The Sentinel

CHAPTER ONE: THE CALL

(Ireland, October 2005)

The glass of beer was still untouched between my hands after half an hour seating quietly in that bar, contemplating the infinite in the marks on the bar table. Ever since I received that call from my father, I could not think straight. The whole idea of going back to Dingle, my hometown, was the reason for being in that bar on the first place, but once I got there, all the memories from my childhood years came back to me like an avalanche, distracting me to the point that I forgot where I was or what I was doing. They also made me forget that I had a glass of beer being wasted between my fingers.

After another half an hour staring at the glass, I finally returned to my senses and drank the holy liquid in one single gulp, enjoying every second of the refreshing sensation on its way down my throat.

"Another one!" I ordered, raising the empty glass in my hand.

"How many already?" asked a familiar voice behind me.

I turned my head to the right just enough to confirm that it was my partner who asked the question. Then, calmly, and expressionless, I returned my gaze to the front, to the empty glass in my hands.

"Not enough," I replied, with my eyes examining the empty glass as if it was a piece of art.

James sat on the chair next to me and waved his hand to the bartender to get his attention.

"Can I have the same?" he ordered, and then turned to me again, with pitiful eyes. "You know, the trip probably won't be the end of the world as you fear."

I breathed out loudly enough for him to hear me and then I slowly turned my head towards him, showing with my eyes how much I cared for his comment.

"Shouldn't you be at home? Claire is not gonna be happy if you come back home smelling of beer and whisky again," I said, trying to change the subject, "She's gonna hate me more than she already does."

"Nice try," he said with a smirk on his face. "Her hatred for you is well known and founded, you need to come up with something better if you wanna change the subject, lad."

The bartender appeared with our drinks before I could answer him, and after I gave a big sip to my beer, I turned completely to my partner with a not so friendly face. "It is not the place, James, it's my father. That man made my mom's life miserable whilst we lived there, it is not something I want to remember," I explained and then turned back to the bar table and gave another sip to my beer.

"Don't go then," he finally said, raising his beer with a smile in his face, victorious, as if he had solved the problem.

"I wish it was as simple as that," I said, finishing my drink in one long sip. "But it's not. I have to go."

James looked at me for a whole minute in silence, with a funny and curious expression in his face, then took out his wallet and put a note on the bar table, next to his empty glass. "It's funny how convinced you are of doing something you don't wanna do. I gotta say, I've never seen you like this."

"Yeah, well," I whispered. "he's got a way of messing with me."

"Well, have fun!" he shouted. "Go get some time off. Don't worry about the business. I've got everything under control."

A low chuckle escaped from my mouth when I heard his words, regretting it almost instantly. "No doubt of that," I whispered.

James gave me one last glance and left the bar, leaving me alone with my thoughts again, but just for a little while...

"Well, well, what do we have here?" A croaky voice came from behind me, a voice that sounded strangely familiar. "It's the Great Detective Dwight Doyle." As soon as I heard my name, I recognized the annoying voice and turned around as smoothly as I could.