Chapter 40: Snakefoot

Mary's sickness was starting to be routine. "You on one a them new drugs?" Polly asked her one morning after Mary threw up, yet again.
  "What new drugs?"
  "Aintcha heard? It's all over the news. Buncha new drugs hittin' the streets all over -- real rough stuff."
    "No. I'm not on drugs."
    "Maybe you should be. You look like you could use somethin'."

----
    Desiree Caliente looked up from her work suddenly, surprised. A slim, sandy-haired, blue-eyed youth looking to be about 12 years of age stood by her desk.     "Excuse me, miss," he said.
"What are you doing here? How did you get in here? Are you lost?" Desiree asked.
"I don't think so," the youth stuttered.
"What do you want?"
"I'm looking for Mr. Screwtape," the boy answered.
"How do you know that name? Who are you?" Desiree demanded.
"He's expecting me. I'm Snakefoot," the boy said with a wry smile.

----
The next day, Mary was feeling better. She went to work. Polly raised one eyebrow, but said nothing. Her eyes said, "Well, it's about time." Hungry Jim kept his distance from Mary. Something about her seemed to demand respect. His orders almost sounded like requests.
Mary's mood improved along with her health. She barely paid any notice when Joe and Demondra came into the cafe, she hanging all over him, he fiercely blushing. Mary went up to their table. "What would you like, sir?" was what she said. What she thought was, "It looks like you've got what you want." Joe managed to order the usual, and managed to eat it. Demondra coyly poked at her food, her eyes ogling Joe.
Mary was beginning to think she could get over this; get over Joe. She went home and cooked supper for herself and Polly. For the first time in months she fell asleep quickly, easily, without fear.
[Mary was walking along a bright sandy beach, watching blue waves froth at the top and come rolling onto the shore. Sandpipers ran away from each wave expending itself into a ripple, then followed it as it receded, digging for juicy tidbits in the sand. Mary let the cool water wash over her toes. Looking down into the clear water, she saw a shell and bent down to pick it up. Underneath the shell was a brown patch that looked like another shell partially covered by sand. Mary brushed away some of the sand, and the patch grew larger. She could see this was no ordinary shell. It was hard, and as she pushed away more sand, she saw it had a gold stripe down the middle. Eagerly, Mary got down on her knees and began digging. The more she dug, the more excited she became. The object grew. She dug ferociously. She tugged and pulled, getting out of breath. The object began to take on shape. It appeared to be a box. She dug down on all sides. It looked like an old pirate treasure chest, but small enough to carry. Mary didn't dare to open it. Instead, with all her might, she pulled it free from the sucking sand. It was the most beautiful box she had ever seen. She cradled it in her arms and continued down the beach. Palmettos, seagrass and palm trees were to her right as she walked. Then a pathway opened in the shrub. Mary turned into the pathway. The farther she walked, the deeper and thicker the undergrowth. Tall trees loomed up and shut out the light. The pathway grew narrower and narrower. Finally it disappeared altogether. Mary had to pick her way through dense jungle. Thorns and prickly things tugged at her, but she clung to her treasure chest.
[Suddenly terror gripped her. She had the feeling she was being watched. Eyes everywhere in the undergrowth. Mary began to run, the thorns tearing her clothes and her skin. Now she knew what the followers were after -- her treasure! She clutched her treasure tighter and tighter, stumbled and ran and ran and ran and...]
Mary woke up in a cold sweat. The dream had been more real, and thus more terrifying than any before. She got up, still groggy from sleep and affected by the dream. Polly was still sleeping. Mary started making breakfast. The sounds of pans clanging and the smell of coffee and bacon reached Polly's nose and ears, in that order.
"Smells good. Sounds terrible," a sleepy Polly said when she entered the kitchen. "What gets you up so early?"
"Couldn't sleep," Mary answered. Well, that was half true, anyway.
They finished their breakfast in silence. Polly had the early shift at Hungry Joe's. "I got some things to do before work," she said. "Thanks for breakfast." Mary nodded. Polly got dressed and left. Mary watched TV. The news was all about the latest battles in the drug wars. New, more powerful drugs popping up every day. Mary switched the channel. She had enough bad news in her own life. A talk show was all about somebody's boyfriend sleeping with somebody's sister. Yelling and screaming. Mary didn't need that either, and settled for a game show. At least there, somebody might win something good.
Then it was time for lunch. Mary got up and started warming up some chili on the stove when she heard a knock on the door. She went and opened it.
A sandy-haired, blue-eyed boy of about 12 stood on the porch. "Excuse me, miss. Can you tell me the way to Indian Springs?" he asked.
The boy's image evoked sympathy. His jeans had holes in the knees. His sneakers were worn and dirty. His eyes were bright, but somehow sad.
"It's a long way," Mary sad. "How you gonna get there?"
The boy just shrugged.
"You hungry?"
The boy lowered his head, half nodding.
Mary took half a step forward. She was about to invite him into the house, when all of a sudden, a cold shiver went through her body. She froze. The boy noticed her hesitation. A fleeting look of anger and threat flashed over his face and vanished, to be replaced by a downcast, humble composure. The transformation of the boy's face occurred so rapidly that Mary could not be certain she had seen it.
"Wait here," she said. Mary closed the door, went into the kitchen and returned with an apple and baked potato. She decided it would take too long to make a sandwich. She felt uncomfortable. She wanted the youth gone; the sooner the better. She opened the door and handed him the snack, but he did not go away.
"Could I come in for a bit?" he asked meekly. "I'm sure tired."
"No," Mary said firmly. "We don't accept strangers into our house."
His head still bowed, Snakefoot was boiling with rage. He could force his way in. He could refuse to leave. But that was against the rules; against the strict guidelines of conduct for undercover underworld operatives. You had to gain the miserable creatures' confidence; use their own weakness against them. He turned to go, then tripped on the step. He fell. "Ow!" he muttered. He just lay there, not moving.
Mary didn't budge to help him. She was growing more and more suspicious. "Do you want me to call an ambulance?" she asked.
"No...no...I think I'll be all right." Still seething, Snakefoot rose to his feet and limped pitifully away.

