A dead body wasn't something you could throw out with the recycling and hope the bin men, when they came on Wednesday, would take away for you.

There'd be questions, and not whether it should go in with plastics and glass or cardboard.

One would be who the person was, something that hadn't occurred to Cassidy until that moment. He moved to the man's head, which was covered by a balaclava. Right, you fucker. Let's see who the hell you are! He took hold of the material and pulled.

Don't do that

"Why not? I want to know who it is!"

Cass's hand stopped.

What if you don't recognise him?

What if you do?

What difference will it make?

"'Cos I'll know!"

He's dead.

You don't need to see his face.

"Like hell I don't," said Cass. "I want to see the twat who tried to kill me."

Then you'll know.

"Yeah. That's the idea!"

You can't not know then.

"I don't understand. I want to know!"

But what if his face comes on TV?

On the news?

"So what? Good!"

What if it shows he has a wife?

A little kid?

"Erm..."

He hadn't thought of that. If that were the case, he'd feel sorry for the guy. Even though Cassidy had come close to death at the others' pillow holding hand, he was still anonymous. The thought of him having a family dampened the eagerness to see his face.

You'll blame yourself.

Or want to say something.

To defend what happened.

"But why can't I? He broke in! He was trying to kill me! He did kill B...Bobby!"

I know.

It doesn't change anything.

You need to not know.

Cops come round.

Show you photo.

Ask if you've seen him.

This way, you can say no.

And not lie.

Cassidy released the balaclava. Amy was right. Even though he still wanted to look into the man's dead eyes, he didn't really want to see them at all. Doing so would make things worse. Make him complicit. It wouldn't bring Bobby back. Amy had said she'd help. He should let her.

Shouldn't he be more horrified at what had happened? He'd been savagely attacked and almost killed! His pet was a mangled mess! There was a corpse on his bedroom floor. A fucking corpse! Why was he so calm?

It had to be Amy. Death wasn't the end, at least in her case. His intruder could quite well have travelled over to the afterlife and looted properties over there. At least he couldn't kill anyone. They were already gone.

Their interactions had made him familiar with the thought of life ending. It was no longer an unknown or, rather, it was less unknown. Life was life, and death was something else. Not necessarily the end. The idea the man might still survive, in whatever form that could be, irritated him.

"What do you want me to do?"

Bring him here.

Closer.

Close enough to touch the mirror.

Cass nodded and lifted the body by the armpits. He, no, it was heavy, but he managed to drag it across to the foot of the wardrobe. Touching the man should have been repellent. It should have been something Cass was horrified to be doing. He wasn't. He felt nothing. Not even distaste. It could have been a sack of old clothes he was disposing of. Any emotions he might have experienced had been slain along with his dog.

And, so what if the guy had a family? Amy had done them a favour by removing this piece of shit from their lives. Who was to say the violent, criminal nature didn't extend to his family?

Once he was in place, he turned to Amy.

"OK, now what?"

Put his hand against the glass.

"For what? What are you going to do?"

He really should be calling the police, shouldn't he? He should be caring for Bobby, though all he could think of doing was burying the dog in the back garden and placing a marker of some sort. Maybe a small statuette from a garden centre.

Instead, his attention and time were being wasted on this animal.

Help you.

Take him away.

"Take him away? What do you mean? How can you do that? I thought you were hurting after... what we did."

I was.

Am still.

But stronger.

You ripped me from

Whatever held me.

Stronger now.

"But how? What does that mean?"

It means you helped me.

Somehow.

It means I can help you.

With him.

Knowing he and his siblings hadn't caused any lasting damage to Amy's existence was a relief, but he was still unsure what she was going to do. How could she possibly help him with the body? Would he have to dig another grave in his garden for the robber? There'd be no statuette to announce his presence. At most, Cassidy could rotavate the entire grassed area. He'd lay down artificial grass over a thick membrane and an inch or two of sand. It would disguise the location completely and make it appear he was simply updating the current, admittedly tired, landscaping.

It was a lot of work to do for someone who deserved much less, but perhaps it would enable him to hide the body effectively.

He'd just been attacked. Almost killed. His pet had been murdered. He'd had to drag a corpse across his bedroom, and now he was restyling his garden.

And he felt nothing. There wasn't even an adrenaline rush to kick his heart into high gear.

That was fine. He didn't want to feel anything. Not fear or disgust or guilt. He just wanted it done.

"So," he said to Amy. "You want his hand on the glass?"

Yes.

"OK."

Cass took hold of the deceased's wrist. It was the left, and he noticed there was no wedding ring. A dip in the circumference of the third finger, and a lightening of the skin, indicated a ring had been in situ not too long ago. Had he split from his wife? If so, that was one less person to miss him.

Perhaps there would be a wallet in one of the pockets. It would tell Cass where to go to see if any dogs or other pets were going to be left to survive in the absence of their owner. He wouldn't be doing for the man. He didn't want the deaths of any animals on his hands. He gave a shit.

But Amy was right. Knowing the man would change things. There'd be a connection made. Once that would be difficult to break. One that might lead to feelings that might lead to mistakes.

The way Bobby had been treated was a prime example of how much the man thought of animals. There would be no pets. There would only be, hopefully, a single chair in front of a television. A pile of empty lager cans mixed in with empty fast food take out boxes. A kitchen piled high with dirty pots. Piles of unwashed clothes next to piles of unironed ones. A filthy hovel occupied by a lonely, sad man.

It was unlikely that that was the case, but Cass wished it were so. He wished the man who'd made him suffer suffered himself.

He spread the dead man's fingers out and pressed the hand against the glass.

Step back.

He stepped back and waited expectantly.

The lipstick ants shimmered, then began to drip down the glass like blood from a wound. Near the bottom, the drips began to move together to become a single stream. It stopped just before reaching the hand, instead circling it. Then it stopped moving.

More lipstick appeared on the mirror. A large swirl in the centre created a maelstrom of deep red that grew rapidly. When it reached the sides, it, too, stopped moving. Nothing happened for long enough that Cassidy thought Amy had changed her mind. Above the stilled vortex, words formed.

Touch it.

Touch it? As simple as that. He had no idea what was happening, or going to, and had to put all his trust in a ghost. Yes, she had saved his life. Twice now. He did trust her. How could he not? He had to admit to himself, however, he was afraid. She was stronger, she'd said. How would that manifest itself? How would that manifestation affect him?

Cassidy.

Touch it.

He reached out and, with his index finger, did as he was asked.

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