Some questions hang in the air like the axe of an executioner.

One wrong move, and your head is rolling around in the bottom of a basket. One wrong word, and everyone is covered in the spraying blood of your mis-stepped enquiry. Some questions linger, leaving a bitter taste on the tongue of the speaker, making them regret their curiosity and feel relief at not being a cat.

Cassidy's hovered before him, a swarm of hornets deciding whether or not to sting him, as he had stung Amy.

There was a distinct, lengthy space between the asking and the answering, one that made him believe he was still being ignored. He waited, giving her a chance to respond. His bladder nudged him, telling him it could do with a bathroom visit, but he ignored it. Better to jiggle his leg than leave her waiting when he'd insulted her.

If she remained silent, he'd eventually have to give in. It would come to the point where his bladder would insist, and he'd be unable to resist. Until then, he'd wait.

Amy didn't leave him waiting for long. Just enough time to emphasise her displeasure.

No.

I don't.

He could feel the bluntness. It jabbed at him, reminding him was a prat he was. He wouldn't rise to it, though. It was his own fault. Hopefully, the news they had a connection would ease her mood.

"I don't remember you, either," he said.

He added the hint of a smile to dilute the tension. If it didn't work, he'd still keep his cool. Still be apologetic. He didn't think he'd be so willing to in most situations. As patient as he was, he'd said sorry. As stupid as his remark was, it wasn't intentional. Amy wanted to talk to him, just as he was eager, surprisingly, to talk to her. It was this eagerness that kept him in check.

Why ask then?

Why indeed?

"Well, you apparently knew my sister."

Your sister?

Who is she?

"Jazz. Jasmine Anderson."

Jazz?

"Yes. Do you remember her?"

Yes.

Jazz.

I remember her.

She didn't like Jasmine.

"No," Cass said. "She still doesn't. Even I can't call her it, and I'm her brother."

I like the name.

"Me too. It's better than Lavender or Pot-pourri, for a start."

You should be on stage.

"Oh, thanks!"

Sweeping it.

Well, that was a kick in the bollocks, wasn't it? It was also a joke, which was a good sign. She was mellowing, and the cut of her wit was a welcome wound.

"Good one," he said. "I deserve that."

You do.

How is she?

"She's good, thanks."

He wanted to tell her what Jazz had told him. Just wait a little. Ease her out of his senselessness first.

She had two brothers.

Cassidy, which must be you, and

Ethan?

"Yes, that's right. You've got a good memory."

It's hard to forget anything

When you're dead.

Wow. She was so blasé about her circumstances. After seven years, she couldn't be anything else, he thought. Life sucked, and death sucked more, and such was life. Or death! Cass admired her attitude. She wasn't complaining and appeared to accept what she was. Dead.

Regarding her recollection, maybe, since the body was no more, the essence of the person remained fully intact, with time having no affect. Ghosts didn't age. Amy wasn't a ghost, but he couldn't help thinking of her in those terms. He wasn't fully aware of the various stages or forms the dead could take. He'd need to do some research, so he had a basis for his questions and observations.

Could any research be truly accurate? It was impossible to know the facts, unless the author was a literal ghost-writer. Or had someone like to ask! Did this happen a lot, where the deceased and the living could chat without candles or incense or crystal balls?

Probably not. Cassidy realised he was in a fairly unique position. He could prove theories. Trounce claims. No! No. He was thinking much wider, and he needed to bring his focus back to his bedroom. Just him. Just Amy. Let the rest of the world believe what they may. He didn't seek the fame, nor need the ridicule. He was happy having her... was that really what he was thinking? All to himself?

When had he become possessive of her? He was suddenly dreading his brother's visit. What if she liked Ethan more than him? What if she decided to latch onto his sibling and leave? Cassidy would feel her absence. He'd feel the expanse of the empty house. He'd feel isolated. Amy had become the lifeboat drifting across the ocean he'd found himself flailing in after the sinking of his relationship and the life he believed he had. He was clinging to her more than he should be. He needed to ease his grip.

"You were friends," he said, putting the thoughts in their own little box and shoving them at the back of his mind.

Yes. Good friends.

"Why did you fall out?"

We didn't.

Not really.

Just drifted away.

"She blames herself for saying something hurtful to you."

It runs in the family.

Cassidy swallowed back the pending retort. He'd let her dig in the knife as much as she wanted. Maybe it would chip away at his obtuseness. Trim the sharp edges of his impatience.

"You're right," he said. "But anyway, she still thinks it's her fault."

Tell her it's not.

I was having a tough time.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

It's fine.

It's the past.

It can't be changed now.

"Still, it's not nice. I wish you'd had things better."

Why?

Erm... Not a question he expected.

"Well. Because... because I just do. It shouldn't be difficult for kids."

No, but it is. A lot.

I take it you had it easy.

Cassidy had never seen his childhood as easy. It just was. It wasn't something he'd ever considered. He loved his parents and Ethan and Jazz. They went on family holidays. There were always gifts at Christmas. It wasn't extravagant, and they didn't have a great deal of money. His parents both worked and could provide a comfortable lifestyle for themselves and their children. On reflection, he supposed he did have it easy. When you're a child, life is life, isn't it?

Clearly not.

"I guess," he said. "I've never thought of it before."

People don't, unless it's been crap.

"Fair point."

He wanted to move things along, away from the discussion about whose childhood was the worst. If hers was so bad, however, did that lead to her death? Was it a factor in her murder? Perhaps he should allow it to continue. Amy was still here for a reason, wasn't she? Spirits were held back to finish the unfinished. What was it she still had to do?

No, no, no.

Stop thinking like you how all this life after death stuff works! You don't. No one does.

Don't worry about it.

Shit happens.

"Life is a toilet," Cassidy said, hoping the comment would elicit a smiley face.

It didn't.

And death is the sewer

when it's all flushed away.

Cute. Yeah.

Cass needed to stop referring to life when he was talking to Amy. It was, apparently, a touchy subject. Either that, or she was being deadpan, joking to make it a more comfortable topic.

Seven years of having no one to talk to had desiccated her funny bone. Not that she physically had one.

What did she have to say?

Here was the opener he needed. He just had to tread carefully. Not be so blunt. Tact, young man. Tact.

"She was saying about how much she liked you," he said. "She wished you'd remained friends. I suppose school is like that. Kids are best friends, then fall out over nothing, and lose touch."

No answer. OK, continue.

"She couldn't believe I'd moved into your house." Deep breath. Let it out slowly. And... "She told me what happened to you."

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