Chapter 39: Call in the Snake

Mary felt her life had reached a new low. She almost felt she had been better off with her drugged out mother and her mother's vicious boyfriends. At least then she had known what to expect; not to have any hope. Far worse to get a glimpse of paradise and have it snatched away. She vomited again. She had lost any desire to get up and go to work; or even get out of bed. She felt sick. Her stomach hurt. Somehow, it did not affect her appetite. Days dragged on. She was getting fat from voracious eating and no exercise.

Glubwart was gratified. He had gotten rid of the girl's last tie with humanity. It was so easy! How easily the creatures are swayed, diverted. Maybe now he could make real progress. He reported in to Screwtape, "Some success with the small town female, sir. Cut off from the male, societal support. Expect great strides soon." Screwtape was pleased, but careful not to give Glubwart any hint what he was thinking. "One jewel. No guarantee. Report progress on Project Sugarloaf." Glubwart sighed. "Testing some interesting chemicals. Expect great things." Glubwart didn't want to give a lot of detail about his research. He was afraid Screwtape would steal his ideas and claim credit.

As soon as Glubwart got off the line, Screwtape called Intelligence Chief Brazenwit again. "What did you find out for me on that girl?" Screwtape demanded. "Nothing much, sir," Brazenwit responded. "Boring, really. Father abandoned family, mother a drug prostitute, let her beaus 'play' with the daughter. Daughter left home. You know the rest, I believe. Glubwart is working the case."

Screwtape hung up the phone. He was disturbed. He was beginning to think that Glubwart was on to something. His instincts told him something was going on with the girl -- something big. It bothered him that intelligence wasn't able to come up with more information.

"Miss Caliente."

"Yes?"

"Get me Snakefoot."

Desiree Caliente's blase attitude changed instantly. "Yes, sir," she answered sharply. Snakefoot was the demon other demons fear -- almost as much as they fear The Underlord Under All; more than they fear The Enemy. Snakefoot's reputation had attained the status of myth in the Underworld. Snakefoot is reputed behind every terror known to man or demon. His cunning confounds the wiliest devils. No demon has ever seen Snakefoot; none knows what he looks like.

Trembling, fearsome demoness Desiree Caliente touched the requisite buttons on the telephone.

"Well?" came a rasping tone.

"Mr. Screwtape needs -- requires your assistance," Desiree managed to blurt out.

"What else is new. All the stuffed, bloated masters need my help, then they take the credit. What's it this time -- some snot-nosed kid needs to be tempted with candy? A little old lady won't fudge her income tax returns?"

"Mr. Screwtape will brief you on the details," Desiree said, testily. The click on the other end of the line told Desiree that Snakefoot was in no mood for chit-chat.

Chapter 38: Treachery

Hungry Jim pretended not to be surprised to see Mary. By mutual consent, Mary said nothing, but just went to work as if nothing had happened between them. She made sure, however, that she was never alone with Jim again, especially not at closing time. It was an unspoken, uneasy truce.

    Mary lapsed into coma-like unconcern. It no longer mattered to her that Polly took the best customers, the high-tippers, or that she managed to make Mary do the menial tasks like making iced tea and clearing the tables.

Life was on automatic pilot. One day merged mirthlessly into the next. Why didn't Joe come? Why didn't he come?

    Mary was still cleaning up after the breakfast crowd when customers started coming in for lunch. She finished up and went out to check on the guests. She took one step into the dining area and froze. Unable to move, breathe.

    Joe was sitting at the table near the window. He was leaning forward, looking into the eyes of a stunning blonde. The girl had long, wavy hair and sparkling blue eyes. Although she seemed young, she had a full figure almost bordering on plump. She had a mysterious, ageless quality. Despite her cheerful smile, there was an underlying seriousness; a maturity that hinted she might be older than she appeared. She was smiling at Joe and talking. Mary thought she was going to be sick. At last she managed to take a deep breath. A moment later she was able to put one foot in front of the other. She walked up to the table.

    "May I help you?" she asked.

