The year of our Lord 2014

     What was that I was saying about hearing from me more regularly? I cannot quite recall, as that last post was from nearly a year ago.
     I suppose I all but forgot about this journal. Though nothing dangerous or exciting took place after the invasion of my home, a week after my previous entry, my priorities were shifted elsewhere from keeping an autobiography. I am not entirely poor of family, and a friend and relation of mine responded to a letter I sent him. My cousin, Barnaby, lives out in the countryside with his wife, and was more than willing to take me in until I could straighten out everything. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, until now. I helped run his wife's bakery, and managed to save a little money on top of what my work with Moulder & Primbol had earned me. I nearly forgot about everything that had happened until, by chance, I happened upon a newspaper clipping which caught my interest.

PRIME MINISTER CAMERON RESIGNS.
Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II appoints Rambilhan Screw as new Prime Minister.

     Normally, such a thing would not be of much concern to me. I never much liked Prime Minister Cameron, though of course I had nothing particularly against him. This Screw gentleman, I thought, will no doubt do a decent job. At least no worse than Cameron.
     But that photo changed everything.
     The new Prime Minister, a large man with a bald head and handlebar moustache seemed comical--certainly nothing to be concerned with. But upon closer inspection, I noticed something dreadfully chilling. Flanking our new premier were two men, tall, dressed in entirely black coats and top-hats. The man to the right was unmistakably the blonde man whom I saw on multiple occasions, the last of which being my apartment.
     I cannot explain why, but that morning I told my cousin that I needed to return to London. He and his wife bid me a fond farewell, and I took a cab back to the city. I am now in a hotel writing this. Somehow, I felt drawn back the moment I saw that face in the paper. It was as if I realised that I could not have it end like that, with he and his cronies invading my apartment, shooting at me with those preposterous umbrella contraptions, obviously trying to kill me. I know I am a fool, but how could I sit back and watch as someone who I consider to be a personal enemy ends up on Downing Street!
     I still have the "umbrella gun" from the unfortunate man in black. My first priority will be to find out exactly what the damned thing is.

❦ J.T. Marker