The iPhone Cammy had given me came with a charger and I’d taken it up to my lair in the attics and plugged it in. Played with it and surfed the net, found a listing for two old chums from ten years back.
Called and was put off by secretaries with posh accents and smarmy mouths. I left a message with my name and cell number. They called me hours later and I answered, the listing said unknown/blocked.
“Hullo?”
“Who is this?” the rough accented voice snarled.
“Harry, who else would call you?” I returned. “Or is it Schnee?”
“I go by Schneider now, young Aidan,” he said suddenly lighter. “How old are you now?”
“Sixteen.”
“Where are you?”
“Somerset. School for the gifted. I’m on a scholarship.”
“And what can I do for you?” He sounded wary.
“Are you still in the same business, Schnee? I mean, Mr. Schneider?”
“Aidan!” He was shocked. “You’re not doing drugs?”
“No,” I surprised he thought so. “No, I want the other thing.”
There was a pregnant pause. “Like our late friend in the country?”
“The one pushing up daisies.”
“No. I don’t do that kind of thing anymore. I’m into stock brokering. You need something taken care of?”
“Two budding sexual predators.”
“They start young, don’t they, Aidan? I can pass the word on,” he sounded sad.
“How’s Harry?”
“Went to Africa after Tom was killed. Hear from him every few months. He works Security in Capetown, has his own firm.” He named a company I’d heard provided security for big name celebrities and rock stars. “Will you tell him I said hullo?”
“I will. You talk to Cammy?”
“I saw her last weekend,” I answered. “She’s looking well>“
“And how are you doing, Aidan?” There was a wealth of unspoken curiosity in his question.
“Fine.”
“I’ll get back to you, soon. This number secure?”
“Cammy gave me the phone. I’m back only a few months, Schnee, Schneider.”
“You can call me Schnee, Aidan. Don’t worry; your problem will go away. Ta,” he hung up; I shut the phone off and went contentedly to sleep.
Screams woke me. Long, wailing sobs of terror that I heard all the way up into my attic garret. I rolled over away from the wall, groped for my shirt and pants, pulled them on and listened. Heard my name called and went searching.
On the main hallway through the east attics, I found Khalid on his hands and knees, bloody and beaten.
“Holy crap! What happened I squatted near him and sat him down so I could check him over. His face was swollen almost unrecognizable, his eyes closed into slits. Three of his fingers on his right hand bent backwards; his shins had been deliberately scraped down the bone so they looked like road rash. There was blood on his underwear and I could smell crap.
“Khalid, what happened? Did Chelmsley do this?”
“Aidan, hide,” he whispered. “He’s coming for you. He heard it was you that pissed his bed. I told him I wasn’t his flunky, his pimp anymore.”
“Did he fuck you, Khalid?”
“He watched while his team took turns,” he said faintly. “I feel like I’m bleeding inside.”
“Can you stand up?” I put my hands under his armpits, helped him to his feet and we hobbled slowly down the main hallway passing medieval armor stacked in corners along with weapons of every kind.
“Where are we going?” he whispered.
“To the freight lift. I’m taking you to casualty. You need medical attention, Khalid. You’re bleeding.”
“He’s waiting for you.”
“I hope he finds me,” I snarled and snagged a blade as we went by.
It took me twenty minutes to walk him the short distance to the lift. Khalid collapsed into a puddled as I closed the gates and pushed the button for the ground floor and the kitchens. I knew a way out that Chelmsley and his cohorts would not.
I hoisted his pale form over my shoulder and carried him to the door where deliveries were brought in and went in search of Mr. C-B. He lived on the school grounds and I knew he would help.
The moon was out and the pathway through the yew hedge. I slipped between the lane and across the lawn towards the cottages and ran into someone’s arm. Spun me around and smashed the backs of my knees so that I fell face first into the grass. Another body landed on my back and pressed me into the dirt. I bucked and cursed, struggling, their hands and weight pinning me. I could barely breathe.
“Get off me!”
“Not bloody likely, you cunt,” his voice said in my ear. He sat back, one hand on my neck and the other groped for the waistband of my jeans.
I yelled. Shoved to get my hands out from under me. Air hit my ass as he tugged my pants down, pulled my cheeks apart.
“Ellie,” he grunted and another boy sat on my head, pushing my face into the grass. I started to suffocate, felt him dig between my legs.
“Holy Christ,” he said. “His dick is bigger than mine. His bollocks, too. You bring any petroleum jelly?” His voice faded as blackness filled my head. I heard an intense buzzing. I prayed to die before he stuck his dick in me.
Air rushed into my lungs and the weight came off, hands hoisted me to my feet. I heard the sounds ‘chunk’, ‘thump’, a choked off scream and someone was holding me as I puked. I held my pants up.
“You okay, Aidan?” I stared into Mr. Compton-Baird’s concerned eyes and that of a dark man dressed in midnight blue. His hair was black, eyes dark brown, his skin a matte black. His teeth were brilliant white in the dark. He wore gloves and I smelled the odor of coppery blood, saw great gouts of it on the grass, two dark bundles next to the edge.
“Careful,” the black man said. “He bruised your larynx.”
“Are they dead?” I stared. No movement.
“I bloody well hope so,” he returned. “Just returning a favor for a friend, mate. I’ll take this garbage away when I trot off. Ciao.”
He tucked one of each under his arm and disappeared.
“Christ,” I whispered, holding my sore throat. “Khalid!” I went on to explain and Mr. C-B called 999. All hell broke loose and both of us wound up going to casualty.