08 – Uninvited Interference

Erika peered out the motel window, eyeing the cars as they moved up and down the street.

This motel was a dump. The door next to hers looked like it had been in a fight with a battering ram and had only survived thanks to someone bolting a metal plate over a gaping hole. Mold clung to the air, thick and sour, around the entire block, while her room smelled of smoke. There were burn marks in the small table next to the bed—too big for cigarettes, more like the calling card of a heroin junkie.

The groan of the water pipes faded away, and a few minutes later, the bathroom door creaked open. The woman, Delilah, stepped out, dabbing at her short hair with a towel. Erika’s clothes were a bit large on her, but they were better than what she had before; all her old clothes were safely sealed away in a plastic bag for disposal.

Delilah opened her mouth to speak, but interrupted herself with a few sniffs at the air, and immediately turned to face the burger bag from the fast food place across the street.

“Uh…” She started toward it, only to stop and look at Erika. “Is that…”

“Yours, if you want it,” Erika said, now splitting her attention between the crack in the window curtains and the girl. “I ate while you were showering.”

Delilah hovered for a heartbeat, then lunged, the towel slipping from her shoulders as she tore into the burger bag like a starving animal. Erika figured it had been some time since she had eaten anything substantial, and the way the woman voraciously dug into the burger confirmed that notion.

“So, can you tell me anything else about this cult you escaped from?”

As far as Erika had been able to understand thus far, Delilah had been taken to some cult by her mother at a young age. While Erika didn’t have much experience, it sounded like a fairly mundane cult, with a religious figure that everyone else gathered around. They closed themselves off from the outside world as much as possible and lived in a commune. Most of what Erika heard fit with the typical cult-y behavior of the cult basically existing to prop up the guy in charge, one Father Mould, and his close cronies.

Only recently, something had changed, introducing supernatural elements to the mix.

Delilah looked up at Erika’s question, said something with a half-masticated cow blocking the words, and then continued shoving burger in her mouth.

“Uh, huh,” Erika said, looking back out the window as headlights momentarily lit up the curtain.

An old, beat-up Corolla turned into the motel parking lot.

“I said,” Delilah mumbled through her burger, “all the higher-ups have been disappearing or changing lately. Some guy showed up one day, Father Mould brought him in, and then we started doing all kinds of weird rituals and stuff.”

“Weird how?”

Delilah shrugged as she took another bite. “I’ve always been some…” She trailed off, glancing to the side. “Some prop. Father Mould used me to convince the others that his God-given powers were real, ‘suppressing’ the evil inside me, or whatever, but it was mostly just splashing me with water and slapping my forehead—he told me I was supposed to collapse when that happened. They would drag me off, put contacts in my eyes, then parade me around.”

Erika glanced over, staring into Delilah’s dark black pupils, swallowing up any hint of color until they reached the whites. The internet search identified it as a condition called aniridia, and it typically resulted in heightened sensitivity to light, rapid eye movement, and other minor issues. Hardly evil, and hardly anything strange given what she had seen at The Castle.

Though given the existence of the supernatural, it wouldn’t be wise to discount such oddities entirely. Whatever mark she had on her chest was also an apparent cause for concern, though one more easily concealed.

“And you just went along with it?” Erika asked.

“I was punished if I didn’t.”

“Fair enough.”

“Yeah, so, anyway, the last few months, things have been different. They started doing creepier rituals, always involving blood, often involving killing small animals. Father Mould is still there, but some new guy has been directing—”

Delilah froze, eyes widening, as a heavy knock thumped against the door. Erika was already moving, bat in hand, but she didn’t do anything more than peer through the peephole. Confirming that the person on the other side was who she expected, Erika opened the door to a woman whom she knew to be a serial killer.

Harriet Lavender, the current disposable guise for The Fixer, stepped into the room.

Erika stared, crossing her arms and frowning. “I thought you weren’t supposed to blend your covers.”

The woman housing The Fixer turned a cold look on Erika, betraying not a hint of familiarity. “Excuse me?”

“You drove Mom’s car.”

The cold look melted, though not as much as Erika would have expected, as The Fixer let out a small sigh. “Yes, well, Lavender doesn’t have a vehicle of her own yet.”

“You’re a millionaire. Just buy one. Go to any random dealer, slap down twenty-K, and ride off in your brand new Corolla.”

“I don’t think Lavender is the kind of person to drive a Corolla.”

“Then get something fancier. You have the cash.”

“It’s not… That’s neither here nor now,” The Fixer said, stepping past Erika to get a good look at their guest.

Delilah was up against the wall on the opposite side of the room, meal forgotten. From the way her eyes were darting back and forth, she was looking for an escape, but there were no other windows or doors in the tiny motel.

“This is The Fixer,” Erika said before her fight-or-flight instinct could select the only remaining option available. “They’re the one I mentioned who can help hide you… probably.”

