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An Organisation
by Thomas Ajax
18/06/12
Content Warning: the following work may not be suitable for younger audiences as it contains some adult themes.
18/06/12
Content Warning: the following work may not be suitable for younger audiences as it contains some adult themes.
I remember the day I joined. It was warm. I had travelled nearly a week to get there, following nothing but a letter. The Villa was large enough to be a small village. From the driveway I saw him. He beckoned to me. Sat beneath a parasol in the hot midday sun, Mr Johns offered me a seat.
His garden, which wasn’t the only garden the Villa had, was beautiful. It was divided into four, with paths from each side leading towards the subtle water-feature at its centre. In each of the four quarters there were many different shrubs, and flowers, and trimmed trees, all well-watered and flourishing in the Mediterranean sun.
I took the seat next to Mr. Johns and watched his garden. Many butterflies floated in and out of the leaves of certain plants; and I saw a lizard dash away up the gravelly path, into a border. I looked over to Mr. Johns, who offered me a glass of iced water. I took it gratefully.
He was dressed, as I had expected of a man of his reputation, in a clean and smart three-piece-suit, it was a creamy colour, like that of the parasol. He didn’t wear a tie, and his white shirt did not have a collar. He had a well-trimmed white beard. His sunglasses were small, but they covered his eyes, and his hat; this, unbeknown to me at the time, was the key feature to his attire. This was the hat. The one that started it all. It was plain and simple, but that was its purpose, to go unnoticed. It was, quite simply, a Panama hat with a white band. This was their sign, all the members wore one.
As the shadow of the bell tower, which stood a little way away, crept over us he spoke: “Nice day, isn’t it? Well of course, all these days are nice, aren’t they?” he didn’t wait for my response. “You know what to do I take it?” This time I nodded. “Good, very good. You shall be taken there, and you will meet with associates of mine, Mr. Bowls and Mr. Harley. Do you understand Mr. Sutton?” I nodded again. The use of my surname relaxed me into thinking that this was purely business. “Good, you will meet with them, and then the plan goes ahead as normal. Once your task is done, you will return to me here in three days. You will be fully catered for, anything you so desire will be brought to you. Any questions?” I didn’t answer as Mr. Johns rose from his seat. “Good. You and I will get on famously Mr. Sutton. I am sure of it.” Mr. Johns began walking away from me, until he turned on the spot and took off his sunglasses. His eyes were palest blue. “Mr. Sutton? Your attire is not befitting a man of your employ. I shall have clothes brought up to your room. Good day.” He disappeared into his garden through a red painted door in one of the old garden walls.
I sat a while in the warm air. I did not manage to finish my iced water. Instead I dozed, and eventually slept. My journey was long, and did not allow for much rest. Though here I was resting, or so I thought, for when I woke I was laying on top of a well-made bed in a large and breezy room. A set of bedroom doors were open to let the cool breeze in. Stepping outside, I noticed the great undercover balcony which overlooked a piece of the Villa I hadn’t seen before. A pool lay beneath me, and beyond, I could see over high stone walls into vineyards and gardens. The bell tower tolled. It was now five o’clock. Turning, I noticed on a chair, which stood by the open doors, were the clothes Mr. Johns must have sent up. Upon the pile was the famous hat, my hat.
I sat on the balcony a while, just looking at the wonders of the heat filled evening. Outside the Villa’s walls, there were some rolling hills, not as green as Mr. Johns gardens, but they were still beautiful. As the sun sank slowly beneath them, I bathed and returned to bed.
His garden, which wasn’t the only garden the Villa had, was beautiful. It was divided into four, with paths from each side leading towards the subtle water-feature at its centre. In each of the four quarters there were many different shrubs, and flowers, and trimmed trees, all well-watered and flourishing in the Mediterranean sun.
I took the seat next to Mr. Johns and watched his garden. Many butterflies floated in and out of the leaves of certain plants; and I saw a lizard dash away up the gravelly path, into a border. I looked over to Mr. Johns, who offered me a glass of iced water. I took it gratefully.
He was dressed, as I had expected of a man of his reputation, in a clean and smart three-piece-suit, it was a creamy colour, like that of the parasol. He didn’t wear a tie, and his white shirt did not have a collar. He had a well-trimmed white beard. His sunglasses were small, but they covered his eyes, and his hat; this, unbeknown to me at the time, was the key feature to his attire. This was the hat. The one that started it all. It was plain and simple, but that was its purpose, to go unnoticed. It was, quite simply, a Panama hat with a white band. This was their sign, all the members wore one.
