Cassidy snatched his hand back from the wall.

He scrutinised his fingernails, feeling the barely controlled vomit rise gain. Where the fuck did blood and hair come from? How...? Wait... His nails were clean. Short, smoothly filed and even, as they should be. There was no blood. No straggly strands of hair.

Was his dream bleeding into his reality?

For a second, his hand wasn't his own. His body hadn't belonged to him, either. His mind had wavered, too. Never had a dream affected him so intensely. But... what was it? It was fading. No. Hold on to it. Don't let it go. It's important, for some reason. It...

The dream was gone.

Fuck!

The details of the dream were lost to Cassidy now. He could still recall the vile pleasure taken from whatever had occurred, but he couldn't remember why. He shut off the water and stood still, his eyes closed, listening to the dripping of the water from the shower head and his body. He concentrated on the tick, tick, tick, imagining it to be a metronome counting an irregular beat. It drew his focus and turned it inwards.

Feel the beat. Follow the beat. Be the beat.

The words were metaphysical nonsense, but he whispered them to himself, anyway. He'd done so since his early teens, when he originally discovered the sound of water could centre his thoughts and calm him, which later led to rainfall and thunderstorms helping him drift off to sleep.

Feel. Follow. Be.

FeelFollowBe

Amy. The dream had something to do with Amy. She'd been crying, and he'd enjoyed it.

Come on!

No, it was no good. He was trying too hard. The snippets refused to stay within his grasp, choosing to drift off behind the veil of consciousness he called his waking mind. Whatever it had been about, other than Amy, he needed to remember. It was imperative, though he had no way of knowing why. The only chance he had was to think about something else. Doing so almost always worked.

He used the technique to locate his lost keys. His phone. A shopping item he really needed, but was completely unable to recall. Hopefully, it would help him here.

In the meantime, he would go about his day. He'd do more in the house. Maybe take Bobby for a walk. Do some everyday living things. The mundane could be marvellous for filling the hours with random shit to steal the day from you. In the absence of Amy, Cassidy was happy to give the day away. It didn't need to be stolen.

He checked in on the mirror multiple times, but it remained clear. When night time came once again, he went to bed feeling forlorn. Where was she? How was she? The house felt empty without her spirit there. Laying in bed, he turned his back to the mirror. It wasn't an indignant sign of anger at being abandoned. It was to enable him to pretend the mirror didn't exist or, if it did, that it was completely unoccupied. Once again, Bobby took a position next to him and they both fell asleep with Cassidy's hand gently stroking the puppy's head.

This time, the dreams made sure they would not tread on the toes of cognisance. They'd give the mind something to work with, but it would stay intangible. It would leave no trace the next morning, when Cass awoke.

Except he didn't remain sleeping until morning.

For the first few hours, he remained mostly still, apart from a little restlessness around 1.30 am. There was nothing prompting the agitation and it failed to rouse him sufficiently to break his sleep. It wasn't until roughly 4 am that Bobby's growling nudged Cass enough to rouse him.

"Calm down, boy," he told his pet, sleepily. "Go back to sleep."

The rumbling was low. A warning more menacing than an animal so young, so small should have been able to make.

"Bobby. Quiet. There's nothing there."

Bobby wagged his tail once, which was enough for Cass to feel it, but didn't stop growling.

Then the door creaked as it was slowly pushed open. Cass kept his breath even. Was he dreaming? Bobby was silent. His body was stiff. Tense. Poised.

A figure, darker than the surrounding night, entered the room. It paused once inside, seemingly listening, then moved slowly around the periphery. Black gloved hands opened the wardrobe and started to rummage through the clothes hanging inside. They retrieved a small number of items from pockets, not all valuable, and carefully put them inside a black cloth bag the person was holding.

The search continued around the room, bringing up nothing further. Cassidy didn't know what to do. Should he confront the intruder, or allow the obvious robbery to go ahead in the hope the burglar would take what he wanted and leave? What about Bobby, though? Would he stay quiet, or would he try to defend his domain?