“Yeah?” Delilah said, eyes flicking around once more before she settled on The Fixer. “Bet they can find lots of hiding spots in a graveyard.”

Erika waited, expecting The Fixer to say something that would help defuse the situation, only to realize that he was glaring at the girl, tense and agitated. She quickly stepped between them, holding up a hand to Delilah while she gave a firm nudge to The Fixer’s chest with the end of her bat, breaking them out of their staring contest. “The fuck is your problem?” she asked, talking to The Fixer.

“There is something here…”

“Yeah, some kid being chased by The Mummy. Did you not read my texts? I explained everything.”

“Then you have been lied to,” The Fixer said, taking a step forward. Erika blocked them with her bat. Slowly, as if worried that Delilah would leap at them, they started looking around the rest of the room. “There is something here, something not obvious.”

Erika looked around as well, found nothing, and glared at The Fixer. “We’ve been alone for a good half hour. If she wanted to jump me, she would have done so before you showed up. I told her you were coming, so it isn’t like you’re a surprise.”

The Fixer looked to Erika, then back to Delilah. Despite having stared at her for a good minute, it felt like this was the first time they really saw her. Lavender’s face did not soften—her bony features lacked any of the warmth that Leah had—but there was a small shift as The Fixer nodded, backing down from their aggressive posturing. “Sorry,” they said. Erika couldn’t be sure if it was Lavender or The Fixer, but they didn’t sound sorry.

Erika glared, finding it much easier to be angry with The Fixer while they weren’t hiding behind Leah’s face.

“I think I’ll take my chances elsewhere,” Delilah said as she shoved the rest of her burger back into the bag, picking the whole thing up. “Thanks for the food, but—”

“Stop,” The Fixer said, speaking in a tone that made Erika feel like he might have stolen The Banker’s spell. They closed their eyes, drawing in a breath. “I’m sorry. I fear you reminded me of someone. You have a certain air about you…”

“What? I’m evil? I need to be cleansed?” Delilah scoffed. “Heard that one before.”

“No, it’s…” The Fixer’s eyes strayed around the room, looking like they were watching something that Erika couldn’t see. “I’ve been told that The Mummy is tracking you. Knowing how is the first step in stopping it; do you have any ideas?”

“I don’t know,” Delilah said without losing a hint of her wariness. She stayed back, well away from Erika and The Fixer, clutching her food bag like it was her sole possession. “I thought I would be free once I got away, but every time I look over my shoulder, someone is chasing me.”

The Fixer hummed, making a deliberate show of taking their eyes off Delilah. They moved away from the door, leaning up against the burn-marked table. Their posture relaxed to a non-threatening level as they crossed their arms. “How often does someone show up? Is it the same person, or are there multiple people after you?”

“Multiple people. I don’t know how often. Sometimes, I get a day free. Yesterday, three different people came after me. I stabbed one in the leg. She took care of another one today. Don’t know what happened to the third. Recognized one of them from back home, but they had a funky mask on and didn’t act like I thought they would. Don’t know the rest.”

A bad feeling hit Erika as Delilah spoke. Realizing she hadn’t been watching through the window since The Fixer showed up, she hurried over and peeled back the curtain, peering out. The motel parking lot wasn’t large, barely having enough spots for how many rooms there were, and the lot was so pressed up against the street that anyone backing out of one of the spots would have to go half into the somewhat busy roadway.

There, right on the narrow strip of sidewalk separating the road from the parking lot, an old white guy stood in a suit and tie, shoulders hunched, with a lit cigarette pinched between his thumb and fingers. There was no mask in sight, but Erika knew that wasn’t a requirement. He stared, watching the motel in a way that Erika didn’t think was a coincidence. Almost as soon as she spotted him, he took a long drag on his cigarette, flicked it off into a mound of slush, and turned away with the cloud of smoke wafting around him.

“It might be best if we aren’t here anymore,” Erika said, not taking her eyes off the man until he walked too far away to see him. There was no proof that the guy out there was after them, but there were a lot of good reasons to think he was.

“If we move and they’re still able to follow, we might be attacked in transit,” The Fixer said, giving Erika a pointed look.

She couldn’t help her shudder. Rick’s van was a fairly sturdy thing—likely the only reason all its occupants hadn’t been turned into paste—but her truck would probably crumple like it was made from aluminum foil.

“Then I hope you’re ready for…” Erika trailed off, feeling it.

The Fixer changed something. When she or Carter stole time, it was typically just a few minutes, maybe a little over half an hour in Carter’s case, but it was somewhat noticeable. This however, she wondered if it could be likened to the explosion of ripples that Sofia had felt from Erika’s watch. The vehicles slowed to a crawl, and a plastic bag caught in the wind froze in place.

