The Red Road

by Stephen Sweeney

  I nodded as I continued to take notes. Summing up and averaging. Basic maths.

  “Enfield House, however, doesn’t have a rating at all,” Mr Davies then noted, tapping the board. “Does anyone want to suggest what we can do to figure it out?”

  Silence in the classroom. “Can we look at past performance?” I ventured hesitantly.

  “Yes,” Mr Davies said. “We could look at past performance to get an idea of how well it might do. That’s not how we want to approach the solution, however. Any other suggestions?”

  “Can’t we just work it out the same way as the others?” Wild asked.

  “Not in this case. We will assume that either the company is very new or the data has never been made available. Ideas? It’s staring you right in the face,” Mr Davies said after some more silence.

  “Could we ... average the others and base it’s score on those?” Silverman asked. From the sound of his voice, he was quite sure this was a stupid idea. I had to agree.

  “Yes! Exactly!” Mr Davies enthused. “We take the average of the subsidiaries on the same level that we know of and average out their ratings. We then get the performance rating we need for the calculation.”

  “Really?” Silverman asked.

  “Yes, really,” Mr Davies said, turning back to the board.

  I found my hand raised. This didn’t make any sense. “Um, what if the subsidiaries are unrelated?” I asked. I tried to think of one. “In this case, we have school houses, but what about something like a load of subsidiaries that sell food? Chocolate might be doing well for the parent, but it doesn’t tell you how well the subsidiaries might be doing selling cat food. The Mars Corporation makes cat food, as well as Mars Bars,” I added as the other boys in the classroom looked at me.

  “It’s a good point, yes,” Mr Davies said. “But this is the general method we use for working out missing ratings. Now ...”

  He sounded keen to move on. I didn’t question the method any further, mostly happy to go with the flow. There would be some influence from the parent company over the smaller ones, I thought, but I didn’t see how people stuffing their faces with chocolate could tell you how well they were caring for their pets.

  Mr Davies commenced with his explanation of the calculation. “We take the ratings we know of, adding them up with their relevant scores, and dividing them by the total individual number available.”

  Fair enough, I thought. It was just maths, even if a little contrived. I presumed they would use real data when they had it to hand.

  “That’s the left-hand calculation done. We then do much the same with the right-hand calculation, except that we also include the missing Enfield House, giving it the lowest score available. Now, for each side we then divide the subsidiaries’ internal score, as identified by the client, who in this case we will pretend is the headmaster, by the number of subsidiaries who have rating scores greater than B. We then multiply those two together and then times that final result by 0.341.”

  Pardon? My hand was up again, and I could see that everyone else looked as bemused as I did.

  “Yes?” Mr Davies said. The smile wasn’t quite as full as it had been before. Maybe he knew what was coming.

  “Um, what’s the number?” I asked.

  “This one?” Mr Davies tapped the right-hand portion of the equation.

  “No, 0.341,” I said. “Is that meant to be PI?” That wasn’t the only question I had. This was the strangest way of averaging out a score I had ever seen.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Mr Davies quickly dismissed me. “No, it’s not PI. This is a number that will have been worked out by the analysts, prior to us wanting to score our subsidiary. This number will represent the keystone to accurately discovering what the rating of our missing subsidiaries will be.”

  “How would we work out any other missing ratings?” Silverman asked.

  “The same way, per level,” Mr Davies said.

  “Do we need a different number for each?”

  “No,” Mr Davies said, clicking the cap back onto his marker pen. “We use the same rating for all the missing subsidiaries on the same level, until it is updated by the analysts.” He spoke as if there was nothing at all wrong with the information he had just supplied.

  I opened my mouth to speak, to contest what I had heard.

  “It’s very important to get these things right when dealing with hard currency,” Mr Davies concluded, cutting me off and moving on to other things.

