S2E1: Winnie The Pooh Was A Murderer

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Red Valley is intended for mature audiences and contains scenes some listeners may find distressing. Please go to redvalleypod.com for full content warnings on every episode. Do you want to continue? Then, what are you doing? Uh, Halbeck had already put the hearts on in and muted the notifications. We have to do it. Where's she gone? She left. She what? She's gone. It's just us and Winnie the fucking Pooh.

Are you going to help me or not? Halbeck! Dr Halbeck! Brighton E! Answer your fucking call! She's gone! You're in charge of this fucker's airway, come on! Okay, pass me the scope. Alright. Down with the cup! Down! Fucking rip it then! Suction, come on! You're doing it! We're doing it! Shut up! Aubrey! Hold him! Suction back. Turn him on his side. Ben? Ben! What are you doing? Oh, I can't. I can't do another. Ben! He's fucking dying on me! Ben!

Aubrey Wood? Hello? Can you step away from that please? Whatever it is. Yes, yes. It's a pod. A cryopod. And what is that inside your cryopod? That's Winnie the Pooh. I'm sorry? Well, his name was Robert, actually. Robert Masters. Shh. We're here to take you home, Miss Grid. Where's the other one? The other one. Oh, we... We had to take him to the furnace, like the others. No, no, no, no. The other one of you. Thomas. Oh, Ben Thomas.

He left. He ran. He ran? Start up, spread out. Billy, you're on point. Yep, let's go. Miss Wood, I'm going to need you to pack to leave. We're at 20 minutes. Can you do that? Of course. Happy to. What is that? This. Oh, Dr Halbeck likes everything recorded. Can you turn it off please? Certainly. What are you doing? Just getting some paracetamol. Bit of a full on sort of day.

Turn left. So, what happened to Bryony? Dr Halbert was called away urgently. Oh, right. She sends her apologies. Of course. At the fork, bare right. And what will happen to the study? I wouldn't know anything about that. Billy, check in. Where are we going? I'm taking you home. We'll just take a short break and then back to work. Wonderful. Billy?

Very keen to get back to work. Any idea where he went? Ben? Oh, he won't have gotten far. You'll probably find him face down in a field or shivering in a phone box trying to call his mother. Not very outdoorsy.

When he first got off the helicopter, he sank his best brakes into the mud and started swearing in Latin. We've got eyes on a red jacket, green bag, heading south. Does he have a red jacket? And was he wearing it? I don't know. What, if he has one or if he was wearing one? I was... I was...

Dealing with... Stay on him. At the junction, turn around. Stay here. Do you want me to help look? I could call out for him, maybe. Stay here. Sure. window from the inside. At the junction, turn around. Wait, how'd you get off the map? Where's the home button? Voice control activated. How'd you break a car window from the inside? I'm sorry, I didn't catch that.

Say, hey, blue sky. Open internet. Open Google. Whatever. I'm sorry. I didn't catch that. Hey, blue sky. How to break a window from the inside. I found this online. It is a popular myth that a car headrest can be used to break a car window in an emergency. But does it hold any weight? We found out so you don't have to.

It's said that using the prong of the headrest fitting against the base of the car window and applying pressure can cause the window to shatter. Watch the video below to see if it works. Bloody video! Oh, did it work? Hey, Blue Sky, did it work? I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Oh, piss off. Stick it in the window bit. Apply. Pressure. Oh, no. Bullocks.

Darjeeling. We do have Darjeeling. It's very soothing. Yes. A pot of Darjeeling, please. And do you have those tea cakes? The chocolate and marshmallow ones? Tonics, aye? Three of those, please. Warrior's breakfast that is. We actually sell little tea towels with the tea cakes thrown on them if you like. Very twee. Not for me, thanks.

Terrible day for a hike. Yes, I didn't think it through. You can pop your coat on the radiator. No, I'm okay, thanks. You won't get the benefit when you go back out. I'll be alright. That's it for a bit. Thanks ever so much. Are you alright? Sorry? Are you alright?

Ever been so sure you were right about something? Only to find out you were so wrong about that thing that you literally thought you probably deserved to die because of just how wrong you were. Do you want to tell me what happened? I can't do that. I can.

I'd like to, but I really can't. You're overhead, aren't you? What? I've been running this place for over 20 years. You think you're the first person to go AWOL from that place in the valley? You're all the same. You're all... posh as fuck no offence and you're all pale as fuck and not scottish pale like no daylight pale and you're all walking with your eyes wide like you shite yourself and you're wondering if anyone sniffed you out

I'm a close. I don't know what you're talking about, but I can assure you. You don't need to panic. In my time, I've spotted three kinds of runners from whatever it is you do down there. There's your Hannibal lector types, who've clearly gotten restless and waltzed off the reservation, no doubt looking for something else dastardly to turn their attention to. That's when I reach for my bread knife, truth be told. There's your buffoon.

who probably had no idea what they were doing then in the first place, and ran up the first sight of trouble, nothing but the clothes on their back, and tell me everything before I get the chance to shush him. Those poor bastards don't make it far, I hear. And then...

