Freement by William James Johnson Chapter 24

During the first week back at school I had a meeting with the members of my original Freement cell. There were fifteen in all, who had remained faithful. Most of them had been away from Chathurst during the summer and I was eager to learn how effective my teachings had been. We met in the cafeteria. Jason Frame was the first to speak. I noticed a scar on his lip.
"Got that defending your ideas."
"Tell me about it."
"I took my vow as a Freementer seriously, and went out to practise the active phase of our movement, the deliberate interference with religious functions. I was passing this old theatre when I heard hymn singing. Some guy at the door saw I was
curious,and invited me in."
"At the front, on stage was this old guy in a black gown, standing under the words, 'City of God'. He was directing the music. The place was so packed, people were standing in the aisles. You should've heard this old bastard preach. He was a
fiery sonofabitch with a heavy Scottish accent. He scared hell out a everybody with the most horrendous descriptions of the devil."
"I remembered your story Marty about the girl who had been ruined by a guy like him..."
As Jason spoke, my hatred for Macdonald Burney was overwhelming. I hardly heard what he was saying. Looking at the reddish scar on his mouth, I could see the example of this monster's evil.
"...and when I said that, this old guy yells at two of his thugs to throw me out. He said something' like I was a servant of the devil. They yanked me through a side door into an alleyway and began pounding the piss outa me. I got in a few good licks at them too. But the one guy grabbed me from behind and held my arms so that I couldn't hit back, and his buddy loaded up and pounded me on the mouth. I guess he must've knocked me out at the same time, because I don't remember seeing them leave. When I came to, I was covered in blood... my blood, and my mouth was ripped open."
"All in the name of religion." I said.
The others told similar stories. It took great courage for them to stand up in the middle of a sermon and challenge the preacher. I assured them it had done as much for them as it had for the congregation.
"People aren't going to become Freementers overnight. It took Christ a long time to convert his followers. Even Peter, who was supposed to have been picked as the foundation rock of Christianity, denied Christ during his trial with Pilate."
"I'm proud of all of you. You've made a start, and now you realize how difficult it is to destroy the hound of heaven. If you received abuse, it will strengthen our cause. Tell the new members how hard it has been. We are not giving them an easy, permissive way of living. They must realize that without God, they will have to accept the full responsibility for their actions. This is no simple way to live. Your suffering attests to that. But believe me dear friends, this is the better way. You have sown the seeds, and someday we will reap a rich harvest."
Freementers were changing campus life. Because of my protests the previous year, there was no more hazing of freshmen. Discussions in class had become more active, as Freementers challenged the ideas which before were accepted quietly.
University staff showed an unease with the student demands for proof whenever they presented traditional ideas of religion and psychology. I had urged them to continue questioning authority until they got satisfactory answers.
Students looked up to me to exploit opportunities in class, expecting me to be unpredictable. Such unpredictability happened in Dr.Greenwood's English class when we were studying the "Ancient Mariner," by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Eliciting opinions from the class about the interpretation of the poem, Greenwood
was invariably told that the poem referred to a trip taken by an old mariner to the Antarctic and back. The closest they came to symbolism, was the superstitious element surrounding the death of the albatross. This was the kind of debate I relished.
"Professor, I feel the class has missed the significance of the symbolism contained in this poem. Before we can understand these symbols, I think it's necessary to understand the man who has created them. During the Romantic period of literature, some authors resorted to the use of opium to help them create ideas. It's an accepted fact that the abstruseness of Coleridge's Kublai Khan can be accredited to the glimpses of the ethereal through a drugged mind."
"Very interesting Mr. Martindale. But what has that got to, do with the poem we are discussing?"
"Sir, I believe the albatross that hung from the neck of the mariner is a symbol of Coleridge's dope addiction. He has the mariner kill the ominous bird, just as he wilfully destroyed his muse when he resorted to this form of stimulation. The ancient mariner is symbolic of the poet's life. His trip to the south pole is really an introspective venture into his own psyche. It is there he realizes he has killed his imagination by his insidious vice, and this realization has made him acknowledge the fact externally by stringing the dead albatross from his neck for all the world to see. It was a form of public confession."
"The eyes of the dead sailors who went on this trip with him, represent the poet's conscience. Wherever he turns, he sees their eyes condemning him for destroying the power which made him different from other men. The problem begins to resolve itself once he has admitted his guilt. The same holds true for anyone who has denied their guilt. Eventually it surfaces. and damages with a force made more powerful by years of repression."
"Not so fast. You've given us a brilliant explanation of Coleridge's symbolism. but I don't quite see what you're getting at in those last two statements."
"The destruction of conscience Doctor. The abolishment of the symbols of religion. Get rid of the cross that traps us. It is our albatross."
A young girl jumped up and began protesting. "Don't let him say those things. He's always looking for a chance to spout his Freement lies, trying to deceive us."
The professor was unaware of my movement and could not understand what the student was saying.
