MirrorMirror

42 / Touched

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.