Cassidy felt weightless.

He was adrift, with all sensations removed. No sight or sound. No sensation of anything touching his body.

Was this death?

Would he, at some point, come across Amy? Perhaps he'd see her, a light in the darkness, except it wasn't that. If it were, he would be able to see it. Darkness had colour, not a lack of it. Wherever he was, there was no colour. No substance. It was, literally, nothing.

He called out.

"Amy!"

The word was only in his mind. The tether from brain to mouth had been severed alongside that of spirit to body. Was this how it felt for Amy? To be floating endlessly, with no anchor keeping her in place? Was the mirror some sort of closed door that allowed her to see through into his world but not enter?

Cassidy knew he wasn't dreaming because he knew he wasn't dreaming. The awareness of the fact rendered the possibility impossible.

He'd said that to Elise once. Early in their relationship, when love was still blossoming, she'd taken him out for one of the best steaks he'd ever had. He'd told her he thought he could be dreaming, then went on to say something akin to not being able to because of impossible possibilities. That was, perhaps, the first time she'd frowned at him. Elise didn't understand what he meant. She didn't think at all of philosophy or poetry. Her focus was on her nails. Her eyebrows. Which shoes went with which outfit. She posted selfies hoping for likes and comments about how great she looked. Life and reality and the mind were things she cared little about.

And death. Elise was never going to die. She would live forever in the following she was gaining on social media.

While they were separating, Cass would wonder what he saw in her. They were so ideologically different. But that was one of the things he liked. He thought their differences might bring them together. Give them things to talk about. They didn't. They gave them reasons to be different.

None of this excluded the happiness they had shared. It did, though, taint it.

He must be dead. If he wasn't dreaming, there was only death remaining, and death was a limitless limbo, where one drifted whilst contemplating the mistakes made during...

CASS CASS!

Cassidy's eyes opened and, after his heartbeat stuttered back into its usual rhythm, the colour returned to the milky irises. His blue lips reddened. The white streaks shocking through his hair darkened until they were back to his natural shade.

He sat up, the fog of his mind suddenly clear, and the attack from the intruder painfully marching at its forefront. From where he was sitting, between the bed and the wall, it was difficult to see the rest of the bedroom, but he did see the pillow that had been pressed against his face. He could also see a foot. Not his own and not Bobby's.

Bobby!

Cass scrambled up, using the bed for leverage, and told his smart speaker to illuminate the room. He blinked back against the glare, and looked across to where Bobby was laying.

"Bobby!" he cried, running across to his obviously injured dog.

Without noticing, he jumped over an obstacle on the floor and collapsed beside the puppy. Gently, he placed his hand on Bobby's chest and whispered his name.

There was no response. The absence of any movement under his palm, from either breathing or the heart beating rapidly, told him there couldn't be, but he tried again, anyway.

"Bobby?"

There was an odd bend in the dog's spine that shouldn't be there. Blood trickled from his mouth. One leg was twisted sharply.

Still...

"Bobby?"

With tears stinging his eyes, he looked up, needing to not see what he would never be able to unsee. There was writing on the mirror.

I'm sorry.

"Amy!"

Cassidy.

I'm so sorry about Bobby.

Why did she need to be sorry about Bobby? There was nothing wrong with him. He was fine. Sleeping. He was just sleeping. It had to be tiring being that permanent bundle of energy, didn't it?

Didn't it?

A box was materialising in his mind. He could see it taking shape. It was a simple shape, with no markings apart from a single paw print on the currently opened lid. The corners were sharp, and Cass would have to be careful with them. Until they had worn down, which they would in time, he could cut himself on them if he didn't handle it carefully.

Mentally, he lifted Bobby's body, now appearing as it should, rather than its physically misshapen form. He lowered his softly snoring imaginary friend into the box and closed the lid.

He smiled through the tears.

"I'll see you soon," he said.

Bobby's corpse was now just that. An empty shell that once contained an irrepressible hound. Cass would dispose of it soon. Would the bin men notice if he just put it in a sack and threw it in the bin?

There was something else on the floor he needed to deal with urgently. And another message.

He was trying to kill you.

I wish I could have stopped him sooner.

Bobby might still be here.

"Don't worry. Bobby will be fine."

He will?

"I'm telling myself that."

OK.

What about him?

Cass turned his attention to the obstacle he'd stepped over in his eagerness to get to his dog. The owner of the appendage he'd seen from his sitting position.

His attacker.

Bobby's mental box was reopened just a crack for less than a second, and the fury that escaped was directed at Cassidy's foot. In turn, that foot was directed at the prone man's stomach. Repeatedly and as hard as he could.

The man was pushed back by the impact, but otherwise didn't try to fight back. This made Cassidy angrier, and he doubled his attempt to crush the spleen, kidneys, and whatever other organs were unfortunate enough to reside in the area of the stomach.

Cass quickly tired and staggered back. The man was still.

"Fight me, fucker!" he yelled. "Fight back!"

The man didn't move. Cassidy knew why, but refused to accept it. Doing so would rob him of the chance to repay the murder of Bobby.

"Come on!"

Another kick. Another.

There wasn't a third. Cass fell to his knees and sobbed. Perhaps the lid hadn't been properly replaced.

No. Fuck it. He couldn't let himself go like that. There was a dead dog, and now a dead burglar. He wasn't responsible for either, but had to accept it might not seem that way. The question was, how had the man died?

Amy?

He looked up at the mirror, wiping his eyes and nose and bringing himself under control.

She'd wished she could have stopped him sooner, she'd said.

"What did you mean?" he asked.

About what?

"Stopping him."

He was killing you.

He killed Bobby.

I couldn't stop it.

Not soon enough.

"You did this?"

Yes.

"Thank you," he said. "Really."

I'm sorry.

"Don't be," Cass said. "You did your best. I'm just pleased you're OK."

I am.

Now.

"I'm sorry about the séance. I didn't know they'd do that."

I know.

It's OK.

"Well, it's not, but thanks." He pointed at the body, ignoring, for now, the enormity of the problem he faced. "What about him?"

He was going to kill you.

I stopped him.

"He's dead, I think."

I know.

That, I'm not sorry about.

"You're not sorry he's dead?"

No.

I'm dead.

It's not so bad.

He deserved it.

You weren't the first.

"What? He's killed before?"

Three times.

"Fuck! How do you know?"

Just...

Somehow.

Wow. The bastard had already killed others before he'd broken into Cassidy's house! It served him right, didn't it? He got what he deserved, right? It prevented him from doing the same again!

"What now? I... I can't really call the police. How the fuck do I explain this to them?"

You don't have to.

"How? I can't just leave him there."

Do you trust me?

"What? What does that have to do with anything?"

Do you?

You need to.

Cassidy thought about it. It was, really, a simple question to answer. He did. He didn't really have too many reasons to, but he did.

"Yes."

Bring him here.

"What do you mean? What are you going to do?"

I don't know.

I have a feeling.

I think I can help.

I can help.

"How?"

I can't explain.

Only show.

Bring him here.

Please.

Cass didn't need to be asked again. If Amy thought she could help, he'd do as she asked. How she might be able to was a mystery. She could clearly impact the physical world, but how did that extend to solving this particular problem?

A dead body on his bedroom floor.

https://youtu.be/2qbUxWl7imE