"God says, you can't hide. My eye sees you. And all of the darkness that's inside of you. Listen. Listen. . ."

He wouldn't have, you know. Listened. But I said her name. A name he hadn't thought about in years. Not since the early days of the Big Death. I was given the words and repeated them. I saw the images and explained them. Listen!

No one is born evil. Events and circumstance and experience shape our lives. They make us who we are, or who we might have been. All that day and into the night, I reminded him of her. The way she always greeted him with a smile. Always happy to see him. Never judging. The feel of her arms around him. Her head on his shoulder, trusting. He was always getting into trouble. Always angry at what life had thrown his way. But not her. Never her. She was accepting and kind. Supportive. Comforting. He cherished her and worshiped the ground she walked on. He kept her close and away from his other life. The darker side of himself. The side he needed to survive and keep them both alive after all hell broke loose. Like a fragile flower in a crystal box.

I showed him with words. With my voice. With God's Voice. I took him back to the day everything shattered. With a crowbar. And a baseball bat. He'd only left for a few hours. Had only gone to raid a local village of food. For her. For them. When he got back it was to a scene that tore a hole in his heart. Any light that remained inside him died that day. With her.

They were drifters who found her alone and unafraid. Eager to help. Offering food and rest. They took everything. Including her. He killed them all with his bare hands. Anger and grief became his darkness. He wanted to hurt the world the way it had hurt him. Had hurt her. He wanted to make it pay! But as the years went by and his Darkness grew, he thought less of her and more of blood and murder. They became his love. They became his purpose.

What did I say to make him destroy it all? Just that. I reminded him of what happened to her. And why. And who. And then I turned that mirror around and showed him his own face. And the faces of the others around him. Like the ones who tore her from him.

Who was she? No, not his girlfriend. I can see where you might think that. But women meant nothing to him except for self-gratification. And pain. But she was more than that. She was his life. She was his heart. The only good thing in the world he ever had.

Her name was Colleen. She was his 6 year old sister.