He picked up his guitar and played the sad song. He stared into the fire as the figures started to form.
"You really miss your home," I said.
He waited a moment before responding, "Not just my home."
"Oh," I said, dropping my head. The thoughts in my head came to a halt. "You have a girlfriend?"
Again, he waited, watching the figure dance. "Had. The people who took me from my home killed her."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I never should have brought it up," I said, feeling bad.
"No," he said softly, "I like to remember her."
There was nothing I could say to that, so I watched in silence. Then, he spoke, "They found out about what I could do. They wanted me to make them millions. I told them no, but they got me anyway. I was only thirteen."
He waited for a moment, but whether it was a dramatic pause or because the memory was painful, I couldn't tell.
"She fought them. She was always like that. And then, they went after her…"
"Don't say it," I interrupted quietly. "Please don't say it."
He said nothing, and then, quietly, "As soon as we got to this land, I got away. But that wasn't good enough. I wanted revenge. So, I…I went and I killed them. Every one of them." His voice was no more than a whisper.
I was shocked. He seemed so lost, so hopeless. I couldn't believe it was possible. "But, but that's…murder."
The fire turned black and he turned to me. "I know," he said. I couldn't tell if he was proud or ashamed, but for a moment, his eyes flared with bright embers. I gasped, and took a step back.
He dropped his head, and the fire returned to normal. There was silence, and then he said, in a sad voice, "Go. Don't stay here. Go away. I know you fear me."
"I…I don't fear you," I said, even though I wasn't sure I believed it. "It was the fire."
He turned and sat down on the couch. "The fire was diminishing. It is me you fear."
I sat down next to him. "No, I don't fear you," I said, a little more confident this time.
He looked at me, and then turned away. "I fear myself."
I wasn't expecting him to say that. "But…how can you fear yourself?"
He waited before answering. I thought maybe he wasn't going to speak, but then he did. "I enjoyed it. I actually liked killing them."
I had heard so much already that I almost wasn't surprised. "So?" I asked. Then, I got daring, and added, "Bloodlust happens sometimes. We don't mean for it to, but it just happens."
Instead of making him feel better, he looked worse. He slowly turned his head and said, "What if the lust doesn't go away?"
I didn't have an answer for him and he knew it. He turned away, and we sat in silence. After a minute, he resumed playing his guitar. The figure began to form again, but then he stopped.
"Her name was Angela," he said, still not looking at me. He stared into the fire, and the figure continued even though his playing had stopped.
Then he turned to me. "You know, you look a lot like her. You even sound like her."
I had no clue how to respond, so I simply looked back at him, right into his eyes.
"If I have another sip of tequila, I might think you are her," he said, putting a hand on his hip flask.
"Please don't," I said. I wanted him to see me and like me for who I was, not for who I reminded him of.
He smiled at me. "Don't worry."