As the shadow of the bell tower, which stood a little way away, crept over us he spoke: “Nice day, isn’t it? Well of course, all these days are nice, aren’t they?” he didn’t wait for my response. “You know what to do I take it?” This time I nodded. “Good, very good. You shall be taken there, and you will meet with associates of mine, Mr. Bowls and Mr. Harley. Do you understand Mr. Sutton?” I nodded again. The use of my surname relaxed me into thinking that this was purely business. “Good, you will meet with them, and then the plan goes ahead as normal. Once your task is done, you will return to me here in three days. You will be fully catered for, anything you so desire will be brought to you. Any questions?” I didn’t answer as Mr. Johns rose from his seat. “Good. You and I will get on famously Mr. Sutton. I am sure of it.” Mr. Johns began walking away from me, until he turned on the spot and took off his sunglasses. His eyes were palest blue. “Mr. Sutton? Your attire is not befitting a man of your employ. I shall have clothes brought up to your room. Good day.” He disappeared into his garden through a red painted door in one of the old garden walls.
I sat a while in the warm air. I did not manage to finish my iced water. Instead I dozed, and eventually slept. My journey was long, and did not allow for much rest. Though here I was resting, or so I thought, for when I woke I was laying on top of a well-made bed in a large and breezy room. A set of bedroom doors were open to let the cool breeze in. Stepping outside, I noticed the great undercover balcony which overlooked a piece of the Villa I hadn’t seen before. A pool lay beneath me, and beyond, I could see over high stone walls into vineyards and gardens. The bell tower tolled. It was now five o’clock. Turning, I noticed on a chair, which stood by the open doors, were the clothes Mr. Johns must have sent up. Upon the pile was the famous hat, my hat.
I sat on the balcony a while, just looking at the wonders of the heat filled evening. Outside the Villa’s walls, there were some rolling hills, not as green as Mr. Johns gardens, but they were still beautiful. As the sun sank slowly beneath them, I bathed and returned to bed.
The morning held nothing more than an awakening chill for me. The once warm breeze had ceased and had been replaced with the dampening air of mist. The clothes Mr. Johns had sent up seemed to be exactly like his, except with two differences; a collar and a tie, which was the same colour as the suit. Donning the hat I left my room and headed down stairs, guided by many of the Villa’s staff. There were many fine pieces of artwork on display on the colossal walls inside the Villa, but I could not slow my pace to admire them. The front door was opened for me, and I was rushed into a long black car. It looked like a modern ‘71 Brougham but it wasn’t.
No one talked. It was strange to me, but no one talked. I was never one to start a conversation, so I kept quiet. The journey didn’t take a while; the driver dropped me off in the centre of a small town. There was a fountain there I recognised, but I didn’t dwindle on the image. I was approached by a man the moment I stepped out of the car. He was a rotund man, with a darker suit than mine. He did not have a collar, tie, or waistcoat. His shoes were very fancy; like black and white dancing shoes, I thought. And on is head he wore his Panama, with a darker band to match his suit.
“Walk with me,” he uttered, and I followed. He was quick for a man of his size, and was assisted by a short wooden cane with a shiny brass handle. We passed the fountain without a word. Merging with the crowd of a busy market, we lost each other. Or I should say I lost him; he knew exactly where he was going. I broke free from the crowd and tried to peer over their heads to see where the man had gone. It didn’t take long, I saw his Panama disappearing in the distance. I followed with a brisk walk; I didn’t want to look too suspicious.
I caught up with him next to a tall statue of a heroic warrior long dead. He stroked his well-maintained brown beard whilst leaning on his cane. I did not breathe heavily in front of him, just in case I seemed weak.
The mist of the day seemed to be easing off as the sun broke through the cloudy surroundings. A shorter, thinner man arrived at the statue. He greeted us: “Alright? The name’s Harley.” The large man nodded to him and shook his hand, pronouncing his name as ‘Mr. Bowls’. I promptly did the same. “Introductions over, let’s get on with this job then.”
Mr. Harley’s suit was pin-striped and darker still than Mr. Bowls’, but it wasn’t black. He did, however, wear a black waistcoat and tie, and indeed, the band on his Panama was black also. They stood out compared to his brilliantly white collared shirt. Mr. Harley did not have any facial hair, save a slightly stubbly chin.
I followed them further still, until we stood outside a tall and ominous looking church. “Alright then, pile on inside, and get things sorted. Mr. Bowls, you’re on the tubes; and Mr. Sutton, you’re in charge of the lookers. Got it?” Bowls nodded subtly and strode quickly, with cane at hand, into the church. I stood outside a while with Mr. Harley. “You’re on the lookers, I’ll be on the targets. We do this fast, otherwise the blues’ll be on us. Go.” I left the church square, where the sun was just about breaching the cloudy walls.
