Stuart James - Apartment 6

He blamed Meagan. She was gutless, spineless; everything Oliver could think to describe a total walkover, nothing but a punchbag for her vicious partner. If she’d left when Oliver had asked her to, none of this would have happened.

He wanted to rescue Claire now that the money had been paid and leave Meagan to rot in the room, tied to a chair, the rats eating her sad, pathetic little body. Maybe he’d persuade the captor to finish her off and take her out of the equation. Slip him a bundle of cash and ask politely. I could offer to dump her body.

Oliver called Claire, again getting her answering machine, then he tried Meagan’s number: the same thing. Fuck this.

He debated whether to go for a run to try and stem the anger. Maybe he could take a walk, hit a bar and down as many shots of Jack Daniels as his body could hold until he passed out in a slumber, temporarily paralysed from the thoughts which were festering inside.

He needed to temporarily disengage, concentrate on something else, occupy his mind.

Again, he picked up the phone, dialling both numbers: the same outcome. He reached above his head, about to slam the phone on the kitchen floor when a single beep sounded, alerting Oliver to a message and pulling him back from his thoughts.

He slowly opened his phone, his left hand trembling.

Be here at 9pm sharp. I don’t need to explain what will happen if you’re late.

Underneath was an address in Read Hill, around an hour from where Oliver lived.

He quickly opened the laptop and googled the place where he’d been ordered to go – a farm which seemed like the back end of nowhere with fields and open space for miles.

He didn’t like it, but Oliver had little choice.

He glanced at his watch, 6.58pm, then he reread the message: I don’t need to explain what will happen if you’re late.

Oliver watched the clock ticking, the second hand dragging, the minutes elapsing like hours. He’d need to leave shortly. Another hour and then Oliver would make the drive over to the address that the guy had given. He couldn’t call anyone. The one person he could trust was tied up in the basement room. Oliver would have loved nothing more than to turn up, break the door in, lift Claire out from her seat, biting through the rope with his teeth. He would meet the captor at the door on the way out and pummel him, break his body in half and see him beg for mercy.

Oliver killed time by taking a shower, then he dressed in a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a thick jumper. He was nervous, his body weak from the stress, his mind poisoned against the person who had taken Claire and Meagan, and all his money.

He checked over the apartment, then headed to his car, opening the text on his phone with the address the guy had sent.

The digital display on his dashboard showed the time: 8.32pm. He had just under half an hour. He was unable to recall the journey as his head was too full, like a blanket had been placed over his mind, smothering his thoughts.

He was on an A-road, surrounded by fields. There were lights in the distance glaring towards him, temporarily blinding him. It was dark and the roads were empty. Every so often he’d take a sharp bend too fast and slow up, jabbing the brake with his foot.

The address was less than two miles away. The nearer he got to the place where the girls were held, the harder his heart thumped through his jumper.

His satnav instructed him to turn up a side road leading to woodland. Shit, Oliver, what are you doing? Maybe it’s a trap; the guy has my money now, perhaps he has no intention of letting Claire and Meagan live. He could be waiting, hiding, wanting to make an example of me.

It was half a mile to where Oliver had been instructed to go. The road was stony with deep potholes filled with water, and miles of trees either side of the path. His view was obstructed by a mist that was thick in the air. The area was in total darkness and uninhabited, but this was the place, he was sure.

Oliver heard a voice. ‘You have reached your destination.’ He rolled the car towards the side of a ditch, killing the lights and getting out, stepping onto the rough ground.

Oliver took the heavy-duty torch that he’d brought from home out of the glove compartment. He shut the driver’s door and waited, slowly scanning the area and listening hard.

He walked forward, more of a creeping action, keeping as quiet as possible, trying to duck to stay obscure. Ahead, he saw a glow from a small window, a barn or stables, he thought. Oliver couldn’t see any movement.

He walked across the ground, heading towards the barn, checking behind every few seconds. He heard a twig snapping beside him and had the feeling that someone was watching him, waiting for his arrival.

‘Hello?’ He realised the stupidity of his action after he said the word. If someone was waiting, they most certainly knew he was here.

As Oliver reached the barn, he opened the door and went in. He swung his torch left and right, trying to scan the area. The place was empty.

He stepped backwards. His heart was racing and he was struggling to stem the coldness penetrating his body, fighting thick cobwebs which had clung to his head.

Back outside, Oliver crept along the edge of the barn, finding steps leading down to a basement. He went slowly, trying his best to keep calm: deep breaths, in and out.

The door was solid with a metal bar across the outside. The area was wet under his feet, damp and contaminated with faeces.

Oliver listened, placing his ear to the cold wood, trying to gauge the situation. He needed to open the door, face what he had to face, and get to Claire and Meagan.

He lifted the heavy bolt, pulling it backwards, the squealing noise penetrating, grinding like an old machine.

As he opened the door, he lifted the torch, guiding the light towards the back of the room. He saw a single figure sat alone strapped to a chair, a hood placed tightly over their head.

He walked forward, moving slowly towards the figure, conscious of the urgency. The empty chair troubled him. Oliver scanned the room, looking for the other woman, knowing the abductor could be lying in wait, ready to pounce at any second.

He thought, Could this really be it? Will it end here? It sounded too easy. Surely the abductor wouldn’t just let them leave. Oliver had to take the chance. This guy had a picture of what he and Meagan had done. But he still hoped this was the end.

Suddenly, the figure in front of him looked up, their head turning sideways, listening, hearing someone in the room. ‘Hello. Who’s there? Help me, please.’

Oliver reached forward, undoing the rope, pulling off the hood.

Claire was sitting alone, pitiful, fighting her tears. She looked up, gasping for breath, her face completely flushed. Oliver listened to her break down in uncontrollable sobs.

He quickly released her from the chair, then searched for Meagan, thinking maybe she’d been moved to another room. He contemplated whether to leave her here or not. He knew he couldn’t; she’d acted stupidly, made mistakes, but Meagan didn’t deserve to be left behind.

Oliver crouched beside Claire. ‘Where’s Meagan?’

She held him, falling forward, holding onto him. ‘I think he’s killed her. He came back a short while ago, saying I could stay as I’d done nothing wrong. He said I was caught up in the wrong place, all that shit. He said that you’d paid the ransom and were coming for me. I felt him in front of us, crouched down. I heard the excitement in his voice. He picked her up. I heard her kicking, the chair fell, she pleaded for her life, begging him to forgive the two of you. She kept screaming that it was supposed to be her husband. I heard the door open; he was struggling to drag her body out. Then I heard crashing noises, like a pole or some other heavy object. He hit her, Oliver, over and over. He dragged her body out of the basement, and I heard the metal bar being placed across the door. That’s the last sound I heard. I think he’s killed her.’