I responded to her. "How can you be free when you're afraid even to listen to my ideas. You've allowed your mind to be trapped by the opiate of religion."
"I'll pray for you Freement. Jesus is merciful."
" Freement? What does she mean calling you Freement?" asked Doctor Greenwood.
The student continued. "Its a monstrous idea he has dreamed up to destroy society, by getting rid of religion. It means mental freedom, a cult founded by John Martindale. He calls himself Freement."
"Really...How interesting. Would you destroy all symbolism Mr. Martindale?"
"Of course not. Our intellectual advancement depends on symbols. Words and numbers are symbols. Painting is no more than coloured mud arranged in a harmonious way which man has been taught to relate to reality...This is symbolism. But the symbolism of religion is not real. It is entirely the product of man's imagination. The fear it can evoke is more real than reality. It is this fear I want to destroy." The jarring sound of the school bell ended our discussion.
That night at the Lighthouse Mission, I continued developing my plans for the destruction of religious symbols. The old mission hall was heaped with young people eager to demonstrate their belief in Freement.
"What I'm going to ask of you, will take great courage. Freement is going to test your loyalty. The time for action is now. People are not taking us seriously, so we must do something which will leave no doubt we are intent on freeing ourselves from religious enslavement."
"Saturday night, we're going to attack the churches of Chathurst. I don't care how you get in, but get in. Destroy the symbols that trap you. Break the statues which haunt you. Pull Christ from the cross and let him live again as a man, not as a
god."
I had never spoken to such a silent group before. Their stillness infuriated me. I couldn't lose them now.
"What the hell's wrong with you? You should be cheering not sitting on your asses, waiting for me to justify whatever I say. You're still slaves to the old way. Weak, Christian hypocrites, who want it both ways. Get off the fence for Chrissake. March with me Saturday and strike a blow for mental freedom."
"What if we're caught?"
"Don't get caught. If you do, you're on your own. I'm not going to risk the success of Freement on a bunch of losers. You won't get caught if we plan carefully. We'll meet here Saturday at midnight. You'll be given your instructions."
The crowd left quietly, thinking about my challenge. Rick stayed behind.
"Do you think they'll go through with it?"
"Those who show up Saturday will."
"Why are you doing this?"
"I've got to. The Freement movement will degrade into a self-indulgent free love cult, if I don't keep it's primary objective up front. Once we've done this, we'll give our members and society tangible proof that Freementers are not afraid to
challenge religion head on."
"This will destroy our organization Marty. I can't go along with it. I've agreed with much of the philosophy you've developed, but this is going too far."
"Jesus Christ Rick. You're just like Clara. Along for the free ride."
"Now hold on. That's not fair. Many of these kids wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for me."
"Then come with us. You owe them this at least."
"But destroying religious symbols is so fascist. What kind of society will we have if we go ahead with this madness?"
"Look Rick. Do what you want. I don't care anymore. Just don't get in my way, or I promise you, I'll crush you like I did the others."
"Others?"
He had aggravated me so much, I almost blurted out about my murders of Donna and Flora. Cool it...Think...Cover it up before he starts asking more questions.
"Yes. Those other symbols I've tried to destroy. You're a symbol of man's surrender to false ideals. The day will come when the only way man can live freely will be to wipe out the living symbols of human slavery. I knew from the start you didn't have any staying power. You're gutless. Now get to hell outa here."
"I don't even know what that's supposed to mean. You're trying to flannel me with your double talk. I know one thing though. You've gone too far this time Marty. Clara and I are the lucky ones. Someone or something's got to stop you."
"Beat it I said," forcing him out the door.
Stu grabbed my arm.
"Let him be Marty. We don't need him."
"I suppose you're going to leave me too. Go on...Here's your chance."
"I never said anything about leaving. What's happening to you?"
I looked at my hands. I could feel the tightening flesh of Donna's throat as she struggled for air. My head was pounding. I couldn't stop it.
"Jesus...Jesus why doesn't it go away?"
"What the hell's happening Marty? You looked so flushed."
"Goddamn headache. It's too much Stu. I've got to slow down. I'm killing myself."
"You've been going at it too hard. I could see it coming. I think I first saw it, when your friend...what's her name? Donna. Yeah when Donna was killed."
"Yeah. You're right. I found it pretty hard to take when she died. I didn't show it very much, but I sure felt it inside."
"Well Saturday night will be the acid test. We'll see what they do, and watch for those who can take over as cell leaders. This will take a load off you Marty."
"Sounds good. I'm sure glad I got you on my side Stu."
Midnight Saturday we packed the old Lighthouse Mission. I could hardly believe so many were willing to test their courage. Some of them had dulled their senses with alcohol, while others were now into drugs. This chemical alteration troubled me, but I was so glad to see so many turn out, I wasn't going to make an
issue of it.
"You've made me very happy. Your presence here tonight and your willingness to put my words into action are inspiring."