There's the well-spoken idealists who just seem to have had a change of heart for one reason or another. They tend to go for the tea cakes. I can just pay and I'll be on my way. They're going to come looking for you here. I'm known to them. And I am going to tell them that you came by. Please don't. I can pay. I can pay. You're making me question which type of runner you are. You don't get to 20 years selling tea cakes by not playing ball with the likes of them. Now.

I couldn't give two shits about your creepy, kooky, mysterious and spooky secret base. And frankly, I've never appreciated being a piece in all these clandestine games of wanker's chests you people have going on with your employer. But...

If you have something you can give me, I can stretch the truth about how long ago you left, or what direction you might have been headed. How much do you want? A significant... amount of that please and if you've been smart enough to keep a lot more of that with you

I could tell you how to get hold of a vehicle. That would be very helpful. My pal Curly Chops is only down the way. Curly Chops. Ah, Curly Chops. You're going to want something you can sleep in. Something you can take into the hills for a bit. Have the lot. That's so kind of you. I'll give him a buzz and let him know you're coming. I know he could do you a good deal on a Mazda Bongo Frendi. A what? A Mazda Bongo Frendi. I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're saying.

A Mazda. Mazda. Bongo. Bongo. Friendy. That last bit's not actually a word, to be fair. Anyway, it's a good little van. It's just what you need. Great. Point the way. I'll make the call. Finish your breakfast. Will that definitely be enough then to settle the bill? My dear, for that I'll even throw in a tea towel.

This is Aubrey Wood. Thought I might address this directly instead of just passively taping everything around me. Bryony always drilled us with the importance of regular log keeping and the benefits of personal reflections spoken aloud rather than written. Thought it was a faster route to the truth. So what's my truth? Right now, my truth is it's 2am and I'm in a tent behind a bush about 50 metres from the camper van I bought this morning. So, uh...

The Mazda Bongo Frendi is a real thing. They really named it that. I recognised the model, actually. My old neighbour's opposite had one. Even the same colour, swamp water green with a rain cloud go-fast to stripe. It's virtually camouflaged out here. It's perfect. Lovely little conversion on the inside, little sink, little fridge, strange little fold-away loo.

It's warm, it's dry, it has little Christmas lights fitted around the roof, you know. What's that? The cafe man sent me to see his friend. Who, sure enough, introduced himself as Curly Chops. Never found out his real name. He was so kind and straightforward. I found him implicitly untrustworthy. He sold me the van for a lot more than it was worth, but...

I was in no position to haggle. He said, with a quite unnecessarily theatrical wink, that if I really wanted to get away from it all, I should go north, take the ferry to Harris. Perfect spot to hide from the rest of the world, apparently. I thanked him and commended him on a great idea. I set off immediately. Went in the opposite direction, of course. Drove for a good while. I'm in Glencoe. Went to a mountaineering shop.

Panic brought everything in there. Stopped a little gravel car park for hikers at the foot of some great grey monolith. And so convinced was I that the SAS were going to abseil down the mountain and machine gun my little bongo while I slept. I took out my new tent and sleeping bag, marched to the other side of the road. set up camp in the pissing rain and here I am talking to myself, spying on my own van for three and a half hours. Sod it.

I'm gonna get in the van. On the drive, I found myself trying to remember what Harrison Ford did in The Fugitive. Just shaved his beard off, of course, not much help. The first thing I need to worry about is money. Bryony told both of us, Ben and I, she took us for a Chinese and she said, come if you like, make sure you have an exit strategy.

and told us over Prawn Toast where we could get a fake passport, why we should store cash and other essentials in a storage unit. Even gave us the name of the one she uses, apparently. Outside Kettering or somewhere. Ben could probably have lifted the table with his boner of excitement. Thought he was Jason Bourne. And I nodded and smiled like I was the coolest person in the world, and this was all so obvious.

And of course I'd be getting a fake passport piece of cake, and I'd hide my spare helicopter under a tarp in my dad's allotment, and I'd be in the Seychelles before the fuzz even knew my name. Absolutely ridiculous. But I did it. Well, some of it. I took out the inheritance I promised my Nan on her deathbed would be going towards a house deposit. I told Bryony I'd used the storage unit she mentioned, but I didn't. Split it four ways.

Used three different units from Wales, Scotland and England and kept the rest on me the whole time. Maybe you're listening to this, Briony. So if you're wondering where those units are, suck my balls. That's where they are.

Winnie the Pooh was a murderer. I mean, Robert Masters. I interviewed him for the treatment when he was in prison in New Yorkshire. I was the one who made him the offer. Transfer out of maximum security. Appeal within two years. New legal team provided by us. Free in well under five. He killed three security guards and an armed robbery on some warehouse.

