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.
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