Identified: The Maya Price Story

Part Two: Chapter Four (1)

Part Two

Sometimes, we find ourselves caught in a trap of deep sleep from which we cannot awake. Our mind is aware that we are asleep, and even that we are dreaming, but our body cannot seem to pull itself out of the unconscious slumber. Our eyes are impossible to open, our bodies impossible to move and our minds frantic.

For what seemed like days, Maya found herself in this state of semi-conscious struggle. She knew that she needed to help Pete, but her eyes were sealed shut. Her body felt like a leaden weight, dragging her to the bottom of a murky pond. She heard voices that she was not sure belonged to a dream or reality.

"Is she still out?" asked someone in a short, choppy tone.

"Yes. She's tossing and turning, is still sleeping," answered a deeper, smoother voice.

Later, they were speaking in whispers.

"We don't have a lot of time," hissed the first speaker. The owner of this voice sounded impatient, insistent.

The speaker's companion waited some time before answering. When the reply finally came, the voice whispered as if the speaker was talking to a sleeping baby. "I am aware of our time constraints. You, however, know how important it is that she understands why she's here. It is imperative that she stays here and does not choose to return home. It could be very dangerous for everyone involved."

Before she could process the statement, Maya lost the urge to wake up and sleep overcame her.

It was a strange dream. First, she found herself in Diamond's B&B's. But, instead of coffee menus and a cabinet cluttered with coffee makers, there were bags of horse feed lining the walls behind the counter. Old Joe Tucker stood behind the counter, wearing a chef's hat and coveralls. Pete stood in front of her in line, scratching his chin, and struggling with the decision-making process.

"Ummm, I think I'll get a strawberry shortcake Sno-Cone," he told Old Joe.

"You know Old Joe T. doesn't sell Sno-Cones," Maya told her friend. "All you can get here is brownwater and balls."

No sooner than she spoke these words, the atmosphere in the small coffee shop changed. The air thickened and Maya's breath felt like she was breathing in soup through her nose. Pete's face slackened and he turned toward Maya with a blank look on his face.

"They don't serve your kind here," he said. His words were flat and monotone, and did not sound like they belonged to him.

"What are you talking about Pete?" Maya was able to choke out. She was finding it difficult to take a deep breath. Pete did not answer but continued to stare at her with the same emotionless, faraway look on his face. It was then that Maya began to notice the other patrons in the coffee shop. Each of them seemed to be staring at her, but looking past her at the same time. They were an amalgamation of men, woman and children, all sizes and colors, all crammed into the small space. Each was holding blood red Sno-Cones that dripped onto their hands.

"Hey Pete, I'm not sure about what's going on here..."she managed to say, still trying to take deep breath.

"We don't serve your kind here." This time, it was Old Joe who spoke, in the same monotone voice that Pete had used.

One by one the people inside the tiny shop stood up and walked toward Maya. They seemed to be staring above her head, but knew where she was and walked directly to her. Their feet dragged noisily as they clumsily made their way to Maya. The round balls of garish red ice began to splatter on the floor as the people moved like zombies to form a tight circle around Maya and Pete. There was a loud tearing noise and the feed bags started to rip open one at a time. Momentarily, Maya was distracted by the waterfall of horse food spilling onto the floor. This gave the patrons momentum to move in closer and surround her. Pete was nose to nose with Maya, but continued to look above her head. Starting with Pete, each of the men and women began to chant, one by one, "Not your kind." They moved awkwardly to close in on Maya and she began to breathe in gulping desperation.