Some questions deserve and receive instant replies.

They can be anything from questioning a person's decisions or actions, to saying yes, they want fries with that.

Some questions need a more pondering, thoughtful approach. An answer, one that is carefully worded and weighed, can take time to be given.

There are those questions that are outside the boundaries of normality. They carry significant weight, and because of their subject, an answer must be given urgently. There's no time for consideration.

Asking the identity of a murderer was one such question.

To some, the option of fries might be more important. To the murdered, one would think fries were definitely not a high priority.

Amy smiled.

"I suppose you won't be able to get back to sleep now, will you?"

Cassidy didn't bite. She was being evasive. She didn't want to talk about it, but Cass couldn't let it go. Ignore the fact he was still shaken from the intruder's attack, his dream was clear in his mind and, with it, his first dream. They were not random adventures, conjured by his mind. They were an insight. A memory. Not from Any, given the viewpoint.

From her killer.

From her father.

"Not until you answer me," he said.

Amy shook her head emphatically.

"No," she said. "I can't. Just leave it."

"I can't leave it. I need to know. You need to tell me. I can help!"

"You can't! It's not safe! Why do you need to know so badly?"

"Because he's in my head!"

"W... What?"

Cass could see the horror in her face and regretted the force with which he'd spoken. He could understand Amy's reticence, but he couldn't let it go. He was still able to feel the anger her father had felt. The delight he'd taken in hurting his daughter. The only way to erase those feelings was to discuss them. To exorcise them.

To find the bastard and make him pay.

"He's, like, in my head. I've been dreaming about him. About you."

"What about us?"

"The way he treated you. The things he did."

"What things? He didn't do anything to me. He loved me. He always told me he loved me."

"As he locked you in a wardrobe? This wardrobe? As he beat you? And God knows what else!"

"No. You're wrong. Nothing like that ever happened."

"It didn't? Do you promise it didn't?"

Amy didn't answer. She was crying silently. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and Cassidy was sure they were showing on the surface of the glass. He was right, he knew it. She could deny it all she wanted, but it didn't mean he believed her. He'd felt it too closely. He had seen it.

"That's what I thought," Cassidy said, softening his voice to remove the angry edge.

"Why are you doing this?" Amy asked quietly.

"Because he shouldn't get away with it," Cass said. "He treated you like an animal, and he enjoyed it! And no one ever found out!"

"They didn't catch him?"

"No. They didn't. He dumped you in a ditch. I told you this."

"I know. It's just hard to take in."

Cass breathed a heavy sigh. Never having been murdered, he would never know exactly what this conversation would do to her. Some of it was selfish. He didn't want a dream like that again or feel those things. Mostly, though, he wanted justice for someone he'd grown to care about. He wanted the man who'd killed her to be found.

Taking the mirror to the police station and asking Amy to give a statement wasn't the ideal way to achieve that. Away from the house, there was no guarantee she'd be able to speak. The séance and the burglar had given her strength, but the séance has also caused her immense pain. He refused to risk repeating that.

There had to be another way.

"I don't doubt it," he said. "Why didn't you tell me before? We could have done something."

"No," she said. "It's too dangerous. I've told you this."

"You have, but why? The police can get him."

"How will they believe you? They definitely won't believe or understand me."

"I'll make them. We can make them."

"We can't. If they haven't caught him by now, he's been careful."

"Or lucky."

"Don't underestimate him," Amy said. "He's not stupid. And he is determined."

"I could say the same about me."

"Yes, but you've yet to kill anyone. I wasn't his first."

What the actual fuck?

"What do you mean? He's killed before?"

Cass had taken a step towards the mirror, as he would if a real person, one of flesh and blood, had been standing there. If Amy had shoulders, he would possibly have grabbed them. Instead, he could only place his palms against the wardrobe.

"He has," Amy said, nodding. "Maybe more than once, I don't know?"

"What makes you say that?"

"If he murdered me and the other one, then who's to say it didn't happen before, too?"

"Who else was it?"

Amy's face dimmed slightly, as if a shadow had flitted across the glass, or she had retreated for a second.

"My mum."

"No! You're joking!" Cassidy realised the term 'joking' wasn't the right one to use in such a conversation. It was just a term of shock, but this certainly was no joke. "I don't mean joke..."

"I know what you mean. And no, I'm not."

She drew a deep breath, then exhaled. Cassidy was expecting condensation to appear on the mirror, but there was none. Did she breathe but have no breath?

"No, of course not. He killed your mother?"

"Yes. They had an argument. Another one. They always argued. He'd been drinking, as usual. She was trying to appease him, as usual."

"And it escalated?"

"Yeah. She yelled at him to drop dead. He said, 'You first,' then just launched at her. He was punching and kicking like he was, I don't know, mad!"

"Then what happened? Where were you?"

"I was on the stairs. They were in the kitchen. I saw it. He saw me watching."

"Shit. No way!"

"Yeah. He didn't stop for... ages. When he had, he nudged her with his toe. When she didn't move, he said, 'So you do do as you're told.'"

"He's mental."

"And the rest," Amy said. Her voice was calm and her face was impassive. She was controlling her emotions well. "He shouted me through. Told me to clean up the mess my mum had made. Told me the same would happen if I said anything."

"Was he already locking you in the wardrobe by then?"

"Yeah, but not as much. Only if I was really bad."

"Bad, how?"

"Bad in any way he didn't approve of. I could cough or sneeze or accidentally interrupt him."

"Didn't your mum try to stop him? Back you up?"

"She tried, but she was scared of him. Scared he might do something."

"Which he did."

"Yeah, and they were arguing about me."

"What about you?"

"I'd spilled my drink upstairs. That was why I was coming down. He went mad. Mum tried to stop him. To save me, I suppose. I think she got what I would have."

"I'm sorry."

"It's my fault."

"What, that he killed her?"

"Yeah. If I wasn't so clumsy, she'd still be here."

"Or he would have found another excuse, and you'd both be dead."

"We are!"

Cassidy closed his eyes and stepped back. Idiot! What a moronic thing to say!

"Erm... Yeah. Yes, you are. I meant... he'd have got you earlier or both of you together of something."

"Maybe."

"You can't blame yourself, Amy. He was a monster. There was nothing you could have done."

"Maybe."

"You need to let me do something."

"What? What can you do?"

"Tell someone, maybe. Or confront him."

"No! Forget that! Promise me you won't!"

"He can't get away with it, Amy. He needs to face what he's done!"

"Cass Cass, he has got away with it! It's been seven years!"

She was right. It had been too long. Any trail or evidence would be long gone. And he had no evidence. Nothing material. Nothing he could actually present to anyone.

"I... I know. I just hate to see him, not face what he's done."

"Me too, but what can we do? Nothing!"

Cass paced the room, skirting the spot where Bobby had landed. The area the man had been was not so carefully avoided. That would be trampled as much as possible in the hope it could be felt wherever the bastard was now.

He stopped suddenly and ran back to the mirror.

"Do you trust me, Amy?"

"Yes... Why?"

"I have an idea."

https://youtu.be/YvTudqbdz_A