“That should buy us a few minutes.”

“A few minutes?” Erika turned to give The Fixer a bewildered look. In all the times Carter had stolen time, she had never seen the world outside visibly affected. He could squeeze a little more second out of every second, but this? It was almost like time stopped.

“At least five,” The Fixer said, smiling.

Even though it was likely supposed to be a humorous smile, Erika didn’t think she liked it on Lavender’s face.

The Fixer started quizzing Delilah—who didn’t seem to have realized anything odd had happened—leaving Erika to continue staring out the window. At first, she kept watch for any threats out there, but quickly realized how futile that was. Everything was moving so slowly that she could peek out once every ten minutes, subjective to her, and still have time to Matrix-dodge a bullet.

Not that she would test that. Bullets moved a lot faster than cars, and those cars were still moving, albeit slowly. She did wonder what would happen if she touched a bullet that was moving slowly relative to her, but at normal speed to everyone else. Would she stop it like she might stop a baseball? Or would it bore through her at a slow pace?

Or, more likely, given what she knew of Carter’s abilities, it would speed up the closer it got to her until, upon reaching her, it would be going at full, relative speed.

Delilah’s answers were little more than shrugs and muttered “I don’t know”s, her gaze fixated on The Fixer. The only things she knew could be directly observed, and were mostly things she had already told Erika. Erika wasn’t sure how truthful she was being, not with how stiff and wary the woman still was, but The Fixer seemed to have gotten over their initial reaction, acting far calmer and patient.

“Nya told me,” Delilah answered one of The Fixer’s questions, bringing up Nya for the third time since the quizzing started.

Rather than ask who or what Nya was, The Fixer paused and thought for a moment. “Is Nya telling you things right now?”

Delilah’s eyes flicked away, staring at the end of the bed. “Yes.”

“Would you mind elaborating?”

Drawing in a breath, Delilah looked back at The Fixer. “Nya says not to trust you. You’ll kill us.”

The Fixer chose not to react to that assumption. “Yet you came to Er… The Agent for help?”

Delilah’s jaw tightened. “Nya said she would help. She did. Nya doesn’t lie.” Her eyes glinted with betrayal as she glared at Erika. “We didn’t know she would call you.”

“Do you know who I am?” The Fixer asked, pulling the girl’s attention back to them. When Delilah didn’t respond, they hummed and asked a different question. “Who does Nya say I am?”

Delilah’s eyes flicked to the bed again. The moment she did, The Fixer moved, darting across the room so fast that Erika barely tracked them. They weren’t lunging for Delilah, instead reaching toward the spot where she kept looking. Hands clawed out, they grasped, but their hands closed around nothing but worn blankets.

Understandably, Delilah shrieked and dashed away, rounding the bed. Wide, panicked eyes locked onto Erika.

“Enough!” Erika shouted, stepping between Delilah and The Fixer, though with their speed, The Fixer could easily have ignored her. Erika shot a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure that Delilah wasn’t doing that movie thing where the evil, possessed kid shot a triumphant glare at the only person with sense, but Delilah just stood with her food bag clutched to her chest.

“Erika—”

“Yes, I get it. I’m not stupid,” Erika said with another glance at Delilah. “Something spooky is in the room, telling her things. It’s probably up to no good, but between it and the alleged catastrophe The Mummy is going to bring down on us, I vote we help out other people being targeted by our enemy.”

Erika doubted that she would have just ignored Delilah under other circumstances, but she also wasn’t sure why she was putting her back to the woman, standing between her and The Fixer. Maybe Daniel—and the rest of the Kings—were rubbing off on her; Delilah had come to her, asking for her help. With all the help Erika had gotten from the Kings and the rest of The Hunters, paying that forward felt like the least she could do.

That, and Erika had rapidly learned just what it felt like to be the target of this cult. She knew what it felt like to be followed and watched and attacked out of nowhere. Delilah even had it worse since, aside from a ghostly presence helping her out, she didn’t have supernatural abilities to break her problems into pieces.

“It isn’t that simple,” The Fixer said, staring down the length of Erika’s extended bat to glare at Delilah. Lavender’s face was especially good at icy gazes. “There is something here, and I am positive I have felt it before. Something in China, something in Africa, something… of The Mummy. You cannot trust the girl at her word—”

Anything else The Fixer was about to say got cut off by a loud, heavy knock against the door. The metal dented from the force of the hit, then bent inward further with a second blow. Groaning force peeled apart the door at the indentation, ripping a hole into the crumpled metal.

Familiar, reverberating words echoed through the room as a pale, tattooed face pressed up to the hole.

“ᴋⷦnoͦcͨᴋⷦ ᴋⷦnoͦcͨᴋⷦ. нⷩeͤrͬeͤ’́s͛ Jaͣcͨᴋⷦ.”