Tammy didn’t think any of these reconfigurations were good news for Katya. Unobtrusively, she caught hold of the back of Jerry’s shirt, and gently eased him out of Katya’s immediate vicinity.
She moved him not a moment too soon.
An instant later one of the ghosts came barreling out of the mist and caught hold of Katya. Tammy didn’t see the attacker’s face, but she heard the guttural cry which escaped him as he swung his captive around to face the fog.
Katya struggled, but he had her arms pinned behind her, and despite her considerable strength, he was the stronger. “Fuck you, Ramon!” she screamed.
She made a second attempt to wrest herself free of Navarro’s grip, and by sheer vigour succeeded in liberating one of her arms; the one with the knife. She then stabbed wildly at the man who had hold of her: Ramon Navarro. The knife slid into his side, and there it lodged.
Before she could retrieve it he had caught hold of her flailing arm and had pinned it again. Though he had very firm hold of her she still continued to struggle and curse, giving up on English in favour of Romanian. And then, after perhaps thirty seconds of Romanian curses, she gave up completely, and fell silent.
For a moment Tammy thought Navarro had killed her, her silence was so sudden and complete. But-as had always been the case in this house-the truth was not so simple.
The curtain of fog shifted, as though several breezes had pierced it at the same moment. And then, like a troupe of actors appearing to take their final bow, the rest of the revenants began to appear from the mist; four, five, six, seven, eight, ten, twelve-
Their eyes were on Katya; all of them, on Katya. Now she began to struggle with fresh fervor, her movements chaotic and panicky, like those of a trapped animal. Much to Tammy’s surprise, Navarro let her go. She turned on him, instantly, reaching for the knife that was still protruding from his side. But before she could catch hold of it he reached out and grabbed the front of Katya’s dress. Then he pulled, tearing the light pink fabric away from her body and exposing her breasts. The look on her face changed, her fury apparently mellowing. Navarro bent forward and put his face between her breasts.
She let out a light laugh, which was surely artificial, but nevertheless passed for the real thing well enough. He responded by licking the passage of flawless skin up to her throat, wetting it until it shone. Her nipples, aroused by his touch, were hard. Her eyes flickered closed, murmuring something in Romanian; words of appreciation to judge by their tone. Encouraged he moved his mouth down from her throat to her left breast; and as he did so he slipped his arms beneath her legs, and lifted her up.
The ghosts still assembling behind her raised their heads, watching her elevation.
She was laughing for real now, her head thrown back in abandon. Navarro was no longer licking her; he was putting all his effort into lifting her up, higher and higher still, until Katya and her laughter and her shining breasts were above his head.
Katya opened her eyes. The laughter suddenly passed away from her face, as she realized what he’d done. Again, she spoke in Romanian, but this time the words were not so appreciative. Nor did she have long to speak them, before Navarro threw her to the assembled crowd.
She seemed to hang for a long moment in the space between her deliverer’s arms and the hands of those who were ready and eager to receive her.
Then she fell.
Down, down into their open arms; down to be caught by her dead, patient friends, who’d waited so very long to enjoy her hospitality again, and had been so bitterly disappointed.
Finally, after all these years-all her cruelties, all her games, all her indifference-they had her.
She screamed as they laid their cold hands on her flesh; shrieked like a little girl being violated. They ignored her protests, as she had ignored them over the years.