Why ask who?

Don't you know?

"No," Cassidy said. "No one does. They never found out who... did it."

Who killed me.

Murdered me.

You can say it.

"They never caught the person who... killed you."

Not all killings were murder. Some were accidental or self-defence. Some were the result of drunken antics gone wrong. Amy was none of those. She was murdered. He couldn't bring himself to utter the word. It felt as if he were resurrecting the event. It felt as if he held the murder weapon himself.

Oh.

He could imagine her head hanging forward. Her shoulders slumping. The dejection on her face. She would hope justice had been done. It hadn't. Her killer was still on the loose. They may have stuck again, taking the life of another.

Murdering them.

"I'm sorry."

Stop apologising.

Please.

You're not to blame.

"I know. I just feel bad for you."

You said.

Thanks.

You don't need to.

I'm dead. That's it.

It was difficult not to apologise. He wasn't saying sorry for his own actions or words. It wasn't really an apology at all. It was more for comfort. For understanding and solidarity.

"I have an idea," he said. "Wait there."

He knew it was a stupid thing to say as soon as he walked through the doorway onto the landing. Where else was she going to wait? Don't wander off! Hold tight and stay put!

Fucking Muppet.

He trotted down the stairs, avoiding seven, and jogged into eh living room.

Where was it? What had he...? When did...?

Oh yes.

He reached down the side of the sofa and picked up his laptop. The best way to inform her, and him, was to look on the internet. The full part story would be there. He lifted the lid as he walked, his return slower than his descent. He'd prefer to slip and break his arm than damage his laptop, a strange sense of priorities when he thought about it. So, he didn't think about it.

The screen was on and waiting for his fingerprint by the time he was back in front of the mirror.

Zzzzz

"Hilarious."

Yes, I am.

Don't forget it.

"How could I? Anyway. About my idea."

What is it?

"Trust me. Google is our friend."

"Google? You mean the search engine?"

Cassidy thought back to when Amy had died. He hadn't taken into account the advances in technology that had occurred since then. Luckily, seven years wasn't seventy, so laptops, the internet and mobile phones all existed then and, in the main, had advanced little since. Apart from being more powerful, they were still predominantly the same. If the time difference had been greater, he might have been speaking Klingon for all the understanding she'd have.

"Exactly," he said.

He pressed his index finger to the keyboard reader and, after a few seconds, he was logged in. He touched the screen to open the browser.

It's a touch screen?

"Yes. I paid a little more for it, but it's worth it."

Nice.

I've never seen one on a laptop.

Do they all have them now?

"Not all, no. Not even close. But they're getting more popular. I don't think I'd buy one without it now."

I've missed out on so much.

"I don't think you have. Everything just carries on. Things get bigger or better, but it's only in small increments. Over seven years, it might seem like a lot, but it's not."

It doesn't seem like it.

"I don't doubt it. But I can't really think what's changed dramatically in the past few years. Not that'd might be actually meaningful, anyway."

Thanks.

It feels like so much was just

taken away from me.

By him.

Him? Who was 'him?' Amy's killer? It had to be. Who else would have been able to take anything away from her? And, him! So, a man had done the deed. The police wouldn't know that. They couldn't, or they'd have had a list of suspects. Possibly even a conviction. The police had nothing, including the gender of the perpetrator. After so long, they'd have marked it as unsolvable. A cold case, wasn't that what they called them? The absence of any hot leads to follow had allowed Amy's file to gather dust in a box, on a shelf, in a store room. Digital files could collect virtual dust too, he was sure. If they weren't accessed for an extended time, they'd probably by archived to free up server space.

In either case, there were no eyes on it. No fingers opened it up and browsed through its contents. No one cared.

Incorrect.

He cared.

"I can help," he said.

How?

Cass sat down, cross-legged in front of the mirror. He looked up to smile his encouragement and saw the word drift down the glass to his eye level. How considerate?

"I told you, trust me."

He placed the laptop on the floor in front of him and leaned forward. Resting his wrists on the carpet and hovering his fingers over the keys, he paused.

"What's his name?"

Who?

"Your... The man who... Your killer."

Why?

"I'm going to Google him. Everyone has a digital footprint now. He's bound to be on there somewhere. We can find him and let the police know."

Find him?

Do you think you can?

"I don't see why not. We can try, and this is the best place to start. Give me his name. Did you know him?"

I did.