Had one count downgraded to manslaughter because he reversed the getaway van over Wongard's stomach instead of hitting him face on. He laughed when he told me that. I was supposed to be frightened, I think. Or at least disgusted. But I wasn't. I was thrilled. Not at what he'd said. What he did. Not that at all. It was what it meant. It gave me permission.

Just a big green light in my head. I can see his eyes opposite me in that interview. Smiling eyes. Me smiling back. Both of us desperate to sign the pieces of paper in front of us. You thought he was getting out? I knew I could throw him in a cryopod and sleep like a baby. It didn't take long to die after Ben left. Could have been a hundred things that did it. I spent an hour standing at his pod, his eyes were open, not smiling anymore. I stood and I waited.

Stop. Would you like me to play the next entry, Aubrey? No, thank you, Gordon. Don't think I can bear any more of that. They must be difficult memories. Mainly just the sound of my own voice, but yes, thank you. Good simulated compassion. What's the time? It's coming up to 2.45am.

It's three degrees outside. The sunrise is... Yep, yep, yep, yep, yep. Thanks. Are you finished with audio playback? Bloody hell, just a... Just a moment with my thoughts, please. You're due on shift in just under four... Yeah, I know. I write the shift. What are you doing in here? Don't you start. I don't remember any Blue Sky units nagging as much as this one does. They nag if their owner is constantly doing things they shouldn't.

Like sitting in the records room all night when they need to be asleep. Hester, can you just do that thing where you put your hands on my shoulders and smell my hair, please? Without the judgment. There was judgement in that breath. That was an exhale. It's part of the breathing. Convenient. What were you listening to? Just an old diary.

I assume this wasn't the kind of diary where you worry about your GCSEs or when you touch your first boob? I was thinking about Ben Thomas, my partner when I was first stationed here. The one who ran out on you. I loathed him for so long for that. But listening back, I wonder what most people would have done in that situation. How much more would I have had to see before I turned and ran?

He made up for it. He helped me get information in and out of the company. Helped me pass it on. It's so strange. Ben and I were both in contact with Gordon and never knew it. We kept everything online and anonymous. We were his secret sources. We're the reason he ever got involved in all of this. Don't do that.

I know you're trying to find a way to make yourself responsible for everything that's ever happened. The world is bigger than that, Aubrey. I know. Maybe we should call Computer Gordon here something else. You're right. How about Gord? Gord. Just think of a small pumpkin. Works for me. Gord? Do you have the records of contact between us all? Gordon, Ben and me. Gord, cancel that.

Aubrey, you need to sleep, not open up another box of bad memories. We're waking Warren up after 44 years. It's been decades for us, but it won't feel that way for him. He's going to have a lot of questions about things that happened a lifetime ago for us. I thought it was all clear in my mind, but it's incredible how your memory rewrites itself. Then let God answer the questions. That's what he's here for. All right.

How's Warren doing anyway? His temperature's coming up. He's still on inotropes. We did a chest scan an hour ago just to make everyone happy that he didn't aspirate when we moved him from the pod. He's fine. Now we just wait for him to come round. I guess none of us know how long that will be. Was this a terrible idea? To take him out now? Into all of this? Some of all of this is actually pretty good, you know. Nice people.

peace and quiet? Warren Godby had a crappy life the first time round. Maybe in 2064 he can make a better go of it. You're giving him the chance to make his own choices. English author Charles Caleb Colton once wrote, the present time has one advantage over every other. It is our own. Wow. Wisdom mode engaged, Gord. What if this is the best I can do, though?

Making the computer sound like his best friend. He'll need a familiar voice when he wakes up. It was a good idea. I know it's the middle of the night, but please try and be optimistic. Everything's working out so far. You're right. I know. I need to get back upstairs. Will you please get some sleep? I will. You will? I will. Gord, play her some panpipes or something. Play the next entry please, little pumpkin. Of course.

Red Valley was written by Jonathan Williams and directed by Alan Mandel. All music and editing by Richard Orpheus Campbell, with sound design by Alexander Broad and Richard Orpheus Campbell. Carol Pestridge was assistant director. Performances by Tash Reith-Banks as Aubrey Wood, Susan Hingley as Hester Hiyashi, James Craze as the team leader, Robin Hellier as the cafe owner, Mark Ruddick as Billy, and Max Panks as Ben Thomas.

with Alan Mandel as Gord and Natalie Day as Blue Sky. Thanks for listening. The Fable and Folly Network, where fiction producers flourish. Monster Energy. Everybody knows White Monster, Zero Ultra. That's the OG. It kicked off this whole Zero Sugar Energy drink thing. But Ultra is a whole lineup now. You've got Strawberry Dreams, Blue Hawaiian, Sunrise, and Vice Guava. And they all bring the monster energy punch. So if you've been living in the white can, branch out.

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