Trouble in Paradise

Hi Guys,

This is another piece I’ve written in the The Restorationists series, which directly follows on from the last story, Loyalist to the End. It’s not very action packed, but I really enjoyed writing the dialogue in this one. As always, please let me know if you have any thoughts or feelings on the piece. Hope you enjoy!

Cheers,

Jevan Thompson

 

Lucian O’ Gawley was not in a good mood.

To call it a bad mood would be a drastic understatement.

The telephone receiver crunched down with such force, that the metal bracket holding the microphone in place sheared clean off, tinkling onto the polish wooden floor of his office. The earpiece gave a startled thud as it bounced on top of his desk.

He sat motionless as a statue for many minutes, his eyes locked onto the empty space of his office, burning brightly with rage. Anger that he had not known for many years was resurfacing, bubbling up from within him at a startling rate, that threatened to overwhelm him utterly.

With a shockingly slow movement, like a machine piston, his left hand creeped towards his cigarette case. Before his fingers could wrap themselves around the polished metal tin, his office door swung open.

To give her credit, his receptionist, Tess, at least had the good grace to look frightened as she saw the look in his eyes. Normally, her round, fat face was always sporting a pleasant smile, but now, in Lucian’s office, it had vanished. He turned his ice cold stare from the centre of the room onto her and she froze in place, like a rabbit in the path of headlights.

His hands began to tremble, only slightly. He only spoke one word, a command that was dripping with poison and violent intentions.

“Out.” He snarled through gritted teeth.

Like a flash of terrified lightning, she disappeared at once, mumbling apologies shakily as she retreated. As soon as the door closed, he sucked in a deep, quivering breath. He clenched his fists. He forced himself to breathe out, letting the air leave his lungs slowly. It felt as though a clamp was tightening on his mind, the red mist of rage growing stronger and stronger with every passing second.

One of his hands snatched up his case, practically tearing it open to get at the sweet cigarettes inside, the other hand withdrew a matchbox. He placed the cigarette onto his lips and struck a match.

But alas, the match had other plans and decided to snap under his vice-like grip. His teeth clenched so hard, he fancied he could hear them crunch. His head pounded like a war drum, a ceaseless deafening boom within his own head.

With a hiss, he struck another, which thankfully burst into a small, proud, yellow flame. With a sharp flick, he lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. As soon as he took the first pull of smoke into his lungs, the rage within him suddenly stopped it’s progress, halted in its tracks. With every bit of the smoke entering his body, he felt the anger recede, settling back into the dark corners of his mind.

When he had finished, there was no trace of it at all. It was not fury within his mind any more, only a gentle, soothing emptiness.

Lucian stubbed out the last of his cigarette delicately on a small, intricate ashtray, ensuring that he did not make a single ounce of mess. With another breath in, he picked up the telephone earpiece and microphone. As soon as it reached his ear, a female voice greeted him, as always.

“Operator?”

“This is High Overseer O’ Gawley, connect me to Overseer Matthews.” Lucian said, without any trace of emotion, or etiquette for that matter.

“At once High Overseer, please wait a moment.” The voice replied back. There was a brief pause, followed by a low buzzing as the line rang. On the fourth buzz, a man’s tired voice crackled into existence.

“Overseer Matthews.” The weary voice stated. There was a note of apprehension that clung onto his voice, which would have been barely noticeable by most ordinary people, but Lucian was not an ordinary person. Lucian had to take in a full, sharp breath before he spoke, as he could feel the telltale signs of his wrath forming with just Matthews speaking his name.

“Explain yourself.” He said through gritted teeth. There was a pause for a moment.

“Who is this?” Matthews asked.

“This is High Overseer O’ Gawley you brainless fool.” Lucian explained, his voice steady and even. One of his hands began to tremble.

“Who?” Matthews asked again, this time more puzzled than apprehensive. Lucian couldn’t stop himself, his fist holding the microphone smashed onto the desk, knocking a pen onto the floor.

“THIS. IS. HIGH OVERSEER. O’ GAWLEY.” He growled, annunciating each syllable with meticulous and sinister care. His teeth clenched again, with enough force to make his jaw ache. There was a dull rumble on the line, the sound of a man sitting up in his chair.

“High Overseer, I apologise… I couldn’t tell who you were sir, the line isn’t very clear.” Matthews responded quickly, as though the words could not come out of his mouth fast enough.

Lucian briefly took the microphone away from his mouth. There was a dent in the meshwork and a crack in the wood which encapsulated it. He closed his eyes, and remained motionless for a span of heartbeats, breathing heavily.

“Explain yourself at once Matthews.” He said eventually, barely restraining his anger.

There was another pause.

“Sir, if this is about the capture-” Matthews spoke, but Lucian interrupted him forcefully.

“Of course it’s about the capture you lackwit! Not only have I just been informed that three Justicars have been killed in a failed operation, but now I have to deal with your pathetic mess! Tell me, Matthews, why on earth I have just received a report that a key member of the Restorationists has been killed whilst in the custody of one of your men?” Lucian could feel one of his eyes bulging, his head felt like it was splitting apart under the strain of containing himself.

Silence reigned again for a second.

“Sir, it was not my man’s fault. Justicar Halifax Mire did everything according to procedure-”

“Spare me your pitiful lies, do you take me for an imbecile? When the Machinist arrived, he was covered in cuts and broken bones and you have the gall to tell me you followed procedure?!” Lucian was aware that he had raised his voice and quickened his speech, but he was powerless to stop it.

“Sir, it was cyanide, a pill the Restorationist had hidden in one of his teeth. Whilst my man may have been overzealous with the capture, I can assure you he did not cause the death of the prisoner.” Matthews said, his words confident, yet apologetic.

Lucian snatched another quick breath before he spoke. The anger had suddenly stopped rising.

“Cyanide… Are you sure?”

Silence reappeared briefly, as welcome as a burglar in a bank.

“Apologies sir, I can’t quite hear you again.”

Lucian slammed his microphone down again, unable to stop the roar escaping his lips as the technology cracked against the desktop. Both his hands were shaking now. Positively shaking, with pure rage.

“Damnation Matthews! You are to come to my office in precisely two hours from now to explain the situation further, do you understand?!” He bellowed into the mouthpiece.

There was yet another pause before Matthews answered.

“Pardon sir, I couldn’t-”

Lucian smashed the microphone and speaker onto the telephone, sending it clattering across the room in a tangle of wires. He shouted a string of obscenities at the infernal device and snatched up his cigarettes, striking the match and lighting it with a violent snap of his arm.

After a few breaths of the acrid smoke, his mind quietened again, settling into a welcome emptiness. He strode to the telephone, which lay strewn over the floor and lifted the microphone and speaker to his face.

“Operator.” The woman’s voice stated with a professional grace.

“This is High Overseer O’ Gawley, connect me to my receptionist.” He said, his voice relaxed.

There was a resoundingly long silence, then the woman responded.

“Pardon sir?”