going to help him out here. He took his time, readied, aimed, and fired. The kid's head exploded and he dropped down to the ground.

No one would ever touch his family again.