Stuart James - Apartment 6

The driver shouted at her, ‘Don’t make it more difficult for yourself. Your air is limited, so I’d keep as still as possible if you don’t want to suffocate.’

She lay still then, moaning.

The man said, ‘Your boyfriend is a very fucking stupid man. He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. Did he tell you? I bet he didn’t mention what he’s done, huh? This is what happens when you fuck with people like us. How’s the breathing going back there?’ He paused.

Claire tried to move herself into a less uncomfortable position.

‘Your boyfriend fucked with the wrong people. Now, it’s payback.’

Claire lay in the back, bound so tightly with rope that her body throbbed. It felt like her airways were blocked and the bottom half of her body was hanging on by a thread. She was staring into the darkness. The hood was smothering her and her breathing was becoming more rapid and desperate. She kicked out, thumping the side of the truck with her heels. Her mouth was open, but nothing was coming out. She could hear the driver shouting about something Oliver had done.

Why did I go back for the fucking phone? She wriggled like a fish on the end of a line, wondering if it was the end of the line for her too.

Suddenly, she heard something in the back next to her. She stopped, listening to the sounds of the truck moving across London.

There it is again, something beside me, next to me. Claire heard a moan, followed by a whimper, close to where she lay.

Someone else was tied up next to her.

A short while earlier, Rob had showered, and was standing by the full-length mirror with a towel around his waist. He eyed his shape, impressed at how good he looked for his age.

He thought how he deserved so much better than Meagan. She brings me down. She ruins my image. She holds me back. He thought about the parties he could have back here, the late nights, the drugs, the sex. She ruined everything. He could never let her mix with the same people he liked to hang out with. They’d laugh at how pathetic she was, mock her innocence, her casual take on life, her laid-back approach. Rob liked to live life in the fast lane, playing dangerously, taking risks, and he loved his job. The nightclubs, the late-night gambling, the orgies, the trips to Europe where he was free to be who he wanted to be.

Rob had a plan: a definitive vision of the future. It wouldn’t be long now. He’d open the club in Spain and make it a success. The only thing holding him back was his pathetic wife. She would no longer be part of his dream.

Rob was going to get rid of Meagan, her and her pitiful little life. If he didn’t act now there’d be a divorce settlement, she’d get hold of the money he’d made from the club. The business he’d built himself. He recalled a conversation they’d had when they first met. Meagan had told him if he ever got tired of her, she’d fleece him for everything he had. He’d have to pay her off. Well, now Meagan had no choice. She wouldn’t get a penny of his money. He couldn’t wait to see her face as he placed the rope around her neck, crushing her windpipe, watching her beg, her final plea for him to spare her life.

Now as he dropped the towel, he wanted Meagan. He needed some relief, then he’d finish her. She hated it, despised being intimate with him, although she’d never say it to his face. She wouldn’t fucking dare.

Rob grabbed the thick rope from the drawer beside his bed, feeling the excitement flood his body. This was it. Showtime.

He called down the stairs, ‘Meagan, you’d better have my shirt and jeans ready. I have an hour before I need to leave. Did you hear me, Meagan?’

He walked into the kitchen, finding it empty. As Rob turned towards the front door, he noticed it was slightly ajar, gently swinging on its hinge.

Meagan was gone.

Claire estimated the pickup truck had been driving for almost an hour.

The music was still playing loudly from the front. The guy had been quiet, occasionally talking on the phone to a voice on the loudspeaker. The figure lying next to her hadn’t moved for some time.

Claire wondered if the person had died or was unconscious.

She struggled to stem her distress, breathing deeply with slow, calm breaths. Claire could hear her yoga instructor’s voice. ‘Keep your back straight, darling, let the air flow, my love. Think of yourself as a vessel, clear your mind, a blank canvas. Now stretch. That’s it, girl, reach that body forward, tall and proud. Tall and proud. Now fly.’

All I’ve learned in the past means shit now. It’s pointless. The fucker’s going to kill me, and there’s little I can do to stop him.

The truck slowed and gravel crunched under the tyres. Claire’s body was thrown around like a suitcase in the hold of a plane going through heavy turbulence.

Suddenly the truck stopped. The music went off. There was the sound of the driver’s door opening and footsteps moving towards her.

The figure lying next to her suddenly moved. Something pushed against Claire’s body.

Claire needed to get out; she was struggling to keep calm. She shook her head, desperately trying to remove the hood, needing to escape. She was claustrophobic, terrified of enclosed spaces and being confined or held down. She heard the boot open.

Then she heard the guy’s voice close by. ‘Don’t make this difficult, or I promise I’ll slit your throats right here.’

Claire listened to his words, needing to co-operate with whatever he said. Regardless of his demands, she needed to follow the instructions.

He dragged her body towards him, dropping her on the ground with a heavy thud. She landed awkwardly on her head, her aching frame collapsing.

She heard the person who had been lying next to her falling on the ground and crying out, begging to be released. It was another woman, her voice hysterical.

The boot was shut hard, then Claire was lifted and placed over the guy’s shoulder. She kicked out.

The guy walked calmly across the gravel like he was strolling along a sandy beach watching the sunset. Claire tried to imagine warm water lapping the coastline. The sensation eased her racing mind, if only for a few seconds.

As Claire bounced on his shoulder, she sensed some steps, her body lowering, heading towards a basement deep below. She pushed ferociously, thrusting her legs in desperation. She heard a door open and the air changed. They were in a dank, cave-like room. She was sure she was going to die there.

Oliver had tried Claire’s phone numerous times, each call going to voicemail until eventually he’d memorised the message and found himself mouthing the whole sentence, then hanging up and redialling.

He was frantic. It had to be gloved-man’s partner. It had to be.

He called Meagan, getting an answer message.

‘Fuck.’ Oliver shouted louder than he’d expected. He pounded his fist on the breakfast bar, then stood still, staring at the jewellery.

The guy has been in here, inside my apartment.

Oliver wanted to go to the police, let them know what had happened, have them deal with it, find this arsehole and bring him down. But how could he? Firstly, the guy had the photo showing Oliver dumping a body at the reservoir. It was only a matter of time before the police put two and two together. They’d bang me up for the rest of my sad little life, he thought.

Secondly, Meagan has a video recording. If this lunatic has got to Meagan, he’d more than likely get into her phone and see the film. There was the possibility she would talk. If Claire had been taken, Meagan was also on his radar. Gloved-man’s partner already had suspicions; calling to her door, making threats while Oliver hid in the lift. He had all the evidence he needed and it was only a matter of time before he came for Oliver.