Sentinel: Book One of The Sentinel Trilogy Read online

Richard paid it no attention.

  “I can’t believe you’re saying this,” he said, searching her face for some sign that she was joking, or at the very least that she could be convinced otherwise. “I thought we agreed to look after him.”

  “We did, and we’ve tried our best. But things have changed,” Lucy said. “This is changing us.”

  “We knew it was going to be hard...”

  The doorbell rang again, this time accompanied by knocking.

  “I’m going to answer that... we’ll talk about this later,” Lucy said. She disappeared down the stairs.

  Richard took a breath. He was trembling all over. How could she expect him to abandon his own father like that? It wasn’t fair. She couldn’t know how he felt. It seemed like she wanted him to choose between the two of them – his wife and his father. He couldn’t do it, and he shouldn’t have to.

  Through his troubled thoughts, Richard realised that the noises that had been coming from his father’s bedroom had stopped. Gently, he tapped at the door.

  “Dad? Are you okay in there?”

  “Richard.”

  Lucy appeared at the top of the stairs. She looked flustered.

  “We have a visitor.” She sidled up to him, giving him a meaningful look as another figure bobbed onto the landing.

  It was a short, overweight man who looked about sixty, but was most likely still only in his early fifties. His dated brown suit was tailored for a man two sizes smaller, giving the newcomer a bloated appearance. He clutched an official-looking leather bag and wiped the raindrops from his hairless head with a starched white handkerchief.

  “Dr Snelling,” Richard uttered in surprise. It had completely slipped his mind that the doctor was stopping by for his father’s monthly check-up. Another thing he could add to the list of things he’d forgotten.

  “Hello Richard,” the little man said toothily. “Dear me, this doesn’t look good.” He gave the couple a look that managed to be as mournful as it was cheerful, his eyes crinkling behind little round glasses.

  “Er, yes,” Richard said shortly. “You’ve caught us at a bit of an awkward moment.”

  “So I see,” the doctor said brightly, totally unfazed by the tense atmosphere. “Has he been in there for long?”

  “About fifteen minutes.”

  Richard felt Lucy put her hand comfortingly into his and was glad she was there.

  “He’s been fine for so long now, I don’t understand what could’ve set him off.”

  “Hard to tell,” Dr Snelling said. He puffed his cheeks out thoughtfully. “Perhaps he’ll respond to me – I’ve known him for almost as long as you have, dear boy!”

  “Might as well give it a try,” Richard said. He and Lucy moved out of the way as the little man wobbled up to the door. Richard gave his wife an uncomfortable sideways look – this wasn’t good. She squeezed his hand and Richard felt guilty for his outburst. All this really was wearing him down. Max and Anita Hallow’s funeral that morning had drained the last vestiges of his energy, and now his father was having one of his turns. Sometimes Richard just wanted to lie down and sleep. He could probably sleep for a hundred years without waking up.

  Dr Snelling drummed lightly at the door with the back of his hand. “Patrick,” he called evenly. “It’s Raymond Snelling, will you let me in?”

  Richard watched the door with little hope. A few moments passed with no response. “Maybe you could come back another day whe–” he began, but just then there was the sound of a bolt being drawn back, and the bedroom door creaked open.

  “Ah,” Dr Snelling cooed happily, as if he’d been expecting this to happen any second. Patience really was a virtue! “How kind of you, Patrick.” He stepped inside. Richard and Lucy hurried after him.

  The room was in utter tumult. In other circumstances it would have been a pleasant place to live, but not today. Drawers had been flung free from the dresser, a mirror on the wall was skewed at an impertinent angle, and clothes had been strewn everywhere so that the floor was almost completely obscured. Sat amidst the bedlam was Patrick Walden, hunched over on the bed. He was a woeful figure, his thinning grey hair revealing a liver-spotted scalp, and the skin hung slack about his throat.

  Dr Snelling toddled over to him, almost tripping on a discarded pair of trousers. He chuckled. “My, my Patrick, what have you been up to?” He set his bag down on the bedside table.

  “Can I get you a cup of tea, doctor?” Lucy asked from the doorway. “Might warm you up a bit.”

