Stuart James - Apartment 6

The abductor hung up. He took a picture of the two women on the phone. ‘Smile, girls! I’m sending that to your boyfriend.’ He then placed the phone into the front pocket of his boiler suit, tied the rope around Claire’s hands, wrapping her body tightly to the chair.

‘You’re going to wait here.’

He turned to the other woman – Meagan, he’d called her – and rammed the gun into her mouth.

Meagan frantically tried to shift away from the weapon, the chair bouncing on the concrete floor. She was gagging and Claire feared she would vomit and choke to death. Her mouth was open, saliva spilling from her lips.

The man leaned forward into her face, pulling the gun from her mouth. ‘You’d better start talking.’

The woman gulped air, trying to release her body from the rope. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Your partner was in the wrong place at the wrong time. We didn’t mean it; it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It should have been my husband.’ She was hysterical, completely breaking down. She screamed out, crying uncontrollably. ‘Oliver made a mistake. It should have been my fucking husband.’

Claire sat still, listening to Meagan’s confession, waiting for the gun to go off, worried she’d be next in line, regardless of whether Oliver paid the money. She wanted Meagan to keep quiet, close her mouth and never speak again.

The man placed the hoods back over their heads. ‘Well then, thank you for clearing that up. Now someone’s going to fucking pay.’

Oliver stared at his phone. The picture of the two women had just come through, showing them held in a basement. He had goose pimples, his skin started to itch.

Claire and Meagan were tied up in a grotty room somewhere. He had to co-operate and pay this psychopath, but he feared it would not be the end. People like this never stop.

He’d come after Oliver, and maybe he’d pay, but the women would be killed for the fun of it. He knew these people were ruthless. Gloved-man pulled a woman into his apartment and drowned her in the bath, for Christ’s sake.

It might only be the start of his problems, but Oliver wasn’t going to delay. Two women’s lives were in danger, that was the reality. He had to deal with one thing at a time.

He looked at the piece of paper on which he’d taken notes during the call. The account number was a haze of digits lined up. He wondered how much these bastards had made from lending money to desperate people who needed cash for an electrical bill, heating, a phone that had been cut off, or to put food to the table.

Yes, certainly we can help. We’ll have the money sent to you immediately. Oh, I can imagine. It must be freezing. Well hey, light a candle for now, and you’ll be warm in no time. Oh, just one thing before I go, our terms. There’s just a little interest on the payment. Call it our hidden service charge if you like. Oh, and another thing, If you don’t pay, we’ll kill you. How about that? Have a great day now, won’t you!

Oliver had a crazy thought. He wondered what would happen if he called back and asked the abductor if he could borrow the ransom.

Oliver paced the kitchen floor, rubbing his face, his heart racing like a greyhound just released from the traps. He’d pay, what choice did he have? The money was a worry, but the greater concern was the hold this guy now had over him. He knew what Oliver had done. He’d taken Claire and Meagan, he’d seen the picture, knew where he lived. It was impossible for Oliver to go to the police. He contemplated going back to the lake in Tilford, cutting up the body and dumping it down the toilet. Even so, it could still be found.

He would pay the fifty grand, then what? What’s to say he won’t come after him again, demand more money, or even worse.

He sat by the breakfast bar, trying to keep calm. He opened his laptop and accessed his bank account. He had the money: he could just about scrape it together, but it would cripple him to send it over. Maybe if this was the end of the matter, it wouldn’t be so bad, but Oliver knew this was wishful thinking.

He stared at the money in his account, fearful for Claire and Meagan tied up, bound and gagged in a room and begging for their lives.

Tick, tick, Oliver. It’s in your hands now.

Claire and Meagan sat in the basement, their hands tied, rope marks on their wrists. They heard scuffling noises coming from the corner of the room. The sound seemed to be getting closer. Claire moved her feet, scratching the stony ground, fiddling with her fingers, trying to summon the strength to untie the rope. It was tight so it would take her hours to work it loose.

Their captor had left a few minutes ago, slamming the door and pulling a bolt across to secure them both inside.

Claire wanted so badly to remove her gag and speak to the woman next to her so she could get the story straight and understand what Meagan and Oliver had done. It was clearly a plan that had gone horribly wrong.

Meagan hadn’t stopped squealing since she’d been placed next to Claire; a cacophony of noise, panic, hysteria, penetrating her gag.

They both waited, listening for a sign that the guy was outside, observing their surroundings. Claire sensed the room they were in was surrounded by fields, a large open space. There had been little traffic on the drive here; the roads were rough, and she recalled bouncing around like a rag doll in the back of the truck. When she’d been taken out of the boot, the air seemed different, wholesome if you like. There’s a sense you get in the countryside that the atmosphere is lighter, the breeze fresher.

Claire quickly focused, listening to heavy boots coming down the steps, moving towards the door. She could hear Meagan gasp, like she’d woken from a nightmare.

The door opened. The figure walked slowly across the basement floor to stand behind the girls, casting a menacing shadow as he stood still, silent.

Both women tried to talk, groaning noises coming from deep in their throats. The room had filled with uncontrolled panic. Claire was pushing her mind to cope, to muster the strength. She struggled to tear away from the bonds that held her. You can do this. Stay calm and breathe. You will get through this. She was coughing, forcing sharp breaths from her nose. Her head was dizzy, her mouth aching from the hood.

The guy leant in. Claire could feel his breath on her earlobe. ‘You better hope this goes smoothly. I promise, if it doesn’t, I’ll destroy you both here. No one will hear your screams.’

Again, he left the basement, leaving the words going over in their minds.

No one will hear your screams.

Oliver pressed the transfer button, watching the money dissolve from his account. His savings, disappearing down the plughole. He may as well have taken a match to the notes, sat by a campfire and watched it all go up in smoke.

He stared at the laptop screen: his mind flooded with a barrage of hatred towards this guy. His account had been almost emptied; the procedure so easy. A couple of buttons and boom, everything was gone; his life savings, the dream of a better life, disappearing out of the window.

Anger was seeping through his veins, working its way towards his neck. A pulse was developing, his heart pumping rage through his body. He wanted to find this guy, rip his head off, humiliate him, and beat him to within an inch of his smug fucking life.

He thought about Claire, mixed up in this shit, at the wrong place at the shittiest of times.

He thought about Meagan making threats, asking Oliver to finish the task, pinning the fucking picture to the door and bringing all this shit to their lives, messaging him again and again asking for him to finish what he started.