The church door opened and closed with an echo. It was moments before the Sunday Mass. Before the congregation were due to arrive. I sat in a pew, looking up at the crucifix above the altar. The first of the families arrived through the echoy doors, each taking their usual places. Soon the church was full and the noise of cheery voices filled the empty walls.
I got up and walked around the sides. I noticed Mr. Harley in the congregation. He had taken his Panama off, just like we all had before entering the building. His hair was short and blonde. Behind a few of the doors I heard whispering. None of which sounded so malicious, but I remained vigilant. The priest arrived, and travelled up the aisle through his congregation, followed by his host. Reaching the altar he bowed and began to pray. The whispers became louder as he did this. I could hear them, though I could not hear what they were saying. I closed my eyes, trying to block them out.
Just then Mr. Bowls made the walls thunder with the organ’s hollow tunes. This was quite unexpected to everyone in the church, except Mr. Harley and I. From nothing, four of the congregation started to flail around. The doors behind me began to rattle and shake. The whispers grew louder and louder. I pushed against the wood, wishing that they wouldn’t pass through. The four in the congregation turned into five...six...seven. The number increased as the organ’s sorrowful sounds continued. The priest began to flail. So too did numerous family members, mothers, fathers, grandparents, and children. I counted twenty-four in the end. The majority of the congregation left the pews and panicked in the aisle. The church doors would not open for them. That’s what happens when these things occur.
Mr. Harley started his work. From nowhere he produced his glass knives; delicate and deadly. Out of the twenty-four, Mr. Harley had maimed all of them. He did not take notice who was man, woman, or child. They were all guilty, all possessed. The door’s wood beat against me as I held it back. Mr. Bowls finished his music. Mr. Harley wiped his knives clean on one of the new corpses. But I still pressed myself against the beating door. Thump, thump, thump, it went, beating, pounding, against the wood as if the demons of Hell were throwing themselves at its feeble splinters.
“They’re big ones,” I told Mr. Harley and Mr. Bowls as they calmly approached my position. The congregation had managed to break down the doors to the church.
“Hurry up! The blues will be here soon.” I continued to press myself against the door. The whispers were getting quieter and quieter, until nothing. I let go. Mr. Harley and Mr. Bowls left the church through separate side-doors I on the other hand stood there watching the door. Policemen climbed over the remnants of the church doors. They saw me. I did not move. They drew near, cautiously. Though seeing that I was unarmed they came closer. I did not take my eyes off the door. That was their fault. They put a gun to my face.
This distracted me. There was a muttering I could not understand. I did not know whether it was the policemen trying to arrest me or not. I was not yet ready to return to the real world. They pulled me to the ground, breaking my eye-contact. This is when I shut my eyes, because I knew what was going to happen next. I heard it all.
The door splintered and broke in two. I heard the policemen as they screamed. I heard the pews move as the newly dead arose to join His legions. The policemen didn’t stand a chance. There were only three shots fired before they were upon them. I heard their screams as they were dragged; fingertips trying to cling onto the smooth marble floor. And then I heard...nothing. Opening my eyes, I was on the floor, the door, which was broken in two, was now whole again. Everything seemed to be as it was, except for the front doors and the pools of blood.
I arrogantly got up and walked out of one of the front doors before more police arrived and, donning my Panama once more, I crept back into the busy town, which was now bustling with whispers of assassins and murder. This was my first day in the Organisation.
No one talked. It was strange to me, but no one talked. I was never one to start a conversation, so I kept quiet. The journey didn’t take a while; the driver dropped me off in the centre of a small town. There was a fountain there I recognised, but I didn’t dwindle on the image. I was approached by a man the moment I stepped out of the car. He was a rotund man, with a darker suit than mine. He did not have a collar, tie, or waistcoat. His shoes were very fancy; like black and white dancing shoes, I thought. And on is head he wore his Panama, with a darker band to match his suit.
“Walk with me,” he uttered, and I followed. He was quick for a man of his size, and was assisted by a short wooden cane with a shiny brass handle. We passed the fountain without a word. Merging with the crowd of a busy market, we lost each other. Or I should say I lost him; he knew exactly where he was going. I broke free from the crowd and tried to peer over their heads to see where the man had gone. It didn’t take long, I saw his Panama disappearing in the distance. I followed with a brisk walk; I didn’t want to look too suspicious.
I caught up with him next to a tall statue of a heroic warrior long dead. He stroked his well-maintained brown beard whilst leaning on his cane. I did not breathe heavily in front of him, just in case I seemed weak.