  “That would be lovely, thank you. Milk, no sugar.” Dr Snelling offered her a bucktoothed smile. “Give us a chance to catch up, won’t it Patrick?”

  Lucy pulled Richard along with her and they both traipsed down the stairs into the poky kitchen.

  “He couldn’t have come at a worse time,” Richard lamented, slumping against the counter as Lucy filled the kettle. “I dread to think what he’s going to write in those notes of his.”

  They fell into silence as Lucy flicked the kettle on.

  “It feels like everything is going down the drain,” Richard continued sombrely. “Anita and Max; Dad more unstable than he’s ever been...”

  Lucy bit her lip. “Do you think we should talk to Dr Snelling about St Mary’s?” she asked softly.

  “Maybe,” Richard relented with a sigh. “Maybe you’re right.”

  The admission left him deflated.

  There was a yelp from upstairs.

  “Did you hear that?” Richard started.

  “Hear what?” Lucy asked, taking a coffee mug down from a shelf.

  “I hope Dad hasn’t started up his fuss again,” Richard groaned. “I’ll go and check on them.”

  As Richard mounted the stairs, another yelp sounded, followed by miserable sobbing. Richard’s heart jumped in his chest; it sounded like his father. He’d never heard him make that sound before, even on his worst days. Richard took the stairs two at a time and rushed to his father’s bedroom door. He froze.

  Patrick Walden was still perched on the bed, his shoulders slumped, but his head was tilted backwards at an unsightly angle, forced there by Dr Snelling’s podgy hand. Tears trickled down the sides of the old man’s face and his breathing came in short, pained pants.

  Dr Snelling’s comical, chubby face was twisted into an alarming scowl; lips drawn back so that he appeared quite mad.

  “What’s going on?” Richard demanded.

  Dr Snelling’s head whipped around. His eyes no longer contained their usual spark of joviality – they were beady and pig-like, almost popping out of his head.

  “Good of you to join us,” Dr Snelling burred, his voice an octave lower than usual and betraying no surprise at the interruption.

  Richard took a step into the room.

  “I wouldn’t,” the doctor cautioned. He applied more pressure to Patrick’s forehead, making the old man whimper even louder. Richard paused, looking at the fleshy hand pressed to his father’s head. Some sort of metal device was strapped to the doctor’s hand.

  “What are you doing?” Richard pleaded.

  “Dealing with this snivelling waste of human life,” Dr Snelling sneered. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “What?! What do you want?”

  The doctor gave an amused snort. He bared his teeth. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

  Richard’s knuckles turned white as they clenched into fists. He couldn’t comprehend what was happening – the family doctor, who he and his parents had turned to for nigh on two decades, attacking his father and grinning insanely as if it was all massively amusing.

  “Let him go and we’ll talk,” Richard breathed.

  “Do I look that stupid?” the doctor spat. He forced the old man’s head back further, making a gurgling yell stream from his throat. Sparks danced across the fat man’s hand.

  “Stop it!” Richard shouted. “Do you really think he can tell you anything?”

  “I don’t expect him to tell me a thing,”
Dr Snelling said calmly, though his body was shaking. “His brain’s like Swiss cheese. You’re the one who is going to talk.”

  Richard’s mind raced. What could the doctor possibly want to know? Looking at the crazed man, he realised there was only one thing he was interested in, and that was the one thing Richard couldn’t tell him. His father had taught him better than that.

  “What do you want me to talk about?” he asked.

  The doctor snarled. “Tut, tut, Walden. Playing the fool may have worked before, but not with me. Not now.”

  Richard searched the room for anything that he could use against the doctor. Adrenaline fizzed through him. His father had always warned him that one day something like this could happen. Would happen. But Richard had never believed it. He’d always thought that bad things happened to other people – not him, not his family. He wished he’d taken his father more seriously.

  He spotted a lamp lying by his foot. He looked at the doctor, weighing up whether or not he could grab the lamp and cross the room quickly enough to strike him. Before Richard had the chance to move, though, there was a strangled bellow, and Patrick lashed out, as if something inside of him had snapped.

