Stuart James - Apartment 6

Oliver pictured the guy lying in bed. He pictured injecting him with the autoinjector, the way his body had spasmed, the noises he made.

He leant over into a bush and vomited.

Oliver closed the front door to his apartment, fastening the double lock, sliding the security chain in place. He leaned against the wall, using it to support his weight. Regret washed over him. He struggled to come to terms with the act he’d just carried out, running it over and over in his mind. He’d just killed a man, ended his life, terminated his existence. Oliver was freaking out. He needed to hear Meagan’s voice, speak with her so she could make it all okay, bearable. He knew it was impossible. They’d planned to keep their distance, no contact.

Suddenly he thought of Claire, the girl he had shared so many great times with. He could call her, leave the apartment, go to her. She said they could remain friends. Maybe that’s what he needed; to get off this rollercoaster and hide.

From the living room window the lights over West London were blinding. Oliver reached out, pulling the cord of the heavy blinds, watching them fall, listening to the crunching noise as they bounced, darkening the apartment suddenly. Where was Meagan? Did she say I could call, or was she calling me? How long can I wait? I need to speak with her, find out the plan. We can go through this together, organise what to do next.

He was distracted by a siren in the distance, an ambulance, police maybe. London had sirens day and night, it was a city that never stopped. It was getting nearer, louder, coming towards him.

Oliver quickly went to his bedroom window, which overlooked the street. He was struggling to contain a panic attack that had threatened since he’d left apartment six. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. The heating was off, the apartment chilly, but Oliver now felt on fire.

The siren was almost on top of him, blaring through his head. He looked to the ground below the window: flashing blue lights, a large vehicle with a ladder on top. A fire engine, not a police car. He watched as it passed the building, turning right into a side street. The noise disappeared in the distance, a faint whirring sound fading into the background.

Oliver paced back and forth across the kitchen floor, rubbing his fingers together, reaching for the fridge, closing the door, moving toward the window, lifting the blind slightly. The nervous energy was all too much; he needed to rest, take a bath, read. I can’t concentrate! How can I do any of these things?

He lay on the sofa, picked up the remote control and flicked through channels to find the news. A reporter was standing outside the prime minister’s house, talking about NHS staffing. He turned the volume up slightly, and after a few minutes, two people appeared sitting in a studio, briefly going through local news bulletins from earlier today. Nothing about apartment six.

He was safe, for now.

For most of the day, Meagan had sat in the coffee shop. She was buzzing from the effect of caffeine, numb from sitting in the same spot at a table near the front.

She needed to be seen, that was important in case anyone asked questions later.

She began to have doubts about whether Oliver had gone through with it. Had he broken into the apartment and done what he had promised? She imagined him at the last minute, turning back, going home, never contacting her again. It would kill her, him backing out, changing his mind, deciding it’s not what he wanted, leaving Meagan to live the rest of her life with her bastard of a husband.

She wasn’t brave enough to do it herself. Meagan couldn’t comprehend killing someone, especially Rob; he’d overpower her, looking into her eyes, that smirk, the snarl starting from deep within, his face, the evil expression and the spell he’d cast. She’d bottle it, collapse in a heap and have to face the aftermath.

A shiver raced down her spine and goose pimples rose on her arms.

‘Another coffee?’

She jumped. The waitress was standing in front of her.

Meagan glanced at her watch. It was getting late. Rob would be home, unpacking his clothes; he’d take a shower and then get into bed.

‘Go on then, thanks.’ Meagan smiled as the waitress passed a menu across the table, dropping it in front of her.

‘No, just the coffee, thank you.’

‘Very well.’

The waitress had been working all the time Meagan had been sitting there, approaching her every half hour or so. Meagan made sure she spoke with her, asking her how she was, making it obvious when she’d finished her drink and wanted another.

She debated whether to call Oliver. Her phone was still switched off for fear of Rob and his tracking apps. She couldn’t risk it. She needed to stay off the radar and away from Albuquerque House.

The waitress returned, Meagan gratefully accepted the drink, commenting on the rain, how cold it had got.

She sipped her coffee, looking at the walls, up at the ceiling, distracting herself.

People came inside, brushing water from their coats, smiling at her as they went to look at the menu behind the counter.

She watched couples hand in hand, families settling down after shopping, storing large expensive labelled carrier bags under the table beside them, talking about the theatre, films, news, sport, laughing together.

Meagan found herself becoming envious. She and Rob would never have this type of relationship. Her life was a mess. Meagan thought back to when she first met him, how they laughed, held each other, talked for hours and made crazy, passionate love every moment they could. The continuous text messages whenever they were apart. They ate together at the best restaurants, went to the best bars and walked home arm in arm. Nothing else existed and no one else mattered.

How could it happen? How could Rob change so quickly? Sarah had warned her. ‘He’s not for you, hun. You could do so much better. Give it more time.’

Thinking back, maybe he bullied her into the relationship, and she was too green to see past it and realise what was happening.

Meagan rechecked her watch. It was getting late. Oliver must have visited the apartment by now.

She finished her coffee, paid the bill, then stood. She had a sudden head rush as she reached down to take her handbag and the room spun. She breathed, in and out, steadying herself. Then she waved to the waitress and went out onto the street.

The cold air was too much. Meagan’s cheeks felt flushed after being in the warmth all afternoon. A bus passed, soaking her with rainwater. She moved slowly, not wanting to draw attention, her head down, her frame slouching. Her mind buzzed. Meagan regretted drinking so much coffee, with the caffeine pumping through her veins. This is it, girl. Time to see if Oliver has come good. Be brave now, be very, very brave.

She crossed over the road, looking up at the four-storey building.

Meagan awoke and raced into her mother’s room, jumping on her bed.

The covers were pulled up, the bed neatly made.

‘Mummy, where are you?’ She waited for a response, pulling herself across the bed to the other side, leaning towards the ground and hanging forwards, her hands on the floor. Meagan peered under the bed.

‘Mummy?’ She glanced towards the dresser, seeing her mother’s comb, the small mirror, the make-up bag with the zip half open, a lipstick balancing on the closed jewellery box. Everything was as Meagan had remembered yesterday.

‘She must be hiding.’ Meagan shouted out, ‘I’ll find you, Mummy. Don’t worry.’ Meagan climbed off the bed, raced excitedly out to the hall and went down the stairs.

She went into the garden, looking in the usual places; the garden shed towards the back, behind the rack of tools, the tall cabinet, under the wooden workbench. ‘I know you’re here somewhere; I’ve just got to find you.’