Stuart James - Apartment 6

He picked up his phone. ‘We’re going to get you checked over. I’m calling 999.’

Meagan pleaded with Oliver. ‘If you call an ambulance, you may as well sign my death warrant. Don’t do it, Oliver. I’m begging you. Rob will kill me.’

Oliver cancelled the phone call, then lifted the blinds. Light filled the room as he looked out over London, watching the stillness, the bright lights gleaming on the Thames. He gazed out from his apartment on the fourth floor, thinking about his situation. He couldn’t carry on like this. His life had turned upside down in the last few weeks. This woman in his apartment, the trouble she brought with her! She’d blown in like a breeze – correction, a hurricane, a tornado that had lifted him to a place far stranger than Oz. This wasn’t him. He’d had a simple life before he met her; him and Claire watching the same programmes night after night, a takeaway at the weekend, a commute together, great conversation. He craved this now. The plain, dull, easy life he had had before didn’t seem so wrong. At the time he wanted something different; excitement, a break from the dull world he seemed to be drawn into. He found himself wishing at this moment that Meagan and Claire would swap places. He couldn’t be with this woman who was sitting in his kitchen. She fucked with his head more than she’d ever know.

Meagan had to go.

Oliver turned, bringing the coffee towards her. ‘There you go. Drink this. It will make you feel better. Nothing like a caffeine hit.’

Meagan reached for one of the mugs. ‘Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t met you, Oliver. Please, don’t ever leave me, do you hear? I can’t be without you; you understand what I’m saying? I can’t.’

No. Please. Don’t start this shit again. Don’t play with my emotions. You’re drinking this, then going. That’s it. Out, out, out. ‘It’s no problem. I’m glad the colour has returned to your face. Jesus, Meagan, what were you thinking?’

She placed the mug on the table, then she broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, her shoulders jerking, streams of tears spilling from her eyes.

He placed his arms around her, kissing her damp forehead, pulling her closer, needing to be there for her until she gained control.

Oliver glanced at the clock on the wall in the kitchen, not wanting Meagan to catch him. She had just finished her second coffee. He mustered the strength and took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Come on, I’ll drive you home.’

She looked at him, through him, her calm, dull expression, the emptiness which filled her eyes, the broken woman struggling to assemble her thoughts, gather herself together, make sense of everything, the life she was sucked into through no choice of her own. Oliver could see it all, an open book, like he could read her mind, connect with her thoughts.

He needed her to leave. ‘Are you ready?’

Meagan simply answered, ‘Fine.’

As they reached Albuquerque House, Meagan stopped, watching above her. It was a place she’d never get used to; a nightmare gateway to another dimension, a dark, mysterious building with supernatural powers, a place where once you set foot inside, you are never the same again.

She turned to Oliver. ‘I can’t do it.’

‘You can. It’s your home, Meagan. It’s where you live.’ Oliver fought the lump in his throat as he kissed her on the cheek. ‘This is where it ends. I can’t do this anymore. I’m so sorry, but you need to leave him before it’s too late. You know what you have to do. Make a better life for yourself before it’s too late.’

Meagan looked at Oliver. It seemed her confidence had momentarily returned. ‘I won’t contact you again. If that’s what you really want.’

‘I think it’s best. Take care, Meagan.’

With that, she stood on the street, watching him disappear along the road until his car was a speck.

Meagan placed her key in the door, twisting it slowly, pushing the door, the creak, a slow screech that grated through her head.

She had a plan. Rob would ask where she’d been, why she hadn’t been here to greet him, coffee in hand, his robe, his fucking slippers, a red carpet rolled out for him to glide down, so he could parade himself and announce his return from Spain. God, she hated him with every fibre of her being. Every breath she took was resentment and bitterness towards her bastard of a husband.

She rehearsed it in her head while climbing the steps. I was attacked on the way home. Hijacked– Wait, maybe hijacked is too strong a word. Mugged, yes. Two guys in masks grabbed me from the street. They took my handbag.

She glanced downwards. Her bag was dangling by her hip, the strap placed loosely over her left shoulder. That won’t work now Meagan, will it? Fuck it. I’ve taken a lover. We planned your death while we were together. How mad is that? We both came up with the sickest way possible to top you off. Only it went a little pear-shaped. We have a neighbour at number seven. No, of course, you wouldn’t know, how could you? Self-indulgent prick. Well, the poor unfortunate bastard is no longer with us. Coffee?

Meagan decided to tell Rob she’d been jumped, and her handbag had been lifted off her shoulder. One guy ripped it from her, causing the burn mark on her neck and a passer-by came to her aid. It was the best she could think of at that moment.

‘Rob?’ Meagan whispered as she stepped inside apartment six. How she hoped he hadn’t come home.

Suddenly, her anxiety lifted, fear turning to shock. She glanced on the hallway floor, looking at her husband, a gag strapped to his mouth, hands tied firmly to the radiator pipe.

He mumbled, squealing something she couldn’t make out. Suddenly her nurturing side went into overdrive. She temporarily forgot it was her fucker of a husband on the floor. It was someone who needed help. Her help.

‘Oh my God, Rob. What happened?’ It was pointless asking until she had removed the gag. Meagan leaned forward, struggling to untie the knot, pulling the cloth and yanking Rob’s head forward, feeling sorry for him for the briefest of moments. She needed to help him, untie the rope and cut her husband loose.

Once freed, he leant forward, clasping his wife, sobbing onto her shoulders. ‘Oh, Meagan. I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry.’

She crouched, moving further into his grasp, and among all the craziness of the last few days, she found herself suddenly feeling like a normal person again.

Once Rob had composed himself, he explained what had happened. He held his ribs, struggling to move, patting his scarred face with the back of his hand.

Meagan dabbed her husband’s face with antiseptic wipes, cleaning the blood, aiding her partner.

He winced as she firmly wiped under his eyes. His cheeks were severely cut and there was a gash along the right side of his forehead. He was a complete mess. Those cuts would scar. Her husband would bear the remnants of this attack for the rest of his life.

They stood in the hall and Rob was shaking, struggling to keep his legs still.

Meagan felt like the one in control. She stood back, the bloodstained wipe in her hand. ‘Here, let me look at you. Oh, Rob, what have they done? You’re a mess.’

She watched the pathetic look in his eyes, his slumped figure, his sudden vulnerability. She liked this. This newly-formed person, so needy, destitute, wallowing in self-pity. She could do this. She suddenly realised her husband was human – with a heart, feelings, emotions.

Meagan instantly regretted how she’d felt about him, the anger, the fear. She had doubted her husband could ever change, but here it was, proof that people can change, people are good. They are good after all, aren’t they?