And I woke up. Thank God, I woke up. And as I sat there, bolt upright in the bed, body wringing wet, limbs trembling, I realized it wasn't the imminent dream-death that had awakened me. The light knocking on the door came again.
Moonlight flooded the room so that the walls, the furniture, the rumpled bedsheet, were bathed ghostly white. I stayed where I was, still in shock, my mind completing the dream that was, in fact, a memory: Coming out of the dive at the last moment, skimming over the treetops, the Fw 190 which had remained in pursuit not so lucky; it'd hit those same trees and exploded into one huge fireball. The German pilot's screaming face, imagined by me as I sat there in the moonlight, resembled Wilhelm Stern's. Fortunately for me on that day almost seven years ago, the rest of my squadron hadn't been far away, and the wing commander himself had hurtled towards me along with two other Hurricanes and chased off the surviving Focke-Wulf, giving me hell over the radio for wandering away from the main battle as he did so. It wasn't the first time I'd had that dream, but it was no worse than any of the others that disturbed my sleep almost every night, drunk or sober.
The rapping on the door came again, still light, but more urgent this time, as though the person outside were becoming impatient. Or desperate. The doorhandle turned, but with no effect - I always kept the door locked at night.
Tossing back the sheet, I snatched my chinos from the foot of the bed and pulled them on. Before going to the door, I picked up the .45 from the bedside cabinet and cocked it. Index finger outside the trigger guard, barrel pointed at the ceiling, I padded barefoot over to the bedroom door.
As if sensing me on the other side, a muffled female voice called softly: 'Hoke, please let me in.'
Quickly turning the key, I opened the door a few inches. I could see only a shadow outside in the hall.
'Please,' she repeated, and I could tell she was close to tears.
I stood aside, pulling the door open a little wider, and Muriel slipped through the gap. The moment the door was shut tight again and I'd turned to face her, she was in my arms, her slender body shivering despite the night's warmth.
I resisted at first, remained stiff, unyielding, gun hand still raised towards the ceiling, the palm of my other hand wavering inches from her back. Then I smelt her sweet perfume and I remembered what a woman's embrace was like. My hand closed against her back, pulling her towards me, and I lowered the gun to my side. I breathed in the aroma of her freshly washed hair, then the scent she'd used on her skin, on her neck, her breasts. I even enjoyed the faint taint of wine still on her lips. A pressure inside me was released, the tightness in my chest loosened. I held on to her for a moment, maybe a few moments, and closed my eyes. My mind reeled in her presence.
It had been so long, so very long...
But the numbness within returned, the rejection of true feelings that was my only defence against the terrible thing that had happened to the world and to me overrode those stirring emotions: I stepped away from her. In the silvery light from the window, I saw the glistening of tears on her cheeks and I saw the confusion in her eyes.
'Hold me,' she asked in a hushed voice.
I couldn't. I didn't want to. I knew if I took her back into my arms I'd lose something that had kept me together these past three years, the detachment I'd come to wear like a suit of armour. I did not want to become vulnerable again.
Her bare shoulders were trembling still and the moonlight shimmered off the silk slip she wore. She watched, her tears catching that same light so that crystals seemed to shine from their trails, then slowly lowered her head.
'I'm so afraid,' she said.
And I gave in, so easily, so goddamn willingly.
Her weeping dampened my naked chest and I felt tiny spasms jerk her whole body with each sob she uttered.
Take it easy,' I said to her quietly, at a loss for any other words of comfort 'We're safe here.'
Her hair was sensuous against my skin. 'I saw them, Hoke,' I heard her say. 'There were so many.'
'Who? Who did you see?'
She lifted her head to gaze up at me. 'I saw their spirits. The people who died in this hotel -I saw their spirits wandering the hallways and corridors. I saw them on the stairways, lost souls, just' drifting, with nowhere to go. It was so sad, Hoke, so pitiful - and so frightening.'
'I told you all not to leave your rooms tonight.' My anger was false, a diversion from what she was telling me, because I didn't want to hear such things. Memories were enough to cope with.
'I had to get out. I needed to see more of this place, perhaps only to revisit better days. Can't you understand that?'
I shook my head. 'It was a stupid thing to do.'
She wasn't listening. 'I went as far as the main stairway, the one by the lift. They were just shadows at first, a shifting in the dark, until they began to emerge, slowly at first, as if my own concentration was helping them take form. Then they were all around me, drifting, floating, and oblivious to each other. Even for those who were together, elegant women in long, flowing dresses on the arms of men in dinner jackets and winged collars, there appeared to be no contact between them. But the anguish in their eyes, the misery in their features.. .' Her head rested against my chest once more. 'Was it only my imagination, Hoke? Or were they real...?'
'A dream, that's all,' I told her as I held her tight, my arms pressed against her back, the gun now awkward in my hand.
'But I wasn't sleeping,' I heard her murmur.
'Illusions, then. Don't you get it? The shock of seeing all those corpses earlier today is still messing with your head. Believe me, I know about it, Muriel, I've been there myself. You, me, Cissie, old Albert Potter, and the German - we're the only living, breathing things in this hotel.'
'I didn't say they were living-'
'There are no ghosts.' She jumped at the anger in my voice. 'The dead are dead. Anything else is
