Arthur Quinn and Hell's Keeper Read Online Free PDF Page A

they were back in school on the day of an important exam which they hadn’t studied for, were in fact prophecies of the End of Days. News coverage continued to pore over the Dream, while analysts and psychologists searched the vision for metaphors. They prattled on for hours about the obvious symbolism behind the rainbow or how the whole Dream was really an allegory for the Iraq War. They were all so busy looking into the various hidden meanings that they couldn’t see the wood for the trees. In fact, some historians who suggested that the rainbow was similar to the Norse legend of Bifrost were actually laughed off the air.
    Only Arthur and his friends knew the truth, but they weren’t planning on letting anyone in on the secret any time soon. They’d spent most of the weekend working to find Fenrir. Ash had managed to hack into a security database that had access to all exterior CCTV cameras in the country. They took turns staring at chunks of grainy footage from the day of the explosion, hoping to catch a glimpse of the wolf-man and where he’d disappeared to. All to no avail.
    By Monday morning, Arthur was feeling downbeat and distraught, and his right eye was tired from the hours spent examining the pixellated videos. He went to school to find the whole place abuzz with excited chatter about the Dream. Paul, Louise and Dave were eager to hear his take on it. After discussing it at length with Ash and the others, he didn’t feel like rehashing it all again so he just gave them brief one-word answers. They soon realised he didn’t want to talk and left him with his thoughts. He barely even noticed when they kept their distance for the rest of the week.
    He walked home by himself every day. He’d begun the week by half-running home, hoping that some news of Fenrir awaited him there. By the end of the week – and with no further developments – he just strolled home slowly. Alone and dejected.
    On Friday, as he left school behind him for the weekend, Arthur visited his mother.
    Although he hadn’t been to the cemetery in months, he could still find the way to his mother’s grave without any trouble. The route would always be imprinted on his mind and he manoeuvred through the narrow, grassy pathways with ease. The grave itself had crisp, white gravel scattered over the top and a low limestone edging around it. A red lantern sat in the centre of the grave. The tiny LED bulb inside it was glowing faintly. Thanks to the small solar panel attached to the top, it would stay lit for years. The gravestone was black marble with green veins creeping through its pristine surface. It reflected the rolling clouds from the sky above. His mother’s name was chiselled out in neat Roman text: ‘Rhona Hilda Quinn, Beloved Mother and Wife’. Below that were her dates of birth and of death, and above these, in an oval frame embedded in the stone, was a portrait of her from a few years ago. Her eyes were a pale green and she had fair, strawberry-blonde hair which curled inward at the jawline, framing her face nicely. Like Arthur, she had high cheekbones and her skin was sprinkled with freckles.
    â€˜Hi, Mum,’ he said to the open air. This was the first time he’d attempted to talk to her. After the funeral, Joe had suggested that Arthur speak or pray to his mother. It would help the healing process, he’d said. But Arthur had always felt too stupid talking like that. She was gone and she couldn’t hear him, end of. But now it didn’t feel as uncomfortable as he’d anticipated. In fact, it kind of felt right.
    â€˜I’m sorry I didn’t come and see you sooner,’ he went on. ‘We moved back a couple of weeks ago. I know it’s no excuse but I’ve been busy.’
    Some crows cawed overhead, drawing his attention. When they passed, he turned back to the grave.
    â€˜I guess, wherever you are, you’ve seen what’s happened to me.