    Joe looked up, surprised. "I -- I didn't know you were back here," he blurted out.

    "Had to make some money," Mary replied. "May I take your order?" Joe couldn't look her in the eye. He bowed his head and muttered something. Mary brought his usual -- cheeseburger and fries. The rest of the day was a blur.

    Mary decided her life was over. She went home and promptly vomited. She hoped she was dying. She felt that she was dying.

    The screen door banged. Mary wasn't dead. Polly stood there, a smirk on her face. "Joe was too nifty for me, too," she said. "We're not in his class. You'll get over it. We all do." Mary turned away. She said nothing. She went to bed early.

    [Mary was running, running, running. Something terrible was chasing her. She could sense it. Terror gripped her. She ran faster. The demon ran faster. Now she could hear its heavy footsteps. Blackness all around. The ground turned to muck, clutching at her. Branches reached out to grab her. She felt the demon's breath on her neck. She turned, fists flailing. She screamed.]

"You goin' nuts on me?" Polly was shaking her. "Wake up. Cut it out."

Mary struggled to wake, struggled to shake the dream from her conscious thoughts. She staggered into the kitchen and started trying to make breakfast. Suddenly she felt ill. She ran to the kitchen sink and heaved. Her stomach turned on itself, cramping, aching.

    "What's wrong with you, girl?" Polly asked. "You still mooning over Joe?" She paused and laughed. "-- Or is it morning sickness?" Mary didn't go to work.

-----

    Joe had his arm around the blonde beauty, who said her name was Demondra. She was an even bigger mystery than Mary. She had just arrived in town and caught Joe's eye (and the eye of every other male in Centreville). But she had -- a wonder -- seemed attracted to Joe. When he tried to find out who she was, where she came from, who her folks were, she was vague. It seemed as if she had simply fallen out of the sky. What were the chances? Mary and Demondra -- two girls suddenly appear in sleepy Centreville out of the blue.

    But Demondra agreed to go out with Joe. He wasn't about to question his luck. She let him take her to the railroad trestle on their first date. He got farther with her than he had with any girl. His head was swimming. He couldn't believe his good luck.

    Joe's mother was watching from the window when he came home. "When are you going to let me meet your new girlfriend?" she asked.

    "Sometime. Don't rush me."

    The next night, Joe took her out again. His blood was pounding in his head. He drove to the trestle, found a secluded spot. Demondra wrapped her arms tightly around him and sucked his breath away. As they grappled, somehow her clothing seemed to slip away. Joe did not sense the scales, sharp teeth and claws beneath her soft, luscious exterior. She screamed triumphantly when he exploded.

Chapter 37: Down by the river

Mary had been staying with Polly for several weeks. It wasn't working out. Polly never mentioned it, but her facial expression plainly spoke: She was tired of paying all the rent and buying all the food. Mary couldn't find a job. She couldn't go back to Hungry Jim's. Joe hadn't visited her at all, though he knew where she was staying. Maybe there was something between him and Polly.

    Mary's dreams had been darker and deeper. She was not sleeping well. She rolled out of bed later and later each day. Without anything to do, it was easy to stay in bed.

    This morning she got up at ten. Polly had already left for work. There was a note on the kitchen table: "You could at least do the dishes." Mary crumpled the note and threw it in the garbage can. Then she did the dishes and went outside. She didn't know where she was going. Dark eddies of thought swirled in her brain; terrible images; fights with her mother; her mother's "friends"; Hungry Jim; Uncle Jonathan; Joe; then Joe's face replaced by something dark and sinister.

    She wandered, not paying attention to where she was going. Suddenly she found herself on the bank of the river. She stood for a long time staring into the dark, swirling current. With a start, she felt rather than saw someone close by. She whipped her head around and saw the old shriveled black man. His eyes were boring into her.

    "What do you want?" Mary demanded. "Why do you keep following me?"

    "Make his paths straight," the old man croaked.

    "Whose?"

    "Protect him. There are those that seek the child's life."

    "What child?"

    The old man turned and disappeared into the brush.

    "Crazy old man!" Mary said out loud. But something told her she should pay attention. But how? What? It didn't make any sense.

    It was late afternoon by the time she returned to the white shingle house in the formerly middle class neighborhood. In recent years the neighborhood had become run-down.

    Polly was home from the early shift. She had been working a split shift since Mary had left Hungry Jim's. She was Mary's age, but looked older, a little taller; dirty blonde hair with green eyes and an easy smile that could just as easily snap into a sneer. Her face was hard and tanned, hinting at years of toil in the fields.

    "Well, where have you been all day, Queen Mary?"

    "Down by the river."

    "Tough day; guess somebody's gotta do it."

    "Polly -- I want to help. I can't find anything. Do you think I could come back to the restaurant?"

    "I thought you weren't coming back."

    "I know. I know. I don't want to.