The mist of the day seemed to be easing off as the sun broke through the cloudy surroundings. A shorter, thinner man arrived at the statue. He greeted us: “Alright? The name’s Harley.” The large man nodded to him and shook his hand, pronouncing his name as ‘Mr. Bowls’. I promptly did the same. “Introductions over, let’s get on with this job then.”
Mr. Harley’s suit was pin-striped and darker still than Mr. Bowls’, but it wasn’t black. He did, however, wear a black waistcoat and tie, and indeed, the band on his Panama was black also. They stood out compared to his brilliantly white collared shirt. Mr. Harley did not have any facial hair, save a slightly stubbly chin.
I followed them further still, until we stood outside a tall and ominous looking church. “Alright then, pile on inside, and get things sorted. Mr. Bowls, you’re on the tubes; and Mr. Sutton, you’re in charge of the lookers. Got it?” Bowls nodded subtly and strode quickly, with cane at hand, into the church. I stood outside a while with Mr. Harley. “You’re on the lookers, I’ll be on the targets. We do this fast, otherwise the blues’ll be on us. Go.” I left the church square, where the sun was just about breaching the cloudy walls.
The church door opened and closed with an echo. It was moments before the Sunday Mass. Before the congregation were due to arrive. I sat in a pew, looking up at the crucifix above the altar. The first of the families arrived through the echoy doors, each taking their usual places. Soon the church was full and the noise of cheery voices filled the empty walls.
I got up and walked around the sides. I noticed Mr. Harley in the congregation. He had taken his Panama off, just like we all had before entering the building. His hair was short and blonde. Behind a few of the doors I heard whispering. None of which sounded so malicious, but I remained vigilant. The priest arrived, and travelled up the aisle through his congregation, followed by his host. Reaching the altar he bowed and began to pray. The whispers became louder as he did this. I could hear them, though I could not hear what they were saying. I closed my eyes, trying to block them out.
Just then Mr. Bowls made the walls thunder with the organ’s hollow tunes. This was quite unexpected to everyone in the church, except Mr. Harley and I. From nothing, four of the congregation started to flail around. The doors behind me began to rattle and shake. The whispers grew louder and louder. I pushed against the wood, wishing that they wouldn’t pass through. The four in the congregation turned into five...six...seven. The number increased as the organ’s sorrowful sounds continued. The priest began to flail. So too did numerous family members, mothers, fathers, grandparents, and children. I counted twenty-four in the end. The majority of the congregation left the pews and panicked in the aisle. The church doors would not open for them. That’s what happens when these things occur.
Mr. Harley started his work. From nowhere he produced his glass knives; delicate and deadly. Out of the twenty-four, Mr. Harley had maimed all of them. He did not take notice who was man, woman, or child. They were all guilty, all possessed. The door’s wood beat against me as I held it back. Mr. Bowls finished his music. Mr. Harley wiped his knives clean on one of the new corpses. But I still pressed myself against the beating door. Thump, thump, thump, it went, beating, pounding, against the wood as if the demons of Hell were throwing themselves at its feeble splinters.
“They’re big ones,” I told Mr. Harley and Mr. Bowls as they calmly approached my position. The congregation had managed to break down the doors to the church.
“Hurry up! The blues will be here soon.” I continued to press myself against the door. The whispers were getting quieter and quieter, until nothing. I let go. Mr. Harley and Mr. Bowls left the church through separate side-doors I on the other hand stood there watching the door. Policemen climbed over the remnants of the church doors. They saw me. I did not move. They drew near, cautiously. Though seeing that I was unarmed they came closer. I did not take my eyes off the door. That was their fault. They put a gun to my face.
This distracted me. There was a muttering I could not understand. I did not know whether it was the policemen trying to arrest me or not. I was not yet ready to return to the real world. They pulled me to the ground, breaking my eye-contact. This is when I shut my eyes, because I knew what was going to happen next. I heard it all.
The door splintered and broke in two. I heard the policemen as they screamed. I heard the pews move as the newly dead arose to join His legions. The policemen didn’t stand a chance. There were only three shots fired before they were upon them. I heard their screams as they were dragged; fingertips trying to cling onto the smooth marble floor. And then I heard...nothing. Opening my eyes, I was on the floor, the door, which was broken in two, was now whole again. Everything seemed to be as it was, except for the front doors and the pools of blood.
I arrogantly got up and walked out of one of the front doors before more police arrived and, donning my Panama once more, I crept back into the busy town, which was now bustling with whispers of assassins and murder. This was my first day in the Organisation.
