Hope springs eternal, we're told.

For Cassidy, someone had shoved a great big cork right in the middle of that spring and jammed the flow. His shoulders and spirit slumped as the truth, a truth he was already aware of, if he was honest with himself, was revealed.

His house was empty.

The flowery odour still clung to the air, riding the dust particles across the room as if at a rodeo, scattering its scent over all surfaces. He felt he could smell it even when his breath was held. It had no source. It shouldn't have been there. Yet, it was.

He knew what he needed to do next, but was fighting with himself over actually doing it. He needed to turn. To face and to look. The mirror was waiting for him. He didn't believe in ghosts! Yes, he was wavering on the edge of conceding the possibility there might be something else out there. He did believe we didn't know everything about the universe, and would admit that openly. But, ghosts? An afterlife? The dead haunting this plane of existence?

No.

What other explanation was there, though?

He had to find out one thing for certain. The thought immediately made him feel angry, but it couldn't be helped. Without looking at the mirror, he walked out of the bedroom and downstairs. As he went, he pulled out his phone. She was still in his contacts as a favourite. He should change that.

He pressed 'call.' It rang and, on each 'ring, ring,' Cassidy was prepared to hit 'cancel.' She wasn't going to answer. She was at work. In the shower. On the toilet. Anything other than by her phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Elise."

He felt his face flush. Was it irritation merely at the sound of her voice, or was it embarrassment at the question he had to answer? Probably both, he thought. At least she didn't sound annoyed at his call.

"Oh, it's you. What do you want?"

'Oh, it's you?' What the hell did that mean? Had she already removed his name and number from her phone? Had the Deletion taken place already? Cass felt hurt, though he was aware he was being irrational. They were no longer a couple, and there was no chance of a reconciliation. Why did she still need his number? Well, there might have been some post delivered for him. He could have missed an address change. She could have wanted to just hear his voice or check how he was doing.

Neither of which he particularly wanted to do, so berated himself for thinking it.

Elise was Elise, he realised. She wouldn't change just for him. He wasn't that special to her. Maybe it was a coping mechanism for her, and she did it because he (and those before him) was special. It saved her heartache and tears if she drew a line and didn't look back. He could compartmentalise, so why couldn't she?

Indeed.

"Sorry to bother you," he said.

"Then don't," she responded before he could continue.

Ouch!

Should he continue? Well, she hadn't hung up on him, so that was an indication he could. But... how?

"Erm... how are you?" he stammered.

"What do you care? You walked out on me."

Or, alternatively, they split and he moved out as they'd agreed.

"I... I just wanted to ask you something," Cassidy said.

He didn't want to, but had to. There was no choice.

"What?" When he paused, she snapped: "Come on! I haven't got all day. Some of us have lives. Just because you ruined mine doesn't mean I can't rebuild it."

He sighed. Did she really have to?

Elise was Elise.

"Look, I'm sorry about all that. I just need to know something, OK?"

"So, you do know how to apologise. About time." Her voice had calmed a little, though her words were irate. "What do you want?"

"I was just wondering..."

"Yes?"

"Have you been in my house?"

The pause was elongated, and Cassidy knew what was coming. He supposed he deserved it.

"What the fuck? What the actual fuck?" If he'd held a wine glass, would it have shattered? "Why the hell would I want to come to your hovel? I bet it's a complete shit hole, for a start. I wouldn't dirty myself."

There was no point in denying it. She wouldn't listen and didn't care. He'd never been untidy, and there was no reason for him to start now he lived alone.

"Elise, I..."

"Don't you Elise me! And don't call me again!"

The call was ended. He had his answer.

He put his phone in his pocket. It wouldn't be required again very soon. The sofa groaned as he slumped down on it, and he knew how it felt. Sherlock Holmes would tell him, if he eliminated the impossible, whatever remained, however improbable, must be the truth. Cass was a fan of Holmes, but would happily punch him if he tried. It wasn't Elise. It wasn't a neighbour. It was...

It was Amy.

He slammed his fists down on the cushions and jumped to his feet. He was in the bedroom in less than a minute, facing the mirror, ready to shout at her.

Hello, Cassidy.

Hello?

Hello?

"Who are you?" he yelled. "What do you want with me?"

I'm Amy.

"I know! I know you're bloody Amy! But, who is Amy?"

He'd moved forward to within a few inches of the wardrobe. It felt as if he were face to face, nose to nose with the mysterious woman, but he could only see himself. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes bulged. He looked manic and suddenly felt foolish. He was screaming at words on a piece of glass.

He stepped back and took a breath, watching the lipstick ants swarm. There was no point in losing his temper. Amy wasn't going to respond in kind. She had no real voice.

I'm your friend, Cassidy. Are you mine?

Please?

The first message incensed him. How could she call herself a friend, with everything she was doing? The second sucked the fury from him. Though it was a single word, he could feel the imploring tone saturating it. Whoever Amy was, she was beseeching him.

'Please.'

"But who are you? How are you talking to me?"

The lipstick held its place for a moment, then moved. It crawled slowly, perhaps thinking about what it was going to say.

I'm Amy.

Cass felt like screaming, but held his anger in check. It must be difficult communicating when you can only write short messages on a mirror. But, still...

"Yes," he said. "I know."

I'm talking to you through this mirror.

"But how?"

I don't know.

Well, that was helpful. Was she being deliberately dense, or was she... challenged somehow? He wouldn't admit the obvious, that this Amy was there in spirit if not body. Sometimes, he could have described himself as that when at work. He would never have believed, and couldn't bring himself to fully, he could be using it in more literal terms.

What did she know?

"Are you..." He couldn't bring himself to say it, could he? How could he not? "Are you a ghost?"

The lipstick swirled across the mirror, whipping from side to side in rolling curls. To Cassidy, it appeared she was laughing.

No, I'm not a ghost! Ghosts don't exist!

Wow.

Just...

Wow.

Cassidy exhaled explosively. It was a massive relief to be proven right, or not to be proven wrong. 'Ghosts don't exist.' Damn right. But if not that, and if not Elise, then who?

'Amy' wasn't an acceptable answer.

"Is it a smart mirror, then?"

A thought occurred to him, and he turned to look around the ceiling. The corners had coving fitted, creating a curve around the wall to ceiling edge. No. No obvious hole or mark, so no projector. Looking back at the mirror, there was another message.

What's that?

Being the technology geek he was, Cass was aware of the latest trends in the industry. He could understand that someone who wasn't similarly minded would be as exposed. Still, you could put the word 'smart' in front of most things nowadays. Bulbs. Refrigerators. Phones. Even lawn mowers had the capability. It had the same effect as McDonalds putting an m and c in front of any food and making it their own. It made things instantly recognisable. So, a smart mirror should have been obvious. Even so, the question showed ignorance of the answer.

It was, simply, a mirror.

"It doesn't matter," he said, confused. "I don't understand how we can communicate. Your name doesn't tell me who you are, or where you are."

Sorry

"It's OK." It wasn't. "If you don't know that, what do you know, apart from your name?"

The lipstick ants moved, but were slower and more deliberate. Amy was pondering her next message.

What year is it?

Erm... Cassidy didn't answer immediately. He was completely thrown by the question. Unless he was an extra in a time travel movie and no one had told him, how would someone not know the year? Had she been in a coma, just woken, and turned to her nearest mirror for a chat?

He told her.

Ah. In that case, I died 7 years ago.

https://youtu.be/FwZvuV79jeY