Chapter 36: The trouble with Mary

The deadline was growing near for Screwtape's overlings, and Glubwart was no nearer having something to show his boss. He was still engrossed in Mary's case. His plan seemed outwardly to be going well, but he was troubled by the way she was responding -- or rather, to the way she was not responding to the predicament Glubwart was helping contrive for her. There was something impenetrable about her inner being. Glubwart had never encountered such difficulty getting to the innermost workings of a human psyche. He had won over hundreds -- thousands -- with much less effort. He had no trouble getting into her dreams, but when he tried to go deeper, he was met with a confusing, nebulous cloud. Something was going on with the girl. She seemed to have too much of the enemy's power, and he couldn't figure out why. There was nothing in her history to suggest any reason for it. She had never seen the inside of a church. Her thoughts were easily accessible to Glubwart; but what lay underneath was like a subterranean sea.

    Got to find some way to get to her. Cut her off, isolate her. Her last tie seems to be that young fool. Cut him off -- out of the picture

Chapter 35: Warning

Mary walked purposefully, although she wasn't aware of any specific destination. The Langston home was situated on a hill. Mary descended toward the town, sinking with each step. She walked past the department store, the post office and Hungry Jim's Cafe, then on down to the bottom, where the railroad cut made a red gash in the landscape.

    The road led out of town. Mary followed. The gas station sat at a fork in the road. The right fork led up a ridge and beyond to Morrisville. The left dipped down toward the river. Mary pretended to be surprised to find herself on the bank of the muddy, swirling river.

    She sat on a log for a long time, staring into the current. A leaf came downstream and got caught in a whirlpool. Round and round, round and round. "Just like me," Mary thought. "Round and round, nowhere to go."

More leaves, a stick, a large tree limb, assorted cans and debris; everything headed out to sea. Finally, Mary grew tired and stood up to go. Suddenly she froze; terrified, not knowing why. She felt a presence. She quickly turned to her left and saw the withered old black man she had seen that day on the hill. He was just standing by a bush on the river bank. He was looking straight ahead, not at Mary. "There are those who seek the child's life," he croaked.

    "What child?" Mary asked.

    The old man ignored her. "Sanctuary! Seek sanctuary!" he cried.

    "What are you talking about, you crazy old man?" Mary was getting annoyed. The old man continued to ignore her. She turned to head back up the path to the road, when movement caught her eye; something blue flashed in the bushes farther up the bank. Mary went to investigate. "Who's tromping around?" a voice called. Polly stepped out of the bushes.

    "How long have you been there?" Mary asked.

    "Boy trouble; thought I'd throw myself in," Polly answered Mary's unasked question. "You too?"

    "Boy trouble; yes," Mary said.

    "Joe" Polly said. It was a statement, not a question.

    "Long story," Mary said.

    "I know the plot," Polly answered.

    "Don't think you do."

    "So what now? Where are you going?" Polly asked. Mary shrugged.

    "Might as well go home -- the river looks kinda dirty, anyway, don'tcha think?"

    Mary glanced over her shoulder at where the old man had been standing. He was gone.

Chapter 34: Escape

It was still pitch dark. Mary shivered into her jeans and blouse. She gathered her clothes, toothbrush and comb and stuffed them in an old laundry bag. She eased open her door and crept down the hall, into the living room and up to the front door.

    There was nowhere to go, but staying here was impossible.

She turned the knob and opened the door. She walked down the twisted, bramble-encroached dirt driveway leading away from Uncle Jonathan's and back toward the county road. Many times she almost turned around. Branches clutched at her, but she kept plodding on.

    At the county road she was able to hitch a ride into town. It was still too early for Joe to be home from school. She was tired. Sit on a park bench to kill time. Time went by so slowly. A police car slowly drove by, making her nervous. She got up and meandered down to the creek bed, where she sat in the shade of a tree. The breeze hinted of an early spring.

    Finally it was time. Joe should be home. She made her way to Joe's house. Hesitantly, she went up the front stone steps, halted; onto the wide front porch, halted; to the front screen door. She stopped again, drew a deep breath, and knocked. No one came. Mrs. Langston was usually home. Where could they be?

    She had no money. She couldn't go back to Hungry Jim's. She went out behind Joe's house to the wooded area she had fled to before. She waited. She waited some more. She was famished. No breakfast, no lunch.

    Finally, she gave in to her hunger. She went back to the Langston house and tried the back screen door. It was unlocked, as all the doors in Centreville were. Mary made her way to the kitchen and found a loaf of bread and a bowl of fruit on the table. She helped herself.

    Time dragged. Mary stared at the kitchen wallpaper decorated with country scenes; barns, fields, homesteads, kitchens. The Langston home was well furnished but not ostentatious. It testified to the character of the owners: comfortable, genteel middle class.

    After an interminable time, Mary heard the front door. She got up and went into the living room. Mrs. Langston was putting down some packages. She looked up, startled. “Mary! My goodness!”

    “Forgive me, Miz Langston. I had nowhere else to go. I was so hungry.”

    “What is it, child?”

    “I couldn't stay out there any longer.”

    “At Jonathan's? No. Joe shouldn't have brought you there in the first place.”

    “Is Joe...?”

    Miz Langston nodded. “He'll be along directly. I had some shopping to do. Sit down. What can I get you to eat?”