  No wonder these guys working in banks could afford boats and huge houses, I thought, they just made it up as they went along. Clearly, they were trading in bullshit, working magic with numbers to generate revenue. It sounded quite wrong, and suddenly physics was making a great deal more sense to me. At least physics was grounded in hard facts, rather than make-believe.

  I bit my tongue, however. I wanted to be one of these people, one of those rich traders who was retired at thirty-five, without a care in the world. If this was how it worked, then so be it. At least there was nothing illegal about the process and no one suffered from it.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I couldn’t sleep. Why, I didn’t know. Maybe it was the excitement of finally leaving St Christopher’s and starting my new life. Ever since I had walked out of that final exam, I had felt like a free man, the world at my feet. It was like I had just come into a large sum of money and was planning what to do with it. It was like Christmas Eve night when I was little, knowing that Father Christmas would be arriving to deliver all kinds of wonderful gifts. I still had two more days to go, though. My parents’ work had extended their stay in the Netherlands by a few days, and so I had to wait for their return before I could exit those gates for the final time.

  The lack of sleep shouldn’t bother me; it wasn’t as though I had anything to get up for or do. I had sat in my dorm for the past couple of days, largely twiddling my thumbs. A Game Boy could only keep you occupied for so long. Most of the other third years had now gone, only the overseas students remaining until the last day. With Simmons no longer here, I was running the dormitory on my own. Or what passed for it at any rate.

  A smoke would set me right.

  I slipped out of bed, quietly opening my tuck box and removing the cigarettes and lighter I had replaced since the last time, when Father Thomas had caught me. No longer a true pupil at St Christopher’s, being caught smoking would simply result in the cigarettes being confiscated and nothing else. I crept out of the dormitory, none of the second years so much as even stirring as I moved past their beds.

  I took a walk out around the school, finding it comfortably warm. The summer season was well and truly upon us, the days hot, the temperatures reaching into the high twenties. The temperature tonight was likely somewhere in the upper teens.

  I made towards the same door I had exited the school by the previous time I had taken a walk, before thinking better of it and heading for another. Staff, security and monks still patrolled the school, even if nothing had happened of late. I saw none of them as I crossed the grounds.

  My walk took me up to near the junior school, where I stopped under a tree and lit one of the cigarettes, taking a drag and looking about the buildings. I would miss this place, I decided. I had been here for a good chunk of my life. I briefly considered what it would be like to stay. It was a fleeting thought, however, and it was brushed aside just as soon as it arrived.

  I then saw someone moving about. Damn, someone out on patrol. I instinctively made to toss the cigarette aside, the security staff well aware of the school rules, when I remembered that it could no longer land me in trouble. It was clear they hadn’t seen me. They likely didn’t have Max the Alsatian with them, either. He would have smelled me. Odd to give a dog a human name. Wonka was better. I decided to walk away, finish my smoke elsewhere and go back to bed.

  But as I made to do so, I saw that the figure wasn’t alone. They were carrying something. Someone.

  Subconsciously, I started
forward. Something about the shadowy figure was making me feel extremely uncomfortable. This wasn’t one of the teachers, monks or patrol staff. This was an intruder. Their gait, height and stature reminded me of someone, too. I then saw who it was and the cigarette tumbled from between my fingers.

  “What are you doing?!” I cried.

  Adrian Willis jumped, almost dropping the limp body of the boy he held in his arms. He then gave me a look that caused my blood to run cold and made me want to run and hide. “Looks like I’ll be dumping two again tonight.” The tone of his voice was something other than I could describe. ‘Evil’ was the only word that sprang to mind.

  “Oh, holy fuck! It was you!” I breathed. “You’re the killer! You’re the one who killed those boys!”

  “Joe?”

  In the dark, and with me in my pyjamas, Adrian hadn’t immediately recognised me. He then came forward, peering a little more closely, still clutching the body to him, their arms and legs dangling down.