Yes.

"Were you close to him?"

Sort of.

Yes.

I mean no.

Just

sort of.

"OK. What's his name?"

I don't think it's a good idea.

"Why not? We can tell the police what happened. Maybe get some justice for you."

I know.

It sounds nice.

Making him pay.

Still

Not a good idea.

"I disagree, Amy," Cassidy said.

It was entirely her decision, and he would leave it up to her. He had to try, though. He had to do something. His life so far had been an aimless shuffle through circumstance. He hadn't guided it, and nor had it been guided. He'd been adrift, allowing himself to be pulled by the various currents of others. Life was like that for so many. Unless you took it by the balls and squeezed, you had little control. Yes, you could choose your career. Often, you'd be able to excel in your work. Be a success. Often, too, you ended up asking if your customer wanted fries with that, metaphorically or literally. It was the same with relationships. In addition to being set up by friends or surfing dating apps, people fell into them organically. Bumped trolleys in a supermarket. Waiting at the office coffee machine. Walking dogs. Talking to mirrors? Either way, Life dangled control's carrot in front of your face and dared you to take a bite. If you had the courage, and were fast enough, you'd be chewing on the delicacies that followed. If you weren't, you waited for it to be offered again.

You could wait a lifetime.

Cass could smell the carrot. It was an opportunity to achieve something. For Amy, yes, but also for him. He was trying not to think selfishly, as that wasn't how he saw himself. If he managed to find her killer and alert the authorities, he would have done at least one thing he could feel good about.

Not that he felt bad about his achievements thus far. They just paled against this. He was aiding a spirit. He was capturing a murderer.

He pushed the excitement back down as he continued.

"He needs to be caught. Give me his name and we can track him down."

And then?

"And then you have your justice. Then you can move on to wherever ghosts go."

I'm not a ghost.

I'm not stuck here, either.

"No? How come you're still here then?"

Are you trying to get rid of me?

Don't you like talking to me?

"Of course not!" he exclaimed. "I mean, I'm not trying to get rid of you. I do like talking to you."

If finding her killer did send Amy on her way, Cass would miss her. He couldn't deny it.

Then leave it.

"I don't understand. Don't you want him put away?"

Yes, I do.

But he's dangerous.

You'll get hurt.

"I can handle myself."

Cassidy had never been in an actual fight, apart from an occasional when a group of drunken revellers started on him and his friends one night in a pub in Scunthorpe. One of them had made lewd comments about one of his party. She was the girlfriend of Steve, his best friend. Steve, particularly after a drink or two, was likely to punch first and ask questions if he remembered to. The bouncers pulled them all apart and threw them all out.

Other than that, he'd not been in the situations where violence might take place. He wasn't afraid and didn't avoid it. Life had just steered him away.

So, he hoped he could handle himself. He hoped those kick boxing lessons from years before would come in handy, and be remembered. He would take that risk.

He's a killer.

Are you so sure of that?

Cassidy shook his head inwardly, but outwardly retained the bravado.

"I'm sure. Come on."

No.

Leave it.

Cassidy couldn't. He was convinced her killer had to be exposed. It was the best thing for both of them, and for any future victims there might be. He was going to leave the decision up to her, but she wasn't thinking straight. Perhaps it was Amy who was afraid.

He began to type Amy's name into the search bar.

What are you doing?

"If you won't tell me, I'll find out on my own. There's got to be something on the net. I'm going to help you."

Whether you like it or not.

Don't. I asked you to leave it.

"I have to. You're not thinking straight. He has to be caught."

Cassidy

I said don't.

Cass ignored her and continued typing.

CASSIDY!

He didn't look up, so didn't see the message. It wouldn't have mattered. He needed to do this.

The laptop began to vibrate as he typed, with the tremor becoming stronger with each key press. At first, he didn't notice, being too intent on his mission. When he did, his hands paused, hovering over the keys. He looked around to see if anything else was shaking. The rest of the room was still.

The computer bounced in place, and he reached to stop it. Instead of slowing, the vibrations travelled through his body. His teeth chattered against each other and he felt as if he were being shaken apart. An earthquake centred only on him and his laptop. He let go for a second to steady himself, and the machine flew past his head, close enough to catch the tip of his short hair.

It shot towards the wall and Cass scrambled to prevent it from being smashed.

"No!"

https://youtu.be/DlmqLOq-YmU