    “I ate some of your bread and fruit.”

    “That's not enough; let me make you a sandwich.”

    “No, thank you.”

    “Nonsense. You've got to eat.” Miz Langston busily fixed a roast beef sandwich and watched while Mary ate.

    After a brief pause, Miz Langston said, “Tell me all about it, dear.”

    “Miz Langston...I can't.”

    “I wish you could confide in me.”

    A noise at the front door saved Mary from having to answer. It was Joe. Mary ran to him. His mother turned away.

    “I couldn't stay there any more,” she wailed. She hugged him hard. Joe was embarrassed. He tried to pull away.

    “What's wrong?” he asked.

    “I can't...”

    Miz Langston noisily cleared her throat. “I'll leave you two alone,” she said, reluctantly. When she was gone, Joe said, “Well?” Mary pulled him outside on the porch.

    “I don't know, Joe,” she finally said, after a long silence. “I don't know for sure.”

    “You don't know for sure – what?” he demanded.

    “Last night – I had a dream...”

    “Another dream!” Joe exclaimed.

    “If you don't care, what's the point?” Mary said.

    “I'm sorry – go ahead.”

    “I felt like … like I was being smothered. When I woke up, I heard Uncle Jonathan going down the hall.”

    “You mean you think he...he?” Joe stammered.

    “I don't know. I only know I couldn't stay there any longer.”

    "Where will you? I mean..."

    Mary turned away so Joe wouldn't see her quickly wipe away a tear.

    "We've got to find a new place for you to stay."

    "I've got to go to the bathroom."

    When Mary closed the bathroom door, Joe went to his mother. "We've got to let her stay here, Mom."

    "What's the matter? What did she say?"

    "She said Uncle Jonathan..."

    "No. You mean? First Jim and now Jonathan? Joe, look now. Do you honestly think she's so attractive that men can't stay away from her? Maybe she's the one sending signals. Joe -- I know you like her, but...you've got to think about your future. What if she's pregnant? You've got your whole life ahead of you. You don't really know anything about this girl."

    "Mom...I think...I think I love her."

    "Maybe you do. But you're young yet. Plenty of time to consider. You'll be going to college next year. Meanwhile, she cannot stay here. It would be a scandal."

    "But where can she go? We can't just turn her out!"

    "Joe -- consider our position, our reputation, our neighbors. We can't have anything to do with her. She can go to the shelter."

    "But what about me?"

    "You must wait. Wait until this all blows over. Graduate. Go to college. If you still feel the same way then, we can talk."

    At that moment, Mary returned from the bathroom, ending their private conversation.

    Time froze. No one knew what to say. Mary's open expression found no home in Miz Langston's cool eyes. Joe stared at his shoes. It was Miz Langston who broke the logjam. "Well, Mary," she asked, neither breezily nor sternly, "What will you do now?"

    "I...I don't know, Miz Langston. I just don't know."

    "Well, let's sit down and think it over," Miz Langston said.

    "I've got...No...I think I better go," Mary said. She had to get out of here -- now.

    "Mary -- wait!" Joe cried. She brushed past him, hurried out the door and down the front steps. Something -- someone was leading her, guiding her, pushing her.

    "Mary -- wait!" Joe started after her, but was held back by his mother's hand on his shoulder.

    "Let her go, son," she said. "She has things to sort out; she must do it on her own."

    Joe pulled loose from his mother's grasp and ran after Mary.

    "Where are you going?" Joe said as he caught up with Mary. He caught her shoulders and turned her around.

    "I don't know," she said.

    "You just can't go running off with no plan."

    "I don't know. I just know I have to go."

    "Where will you stay? You've got to tell me."

    That did it. Mary had been trying to hold up. Now she broke down, sobbing on Joe's shoulder. She had found a refuge with him, and now the refuge was being closed to her.

    "I don't know. I don't know. I can't stay here."

    "I can't let you go."

    "You can't?" Mary sobbed again. "You have to. There's nothing you can do for me. You're still in school. You have to go to college. You can't have me around your neck."

    "That's just where I want you," Joe said.

    Mary just shook her head. "It's impossible."

    "Why? Kids drop out of high school all the time...get...get married."

    "That's not you. For you, it's impossible."

    "I can't let you go. I -- I love you."

    "You're killing me!" Mary broke down again. Between sobs, she choked, "I...love...you...too!"

    "Then stay."

    But Mary shook her head again, violently. "I can't. I can't."

    Joe saw he was getting nowhere. He eased his grip on her shoulders. "I can't lose you. If I let you go, you have to promise to stay in touch. Let me know where you are; how to find you."

    Mary nodded, unable to speak.

    "Promise!" Joe demanded.

    "I...I promise."

    "Listen. Don't go far. There's a shelter here in town, you know. Try there. Let me take you."

    But she shook her head again. "I've been on my own for some time. I can take care of myself."

    "But I want to take care of you!" Joe cried.

    "You're killing me. Don't you know how much I want it? Want you? But I can't. We can't. Not now."

