Knife in one hand, flashlight in the other, Finley turned all the way around once, apparently to make sure nobody was creeping up on her from the corridor or the open room beyond the stairs. Then she walked slowly through the middle of the lobby, head swiveling, her light joining Vivian's in skittery sweeps of the area surrounding her.

She is being careful, Abilene thought.

But why doesn't she hurry?

She won't be safe till she's back up here with the rest of us. Gazing over the shotgun barrels, Abilene glanced from post to post, half certain that Hank would leap out from behind one. Her forefinger stroked the front trigger. She brushed her thumb across the upper hammer, tempted to pull it back but resisting the urge.

Don't want to flinch and shoot Finley.

Halting beside Batty, Finley moved her light up and down the body. Then she shone it on Jim. 'How are you doing?'

'Okay, I guess.' A moment later, he looked down at his stained belly and said, 'I don't much like the blood on me. Makes me itchy.'

'I'll be back,' Finley told him. She turned off her flashlight and stuffed it into the rear pocket of her shorts. She threw her knife down. It stuck in Batty a couple of inches below his navel.

'Jesus H. Christ,' Abilene muttered.

Finley smirked up at her. 'Want to keep it in easy reach.'

'That's sick,' Vivian said.

'Hey, I don't hear Batty complaining.' With that, she stepped over to his feet, crouched and grabbed his ankles. She straightened up, raising them. Ankles clutched against her hips, she walked sideways. The body turned, then began to slide as she staggered backward, dragging it.

Abilene glimpsed the smears left on the floor.

Batty's arms trailed behind as if raised overhead in surrender. His breasts wobbled. Then darkness masked him as Vivian's light went away to illuminate the area beyond Finley.

Abilene was glad she couldn't see him now.

He was here to get us, she reminded herself. But that didn't help the heavy sickness she felt.

He wouldn't have wanted to get us if we hadn't gone to his place and robbed him and killed his cat and hurt him.

We did this to him.

But maybe he was evil and maybe we did the right thing, killing him.

I didn't kill him, she told herself. It was Finley's doing.

Finley knew it was him, but she shot him anyway.

Maybe we're lucky she did.

But it's all so horrible. And disgusting. And maybe we'll end up paying for it.

Maybe Hank's the one meant to collect.

With the thought of Hank, Abilene's guilt and revulsion were submerged by fear. She swung her shotgun toward Finley, who might have been a character from one of those plays Vivian had taken them to in New York - a girl struggling to drag a body across the stage, illuminated by a single spotlight.

In front of the registration desk, Finley straightened up and let go of Batty's feet. The legs dropped. Twin thuds as the heels struck the floor.

Finley stood over the body, panting for breath. 'This is... far as he goes.'

'That's fine,' Cora said. 'Get back up here.'

'In a minute.' She lifted the front of her shirt and wiped her face. Then she bent over the body. She pulled out her knife and wiped its blade on a leg of her shorts. 'Don't go anywhere, Batshit.'

'Cut the comedy,' Cora said.

Finley grinned up at her.

'Come on,' Abilene said.

'Hold your water.' Finley headed back the way she'd come. Vivian's light stayed on her, and she didn't bother to take out her own flashlight. Nor did she bother to look around. She strode boldly toward Jim as if she'd forgotten all about the possibility that his brother might be lurking nearby.

'Keep your eyes open,' Abilene warned.

'Hank's not here yet. He would've jumped me by now.'

She's probably right about that, Abilene thought.

'He might show up any second,' Vivian said.

'If he does, Hickok'll blast him. Right?'

Finley stopped in front of Jim. Standing there in a puddle of Batty's blood, she took off her shirt.

'What the hell are you doing?' Cora snapped.

'Just gonna clean him up a little,' Finley said, and slid the knife down the waistband at her hip.

'Are you out of your gourd?' Abilene blurted.

'Christ, Fin,' Vivian said.

'Get back up here,' Cora ordered.

'In a minute. Don't get your shorts in an uproar.' She started rubbing Jim. Her back blocked Abilene's view of exactly what she was doing, but she seemed to be mopping his belly with the wadded shirt. She stood very straight. Her shoulders rocked a little with the movement of her arms. The skin of her back, shiny with perspiration, slid over undulating muscles and shoulder blades. Her hips swayed slightly from side to side.

