A childhood that was filled with abuse causes a young child to grow up with a heart blackend with hate. This hate would become so profound that he would become driven by a desire to kill women that remind him of his mother. These women will all be women who vowed to love Charle Kemply with a passion unmatched by any women he could have ever loved in his life.
"I'll Make Them All Pay!"
I'll Make Them All Pay, is about a serial killer who resides in Gulfport, Mississippi. He travels to his neighboring state of Louisiana, in search of revenging his childhood abuse, by killing innocent women in Louisiana. He is a product of the abuse of a mother who suffered from mental illness, coupled with an addiction to alcohol and street drugs. He believes that if he were to rid the world of every woman who vaguely reminded him of his mother he would find satisfaction. So he goes to Louisiana with a heart and soul plaged with evil, and a mind set on killing innocent women.
Charles Kemply appears to be the man that most women only dream of meeting, least of all, becoming an intricate part of his life. He had all the charm that only Satan could possess. But he uses that charm only to find, scheme, toy, and destroy his next victim. His hate is so deeply embedded in his heart that he will not stop killing women until he is finally caught.
He meets and marries four women who's greatest desire is to please the man that they would love for a life-time. But, they soon find out that whatever it took to please Charles Kemply, the love of their life, was beyond the realm of life itself. Only the taking of their life by his hands would bring him the blissful satisfaction he desires.
I'll Make Them All Pay, is a book that will captivate the reader. The reader will only stop reading, I'll Make Them All Pay, when the final page has been turned. The story is fictional but so realistic that the reader will visualize each character vividly coming alive. The reader will feel in their hearts and minds, the joys, pains, and sorrows, that four innocent, helpless, victimized women endure because of a man that they each vowed to love unconditionally. They each sincerely promised to give him a love that they would in all reality share with him til death should they part. But their undying love for this man will never bring him peace. Only by causing their death with his hands would he ever find any measure of peace.
Excerpt
"Come here, boy! Haven't I told you, I don't want you playing with the children in this neighborhood? I am going to beat your black ass, you little bastard! Get in this house before I kill you! I hate you! You remind me more of your evil, no good for nothing daddy, every day!"
In all reality, Mary never knew who could possibly be Charles' father because she had had so many sexual encounters that any man in the State of Alabama could have been Charles' father. Mary wanted to believe in her mind and heart that Charles' father had misused and taken advantage of her. Mary refused to believe that she was a tramp and Charles could be anybody's son. Mary had learned to hate her son because of her own weaknesses. It was easier for her to place the blame of her shortcomings on someone else. More and more she was starting to place the blame on her son, Charles. Mary blamed him for the way her life had turned out. For some strange reason she had found peace in believing it was Charles' fault that her life was in such shambles. Mary let the evils of her past center around believing, if it hadn't been for her having this evil little boy, who looked exactly like his evil father, she would have had a better life. This left her son to the mercy of a coldhearted woman that didn't know what mercy was when it came to her son.
"Don't you hear me talking to you, you little raggedy-ass boy?"
"Yes, Mama. I'm coming," Charles said.
He knew his mother had been drinking again, and he could tell by the sound of her voice that it would be another night filled with nothing but brutality for him. He hated her for the way that she treated him. He was only a five-year-old child, and he had already learned the meaning of the word hate. He had learned it first hand from the hands of his very own mother.
"Mama, I'm coming. Mama, please don't be angry with me. I did all the work in the house like you told me to do. I was just sitting on the porch and the little boy from next door asked me if I wanted a peice of cookie." Charles was now frightend and trembling as he entered the house.
Mary's eyes were burning with hate for her young son. "Haven't I told you not to be begging anybody for anything, you ugly boy?"
"Mama I didn't beg for the cookie, he gave it to me," Charles said as he started to cry.
"Are you calling me a liar?"
"No, mama," Charles said as he searched his mind for the right words to say in order not to offend his mother, and set off her blazing temper any more than necessary.
Charles had seen the drunken alcoholic and drug induced stupors that Mary often came home in all too often. The end results of her drug and alcohol binges meant nothing but trouble for him. Sometimes she would physically and mentally abuse him simply because she couldn't get her daily quota of drugs and alcohol. Either way he would loose in the end and his little small-framed body was no match against a woman riddled with drugs and alcohol. There was no appealing to her heart or intelligence whether she was drunk or sober.
"Well, what the hell are you saying boy? Speak up before I knock your teeth down you throat! Go get me the strap! I am going to beat the hell out of you! I will teach you how to show respect for your mother. After all that I go through to raise you to be a good and decent boy! You have the nerve to stand in my face and call me a liar! When this night is over you will never fix your mouth to call me a liar ever again!" Mary was now screaming with rage at her young child.
As Charles got closer to his mother he could smell the rotgut lquor on her breath. Mary slapped him in his face as he approached the doorway. Tears fell from his eyes as she repeatedly slapped him. Soon those tear-filled eyes would be replaced with eyes of hate. Hate for all women as he silently vowed he would one day make her and every woman that vaguely reminded him of her pay! Mary Kemply's eyes held a violent drunken and marijuana glaze that was also filled with hate. The hate Mary possessed was the type of hate that rotted a person's heart and soul. This was the type of hate that Charles was so familiar with seeing in his mother's eyes. Her eyes had chilled the soul of her five-year-old boy for as long as he could remember.
"Didn't I tell you to go get me the belt, boy?"
"But I didn't do anything wrong. Why do you treat me like this? I was only playing with the little boy from next door. I didn't tell anybody your buisness. I didn't tell anybody that I was hungry. I'm sorry, mama. I won't play with him again. Just please don't beat me! I'll be a good boy. Please mama, please!" Charles could barely speak though the sobs.
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