Fall on the Knife (Ordo Clementia Excerpt I)

Elitia’s First Hand Account:

Ethan’s estate rested on the outskirts of Atlanta in a sparsely populated suburb and was surrounded by a ten foot high stone gate. That night he was in the study, while his wife and son slept in their beds. He continued to wastefully obsess over the mess he and others had created. Scattered paperwork, a bottle of scotch, a full glass and Ethan’s face and torso were the most definite things the desk lamp’s light bounced off of in the dark room.

A man several inches over six feet tall walked into the doorway. It was his bodyguard. “I wasn’t able to get in contact with Alan,” he stated.

“All he does is open the gate. Even if he’s sick he can do that,” Ethan said as he looked up from the paperwork.

“Should I keep trying him?”

“Yes. Hunter, are the guys you bringing in trustworthy?”

“Yes, sir, most of them served with me and the others are former Marines I’ve known for years. They would at least call if they weren’t going to show up.”

Ethan gave the comment half a smile then the bodyguard left the room. As the bodyguard walked the hallway he contemplated the peculiarity of the situation. He had been hastily hired by Ethan, within a week there was a need for more bodyguards with combat experience then a gate guard who was praised a week earlier decided to skip work without bothering to call. Prior work experience didn’t let him chalk it up to coincidence. After hearing a misplaced creak, his thoughts got the best of him. He grabbed the gun from his waist and made an about face. Aiming his gun at lamps, mirrors and tables caused him to corral his imagination. He tucked it back in its holster then continued away from Ethan’s office.

Ethan continued to helplessly stare at documents and devour the bottle of scotch. After placing a dry glass on the desk then bringing his glass wielding hand to his brow, he felt his chair sliding back and a coarse arm yank him into the air. Before his flailing ligaments could damage or misarrange the desk, he was pulled near the corner of the room. The only thing allowed to make any commotion was the chair as it was kicked to the floor.

Nearing the hall’s end the bodyguard heard the chair collide with the floor. “Mr. Flats, is everything alright,” he shouted several times; never receiving a reply. He drew his gun and cautiously made his way back to the study. He entered the room and saw his employer dangling in the air. In the darkness, he couldn’t make out what grasped his employer’s neck.

Fear the bodyguard would begin firing aimlessly in the dark; the figure used the few strands of light that made it to the corner to expose its featureless black metallic face. A bullet collided with it but left no damage. Before the second left the chamber, the bodyguard was viscously struck on the back of the head and collapsed to the floor.

Ethan’s Glock 19 pistol was removed from the center draw of his desk and made its way to his bedroom. The door opened quietly as his wife lie naked in bed. Like a match a leathery finger drug from her nether regions to her lips; arousing the vibrant middle aged woman. She suckled on the finger before seeing who it belonged to. All her eyes registered before her death was the hallow barrel pointed at her head.

Ethan was sprawled out on the floor in front of his subdued bodyguard. Both were met with an auspicious site when they regained consciousness. Four humans dawning pitch black stood in front of them. Ethan diverted his eyes to the floor and began laughing and sobbing, while the bodyguard used his senses to comprehend what he saw. He assumed the faces were expensive light weight metal due to the ineffectiveness of his bullet. The only things the darkness assured him was their heights varied from 5’8” to 6’3” and one had a perfect set of breasts, but the Ex-Navy Seal noticed their lack of attached body armor. Another shade of darkness formed around their frame like leathery skin; something he wished he had dawn during his time serving his country. Through with his deducting he asked, “What do you want?”

A robotic voice emerged, “You can be a hero or die tonight. Headlines go he killed you, his wife and son then committed suicide or you shot and killed him in order to save his son.”

“Who sent you?”

“Just know if you choose the ladder and you hint you are going to inform the public your honorable years of service will do nothing to stop every possible bad thing from happening to you, but with Mission Serpent and Surface under your belt you know that already.” In Hebrew it stated, “Israel’s springs are beautiful, yet brief.”

The bodyguard looked at his employer of a week and said, “Sorry Mr. Flats.”

“Good.” Two emerged from the shadow and cut him from the chair, grabbed and locked his arms, lifted him out of his seat then took him to the center of the room. Another appeared with Ethan’s gun, stood in front of him with its back turned and shot him in the left foot. He grimaced but didn’t scream. He was released then nudged out the room.

Before Ethan could be grabbed from the floor, he dutifully stood up and asked, “Where do I need to go?” He knew the only meaningful thing he could do with the rest of his life was ensuring his son’s safety.

“Go to your son’s room.”

He wiped his face as he walked into the hallway not even glancing at his bodyguard who was being fed information as he passed him. Ethan reached the room then asked, “What’s next?”

“Put your hand on the knob.”

Eventually, the bodyguard got close enough to deliver a plausible fatal shoot. His legs were swept from under him and the back of his head violently hit the hallway floor. In the time it took his head to endure another damaging blow, he faintly heard a blast and a thud. He propped himself up on the wall as his senses stabilized. Second by second he got a clearer vision of his surroundings; the pool of blood forming underneath Ethan’s head, his smoking gun at his side and except for Ethan’s six year old son staring at him he was alone.