She's taking her sweet time about it, Abilene thought.

This is more than just wiping off the blood.

The balled shirt came out from between the bodies, wrapped around Finley's left hand. It disappeared behind Jim. Finley's other hand caressed his cheek. Tilting back her head, she eased herself forward.

'She's kissing him,' Vivian blurted.

Not just kissing him - writhing, sliding herself against his bare skin.

'Damn it!' Cora blurted. 'Finley!'

She ignored Cora.

'Somebody better go down and break them up.'

'Yeah,' Abilene murmured.

Jim's arms went around Finley. His hands drifted up and down her back, caressing her. They slipped inside her shorts.

'He isn't tied,' Cora said.

Doesn't seem to bother Finley, Abilene thought.

'He wasn't tied up all afternoon,' Vivian whispered.

'I know, but... Finley!'

Jim's hands came out of her shorts, caressed her back, her sides.

The fingers of his left hand wrapped her knife.

'Watch out!' Abilene shouted as Jim started to draw out the blade.

Finley grabbed his wrist, clamped it against her side. Her mouth broke away from his. 'Jim!' she gasped. 'What're you...?'

Jim drove her backward, right arm squeezing her tight to his Ixxly. Finley squirmed, kicked wildly.

Abilene thumbed back the shotgun hammer. But the only target was Jim's face beside Finley's head. She held fire and then u was too late to shoot.

They were both out of sight beneath the balcony's overhang.

'Fuck!' Cora yelled.

Abilene leaned over the railing. Couldn't see them.

Jump?

Vivian had already thought of that. She had one leg on the railing.

'Don't!' Cora warned.

From below came sounds of a struggle: gasps, grunts, quick smacks of skin against skin, thuds of bodies striking the wall or floor.

'Get down and help her!' Cora blurted. 'Quick! But don't jump, for Godsake.'

Vivian swung her leg back down from the railing and started to run.

'Take this.' Abilene shoved the shotgun, stock first, into Cora's hands. 'Cover us.' She rushed past her and raced along the balcony behind Vivian.

'Cover you?' Cora called.

'Hank!' she shouted.

Hank? If there is a Hank.

She wished she'd kept the shotgun, but she was already leaping down the stairs. Too late to go back for it. And Hank might show up. Cora can watch our backs for us.

Vivian grabbed the newel post and swung herself away from the stairs. She dashed across the lobby, the beam of her flashlight bouncing through the darkness ahead of her.

She hasn't got any weapon at all, Abilene realized.

Remembering her own, she grabbed the handle as she jumped off the last three stairs. She couldn't see the floor. But it found her feet, almost knocking them out from under her. She stumbled, regained her balance, then jerked the knife from her skirt and ran toward Vivian's skittering light.

She switched the knife to her right hand.

God, what if we're too late?

Finley's a wildcat. Maybe she's already nailed the bastard.

Maybe she's dead. Split open like Helen.

A support beam rushed out of the darkness. Abilene tried to dodge it. Her left shoulder pounded it. She cried out as the blow spun her around. She staggered backward, fell. The floor hammered her rump. Then she was up again, running toward Vivian's light.

The light was steady, now. Motionless. Casting a bright cone on Jim and Finley.

She stopped running. There was no longer any need to rush.

She halted beside Vivian. The floor under her shoes was slick with Batty's blood.

'What's going on?' Cora asked.

Vivian raised the light. Cora was looking down from the balcony straight in front of them. She had gotten up. She was leaning over the rail with her elbows on it, the shotgun in her hands.

Nobody answered her question.

The light returned to Jim and Finley.

He was on his knees behind her limp body. She lay on her back, eyes shut, her head raised off the floor, held up by Jim's fist clenched in her hair. His other hand pressed the knife blade against her throat.

Abilene saw no blood on Finley's skin or on the floor beside her.

He hasn't cut her, she thought. Not yet.

But he'd done something to her. She was out cold.

Or dead.

No, not dead. Her belly was moving slightly up and down.