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

My Predicament - Chapter Three

The kickback was tremendous, and I was unprepared for the the effect it would have. The man in front of me was allowed only a moment of shock before falling backwards, clutching his chest and gasping for air. The white of his shirt was already becoming red with blood. All I could think of at that moment was how if I did not escape from the remaining men, I would likely end up like the man who now lay bleeding on the floor.

The blonde man was the first of the remaining men to realise what was happening. He turned to me with his umbrella (I realise how silly that sounds) drawn. Before he could fire, I rolled out of the way, hearing the thud of the projectile against the wooden floor. Getting to my feet, I held my new weapon with both hands, and swung it against the man's face. He staggered backwards into one of his associates, who turned to see the catalyst of the inconvenience. Upon seeing me, he shouted - "Hey!" - and pointed in my direction as if he expected me to freeze in place.

Needless to say, I did not comply, and instead made a break for the door. The two men who had previously guarded it were at the other end of the room at the air vent, and were now raising their umbrellas at me. I grabbed the knob, turned it, and was in the hall before they managed to fire at me. Thuds and shouts echoed through the halls, and I turned to see the remaining six men making their way toward me. At this point, other people who shared this apartment with me were beginning to open their doors to see what the fuss was about, making the whole scene almost comical. I would have laughed at spectacle made by Mrs. Abernathy shouting "What the Devil is going on, you young rapscallions?!" at the blonde man, who seemed to be nursing a heavy nose bleed.

Instead of laughing, I ran like as if the Devil himself were in pursuit.

I managed to make it out of the building by way of the fire escape on the second floor. Upon reaching the bottom of the ladder, I heard the voices of the men from above.

"He went down there!"

"Stop him!" 

More thuds, and I knew that it was them or me. Raising my umbrella, I pulled the switch, and felt the kickback. A shout reassured me that the projectile had reached it's mark. At this point, I had no time to worry about the man lying in my apartment, nor the man who I had hit on the fire escape. They attacked me, and tried to kill me first. I was defending myself. No matter the justification, though, the face of the first man, and the shout of the second would haunt my dreams for nights afterwards.

To be quite honest, I do not remember much more of that night. I did not visit the police department, as I knew that is what I would be expected to do. Instead, upon checking myself in to a cheap hotel, I used a phone booth there.

"London Police, what's you emergency?" said a bored voice on the other end of the line.

"My apartment was invaded by eight, heavily armed men. I managed to escape, but I think they might still be after me."

"Mm hmm," he said, absently. "And what did they look like?"

"They were all rather tall. None of them were under six feet, I can say for certain."

"Clothing?" he said. I was getting the distinct impression that he did not care what they were wearing, and that he was simply saying this per regulation.

"They were all conspicuously dressed in black coats and top hats," I decided to give him all the details. "They also carried umbrellas which also seemed to be weapons of some kind."

There was an uncomfortable pause which lasted around fifteen seconds. 

"Oi! Jefferson! It sounds like we've got a drunk making calls!" he finally said. "Call again when you have a real emergency."

Over these few weeks since the attack, I have been reading the paper regularly. So far, there has been nothing about my apartment being invaded. I have not seen any of the men in black, so perhaps I have lost them for now. That, or they are getting better at concealing themselves, and aren't going about wearing black. Either way, you can expect to hear from me much more often, now. 

Good day, and stay safe.

❦ J.T. Marker