Stuart James - Apartment 6

‘I’ve told you, you can stay here for as long as you need.’ Anne placed two cups onto the table, watching as Tricia gripped hers, appreciating the warmth and lightly blowing the drink to cool it down.

‘We can’t stay forever. I don’t know what we’re going to do, Anne.’

Suddenly the lights went out. Anne stood as Tricia gripped the side of her chair.

‘What’s going on?’ Tricia asked. Her body was pulsating with nervous energy. She wanted to run to Meagan.

‘It’s fine. We get power cuts frequently. It’s a regular occurrence. Wait there. I’ll go and check it out.’

‘I’ll come as well.’

‘Honestly. There’s no need. Drink your coffee. I’ll be back in a second.’

Tricia sat in the darkness, looking out of the window from her seat. A tree branch tapped the glass, like a claw trying to muster the strength to get inside and work its way around her neck. She listened to the wind howling, echoing through her head. The branch stopped as Tricia froze. Again, it slapped against the glass. Tricia screamed out, jumping up, standing alone in the kitchen, sure that someone was outside, looking at her, watching. She jolted as the lights came back on, and Anne walked into the kitchen.

‘See, nothing to worry about,’ Anne stated.

‘I’m going to check on Meagan.’ Tricia relaxed slightly, stood and went upstairs. She found her daughter in the back bedroom, fast asleep, with her arm around Arthur the bunny who was wrapped in the blanket beside her. She listened to the light breaths, watching her daughter at peace.

‘I wish it could be different, Meggy. Honestly, I do. I love you so much. Always remember that, baby.’ She kissed her daughter on the head and left the room.

As Tricia moved along the upstairs hall, the floorboards bowed underneath her feet, dipping and creaking like a moored boat in a marina. She was thankful for her sister, but also guilty that they hadn’t kept in regular contact.

It was going to change; her life was going to change. It would get better. Tricia owed it to Meagan; her and her daughter’s happiness was everything. She’d have to talk with her, tell her how it is, that her father couldn’t be a part of their life anymore. It was time to stand up to the bastard the only way she knew.

Hide and stay hiding.

Rob was lying on the floor of the communal hall outside apartment six. He had squealed like a pig, now he was turned on his side, crying, his body jolting, his shoulders scrunched towards his neck, and his face bloody.

Phil Cavanagh had just kicked the shit out of him, after asking about his partner Tony. Phil told him he lived in apartment seven and that Tony was missing. He wanted answers.

‘See, we run a debt collection, a recovery business as we like to call it these days. People borrow money for all sorts of reasons: a small gambling habit, money for a dirty weekend away, a new bike for their kid. But the debt needs paying on time. It gets vicious – we’re underhanded, old school. People have been hurt, houses ransacked. You don’t fuck with us, especially with Tony.’

He held the machete high in the air. ‘See, this bitch that Tony went after owes us a lot of money. Now she’s gone and I can’t get hold of Tony. So I’m thinking that maybe there’s something going on, underhand if you like. It doesn’t look good. So I need to find him. I want you to realise I’m the calmer one. You get my fucking drift?’

Rob knew nothing about the neighbour who lived in apartment seven. Why would he? He kept himself to himself. Other people’s lives didn’t interest him. He couldn’t care less about them; they were below him, inadequate, a nuisance.

Phil grabbed Rob by his legs, moving him into apartment six. Pushing his hand inside his jacket he removed a length of rope and pulled on it, as if testing its durability. ‘This will do nicely.’

He crouched beside Rob, tying him securely to a radiator pipe in the downstairs hall. Then he dipped his hand back into the same pocket and removed a piece of cloth that he rammed into Rob’s mouth. Then he wrapped the rope several times around his lips.

Rob was trying to speak; muffled sounds were coming from his mouth, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead, blood stains on his hands. His eyes and face were sore, stinging as he tried to blink and focus. He had a metallic taste in his mouth from the blood, and was struggling to swallow. He gagged with the cloth, fighting to breathe, trying to empty the contents of his nose so he could push air into his lungs.

Once Phil was confident Rob was securely tied, he stood, checking the communal hall. Then he returned to the apartment and watched the fear on Rob’s face.

‘I’m going now. If I find out you, or the girl I saw here last night had anything to do with Tony’s disappearance, I’ll come back, and the next time you won’t be in such a fit state. That’s a promise.’

Rob watched him walk casually out the door, zipping up his jacket.

Oliver struggled to lift Meagan’s feet. The more he heaved, the harder she gagged. Her face had turned a dark purple, veins spreading on her forehead like a cracked window. She twitched as Oliver struggled to support her.

‘For fuck’s sake, Meagan, hold still. I’m going to get you down, okay. Help me out here.’ He watched her face; her eyes were rolling upwards, flickering, resembling white marbles, her mouth opening wider as she gasped for air. Her arms fell limp by her sides. Oliver was losing her. He wanted to shout for help, but he couldn’t let go.

In desperation, he pushed her body, watching her swing out to the right. As she came back towards him, he caught her legs, anchoring her body onto the side rail. Meagan was balancing as Oliver held her body against the railing with his shoulder, managing to quickly remove the rope from around her neck.

He laid her down on the hallway floor by the stairs, desperately rubbing her neck, hoping it may clear her airways. He lifted her head, pleading for her to move, jolt, anything to say she was still alive.

‘Don’t do this, Meagan. Hold on. You’re not going on me, please, Meagan. Stay with me.’ Oliver pushed on her chest, unsure if it would make a difference. He’d seen it many times in films, but only if someone was drowning, or having a heart attack. He didn’t know if it made a difference to someone who had just tried to hang themselves. After a few chest pumps, his hands placed on top of each other, pushing as hard as he could muster, he tried rubbing her throat. Meagan suddenly spasmed, like she’d just had an electric shock, her eyes opened, and she focused on Oliver.

‘Oh, thank you, God. Thank you. Can you hear me, Meagan?’ He waited for an answer, a movement, anything to indicate she was okay.

As Oliver lifted her head, she turned on her side, vomiting onto the carpet. When she’d finished, she slowly turned back over. She whispered, ‘What happened?’ She pushed herself up, trying to get to her feet.

Oliver helped to lift her. ‘Are you okay to stand?’

She glanced around, as if unsure where she was. ‘Rob. Where’s Rob?’

‘Shhh, Meagan. Don’t worry about Rob. I’m calling an ambulance.’

‘No, you don’t understand. I need to be there. He’s back. I have to get to him now.’

‘You’re not going anywhere until you rest. Come on. You’re in no state to go home.’ As Meagan lifted herself off the floor, Oliver saw the deep mark across her neck, wondering how her head hadn’t come away from her body.

He slowly helped her into his apartment, one arm guiding her as she walked, flicking the lights on in the hallway with his free arm.

He sat Meagan down in the kitchen and went to make two strong coffees.