She sees dead people

I walk forward on trembling legs. The men have stopped shooting, but I don't see if they have lowered their guns—the wall that Zeke created moves with me, blocking my views. Until they both stop.

"I can go no further. You can." Zeke's palm on my back pushes me to take a step forward, just as his power once again seeks to seep through me.

I let it, and watch how the dark wall rises from my shadow, enveloping me like a shield. It feels like dark magic. It would've been much more convenient if I could see through it.

With a shuddering breath, I force myself to walk forward. The shield looks thin, but it had already stopped a bullet. Surely it will stop anyone who tries to wrestle me, too.

The border that prevents Zeke from leaving the church premises is completely unnoticeable, but I know I've crossed it. Despite my hidden fears, it doesn't affect Zeke's dark shield around me in the slightest.

"Oh, Lord!" someone nearby swears. The sound is muted by the shield. "What is this?!"

Two more gunshots make me jerk and stop. I'd run, but I barely see enough of the ground ahead to walk without stumbling. Not to mention getting lost.

"Run! We have to tell the Rever—"

It's Frank's voice, but whatever he wanted to say is cut off by a strange gurgling sound. After it follows a wet crunch that makes me chill to the bone. The sound comes straight out of Zeke's nightmare.

Then, a thud. More shots, and more screams. More crunching sounds and more thuds of *things* being thrown around. I still don't see a thing. I can only hear and stand in utter paralysis, as things unfold somewhere in what feels like another world.

Silence fills the air eventually, interrupted only by the sound of my ragged breaths. The darkness around me falls to the ground and I can take in the surrounding picture.

Grass. Grass. More grass. Four bodies lying around in unnatural poses, their limbs crooked and their necks twisted at wrong angles.

I look up at the sky. It's blue with white feathers of clouds. Always beautiful, no matter the weather. Always clean of the world's terrors. It helps.

"You told me, Zeke… You promised…" I whisper.

"I promised you won't see their deaths," the sound comes from above my shoulder, but when I swivel, I see Zeke standing many feet away—too far to see his expression. "Don't be so distraught, my Maya. These people were trying to kill you, not me. They know perfectly well that their puny weapons won't harm me."

"No. No-no-no." I vigorously shake my head. "I can't deal with this. This is too much."

I shut my keyhole, pushing Zeke out–many minutes too late. Then, I take in the sight of Willow Creek ahead, and break into a run.

Far away from the corpses, from Zeke, from everything. I run with the only thought of getting away until my stamina completely leaves me at the edge of the streets. There I stand, panting.

"You will see how right I am when you calm down. You are smart, my Maya," Zeke speaks to me again. This time, I know he sends this message the same way he sent visions of himself earlier. A thin tendril of his power has woven through the crack of my keyhole, and I'm powerless to get it out.

"Shut up! I'm not listening." I even close my ears with my hands, not that it helps. But I know what will. I know I can get far enough that Zeke won't be able to reach me at all.

But I can't. Not yet. Justice is not yet served.

Zeke says nothing else, and no one is around, so I take some time to gather my panicking thoughts. I need to call the police, but my phone and my car keys are in the hands of… I suppose they really are cultists.

An idea comes to my mind. The terrified shopkeeper that advised me to leave—he appeared, if not friendly, then at least well-meaning. Maybe I can ask him to lend me a phone or a car. If he knows what's going on, but is too scared to act on his findings, I might convince him to change his mind.

Just borrow me a phone…

I take back alleys on my way towards the grocery store, jerking from the slightest noises. There are just as few passersby as always, but I know my fears are not unfounded when I spot two men walking down the street with too much purpose in their stride for a simple stroll. They don't notice me in my cover behind a parked car.

The grocery store is closed, and I realize with a chagrin that today is Sunday. But the building looks like the owner lives on the upper floor, so I walk around and press a doorbell near the back door.

There's no response. I try again, feeling desperate. What if the shopkeeper is away? Or doesn't live here? Or…

The door opens a crack and the man's round face peeks from inside. He looks both red-faced from the sun and pale with fear.

"You!" he whisper-shouts. "Why are you here? Go away! Get out of the city. Run!"

"They took my car keys. Please." I take a step forward, and the shopkeeper jerks back. "We need to call the police. Call someone! Th-the people are dying here!"

"It's not my fault. It's theirs. They have brought it on themselves, you understand? Same as you," the shopkeeper shakes his head and closes the door with a bang. The rest of his words are muffled by the layer of wood between us. "I'm innocent! I'm a victim, too!"

I lunge forward and hit the door with my fist, ignoring the bout of pain it brings me. "Open the door! Don't be a coward! Damn it!"

But there's no response from the other side.