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.
