MirrorMirror

44 / Mother

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.