The person neared the bed, and it seemed to be only then that he noticed it was occupied.

"Shit!"

The profanity was whispered by the intruder in a fairly youthful sounding whisper.

Bobby's growling resumed, and the curse word was repeated, louder.

"Shit!"

Cass wanted to tell the dog to be quiet, but daren't utter a sound. He was torn between his fury at the intrusion and self preservation. He could make out a mask of some sort was covering the man's face, which removed any chance of identification. Not that it was likely he would know the person, anyway.

The man stopped, having suddenly seen the bed was occupied by someone other than the dog.

"Shit!"

His voice was louder, making it difficult for Cassidy to feign sleep. He had no choice but to act as if he were stirring. He yawned and stretched, then rolled so he was facing Bobby.

"Bobby?" he said sleepily. "What's up, boy?"

Steeling himself for a potential attack, he turned over.

"W... What? Who...?" he mumbled.

He brought his hands up under the quilt and balled his hands into fists.

"Why do they always let the dog sleep on the fucking bed?"

The man brought up a long object and pressed a button. The end flared into a dazzling light, forcing Cass to cover his eyes. Immediately, the torch was switched off and thrown forward. Cass only just managed to move his arm and luckily deflect it. The torch clattered on the floor. Before Cass could react or see anything, the man had jumped onto the bed and started to land punches wherever they might hit.

Cassidy attempted to defend himself, but the burglar's onslaught was too fervent. Too intense. His punches struck their mark every time, causing his victim to cry out in pain repeatedly. There was no time to defend himself. No time to take a breath or look for an opening. He could hear Bobby barking, then snarl as the dog attacked the attacker.

There was a high-pitched yelp as Bobby was grabbed and thrown across the room. He hit the wall opposite hard, the impact accompanied by the sound of something breaking, and fell to the floor. He didn't move.

"Bobb...!"

The word was rammed back into his throat by another fist and he could taste blood. A copious amount of it.

"Get off me!" he managed to shout, his pet's injury spurring him on to retaliate, though he would have hoped to utter something meatier.

He drove his knee up into the man's groin, the quilt thankfully not restricting him enough to soften the blow. The grunt of pain was a welcome sign that he could, perhaps, fight back.

He pushed himself up, knocking the man back, and pushed the cover over his assailant. As he straddled him, his knees pinning it in place, Cass returned the blows. He didn't feel they were causing even half the damage the ones he received had, but he had to try.

The man was much stronger and easily lifted Cass up and off. Like a discarded coffee cup, he was dropped to the floor. He grunted under the weight as their positions were swapped, with him underneath once more. No more punches rained down. Instead, he felt the other person reach for something on the bed.

The something, firm but giving, and smelling of lavender, was pressed against his face.

No!

While the man pushed the pillow down, Cassidy fought to push back. His struggles were ineffectual, as were his attempts to move his head to the side so he could catch his breath. He fumbled for the arms that were holding the pillow in place and, when he found them, tried to yank them away. They didn't move. Not even slightly.

Kicking his legs shook the man slightly, but not enough to dislodge him. The longer the pillow was held in place, and the more it was pressed against his face, the less strength he found he had. His ears began to ring, the chimes heralding his oncoming unconsciousness.

His potential death.

Cassidy grabbed at the man's arms again. He knew he couldn't shift them, but had to try. He refused to do nothing. To accept his fate.

He managed to grasp them, but didn't have the strength to pull. He could only hold on. He could only wait. His determination to do something was still alive, but he knew he may not be for much longer, and determination was quite different to ability.

He could feel his thoughts fading, struggling to remain cohesive. They, like him, were too weak to hold on to each other. He, like them, was fading. The world had gone. The only sound he could hear was his own screams. Internal and rapidly diminishing.

Just as his last thought was preparing to dissolve, the weight was lifted.

The pillow was gone.

Was he, Cassidy, too?

https://youtu.be/ZxDn9z9yEkQ