Free Acolyte (The Wildermoor Apocalypse Book 1) by Chris Tetreault-Blay

did not materialise.
    Suddenly he heard the creak of the leather upholstery as it shifted below its body.  Laing was too confused to even reach over to his left and turn on the small table lamp on top of the drinks cabinet.  Although he could not make out the man who had invaded his home, he knew he had heard that voice before.
    ‘I told you never to come after me again,’ he mustered with shortening breath, attempting to maintain a sense of calmness.
    ‘That is beyond my control,’ the voice replied, its voice low, rasping, each word sounding like a struggle but deliberate in its delivery, ‘I have told you before.’
    ‘You promised me that I was finished with this shit.’ 
    With a trembling hand Laing removed the stopper from the crystal decanter and poured a measure of whiskey into his tumbler.  He did not bother to measure since it would not be his last.
    ‘Your destiny was written for you long ago, you cannot change that.  Not even I have the power to prevent it.  We are so close.’
    ‘Who is this we?   I’m not party to any of this. I didn’t ask for it and I owe you nothing,’ His voice rising but audibly shaking.
    ‘The we is not important now.  What is important are the things that you can achieve here if you only open up and stop resisting what is coming,’ the man said rising from his chair.  Laing could feel him walk towards where he stood and could finally make out the shape of the intruder who was not a stranger.  He stood shorter than Laing at only five-foot-six, and his build did not appear to possess any strength.  Physical ability aside, a sense of awe overcame Laing; the feeling of being in the presence of some higher power.  His arguments and resistance to this man would not get him far; he knew that but could not accept it.
    This man - and those who follow him - had invaded his life before.  Years ago, when Laing was a child, they were apparitions that haunted his dreams but they had now become figures who stalked his days. 
    ‘How did you find me?’ He asked, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.
    ‘We have our means,’ the answer was stern.  ‘Why can’t you just accept it? You and He are now one.  He led us to you and his strength will continue to grow.  But you need to do your bit too now.  We have set the wheels in motion and those who need to be… helped … out of our way, must be taken care of.’
    ‘You mean Truman?’ Laing asked. For the first time since leaving the station his mind was cast back to his employer.  Laing had witnessed a sad occurrence that every ambitious young man dreads seeing; when a mentor - a hero - is reduced to the barest of emotions; rage and despair.  He had never seen a man broken so easily as when he witnessed Truman being informed of the bodies found behind Wildermoor Brook.  Truman knew, as did the rest of the department, the minute that Commissioner Roberts came to the office involuntarily to discuss “recent developments,” that it could only be bad news.
    Truman’s reaction had been just what the Commissioner had expected and feared would be from his commanding officer. He had come to the meeting prepared.  Truman was not only kept off the ensuing murder investigation due to his acquaintance with one of the victims, Lorraine Thacker, but he was suspended from his position for its duration, cited as “unfit to carry out his duties.”  Truman could not meet the stares of any of his colleagues, many of them his students, as he was escorted from the station.
    ‘Haven’t we done enough to him already?  He’s no longer a problem.’
    ‘Truman Darke is not who he seems,’ the voice stated.  ‘It is time to ensure that he does not become more than a simple hindrance.’  Laing felt the man’s cold hand reach towards his and hand him an unsealed envelope.
    ‘You will attend a meeting with Commisioner Roberts tomorrow at 8am.  You will call him in two hours’ time, saying that you have in your possession