As the gorged and satiated trio prepare to leave, the front door bursts open.
Two dark-suited men, their faces covered by inscrutable black motorcycle helmets, walk in with heavy suitcases. Behind them, buzzed the ear-aching chatter of an approaching army of ten thousand flies.
My ears prick up. It was that annoying buzz that alerted us to her presence; like a thousand insect voices trying to initiate a thousand disparate conversations all at once. I step backwards; partly out of respect, mostly out of knowing what will happen next.
The buzzing drifts closer. There is now a pattern to the distribution, a concentration of insectile dissonance. I squint my eyes and make out the dark cloud of flies continuing to fly in through the door and spilling into my dining room. It grows and coalesc