    Joe hugged Mary tight, crushing her against his chest. He held her for a long time, increasing the pressure, his face buried in her hair; the scent of her. Finally she pushed back, and he released his bear hug enough for her to wipe away a tear and smile.

    "I've got to breathe, you know," she said. Both laughed.

    That broke the spell. They stayed that way for an hour, talking as if nothing had happened; talking as if they were not about to be separated, perhaps forever.

    When at last it was time to go, Mary said, "OK. I've got to go now."

    "Remember your promise," Joe said. "Call me. Write. Whatever."

    "I will. I will." Mary freed herself from Joe's grasp. Then he grabbed her once more, hugged and kissed her hard. He thought if held her hard enough, he could hold her forever.

    But he couldn't. Mary broke free, turned and headed down the street. Joe stayed rooted, helpless. She turned and waved several times before she got to the corner. She stopped one last time, waved, then she was gone.

Chapter 33: Desperation

Mary's depression was deepening. It had been weeks since she arrived at Uncle Jonathan's farm. She didn't trust him. The way he looked at her chilled and disgusted her. Joe's visits were becoming less and less frequent. She was beginning to feel that she could not depend on him. She couldn't depend on anyone.

    Mary had not been inside a church since long before her father deserted his family. She didn't know how to pray; didn't know if there was a God. But she felt a whisper in her soul; a faint whiff of something, she didn't know what. She addressed that Something: “Get me out of here. Show me the way. Tell me what to do. I'm tired. I'm at the end. I can't do it.”

    Uncle Jonathan was on the front porch, as usual. Getting more drunk than usual. Mary went to bed early. She couldn't bear to watch him any longer.

Her dream returned. She was back among the marble columns. There was a sparkling fountain and clear, clean pool. A lush green garden lay beyond the marble statues. She lay down on the granite bench and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. At once she was enveloped in indescribable confidence, peace and joy. Mary was happier than she had ever been in her life. She wanted this feeling to last forever.

    But, as before, it didn't. The white dream faded, and in its place darkness descended on Mary, pinning her beneath its monstrous weight. She fought wildly for breath. She was losing consciousness. She was unable to scream.

Mary awoke with a start. She thought she heard Uncle Jonathan's sluggish footsteps going down the hall.

Chapter 32: Sins of the mother

Murphy Updike’s life was messed up. With a capital MU. His mother was an overweight pothead who had had countless male friends. She didn't know which one was Murphy's father. She had run away from home as a teenager to be free of her parents' constant harping to study hard, get a job, clean her room, etc. etc. etc. She had been fired from several jobs for her poor attitude, slovenly dress and under performance. She subsisted on food stamps and welfare.

    Her current companion had been in and out of her life a dozen times. Some of her “friends” had treated Murphy well. Most had not. Some, when they tired of his mother's charms, satisfied their lusts on the young boy. When Murphy cried and begged and pleaded with his mother, she told him, “shut up.” When she told her companion about Murphy's complaints, it went even harder on Murphy. Murphy spent most of his youth locked in dark closets after being beaten.

    Murphy had little intelligence and little imagination. Due to his experience with his mother and his mother's companions, he had little interest in the opposite sex. He ran away several times, in his teen years. But he always came back, to receive more beatings. Finally, he “outgrew” the beatings, as most children outgrow measles or mumps. It was simply awkward; he was too big to beat, so his mother's companions just ignored him.

    Murphy fell in with the lifestyle at the cluttered, dirty, two-bedroom wooden house with peeling paint that had once been white. He sampled marijuana at her mother's “parties,” then moved on to more serious drugs; anything he could get. Petty theft came as naturally as video games to other youngsters.

    Murphy remained in a constant state of drug and alcohol-induced stupor.

At one particularly heavily drug-laced gathering, the house was full of zombie-like creatures in various states of dress and consciousness. The air was thick with scent and smoke. One morning Murphy awoke in his mother's bedroom, in his mother's bed, in his mother's arms.

    Murphy's first murder came two weeks later. It was a young barfly who sold her body for drugs. More followed. The police, inured to violence, were sickened by the conditions of the corpses. All their faces had been ripped off. The case dragged on for months before the killings came to an abrupt end. A tragic fire, apparently touched off by candles, claimed the lives of Monica Updike, Murphy Updike, and a dozen other young people. There had been a party. The victims succumbed to smoke inhalation in their sleep.

- - -

    “Mr. Glubwart on line one,” Desiree Caliente reported to her boss. Screwtape sighed and picked up the phone. “Well, what is it?”

    Glubwart could scarcely keep himself from crowing. “A major coup, sir. One I've been working for quite a while. The mother, the son...”

    “How many?” Screwtape interrupted. He didn't want to hear any self-serving back slapping.

    “Twenty-six jewels, sir, fairly delivered. Twenty-six to zip.” Glubwart was crestfallen that he didn't get to brag about the details.

    “Much better.” Screwtape wasn't in the mood to be generous. He had bigger fish to fry. Much bigger. He hung up before Glubwart could continue.

