(I know it's late, but here you go. I hope it makes sense. It's a little... odd.. lmao.)

Jack knows when she visits because of the smell of cigarettes.

It's the same every time. He'll offer her an ash tray and she'll laugh because they both know she doesn't really need one.

"I always wanted to be a smoker," Claire says, lounging on the leather chaise. "Mum was too much of a health nut. Sure, I was rebellious, but that? That was brainwash. I never touched the things."

Jack's tuning her out because he's heard it all before, and he watches her ashes fall from the cherry and disappear into thin air.

"Why are you here?" he asks, just as always, standing beside her.

"Do you remember what it was like?" she says, moving her hands suggestively from her stomach to her breasts and reaches out to rest one on his hip. He can feel her, her hands warm and small, just as they were in life. That's the part that always confuses him.

"Yeah," he says, closing his eyes as she undoes his belt. "I remember."