They gave me a round of applause followed by a standing ovation.
"Stu Laughton and I have a list of the churches we will desecrate. We cannot expect to hit all of them. so we've selected those major buildings which will be the most significant in the impact our work will have on the unbelievers in Chathurst. We are assigning five persons per building. You'll be on your own. So whatever happens, don't get caught. Anyone caught, will have to answer to the rest of us."
It took over an hour for us to organize the teams and review what sort of vandalism should be emphasized. I was accompanied by two young girls and two boys, all in their teens and recent newcomers to my movement. Eighty people raided the religious structures that night.
We arrived at St. Peter's church at 2 A.M. The huge carved oak doors were solidly sealed. The basement windows were also locked. I couldn't let this attack fail. The others stood back. as I kicked in one of the basement windows. Tinkling of glass, falling on concrete, was as brief as a rifle shot. Reaching in, I unlocked the window, and one of the guys held it open until I got inside and dropped to the floor about twelve feet down.
As my eyes adapted to the darkness. I saw long wooden tables in neat rows. I smiled as I recognized one of the ever present cliches of modern Catholicism, Bingo tables. I pulled one near the window, and piled a bench on it, and helped the others get inside.
Quietly we left the church hall and made our way upstairs to the sanctuary. The solemn choir stalls and blinking red sanctuary lamp added to the mystery of our venture. Using razor blades and hammers we lustfully went about our iconoclastic orgy. Pasty faced angels and unreal virgins powdered under our blows. The huge crucifix had to be reached by standing on the altar. It was worth the effort to smash the pathetic, china face of Christ. I was my other self now... the inhuman me, who enjoyed ecstatically the destruction of sacred things.
Everyone was getting high as we piled one abominable act upon another. Ray Finn used a spray bomb in brilliant orange and covered the choir stalls with any and all the expletives he could think of in the heat of the moment. Never before was the word "fuck" given such a dignified setting.
The girls ripped the altar cloths with their razors and wrapped priestly vestments around their provocative behinds, flaunting themselves in front of the two young men, exposing their genitals, begging to be taken in this sacred place. This
was too much for Ray. He pulled down his zipper and began masturbating at the foot of the altar.
"Don't waste it Ray." said Dorise. "Give me a good screwing right here on the altar."
Ray went crazy at her invitation. He began slapping his erection against his jeans and the hollow noise in the church was akin to that clapping sound in the sacred ceremonies of Tenebrae during Holy Week.
"I'm gonna give you my special sacrament Dorise. Just like receiving communion. Come on you horny bitch and let me sanctify you... First we suck. then we fuck."
I was frozen in my tracks as I watched the two of them intoxicated with the total freedom of my movement. The other two began to feel each other up and get into the orgiastic spirit. As I watched. dazed by their complete abandon I remembered how shocked I was when my father confessor tried to seduce me by a mere placing of his hand on my erection. How had I fallen so far? Why had I brought these innocents into this hell with me. But Jesus. god almighty...there is no hell. There is no God. Why do I keep reverting to that ridiculous former self?
"Come on Freement. Mount up. She's got two holes. Take your pick. This is gonna be a night to remember."
My head was spinning violently with this scene of complete debauchery. Susan Enders was using altar cloths to wipe the juices which oozed down her full thighs. I was feeling like I did when Donna made me so angry. My mind and will power had reached an overload condition. I was not able to stop this hellish action. It was as if I were watching an X rated porno flick being filmed. and I was slightly out of camera range.
"What's wrong Freement? Don't you believe in fucking in Church?" asked Susan as Tom Pearson pounded noisily in and out of her.
Fascinated by the orgy, my will lacked the power to end it. Dorise was astride Ray on the altar, her sweet ass rhythmically rising and falling on his holy instrument. Susan was on her knees at the base of the altar, her face contorted as Tom forced his grand hard into her rear end.
"Come on Freement. I hate to see you missing out on the jollies. Let Sue give you a blow job while I bum fuck her. She gives great head."
As if in a trance. I knelt on the steps in front of Susan and she opened my pants letting my enormous hard poke into her wet mouth. Dorise looked down from the altar and saw Sue doing my thing.
"Jesus, Freement! That's got to be one of the seven wonders of the world. Don't eat it all Sue. Save some for me."
Under me were the torn shards of priestly vestments, covered in the juices of our orgy. These kids were sent from hell I was sure of it. Never in my wildest nightmares could I ever imagine what actually happened that night in St. Peter's church. If there was such a thing as hell, there was no doubt in my mind we had gone directly there.
Almost two hours later, we left through the same basement window, and went our separate ways, exhausted by the total surrender to lust perpetrated in the house of God. I will never get that scene out of my mind, a daisy chain of young people in
priestly colours fucking and sucking until nothing was left. So this is what being a Freementer really means. What kind of monster was I? It didn't happen. It couldn't have happened. I wouldn't be a part of such a horrible sin...But there is no sin.

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