don't mind."
"I want you to be comfortable."
James had indeed whipped up a quick meal. This was the first time they were dining alone since the argument. Willow was reminded of their first dinner date.
"I killed the man who killed Larry's father," James said half way through dinner.
Willow stopped and looked at him.
"You were a soldier," she said.
"He did not die in combat," James said.
This was the first time he opened up about the war or his experience. Willow wanted to say something but thought it better if she just listened.
"I have no idea how long we were in captivity. One day they decided they’d had enough of our refusal to succumb to their torture. I was tied to a chair and the executioner stopped in front of me. He just gave one swipe of the blade and Captain Sikes was dead. His body kept jumping and the blood spewed everywhere. I don't know where I got the strength from. Maybe my restraints weren't as tight as I thought, but somehow I broken the chair in my rage. The executioner swiped at me with his blade. I felt the pain in my face, but it was nothing compared to the rage.
"I remember using the ropes to strangle him, and even after his body went slack, I just kept tugging at his head. I wanted to rip it off and probably would have if self-preservation had not kicked in. I took the machete, worked through the rest of my restraints and went in search of trouble. I probably killed four or five people that night. I don't remember it all. All I remember was walking into the sands covered in blood. My own hot blood and the stench of other people’s blood were on my face.
“The next time I opened my eyes I was in a hut. It was a small dirty place. It was stiflingly hot. I couldn’t feel my face. There was an old woman. She gave me something vile to drink. I spat it out on the first sip. She swore in Farsi and kept offering the drink to me. It was for the fever she said. I don’t think she knew I understood Farsi, I think she was trying to reassure me that it wasn’t poison. I passed out when I finished drinking it.
“I don’t know if it was hours or days that passed, but when I woke again, I was alone. The hut was not hot, so I guess my fever broke. I still couldn’t feel my face. I remember hearing noise outside and shouting, shuffling and the old woman came back in. She grabbed a blanket and threw it over me. I tried to say something and she shouted for me to be quiet in Farsi. Somehow I knew I needed to keep my mouth shut. She covered me from head to toe then threw some rags on top of me. They stank of goat shit. I remembered thinking this was how I was going to die. The last thing I was going to breathe in was the scent of goat shit.
“I could hear voice shouting. Someone pushed inside the hut, grunted something and left. I was there, holding my breath as best I could. Maybe a half hour passed, I don’t know. It was difficult to tell time when you have no idea where you are or how you got there. She came back and removed the rags and the blanket. She gave me something to eat. It smelled absolutely rotten at first, but it tasted good and I was famished.
“I ate and I slept. She would wash me, change my bandages and feed me. She told me they were looking for me, but I would be safe. I tried to talk to her but my voice was hoarse and would crack instead of make words. She thought I did not understand so she would write in the dirt of the hut. I was wanted. I stayed there for perhaps three weeks after I regained consciousness.
“I lived on goat milk, vegetables and homemade goat cheese. I wanted to leave, but I was afraid, I guess. I didn’t know the war was over. One evening after I came back from a walk, the tattered door on the hut was open. There was a man inside. There was a bundle of rags on the floor. It took me only seconds to realize that what I thought were rags, was the old woman. She was dead. The man