  Dr Snelling, caught unaware by the assault, was flung back off the bed. He landed on the floor with a thud. Patrick fell on top of him with a shrill screech, flailing his arms madly at the doctor, scratching at his face with arthritic fingers.

  Richard charged over just as the doctor, recovering from the shock buried his fist in Patrick’s face. The old man fell back, cracking his head against the bedside cabinet and slumping unconsciously against it.

  Richard raised the lamp, which he must have taken up as he hurried over. He prepared to bring it down on the doctor’s head.

  “STOP!”

  Richard halted mid-motion.

  The doctor stared up from the floor with manic eyes. His right hand – equipped with the metal device – was pointed at Richard’s chest.

  “That would be very ill-advised,” the doctor huffed.

  The device in his hand glinted and Richard saw it clearly for the first time. Five metal rings – each embedded with a small orange stone – were attached to each of the doctor’s fingers and thumb. The rings were linked by a number of jointed metal stalks that converged over the back of his hand. It was a strange silver gauntlet.

  Richard couldn’t determine what sort of power – if any – such a device might possess; he’d certainly never heard of anything like it. Still paused in mid-motion, his anger overpowered him and, filled with fury, he brought the lamp swinging down.

  In the split second it took Richard to do so, Dr Snelling’s arm bucked and white light erupted blindingly from his fingers. It blasted Richard in the chest with the force of a sledgehammer.

  He hurtled backwards, right through the open bedroom door, hitting the wall in the landing.

  “Dear me, Walden. So you’re taking the hard road.”

  The words spiked in Richard’s ears as he lay crumpled on the floor. His head throbbed dully and he gasped for breath, winded. He tried to move, but the pain was too great. A hand gripped his throat as the doctor fell upon him.

  “Always the heroes,” Dr Snelling hissed, pushing his face so close to Richard’s that he could see the beads of sweat clinging to his cranium. “You never learn.”

  “Wh–what d’you want?” Richard managed to slur.

  The doctor squeezed Richard’s throat. “You’re going to tell me everything you know about the Sentinels,” he whispered, his spittle spraying Richard’s cheek.

  “I–I don’t know what... you’re talking about,” Richard panted, gagging as the doctor’s fingers bit into his throat.

  Dr Snelling reached down and ripped the sleeve of Richard’s shirt with the metal gauntlet. A tattooed raven was on his forearm.

  “There,” the stocky man sighed, licking his lips. “The time for playing the fool is over, Walden.”

  “I’ve… had that for years,” Richard gurgled. “Reminds me of... that poem. The famous one.”

  Without a word, Dr Snelling placed the gauntlet against Richard’s forehead.

  “No more jokes,” he snarled. “Let’s see how you laugh when I’m through with you.”

  Sparks exploded around the metal device once more. White hot energy seared Richard’s mind. He screamed.

  “Lucy!” he howled. “Lucy, get out of here!”

  “She can’t hear you, fool,” Dr Snelling spat. “She’s downstairs right now still stirring my tea. Do you think I’d let her hear you?”

  The sparks sputtered and died.

  “We are everywhere, and we are many,” Dr Snelling growled. “Your confidence in all that is good and true is your ultimate downfall. You would be the wiser man by giving in.”

  “It doesn’t matter... what you do to me... or my family, in the end... we will always win,” Richard wheezed.

  “It pleases me to hear you so ready to die,” the doctor taunted. “I will delight in aiding you in that quest. Now talk!”

  The sparks fizzed and Richard’s eyes rolled back in his head. Through the blazing light, he felt something cold stirring, pressing against his skull. Where the doctor’s hand pushed against his head, a wriggling invader scraped hungrily against his scalp.

  Richard screamed again, battling against it, desperate to move his arms, his legs, anything that might push the doctor away. But he was paralysed. The coldness crept over him and he could no longer feel his body. Apart from his head, where the squirming, wriggling thing cracked through his skull and burrowed into his brain, invading his thoughts.

  “That’s it,” the doctor hissed, drool escaping the corner of his mouth. A ravenous grin separated his lips. “Let me in, it’ll all be over soon.”

