She glanced over her shoulder. The wall she’d strayed from was still visible. “Yes. I think so. Back to the wall. Make a right. And then we follow it until we reach the door, which will be on the left.”
“Very organized.”
“I hope I’m right,” Tammy said. She started to get to her feet. Jerry tried to persuade her back down on the ground.
“I’m too big to be crawling around like this.” she said.
Jerry nodded. “And you know what? I’m too old,” he said. “If she sees us, she sees us. Yes?”
He scrambled to his feet, and together they headed back to the relative security of the wall. There were noises from every direction. Some were the — by now — familiar cries of frustrated ghosts; but there were now also sounds of mounting destruction. The revenants were venting their fury by taking the room apart. Tammy could hear them tearing at the walls, bringing down waves of tiles. And after the shrill crash of breaking tiles came the deeper din of wood beams being smashed, timber wrenched from timber with the squeal of unseated nails.
Tammy and Jerry stayed close to the wall; but the air was quickly filling with particles of dust, which suggested the destruction was getting closer to them. It was impossible to tell from which direction: perhaps from all.
“May I?” Tammy said, slipping her hand into Jerry’s.
“Be my guest.”
The door was in sight now, and though the din was sickening, Tammy dared to think they might get out of this alive, with a little luck.
No sooner had it crossed her mind than there was a massive disturbance in the fog close by — so large a disturbance that the fog actually parted like a pair of drawn drapes.
Tammy dragged Jerry back the way they’d come, two or three steps, no more.
As she did so the ghosts came out of the gaping fog, and flung themselves at the wall around the door. They tore at it — and at the wall surrounding it — with such force that part of the ceiling above the door came crashing down. Pieces of shattered tiles, splintered wood and plaster flew in all directions. Tammy and Jerry turned away and shielded their faces. A barrage of shards peppered their backs.
When the noise of the demolition ceased and Tammy looked back, a haze of plaster dust had replaced the fog. She inhaled and it caught in her throat, reducing her to a coughing, tearful mess. Jerry was in the same, or worse, condition.
Tammy spat out a mouthful of the white soot, and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. Not the smartest thing to do. She felt plaster particles scrape between her irises and her lids; a new flood of tears came. As she wiped them away she felt Jerry catch hold of her arm, seizing her so hard that she stopped coughing, and blinked the tears out of her eyes to cleanse them. Then she looked round at him.
The ghosts who’d demolished the wall were now tearing at the exposed sub-structure of the wall, reducing it to sprinters. But it wasn’t the scene of destruction Jerry was looking at. He was staring ahead back, towards the centre of the room.
“She always knew how to make an entrance,” he whispered.
Tammy followed his gaze.
The drapes of mist were beginning to close again slowly. But walking up between them, like a diva preparing to take her place centre-stage, and armed for this final scene with the knife she’d used to stab Todd, was Katya Lupi.
THREE
“Hello, Tammy,” she said. “I suppose you thought you were going to get out of here alive. Well you’re not. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Enough’s enough, Katya,” Jerry said, doing his best to sound authoritative.
“Oh you know me better than that, Jerry,” Katya replied. “Enough’s never been enough for me.” She looked at Tammy. “Did he tell you I took his virginity? No? He didn’t. Well I did. He was a sad little thirteen year old, with a dick about as big as this.” She waggled her pinkie. “Do I exaggerate, Jerry?”