“Miss Caliente. Give me Intelligence, Southeast District.” Something was going on with that female subject of Glubwart's after all. He felt it. Screwtape wanted to find out what. Glubwart had warned Screwtape. If Screwtape failed to follow up and things went South (pun intended), it could be Screwtape's head and neck on the line. He was not satisfied by the Eastern District Chief's negative report. He had to dig deeper. The connection went through swiftly.

    “Yes, my Lord?” Intelligence Chief Brazenwit reported.

    “I need some information. Female subject, name Mary Parker. Centerville, Clayton County, Alabama. I want everything: Full brain scan, family history for past three generations. I want it now.”

    “Yes, my Lord.” Brazenwit was accustomed to receiving impossible requests from his boss. As chief of intelligence, he had a certain degree of protection from Screwtape's insatiable maw. But he was still cowed. He knew he had to summon all his archivists and researchers to meet Screwtape's demands.

Chapter 31: The Demon hour

Screwtape kept his demons waiting for an hour. They shuffled nervously in their chairs and glanced at the clock. Rumors were whispered around the long dark mahogany table: “What’s it about? Why did he call it? What does he want? It’s too soon. He said one year. He promised us one year; he can’t want it now, can he? Can he?

    Glubwart kept worrying about that runaway girl in Clayton County, Alabama. Mary was her name; hard name to forget; so many Marys; so many. And the One; they all had something with the One. But Glubwart’s Mary was different; something there; something troubling. He kept trying to get deeper into her dreams, but something was preventing him. She seemed to have more than her fair share of the Enemy’s power. He knew he had to give priority to his master’s demands -- but the matter of Mary kept distracting him, making it hard to concentrate on Project Sugarloaf.

    Screwtape sat in his office, twirling a pencil. There had been no reply from the Chief of the Eastern District about Glubwart’s problem child. Glubwart was obviously making a mountain out of pimple. If the girl presented a serious problem, the Chief of the Eastern District would have some information on her. An insignificant case; let it go.

    Finally, Screwtape got up from his chair and strode into the conference room. He chose the precise moment his overlings were engaged in office scuttlebutt. He banged open the door and was inwardly pleased to see the terrified looks on their startled faces.

    “Well, you mighty, terrible demons,” Screwtape snarled. “What have you got for me? You seem to have time to gossip -- do you have time to fulfill your duties that our Underworld requires of you?” The demand was met with silence. The master demons representing every part of the United States, Earth District hung their heads and cowered before their lord.

    After a long silence, Glubwart summoned his courage. “We are working on Project Sugarloaf, Your Lowness; but the deadline--” “IS CLOSER THAN YOU THINK!” Screwtape howled. He strode vigorously up and down behind the backs of the seated, quivering devils.

    “B-but sir,” another demon spoke up. “You gave us a year...”

    “The Magnificent Underlord giveth, and the Magnificent Underlord taketh away,” Screwtape said, pleased with his clever twisting of the Enemy’s vocabulary. “What profiteth a demon to hoard treasures, when his very life may be demanded of him today?” Screwtape grinned wickedly.

    “You,” Screwtape said, pointing at the demon sitting beside Glubwart, “What progress do you have to show?”

    “I’m working on a juiced-up version of crystal meth,” the demon answered. “It should be a real killer.”

    “A real killer. That’s rich,” Screwtape said. He continued his pacing while the demons squirmed. Suddenly he stopped behind the unlucky demon’s chair, opened his gaping jaw with the glistening teeth, and bit off the head. A fountain of blood drenched Glubwart. The terrified demons heard the crunching sound of their colleague’s skull being crushed by Screwtape’s powerful jaws.

    “A word to the wise, gentlemen,” Screwtape said after he had swallowed his snack; “Underworld deadlines can be flexible. Let that give you incentive to try harder. I do hope you’ll try harder.” Screwtape smiled politely, as if he were offering tea to an honored guest

Chapter 30: The farm

CHAPTER 30

Mary woke to the smell of bacon frying and coffee brewing. Uncle Jonathan had been up before dawn as usual. She slipped into her clothes and made her way toward the tantalizing odor wafting down the hall. She got to the kitchen and peered in. Uncle Jonathan’s massive back was to her. He was frying eggs. Bacon and toast were finished and piled on plates. Without turning around, he said, “You finally up? Well, get in here. You should know your way around kitchens, workin’ with Jim.”
Mary helped finish preparing breakfast. When they were finished, she cleared away the dishes. She washed and dried the dishes while Uncle Jonathan watched. “When you’re through, we’ll tour the place,” he said.
December chill had penetrated Alabama. Mary donned her plaid jacket, but Uncle Jonathan went stubbornly in short sleeves. “It ain’t that cold,” he groused.
The fields looked even more desolate in daylight. It looked as though they hadn’t been productive in years. Weeds had grown up around the rusty tractor and farm implements strewn carelessly over the ground. Mary didn’t ask about the condition of the farm or lack of hands.

The barn didn’t improve the farm’s economic outlook. There was little hay saved for fodder. In a stall was one broken-down horse that looked even sadder than the tractor. In one room there were rusty chains and pulleys that didn’t seem to have any practical application. They looked more like medieval torture machines.

