Stuart James - Apartment 6

‘You’ll work it out. It’s my only hope, then we can be together.’

The next evening Meagan arrived at Oliver’s apartment at 7pm sharp, wearing a red blouse, knee-length skirt and black boots.

Oliver opened the door, quickly poked his head out to the hall to make sure they weren’t seen and then greeted her with a loose hug and showed her inside.

Meagan welcomed the smell of garlic and tomatoes in the air as she walked along the hallway. ‘Wow. Something smells good.’

‘Thank you; let me get you a drink.’ Oliver could feel the anxiety rise, his body shaking. Breathe Oliver, just breathe. He clenched his right fist into a tight ball to rid the temporary paralysis.

‘Red wine, please,’ said Meagan.

Standing by the drinks cabinet in the living room, he poured a large red wine.

She walked over towards the window, taking in the view of London at night. ‘Wow. That’s incredible. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more magnificent.’

Oliver handed Meagan the tall glass. ‘It is pretty incredible, isn’t it? Sadly, the rent is unaffordable.’

‘Oh, Oliver, I love it. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.’

He walked up behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist. She turned, smiling, the tension evident on her face. Oliver placed his drink on the coffee table, holding Meagan close, moving his head forward to kiss her.

She pulled back slowly, placing her finger on Oliver’s lips. ‘Not yet. Not until it’s done. It will give us something to look forward to, make it worthwhile.’

That rejection made Oliver want her all the more.

As they ate, Meagan scanned the living room, the high ceiling, thick white walls, a few Banksy pictures hanging low and a Formula One calendar. She took in the heavy shelves with images of Oliver and another woman and photos of Oliver’s family placed neatly to the front. The plain décor was warm and inviting, with oak beams on either side of the room. A large, curved plasma screen on a dark wooden stand was set in the middle of the wall with speakers on both sides.

She spooned the pasta into her mouth, jazz music playing in the background. ‘I could get used to this.’

Oliver looked up from his plate. He’d been spinning the food with his fork; his mind was confused. ‘How serious are you?’

Meagan paused for effect. ‘Deadly.’

‘Okay, what’s the plan? You want me to kill your husband? Why have you never done it?’

Meagan looked over her shoulder, towards the shelf filled with photos. ‘Who is that?’

‘She was my partner for two years. She just left one morning without an explanation.’

‘People can be cruel. Believe me, I should know. In answer to your question, I’ve never had the guts. I witnessed firsthand my mother… the abuse – no, not just abuse, the torture, the fucking living hell she went through each day. I swore I’d never let it happen to me, convinced myself I’d see it coming. Rob was kind in the beginning. When we first met, he drove a taxi. He picked me up from a wine bar and slipped me his number. He was good-looking, a real charmer. I agreed to go for a drink as friends as I was, like you, on the rebound. We had a great couple of months, the best restaurants, weekends away; he couldn’t do enough for me. We married quickly, but within a year, it all changed. It’s like he turned overnight. Now I’m just another pathetic victim like my mother.’

Oliver never let his eyes wander. He was listening to every word, sympathising with Meagan’s story, thinking, God, I want to be with her. ‘Okay, I’ll do it. I don’t want to make an issue of it, so when it’s done, we never talk about it again, understood?’

Her face lit up. ‘Understood.’

Meagan explained that her husband was due back from Spain tomorrow evening. She wanted it done fast, as soon as he returned.

Meagan would leave an autoinjector in the storeroom of the basement hall. The autoinjector would contain botulinum, an extremely fast-acting poison. She gave Oliver clear instructions where to find the autoinjector and described how to work it. The toxin would cause Rob immediate muscle paralysis, closing down his respiratory system leading to his death. She also told Oliver where to find apartment six. His instructions were clear. Break into apartment six, stab the autoinjector into her husband and leave.

She said, ‘I’ll be out; I can’t watch, I’m afraid, I’m not brave enough, Oliver. Besides, you’ll be able to concentrate on the job in hand. If, for whatever reason, you need me, you have my number. You know what you have to do.’

They finished their meal, then Oliver walked Meagan back to her apartment. As she waved goodbye, Oliver stood outside, struggling to curb the complete dread in the pit of his stomach.

It was three days ago that Meagan had witnessed her father cruelly burn her mother with the gravy.

Meagan struggled to sleep. She would wake in the night, crying out, with visions of her father doing the same to her.

Tricia didn’t leave her bed. She’d developed the flu, with cold sweats and high temperature. Meagan frequently checked on her mother, making sure she had everything she needed.

It was Wednesday evening. Sarah had come over, Meagan’s best friend from across the road.

Sean was out working and wouldn’t usually come home until late. He worked at the local council and his days were taken up with meetings, speeches, and helping local businesses – a regular pillar of the community in the eyes of the neighbourhood.

The girls were sat on the living room floor, combing their dolls’ hair and talking about school.

Meagan heard the key in the front door, and the menacing figure of her father appeared in the hall. She felt sick, worried her father would lash out in front of her friend.

She listened as he went up the stairs, opened the bedroom door then slammed it hard.

‘What’s wrong with your daddy?’ asked Sarah. ‘Is he in a mood again?’

Meagan pushed herself up from the floor, and went to the living room door. ‘I don’t know, but he’s gone to Mummy and Mummy isn’t well.’

‘Shall we go see?’ Sarah asked.

‘No. He’ll be angry if he catches me listening. It makes him shout. You stay here, okay? I’ll be back soon. Comb this one’s hair now and make her look pretty.’ Meagan tossed another doll towards Sarah, who placed her hands out, dropping it on the floor. ‘Be careful. She’s not well, just like Mummy.’

‘My daddy says your mummy is lazy.’

‘She is not.’

‘Is too.’

Meagan shut the door so she couldn’t hear Sarah anymore. At the foot of the stairs, she listened. There was total silence. As she reached the top of the stairs, she paused, hearing her father’s voice.

‘Is that it? You’re just going to lie there and do nothing? This is all because of Sunday. I told you I was sorry. What more do you want?’

‘Please, Sean, I’m sick; let me rest, please.’

‘You’ve been resting for three fucking days; nothing is getting done in the house. Do you expect me to do everything?’

As Meagan stepped forward, she saw the door open, and she hid. After a couple of seconds, it closed again.

‘I’m telling you something; I won’t stand for it for much longer. Get out of bed.’

‘Sean, please, I can’t move; my body is crippled with pain.’

Meagan quietly opened the bedroom door and found her father at the bedside, slapping her mother around the face.

‘No, Daddy, don’t hit my Mummy.’ Meagan leapt on her father’s arm, swinging like a pendulum.

He wrestled her off, cursing as he left the room. Tricia burst into tears, apologising to her daughter for what she’d just witnessed.