The guide and the guided

The door doesn't budge; I lean on it, feeling drained. What else to do? I don't know how many townspeople are a part of Hank's cult. Could be everyone! There's nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, except for the church.

Except for Zeke. The murderer. The *monster*. Remorseless, callous, with no regards for human life—he only treated me well because I am useful to him. He only admired me as a possession and a tool.

I decide, here and now, that I don't want to be anyone's tool.

My newfound resolution restores my strength of spirit. Somehow, I'm going to resolve all this. I step away from the shopkeeper's door and consider my options.

As bad as it sounds, if no one is going to lend me a phone, I have to find one by myself. Stealing is a crime, but in these circumstances, it's absolutely nothing. Especially compared to murder.

With this resolution, I turn on my heels and walk towards Agatha Smith's house. If I am to break and enter, then I am going to at least do that with someone who's less likely to fight back if threatened with a knife.

I go as far as a single street before I have to take cover behind an alley corner, when a dozen men in cultists' hoods run past me towards the shopkeeper's house.

*Damn that fat sack of coyote chow! He didn't just leave me to my fate, he snitched me to the cultists, too? Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck.* I clench my fists and breathe through my mouth, both to calm down and to avoid the stink of piss. If the wall I am hunched at was any cleaner, I'd already be bashing my head on it.

It seems like the hunt for me is well and truly open. My heart beating like mad, I wait for the sounds of the people's voices and footsteps to quieten down a little, and then several more seconds before getting out of my cover.

My crawl through the city is much slower than before now. The entire Willow Creek is akin to an upturned anthill, with cultists running left and right. The bright daylight does nothing to help me hide, either.

"Turn right!" Zeke's voice makes me jump, but I dash to the corner of another tiny alley before I fully process the command.

A second after I flatten myself against a shadowed wall, taking a partial cover behind some rotting boxes, another group of cultists goes past me.

I let my pacing heart quieten a little. "Why?" I whisper, unsure if Zeke hears, though his invisible presence is still with me.

"Is this so puzzling, my Maya? I can't have you getting hurt in your foolish escapade, and I'm afraid these gnats have bites that might reach you too quickly. Which is only a problem because you don't let me in…"

I shake my head with vehemence. "I don't, and I won't! You are a monster, Zeke, and I can't let you free. Or to kill people! Even in self-defense. Or my defense."

"You will change your mind eventually, my Maya," Zeke says with such insufferable assurance that I want to smack him.

What's worse, I can't say for sure if Zeke is simply so arrogant, or if he knows something I don't.

Regardless, my cover is not the best place to stay for long, and I'm still on the quest for a phone. I pick myself up and keep stalking towards Agatha's house.

Zeke keeps helping me. Whatever supernatural senses he has, he wasn't lying when he told me he sees the entire Willow Creek—he warns me about approaching patrols, allowing me to take cover in time and let them pass.

Eventually, I reach my goal. The house where I rented the room is still the same as always, and Agatha's pug is still snoozing in the old woman's garden. Some things, apparently, don't change, and this makes me smile a little.

I'm more of a cat person, but all animals are terribly cute. If I were better at caring for them, I'd get myself a cat; but I'm the sort of person who kills their houseplants. And not by forgetting about them, though this is also a factor.

I walk around Agatha's house and try the backdoor. It's locked, of course, but the first-floor windows—leading to the kitchen—are not covered by window bars. I take out my switchblade and, after checking that there's no one inside or behind me, work on pushing aside the window latch.

Practice makes perfect—this window takes me shorter than the one from yesterday. I lift the glass and, as quietly as I manage, get inside. Now I just have to get to a phone—mobile or a landline doesn't matter—preferably while avoiding Agatha.

I get as far as the adjoining living room, before a sight of a gun barrel aimed at my head makes me stop. The hand that holds the gun belongs to a man in a cultist hood. Another cultist sits on the couch next to Agatha, who's drinking tea with all the imperturbability of British aristocracy.

"Drop that knife, girl," the man who holds me at gunpoint warns. "I don't wanna shoot you, but the order is to get you alive or dead."

The switchblade falls to the ground with a quiet clank. My hands shake so much I probably could've wounded myself with it. I rub my eyes, unable to comprehend this fully. An ambush? But…

"Zeke," I mutter, "Zeke, you lying piece of octopus' shit…"

"Let me in, and these people won't be a problem anymore," he offers with a sharp undertone of malice in his voice. "Let me in, Maya…"

"Never," I swear, staring at the black void of the gun barrel. Just as dark as Zeke's eyes.

The cultists take my words on their account. "Well, if you don't wanna be good, too bad for you. Jim, let's pack her!"

I don't resist as they tie my hands and put a sack over my head.

It's hopeless.