  “Adrian ... what ... what are you doing?” I asked again. I should have been running to find help, shouting to alert the rest of the school. Yet I found myself unable to do so, quite staggered by the scene that lay before me.

  “Go back to bed, Joe,” Adrian growled. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “No,” I said. I could hear the fear in my voice. It was a small boy Adrian held, likely one of the junior first years, and probably not more than ten years old. The boy was still in his pyjamas.

  Scream for help! my mind shouted at me. My feet remained rooted to the spot.

  “What are you doing?” I asked again. “How did you get that boy? How did you get into the school and past all the securi ... ” Oh. Of course. He had told me that earlier. The side gate, by the lookout tower. But how had he been sure no one would see him? Oh, hell. Baz and I had proved it to him with that trip to the White Horse. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

  “Do you think that I don’t know all the ins and outs of this place?” Adrian asked. “I came here for over nine years, spent four of those in Churchill House. I know the place like the back of my hand.”

  Churchill House? Someone else had called it that once. Of course. The junior school. It had been known as Churchill when Adrian had studied here, being a part of the senior school before the senior school itself had really existed.

  “Go back to bed, Joe,” Adrian warned again. “Your exams have finished, you should have left by now.”

  His voice was different to how I remembered. Normally warm and passive, he now sounded more like the Adrian that had flared up in the White Horse. I suddenly felt terrified of him and at last I heeded the suggestions my mind had been issuing. Rubber necking was a terrible thing.

  “Help!” I began shouting, my legs moving automatically. I began running, wanting to go in several different directions at once. Everywhere seemed logical – the doors to the junior school, the doors to the houses, the classrooms. Yet I found myself heading in any direction but those. That was what panic did to you. I wasn’t moving nearly as fast as I wanted, either. I looked down to see what the problem was and remembered immediately that I was wearing slippers. Running in such footwear wasn’t in the least practical. Running along the tarmac barefoot would be worse, however.

  “Hey! No!” I heard Adrian shout behind me, and knew without turning around that the man was in pursuit, having dropped the boy he was holding, so the body wouldn’t weigh him down as he came after me.

  I ran as best I could, still shouting at the top of my voice, finally deciding on running straight for Butcher, for my own dormitory. I must have subconsciously realised that any door I made for would have been locked and would only have impeded my escape. A slipper then flew off my foot, skittering along the road, my toes scraping and bending along the tarmac. Blood exploded immediately from my big toe as the nail was folded over. The pain was instant and intense, causing me to start hobbling as I tried to resume my escape.

  Moments later, Adrian was on me. Wearing proper shoes, he had had the advantage, but I was still stunned at the speed that he was able to catch me. He wasn’t exactly a teenager, nor very young for that matter. To my horror, the next thing I discovered was that he was a great deal stronger than I had expected.

  I turned as he grabbed me, swinging a punch that I successfully landed on his face. It lacked power, I could tell, and Adrian didn’t even seem to feel it, dropping down and pulling my legs out from beneath me. I braced myself as I went over, managing to stop myself from striking my head on the road, as was likely Adrian’s intent, and scrabbled back to my feet. I saw as I did so that the boy that Adrian had been carrying was lying where he had been dropped, still and quiet. Why hadn’t he gotten up? Had Adrian killed him already? I was sure that the previous two had died at the scene ...

  Adrian made a grab for me again, saying nothing as he attacked – no taunts, quips, mocks or insults of any sort. He was entirely focused on this task. I struggled against him, trying to bring myself around to face him. He was holding me from behind, and no matter where I swung my fists, I could find no effective part of his body to strike. I jerked my head back, hoping to smash his face with it. I missed completely.

  “Help!” I shouted. Something was then on my face, covering my mouth, Adrian’s fingers pinching at my nose. It was a cloth of some kind, and it wasn’t until I was forced to draw breath that I realised how much of a mistake inhaling had been. At first, I thought that the man had placed it over my mouth to prevent me from shouting. But as an acrid taste filled my throat and nostrils, I knew that he was trying to drug me. It was working quickly, too. That would be because of the adrenaline in my body, causing my blood to circulate a lot faster. This was likely why the boy was so still on the ground – Adrian had done the very same to him.