  Richard fought, but there was no contest. The worm-like thing gnawed its way through the contents of his skull, ripping aside chunks of his mind. It was so strong, and the darkness that gushed over him felt suddenly inviting.

  “There.” Dr Snelling gave a satisfied sniff, though Richard was beyond the understanding of words. His eyes flickered, his face gaunt.

  Through a haze of stars, images surfaced and the worm in his brain had stopped burrowing. The images shimmered with such speed that Richard’s failing mind barely had a second to consider them, though they were startlingly familiar: a raven screeched before leaping from a branch; a cloaked, masked figure advanced toward him; his father handed him a velvet box, from which he drew a silver pendant; Lucy stood before him in a white veil; a dim room brimmed with people, adorned in silver, deep in conversation; an old-fashioned bus was parked at a kerb; a teenage boy with curly hair; and finally, lingering with significance, a rambling manor house loomed over a small village in the countryside.

  Everything went black.

  *

  Dr Snelling fell away from his slumped victim, gasping.

  “So that’s where she’s been hiding,” he whispered. He gave an unpleasant sniggering laugh and slipped the gauntlet from his hand, casting Richard a cursory glance.

  The man’s eyes had been burned bone white, his face a sickening shade of grey. He showed no signs of life save the slight rise and fall of his chest.

  “I promised you death,” Dr Snelling told the fallen man, “but I rather feel this is a greater reward for your services to the Dark Prophets.” He pottered into Patrick Walden’s bedroom, whistling a jaunty tune as he packed the metal contraption into his bag. With the case in hand, he stepped over Richard’s body.

  “Take care, old chap,” the doctor said. He descended the staircase, reaching the front door. But as he moved for the door handle–

  “Dr Snelling!”

  He stopped, hearing Lucy’s voice behind him. A sinister smile split his lips as he saw her hurrying down the hallway.

  “Dr Snelling,” she said again, “you’re leaving already? Won’t you stay for a cup of tea?”

  “Oh, I’m all done, my dear,” the doctor said cheerily, giving her the toothiest o
f grins.

  “That was quick.” Lucy cast a fleeting glance up the staircase.

  “Oh yes,” Dr Snelling said. “Everything is quite in order, I’m very pleased.”

  “Is Richard still up there with Patrick?” Lucy asked.

  “He is,” the doctor nodded. “Why don’t you take him the cup of tea you were making for me? I’m sorry I can’t stay longer. I really must be off now, there are many other patients to attend to.”

  “Of course.”

  Lucy hurried to open the door for him.

  “All the best,” he said, winking at her from the doorstep.

  “Goodbye doctor.”

  The tubby man lingered on the doorstep for a few minutes, his forehead scrunched up expectantly. Then came what he had been waiting for – a scream from the Walden’s landing.

  Beaming, the doctor turned and hopped down the garden path, whistling as he plodded down the street and was lost from sight.

  *

  All was dark. Nicholas lay on his back in bed watching the shadows playing across the ceiling. Twenty minutes ago he’d heard the floorboards in the landing creak as Tabatha made her way to bed, followed closely by the click of the bedroom door shutting. It had taken all of his willpower to remain in bed for this long – he knew that if Tabatha caught him wandering about the house at night there would be no end to her questioning.

  His mind was whirling. He’d always felt so close to his parents, and he’d always felt – quite lovingly – that they were rather boring individuals. His father worked for a small publishing company (quite what he did there Nicholas wasn’t sure), while his mother had supervised a local nursery. They had played their part in the world, and he had loved them despite their plainness. Yet now he had uncovered a secret chapter in their lives that he knew nothing about, and that for his entire life had been concealed behind a secret door.

  Deciding it was safe now, Nicholas pushed back his duvet and went to his door.

  Down the stairs he could see the spare room that Tabatha was currently occupying. It was quiet. The coast was as clear as it was ever going to be.

  He hurried down the stairs on tiptoe. He had perfected the art of roaming the house at night unheard, having done so for years when his parents were still alive. Stalking down the landing, he found that his parents’ door was still slightly open. Not wasting a second, he went inside, bending down to peer under the bed. In the darkness he could make out three distinct shapes – the objects he had left there.