Stuart James - Apartment 6

The waitress greeted an elderly couple coming in through the front door arm in arm. The spotlight was on them, the waitress fussing, asking them to take a seat. See, it’s not just me. Get a grip. Breathe woman, breathe, you can do this.

Meagan ordered a latte and sat in the corner of the room. She had time to kill. Her mind drifted once again to Oliver. She wondered if he wished it was only time he was killing.

Oliver left the office at 5pm sharp, heading back to his apartment. He needed to go through everything in his head and plan this evening, get it right.

Meagan had given him the code to the front door of the building and explained where her apartment was. She only had one key to the apartment so Oliver would have to find a way to break in. ‘Damage the door a little,’ she’d said. Not a problem. My grandad was a locksmith and taught me the tricks of the trade.

He’d find an autoinjector containing botulinum in the storeroom of the basement hall. Meagan described where he would find it. His orders were clear. Break into apartment six, stab the autoinjector into her husband and leave.

He contemplated how it would play out, how he’d feel: taking the life of another person, watching him take his last breath, ending Rob’s existence. He pictured Meagan to make it all seem worthwhile. Oliver suddenly felt ill; he couldn’t eat, his body was shaking uncontrollably. He wanted to call Meagan, see if there was another way. He already knew the answer.

He left home at just past 8pm and made his way to Albuquerque House.

As he stood outside, he looked up at the four-storey building, the path leading to the front door and the lights at the front of the block.

The side road was practically empty, a couple of buses and the occasional car passed as he looked to the High Street.

Apartment six was on the second floor; he’d enter the building, keep as silent as possible, go to the basement, get what he needed, then slowly creep up to the second floor.

He punched in the code to open the main door. The numbers were so small. Now he understood why the residents used a key. It took him several goes, tapping, re-tapping, pressing cancel and trying again. Hearing a loud clunk, he pulled the door towards him.

Once inside, Oliver made sure the place was safe for him to move. There were no security cameras. Meagan had told him the building was often vandalised, and they’d been ripped off the walls.

Oliver stood for a moment, struggling to stem the nervous energy which had built in him. He breathed deeply, in and out, steadying himself by placing his hand on the wall.

Okay, just relax, Oliver. You break in and poison the bastard. Remember what he’s doing to Meagan. How cruel and evil the fucker is. If anyone deserves this fate, this ending, it’s this fucker. You can do this, just go to the apartment, break in and bang. Take him out.

Oliver slowly made his way down to the basement.

Tricia had finally recovered from the flu. She was feeling better.

Meagan had made toast and brought it up to her mother’s bedroom, placing it on the side table. ‘I made you food, Mummy. It will help you to get well.’

Tricia sat up, watching her daughter, wishing it could just be the two of them. ‘Thank you, Meggy, you are a sweetheart.’

When Tricia came down a short while after eating, she found her daughter colouring a picture with crayons.

‘Mummy, are you better now?’

‘I am, my lovely; I’m much better. Where’s your father?’

‘In his room; I heard him talking on the phone. Mummy, why is Daddy always angry?’

Tricia crouched beside her daughter. ‘Honey, it’s okay. He has lots to deal with. You need to understand that, okay? Sometimes adults behave in a peculiar way. It doesn’t make them bad people.’

‘I think Daddy’s bad.’

‘Oh Meagan, don’t ever think that. Your daddy loves you more than anything.’

Tricia went to the stairs. ‘Sean, are you hungry?’

When he didn’t answer, she asked Meagan, ‘No Sarah today?’

Meagan looked up. ‘Her daddy is angry. I don’t think she’s allowed over.’

‘Why?’

Meagan explained what happened the other night; Sarah’s father coming over, shouting at their front door.

‘Okay. Look, get something warm on you, we’ll go and see them.’

They spent a couple of hours at Sarah’s. The girls played in the garden on the climbing frame, bouncing on the trampoline and overeating. Mr Tunney made coffee for the adults and produced a homemade cake from the oven.

‘Wow. That looks incredible,’ Tricia said. ‘I have to ask, does it contain nuts? I have a severe allergy.’

Mr Tunney assured her it was safe to eat.

Meagan listened to her mother apologise to Mr Tunney about Sarah, assuring him it would never happen again, explaining how ill she’d been and unaware of what had happened.

It was getting late. Meagan looked exhausted. Her cheeks were a bright red colour, her face full of cake and she struggled to keep her eyes open. Tricia made an excuse, keen to get home. Sean would be expecting them.

She couldn’t face another confrontation.

As Tricia opened the front door, Sean was standing in the hall. ‘You’re up then?’

She paused, feeling anxious, fighting the start of a panic attack. ‘Yes. I’m feeling better. Did you eat?’

‘Where were you both?’

Tricia’s face reddened, a rash developing on her chest. ‘We popped across the road; I wanted Meagan and Sarah to spend some time together. Do you want something to eat? I can cook something. How about eggs?’ Tricia made her way past her husband, who was blocking her path.

‘You heard what happened during the week, yet you went behind my back.’

Tricia looked at her daughter. ‘Meagan, why don’t you go play in your room?’

‘I want to stay with you, Mummy.’

‘Am I getting this right? Please tell me if I’ve missed anything?’ Sean was trembling, looking like he’d explode.

‘Please, Sean. Not now. I didn’t do it to piss you off, I promise.’

Meagan looked at her father. ‘I asked Mummy to bring me. It’s not Mummy’s fault.’

‘Meagan, don’t talk when I’m talking. Do you understand? How many times have you been told not to interfere when adults are talking?’

Tricia tried again to protect her daughter from what she feared would unfold. ‘Meagan, baby, please go to your room.’

Her daughter whispered, ‘I’m not leaving you, Mummy. I’ll protect you, don’t worry.’

‘I’ll ask again. Why did you disobey me, Tricia, when you’re well aware of what happened during the week?’

Tricia flipped. It was fight or flight, she had to make a stand. ‘Sean. For Christ’s sake, you let a five-year-old child go home on her own. What if someone grabbed her? Or she was knocked over crossing the road? Why would you do such a thing?’

‘You’re such a bitch, you know that?’

‘Daddy. That’s a bad word. You can’t say that to my Mummy.’

Tricia crouched, moving her hand through Meagan’s hair. ‘It’s okay, baby. Daddy is just tired. He didn’t mean it.’

Suddenly, Sean lifted his foot back, booting Tricia in the side of the face so that his wife fell hard on the ground.

As she winced, he kicked her in the ribs, a loud crack echoing through the hallway.

Tricia cried out, ‘Sean, stop. Please, not in front of Meagan.’

As Tricia moved her hand to protect herself, Sean stamped on her fingers, twisting his foot, crushing her hand until it turned purple.

Oliver found the storeroom in the darkness. He wanted to use his phone as a torch, but it was too conspicuous. He needed to keep in the shadows, move unnoticed. He slowly stepped along the cold concrete floor, feeling his way along the dingy corridor with his hands waving in front. The basement of the building gave off the odour of a crypt. The murky air was filled with dust particles and he struggled to breathe in the congested atmosphere.