Uncle Jonathan led the way out of the barn and down a crooked, thorn-lined path to the stagnant pond. “Used to grow catfish,” he said. “Market turned sour. Damn birds ate up the profits.” The tour next went to an abandoned chicken hatchery. “Some durn disease got ‘em.” Then they went down the deeply rutted dirt road to a wide gate. Inside the fence three cows moped around the meadow.

“Well, that’s my whole empire,” Uncle Jonathan said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Since you’ll be stayin’ here, you can help with the chores.”

By the time they got back to the farmhouse it was time for lunch; greasy pork chops and country fried potatoes.

After lunch, Uncle Jonathan went outside and sat on the front porch swing. “Time to get drunk,” he announced. “I’m good at it.” He looked at Mary. “Want to join me?” Mary shook her head. “Suit yourself. Not much to do in winter.”

While Uncle Jonathan emptied a whiskey bottle, Mary sat inside watching TV and thinking. She wanted to call Joe, but couldn’t. Why didn’t he call? Why didn’t he come?

She ate supper alone. Uncle Jonathan was still outside, too drunk to care.

Tired and depressed, Mary decided to take a bath. She tried unsuccessfully to lock the bathroom door. While sitting in the old-fashioned porcelain bathtub, she heard his sluggish, halting steps in the hallway. Several times he stopped, propping himself against the wall. Mary was terrified he would open the door and look in at her, but he continued on down the hall and went into his bedroom. She heard the ancient springs creak when his bulk landed in bed.

Mary stayed up as long as she could, fearing to go to sleep. Sleep won.

Chapter 29: Buried alive

Mary stared out of her grimy window across the desolate fields at the gathering gloom. With her fingernail she flicked a scale of peeling white paint from the window frame. Out in the fields, the disorderly jumble of weeds that had once been a thriving crop looked more like barbed wire maliciously strewn across a battlefield. At the far end of the dusty rows she could imagine an enemy horde crouched behind the black trees. She felt tired, but she was afraid to go to bed; afraid to sleep. She walked to her door and opened it. She looked down the hall. Dark shadows and shapes. She tiptoed down the hall, past Uncle Jonathan's room. She could not hear a sound. Mary crept down the hall, holding her breath; boards creaking in the quiet. Images flashed through her mind. The hallway opened out into the dingy living room. Mary wanted to flee; get out of there; run. She crossed the room and touched the cold metal doorknob. But where could she go?
Mary turned and went softly back to her room. She tried to stay awake; fought it, lost. Not for the first time, she cried herself to sleep.
Mary found no rest in sleep. She tossed and turned. She was walking down a long, dimly lit corridor. Dark doorways in the corridor seemed somehow malicious. The corridor opened out into a bright, cheery courtyard with marble benches and a fountain surrounded by marble statues. Mary lay down on one of the benches. Instantly, she felt warm and safe. White light flooded over her, filling her with a sense of protection and peace. It was a peace she had never before felt in her turmoil-filled existence. She savored the moment, hoping to keep it within her. But she could not hold it. Slowly it faded, leaving a dream within a dream.
In its place was an indefinable sense of unease that gradually grew toward something like fear and disgust. A darkness descended over Mary like enormous black, suffocating wings. Mary fought for breath, tried to scream but couldn't. The blackness oppressed her, buried her alive. She struggled against the unseen evil, but was powerless in its grasp. Her screams went unvoiced, unheard.

Chapter 28: A good bet

Screwtape was in a good mood. Souls were pouring in like cash from a slot machine. In fact, exactly like cash from a slot machine. The new casinos in Glubwart’s district were starting to pay off.
“It’s a sweet machine, chief,” Glubwart told him. “It just keeps coming. The idiots keep pulling the levers. They put in bad money after good. When it’s almost all gone, they get a few coins back, and that encourages them to keep going. Or they get a little ahead, then they get greedy, and it all drains away. Then they try to win it back! It’s comical, I tell you! The divorce rate is through the roof. One man emptied his retirement savings, then wound up losing his house. The whole family is on the dole.”
“Good work, Glubwart,” Screwtape stroked his top soul-winning demon.
Glubwart couldn’t stop gloating. “The possibilities are endless. One woman gambled away all of her housekeeping money, then cleaned out her checking and savings accounts. I’m anxious to see what happens when her husband finds out. Should be juicy.”

———
Jennifer Simmons staggered through her front door, drunk and dazed. She couldn’t believe what she had done. The money was just gone. She slumped down on the couch and put her head in her hands. Her husband stalked into the room. “At it again?”
“Don’t start,” she muttered.
“How much this time?”
“All.”
“What do you mean, ‘all?’”
“What part of ‘all’ don’t you understand?”
He stood there for a moment, speechless, breathless, unbelieving. Then the screaming started. “Bitch!” “Asshole!” “Loser!” “I’m gonna...” “Yeah, right. You never!” “You always!”
Don Simmons disappeared into the bedroom. When he came back, a .357 magnum was in his hand. Seconds later, Jennifer Simmons’ head exploded and soaked their fine Persian carpet.