Read Online Acolyte (The Wildermoor Apocalypse Book 1) by Chris Tetreault-Blay - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chris Tetreault-Blay
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inside his broken mind learning the truth that he had sought for so long, his life slipped away. Inside his dying body, his soul was being torn apart. The demons within him were hungry, and finally able to feed.
Chapter Twelve
Thomas Laing slowed his feet and his breathing to a more sensible pace and made the most of the walk from HQ to his car to clear his head. It had been a day that he would rather, but was unlikely to, forget. The unwanted voyeur from his lunch break played on his mind all day. The trail that he had seen dripping from the tool he saw hanging from the man’s hand had disappeared by the time Laing made it out of his car. The man was nowhere to be seen. Could it be that he had not fully awoken from his slumber and his mind was simply playing tricks on him?
As he made it to his car and unlocked the driver’s door – no central locking on that bad boy – he was instantly stopped by a strange sensation. He raised his hand and gently rubbed his temple to relieve the sudden tension there. Might be the start of a migraine, he thought. He suffered them infrequently but severely and wouldn’t normally drive but knew walking would be just as uncomfortable. Best stop off into the nearest supermarket pharmacy on the way home and have an early night , he decided.
Despite the stop off, he was home within half an hour. The entrance to Wisbourne Avenue always pleased him. Its gentle sweeping turns made a change from the one-direction and ninety-degree-turn main road which led from the centre of the village. The developers, in their vision to create the warm welcoming retreat for its residents, had planted willow trees on each bend. They seemed to enhance to majesty of these winter months.
Laing proudly parked the Astra on his driveway as he did every night. It may not be long before he would have to give up the ghost of his father’s trusted automobile. Throughout the whole journey home, the car had filled with a smell of burning. He couldn’t decide what it was. Could be anything from the fan belt to the tyres or even just dust that had settled in the air circulation unit.
His headache had not eased and at 6:20pm the darkening sky and oncoming headlights had not helped. The usual post-dinner whiskey was probably not on the cards tonight.
Laing was soon inside the warmth of his hallway but tonight he could not bear to turn the lights on. The street lamp outside shone just enough illumination in through the frosted windows of the front door so that he could make his way to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, located the box of painkillers from his pocket and knocked two back before retreating to the lounge through the open archway leading from the kitchen.
Instead of his usual routine of switching on the standard lamp he by-passed his recliner and walked towards the drinks cabinet on the opposite side of the room. He had already justified one night cap before he had closed the front door.
‘The Devil’s drink,’ a voice muttered in the darkness. Laing span round still not able to make out much in the dark. ‘Make it two,’ the voice continued, ‘we have much to talk about.’
*****
Laing stared into the shadows in disbelief. He was sure he had not left his house without locking up this morning. Of course he hadn’t. He had unlocked the door himself only two minutes earlier. He was a cautious man. No, this man must have crept in behind me when I walked in then . But he had closed the door after only a few seconds of being in the house. No grown man could move that lightly that Laing would not have heard him. He would definitely have heard something.
He strained to look towards his leather recliner chair trying to make out any shape at all but the harder he strained his eyes the darker the room became. He quickly blinked two or three times to release the tension but the figure still
Chapter Twelve
Thomas Laing slowed his feet and his breathing to a more sensible pace and made the most of the walk from HQ to his car to clear his head. It had been a day that he would rather, but was unlikely to, forget. The unwanted voyeur from his lunch break played on his mind all day. The trail that he had seen dripping from the tool he saw hanging from the man’s hand had disappeared by the time Laing made it out of his car. The man was nowhere to be seen. Could it be that he had not fully awoken from his slumber and his mind was simply playing tricks on him?
As he made it to his car and unlocked the driver’s door – no central locking on that bad boy – he was instantly stopped by a strange sensation. He raised his hand and gently rubbed his temple to relieve the sudden tension there. Might be the start of a migraine, he thought. He suffered them infrequently but severely and wouldn’t normally drive but knew walking would be just as uncomfortable. Best stop off into the nearest supermarket pharmacy on the way home and have an early night , he decided.
Despite the stop off, he was home within half an hour. The entrance to Wisbourne Avenue always pleased him. Its gentle sweeping turns made a change from the one-direction and ninety-degree-turn main road which led from the centre of the village. The developers, in their vision to create the warm welcoming retreat for its residents, had planted willow trees on each bend. They seemed to enhance to majesty of these winter months.
Laing proudly parked the Astra on his driveway as he did every night. It may not be long before he would have to give up the ghost of his father’s trusted automobile. Throughout the whole journey home, the car had filled with a smell of burning. He couldn’t decide what it was. Could be anything from the fan belt to the tyres or even just dust that had settled in the air circulation unit.
His headache had not eased and at 6:20pm the darkening sky and oncoming headlights had not helped. The usual post-dinner whiskey was probably not on the cards tonight.
Laing was soon inside the warmth of his hallway but tonight he could not bear to turn the lights on. The street lamp outside shone just enough illumination in through the frosted windows of the front door so that he could make his way to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, located the box of painkillers from his pocket and knocked two back before retreating to the lounge through the open archway leading from the kitchen.
Instead of his usual routine of switching on the standard lamp he by-passed his recliner and walked towards the drinks cabinet on the opposite side of the room. He had already justified one night cap before he had closed the front door.
‘The Devil’s drink,’ a voice muttered in the darkness. Laing span round still not able to make out much in the dark. ‘Make it two,’ the voice continued, ‘we have much to talk about.’
*****
Laing stared into the shadows in disbelief. He was sure he had not left his house without locking up this morning. Of course he hadn’t. He had unlocked the door himself only two minutes earlier. He was a cautious man. No, this man must have crept in behind me when I walked in then . But he had closed the door after only a few seconds of being in the house. No grown man could move that lightly that Laing would not have heard him. He would definitely have heard something.
He strained to look towards his leather recliner chair trying to make out any shape at all but the harder he strained his eyes the darker the room became. He quickly blinked two or three times to release the tension but the figure still
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