Read Acolyte (The Wildermoor Apocalypse Book 1) for Free Online
Authors: Chris Tetreault-Blay
as she always did when talking to Truman Darke. They had a past, and had been lovers until six months earlier. Her old feelings had never truly died.
She hoped that perhaps he felt it too. Truman had been the only man who had made her feel secure even since their affair had ended. As a result, this was the first time she had felt comfortable being alone.
Once the usual niceties were out of the way, Lorraine heard his tone change when she revealed the real reason she had called him. Truman made no attempt to stifle his frustration at her request.
‘Truman, I know you don’t like the guy.’
‘Not like him?’ Truman roared startling Lorraine. ‘That’s putting it a little lightly. The man has single-handedly stunted my career and is a monster to boot.’
‘I know how you feel, Truman and I hate asking you but I really am worried. He has not missed a session in six months. I believe I might be on the verge of a breakthrough with him but there is also a chance he is on the brink of destroying himself.’
Truman resisted the urge to add good riddance to her last remark knowing it would neither help his cause nor change her mind. In his eyes, Lorraine had developed an unhealthy interest in the Dexler case. He hated that she had been offered the assignment in the first place, let alone that she willingly accepted. He had tried to open her eyes to the danger surrounding this but she would not quit.
‘You know I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t need your help,’ she continued, assuming his brief silence was softening the armour he wore when it came to Dexler.
Truman had been on the brink of being made Commissioner when he was handed the homicide investigation concerning one Colin Dexler. This was a sure-fire hit, he was told. All he had to do was prove that the man had murdered three people in the most brutal manner, and the promotion - not to mention the entire Wildermoor Police Department - would be his.
The crime scene itself would have made the most hardened horror film fanatic and those who write of societies’ sinister side question how far their imagination could carry them. Truman had not slept for days, even weeks, after visiting the scene. The smell from the blood-soaked carpet, walls, sofas, stairs and bedsheets, remained with him, especially when he closed his eyes at night.
The filthy house had been searched thoroughly from top to bottom, the floors taken up, the garden dug up and no sign of the bodies had been found. But the smell of cooked, boiled and burnt flesh lingered in the walls of that house. Everything pointed to Dexler having committed the most atrocious act of torture and murder. They had found him locked in a first-floor bedroom with a bloodied meat cleaver – an obvious murder tool - lying in the far corner away from him. The suspicion was that he had cooked and eaten the bodies, disposing of the bones who-knew-where.
As far as the powers-that-be were concerned, Truman had no case. It had been thrown out by the judge due to a lack of evidence. Despite Truman’s request for an extension to the case, so that he could delve deeper and put Dexler through intense psychological and psychiatric assessment, the judge had denied him.
Instead they released Dexler from the safety of his cell and back into the wild, with a flimsy programme of cognitive assessment the only form of justice. Taking nothing away from Lorraine Thacker’s ability, Truman saw this as child-minding a man he believed was a proven killer. The decision to explore the man’s mind was merely the result of his incessant ravings that a phantom was controlling him.
‘What do you want me to do? Ask if he needs help with his shopping?’ Truman sniped.
‘I don’t expect you to understand this or sympathise in any way but I thought you might recognise the importance of this for me if nothing else.’ Letting this remark linger in the air for a few moments, she then added, ‘You can’t let the
She hoped that perhaps he felt it too. Truman had been the only man who had made her feel secure even since their affair had ended. As a result, this was the first time she had felt comfortable being alone.
Once the usual niceties were out of the way, Lorraine heard his tone change when she revealed the real reason she had called him. Truman made no attempt to stifle his frustration at her request.
‘Truman, I know you don’t like the guy.’
‘Not like him?’ Truman roared startling Lorraine. ‘That’s putting it a little lightly. The man has single-handedly stunted my career and is a monster to boot.’
‘I know how you feel, Truman and I hate asking you but I really am worried. He has not missed a session in six months. I believe I might be on the verge of a breakthrough with him but there is also a chance he is on the brink of destroying himself.’
Truman resisted the urge to add good riddance to her last remark knowing it would neither help his cause nor change her mind. In his eyes, Lorraine had developed an unhealthy interest in the Dexler case. He hated that she had been offered the assignment in the first place, let alone that she willingly accepted. He had tried to open her eyes to the danger surrounding this but she would not quit.
‘You know I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t need your help,’ she continued, assuming his brief silence was softening the armour he wore when it came to Dexler.
Truman had been on the brink of being made Commissioner when he was handed the homicide investigation concerning one Colin Dexler. This was a sure-fire hit, he was told. All he had to do was prove that the man had murdered three people in the most brutal manner, and the promotion - not to mention the entire Wildermoor Police Department - would be his.
The crime scene itself would have made the most hardened horror film fanatic and those who write of societies’ sinister side question how far their imagination could carry them. Truman had not slept for days, even weeks, after visiting the scene. The smell from the blood-soaked carpet, walls, sofas, stairs and bedsheets, remained with him, especially when he closed his eyes at night.
The filthy house had been searched thoroughly from top to bottom, the floors taken up, the garden dug up and no sign of the bodies had been found. But the smell of cooked, boiled and burnt flesh lingered in the walls of that house. Everything pointed to Dexler having committed the most atrocious act of torture and murder. They had found him locked in a first-floor bedroom with a bloodied meat cleaver – an obvious murder tool - lying in the far corner away from him. The suspicion was that he had cooked and eaten the bodies, disposing of the bones who-knew-where.
As far as the powers-that-be were concerned, Truman had no case. It had been thrown out by the judge due to a lack of evidence. Despite Truman’s request for an extension to the case, so that he could delve deeper and put Dexler through intense psychological and psychiatric assessment, the judge had denied him.
Instead they released Dexler from the safety of his cell and back into the wild, with a flimsy programme of cognitive assessment the only form of justice. Taking nothing away from Lorraine Thacker’s ability, Truman saw this as child-minding a man he believed was a proven killer. The decision to explore the man’s mind was merely the result of his incessant ravings that a phantom was controlling him.
‘What do you want me to do? Ask if he needs help with his shopping?’ Truman sniped.
‘I don’t expect you to understand this or sympathise in any way but I thought you might recognise the importance of this for me if nothing else.’ Letting this remark linger in the air for a few moments, she then added, ‘You can’t let the