37
He felt like a murderer surveying the scene of his crime, pushing his way through a crowd to see what was happening. ‘What happened here? What’s going on?’. Except
Tom had committed no homicide, and there were no crowds. He was sat in his Maserati 3200 FH, parked on the other side of the road from the main gate into Ryvak. The building was huge and imposing, even at sixty metres away from its entrance.
It was the only domineering aspect of the place. He did not know what was going on inside, but he was sure that work had stopped. He saw what looked to be removal vans in the courtyard, and people walking to and fro. Building equipment was still scattered around, but nobody was using it. There didn’t seem to be any security at the gate, which itself was wide open.
Tom had decided to risk driving here, and parked in such a place as to survey the damage he had caused. There were a few cars parked along the side of the road where he was, so another one would not cause any suspicion, as he was quite convinced that the security guard that had chased him would not recognise him, if he was here, but he had parked there just in case. His windows were tinted, but he had risked taking down his side window halfway. He just had to see the place up close, had to watch as it metaphorically collapsed in on itself.
In his pocket, he had another print out of another email that had brought him here. It was from the same source:
‘It is with regret that I have to inform you of our current situation. At the present rate, we are unable to sustain employees despite cut-backs. We are therefore in no other position than to cease functioning of our Landican branch. I will inform you of further developments and advise you as and when of the procedures necessary in due course. As of today, Ryvak will close”.
“Ryvak will close,” Tom said, smiling. He nodded. “Fucking right it will”. Cars and vans came and went through the gates, and he was optimistic that none of it was to do with keeping it open. He hoped that the ones leaving were employees, whose next stop was the job-centre.
He pressed the button for the window to close, and it hissed upwards. He started the engine, then gave a brief wave to the place as he U-turned.
“Sayonara,” he said, pressing his foot down on the accelerator. As he drove with one hand, he rang Anthony, who was standing outside a take-away, eating a fish cake, waiting for Stuart Harper. He answered it.
“Hi Tom,” he said, “What have you been up to now?”.
“It’s closed,” he said cheerfully. “Ryvak is no longer functioning. Here, I’ll read the email”. The phone went silent for a few moments, and Anthony heard ruffling and distant traffic. He came back on.
“Here we are,” he said, and read out the email, while Anthony closed his eyes and faced the floor.
“Great,” he said, with as much enthusiasm as he could gather. “What’s next then, the hospitals?”. Anthony realised what he had just said, and flushed with embarrassment.
“Hospitals? What do you mean?”
“Er, I mean to give money to, now that erm, the Ryvak money will be gone, and it's got to go somewhere, hasn’t it?”
“What? No. Ryvak’s money will cease. The charities won’t get any more because there’s no money to give them from Ryvak, see?” It seemed fine, Anthony thought. Tom had obviously misunderstood for the better what he had said, and remained oblivious. Stuart came out of the take-away eating a spring roll from a portion he had bought. He nodded in the direction of campus, and they both headed in that direction.
“I’ll just bask in the glory of this for a while before I choose my next target.” Tom continued.
“Yes, well, anyway, I’ve got to go, see you later,” said Anthony.
“Speak to you soon”.
“Ye…I’ll show you the video when I get it off Melissa,” said Stuart. “I had my doubts, but I reckon he was possessed”.
“Really?” said Anthony. The image of the letter to the police flashed into his mind, and the words: ‘…bask in the glory of this for a while..’ made him slow down.
“I need to go back to the house,” he said, “I’ll see you in class”. Stuart ate the last of one of the spring rolls. He nodded.
“Ok, catch you later”. He walked away, and Anthony felt a rush of fear surging through him. He still had a moral obligation to inform the police of Tom’s recent activity, despite the fact he had failed to prevent him in his sabotage.
He knew he still had to do something. Post the letter anyway, he thought. Yet, he guessed that that was perhaps a petty form of revenge as a reaction to his futile attempt to stop him. There was still the obligation he felt to the people who may have benefited from the experiments.
Yet, it seemed remote, and somewhat fanciful he thought to suggest that hundreds, maybe thousands of people may have been helped if he had posted the letter. Perhaps if they understood how Tom did it, and took control of their finances again, then maybe they would get back on track.
Again, his sense of moral obligation would not let him see Ryvak close without at least some sort of attempt at resuscitation. To begin that process, he knew that all he had to do was post the letter, and from there, he did not know. It would be down to the police from there.
Anthony would anonymously watch as Ryvak returned to its feet, with Tom explaining his actions to the police. They would perhaps wave the letter in his face. ‘We know what you’ve been up to’. That seemed quite fanciful as well. Yet, Anthony couldn’t predict the future, and in order to proceed with what could potentially be the restoration of Ryvak, he could only wait to see what came of his posting. As Ryvak returned to normal, he thought perhaps he would bask in his own glory, while Tom lay in a prison cell.
After ten minutes, he was driving through the Mersey tunnel. He decided not to take it directly to the police, but to a post-box. He didn’t like the thought of him posting it, then have the door open and a policeman come out and say: ‘I’ll take that’, because then he would have had a good close up, and would recognise him in any negative repercussions. It meant Tom may have a more increased chance of finding out who posted it. He turned off his mobile as he drove, in case he called again. He hoped he wouldn’t hesitate in posting it, because he knew that if he did, then it would probably never be posted.
After a few minutes he was driving on ordinary roads again, looking for a post-box. He knew one was bound to be where the shops were, and he pulled up at red-lights, spying one outside a post-office over to his right.
A loud horn blared behind him, and he saw in the rear-view mirror an angry faced youth. The lights were on green, and he drove quickly forward and pulled the vehicle across the road and parked beside the post-box. He heard the distant engine of the car that had beeped him. Someone who thinks they’re on a race-track, he thought. He retrieved a pen from the glove compartment and picked up the letter. What address was he going to put? he thought. After a few moments deliberation, he wrote: ‘FOR THE ATTENTION OF THE POLICE. URGENT’. This is very necessary, he thought. This is something I just have to do. I cannot sit back and do nothing. Watch Tom’s grinning face for the next few days.
This’ll wipe the grin away. Still though, he thought, getting out of the vehicle and crossing to the post-box. If it was a choice between the possibility of helping with medical advancements by getting Ryvak back on track or losing Tom as a friend, then he knew what the obvious answer was.
He posted the letter.