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.