  “Hey there! What’s all this?”

  I recognised the voice, though I couldn’t immediately place it. My vision was becoming hazy, my legs turning to jelly. I felt Adrian release me as a dark, giant shape descended on us, and Adrian proceeded to grapple with the robed figure, still as silent as when the chase had begun. I then saw who the giant was – Father Thomas.

  “Joe!” he said to me, as he fought hard to restrain Adrian. “Call the police! Now!”

  I felt myself once more moving automatically, my mind racing to think where the nearest telephone was. In my house, I concluded. I staggered along, the world tipping and tilting as I went. It was like trying to walk along a ferry during a rough crossing. It took me a moment to appreciate why I was having such difficulty opening the door back to Butcher, trying to push instead of pulling to open it. I fumbled for the lights as I entered. Whatever Adrian had done to me was making the dark far more difficult to negotiate than usual.

  I fell down, striking the floor hard, but not feeling it. I pulled myself up, crashing next into a wall. Reaching the telephone in this state could prove a near-impossible task. But somehow I did, discovering it in its usual place. I yanked the receiver free and stabbed at the keypad. As with the door, it took me several attempts to get it right, at first not realising why the phone was refusing to connect me. 999 was the number for the police, not 899, 988, 888 or 998.

  “Which service do you require?” the operator asked.

  I slipped down inside the wooden booth.

  “Which service do you require?” the operator repeated when I didn’t answer.

  “Police,” I said, forcing myself to focus.

  “What is the nature of the emergency?”

  “There’s a man trying to kill the boys at my school.” I was slurring my words. I needed to concentrate. “I’m at St Christopher’s school, in Wessex. Near to ... to ... Hallmouth.”

  “And you say there is a man trying to kill you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he armed?”

  “I ... don’t know. I don’t ... think so. He’s the one that’s killed us before. The ... police know.”

  “Do you need an ambulance?”

  “When are
the police coming?”

  “They’re are on their way now. Do you need an ambulance?”

  “I think so ... Send some. I think he’s drugged me. I feel really funny.”

  “Can I have you name, please?”

  “What?”

  “What is your name?”

  “My name’s ... er ...”

  “You don’t have to give it if you don’t want to.”

  “Okay. I’m going to go ... going to help Father Thomas,” I told the operator. “He’s trying to ... trying to stop the man killing us.”

  I hung up, not hearing anything else, and started off back down the corridor to the exit. I heard the phone start to ring behind me as I went. Some of the lights were on in the dormitories I passed.

  “What’s happening?” a voice asked.

  I carried on going.

  “Joe?”

  “Killer, outside,” I said.

  The remark led to a flurry of questions, all of which I ignored. I made it to the exit, successfully learning against the door to open it. I saw as I started up the hill that Father Thomas had managed to pin Adrian, who was now making quite a lot of noise. Many lights were on all about the school. I thought that I could hear sirens.

  “Did you call them?” Father Thomas called to me as I staggered up the hill towards them.

  “I think so,” I said.

  The tall monk might have said something else, but I didn’t hear, the ground rising up to meet me.

  ~ ~ ~

  I woke up, finding myself in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar place. It took me a while to realise that I was in the school infirmary. I hadn’t been here in many years. It smelt vaguely of iodine, bleach and other cleaning fluids.

  I stirred, sitting up and becoming aware of a throbbing on my face. I put my hand there, feeling bandages and a sudden rush of pain as I brushed my nose.

  “Ow!” I exclaimed. How had that happened? Someone walked in from the room next door. A police officer. I recoiled at the sight.

  “Ah, finally awake,” the man said. “They were thinking of taking you to the hospital if you stayed asleep any longer.”