Stuart James - Apartment 6

Oliver placed his arms around Claire, helping her stand. He was numb, utterly sick in his stomach. He knew this wasn’t over. He knew he’d be next. ‘I have to help. I have to find Meagan.’

Oliver drove with Claire in the passenger seat. Her cold aching body was wrapped in a blanket and the heat was turned up full.

Oliver’s mind went to Meagan. He wondered if he’d see her again. The guy had the money but what would stop him coming for Oliver, demanding more? What would stop him breaking into his apartment in the middle of the night, torturing him, murdering him and placing his body in a trunk?

Oliver drove along the M25, pleased it was quiet. He looked across at Claire, placing his hand in hers. ‘I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get caught up in this shit.’

He watched her as she turned towards the window and closed her eyes. She didn’t have the energy.

Forty minutes later, Oliver pulled up outside Albuquerque House. Claire was asleep. He needed to see if Meagan had got home. Somehow, he knew she hadn’t.

As he stood outside on the street, he dialled her number, but it went straight to voicemail. Oliver didn’t want to leave a message.

He had to see her and try and help, but where would he start? He contemplated going to the reservoir. Images flashed in his mind of her body in a trunk, lying at the bottom of the water.

He slowly walked towards the main door, cupping his hands against the glass, looking at the buzzer for apartment six and picturing Rob, alone, frantic, a baseball bat in hand, enraged and smashing everything in sight.

Maybe he was out looking for her. Oliver didn’t care; he hoped he was suffering.

He stepped back from the doors, thinking this was a ridiculous idea. It was too late, there was nothing he could do tonight.

As he stood by the front door, a voice startled him. ‘Hello, Rob.’

Oliver spun round, looking at the person in front of him; the small, frail figure, the headscarf wrapped tightly around her head, a trolley beside her.

He smiled at Mrs Sheehan, the elderly lady from the fourth floor, wondering if she ever slept.

‘Hi, how are you?’ Oliver asked politely.

‘Oh Rob, how are you, more like it?’

Oliver played along. ‘I’m good thanks. Is everything all right?’

She squinted at him. ‘Out already? You must have a good lawyer.’ She placed her hand on his arm, smiling. ‘It’s a lot of nonsense, I know. I’m a good judge of character, always have been, dear. I said it, I told that officer, while he held you on the ground earlier, “He’s a good man, a gentleman, so let him loose!” He was quite rude, you know, the officer I mean, him telling me to mind my own business. I’ve lived here longer than his father’s been alive more than likely. These youths, think they own the world. I told him while he leaned on you, you’d never mess around with that stuff, you know, drugs. He was shouting all manner of profanities at you, saying they’d found things at your club. Illegal substances, but it’s just not true, you’re not like that. Anyway, I’m glad you’re out. And how’s the lovely lady?’

Oliver stood, his mouth open, trying to grasp what she had told him. Rob had been arrested. Well, good riddance, he thought. ‘Yeah, she’s fine. Thanks for asking.’

‘Take care, dear, I’ll see you soon no doubt, if I haven’t croaked it walking up them bloody stairs. I shall speak with the service company, those lifts have been out for so long now, I’m sick of it. They don’t care, that’s the trouble with the world nowadays. People don’t look after one another.’

She climbed the steps, fishing a key from her handbag and placing it into the lock. He held the door open, watching her walk towards the communal hall.

‘Thank you dear, you are a gentleman, I must say. Oh, before I forget.’ She turned round, facing Oliver as he stood at the front door. ‘Did you get your parcel?’

‘Parcel? Which parcel was that?’

She placed her hand on her forehead, her mouth open, deep in thought. ‘Let me see now. It was last week, I think. A charming young man he was, dressed in uniform, smart looking. I passed him on the stairs, the second floor, it was early morning, he was standing outside your apartment. I told him I’d take it, well, you never know do you? When they’ll come back, I mean, and it’s a bloody nuisance going to pick it up, so I took it from him. I came down early afternoon, maybe one or two I think it was. I can’t remember to be honest. I was confused though; I remember that much. Your door, the top of the stairs on the left, had a number seven on it. Well, I know you live at number six as I’ve passed your place hundreds of times over the years, and I know everyone here. I went along and lo and behold: number six was on the other door further down the hall. Anyway, I left it outside your door. The numbers were back to normal when I passed by the next morning. I know I’m not crazy, well, not yet anyway. Probably kids, you know how they like to play tricks. Anyway, take care Rob, I’ll see you soon, young man.’

Oliver watched as she made her way along the communal hall. The wheels of her shopping trolley were the last thing he saw disappearing up the stairs.

He stood alone on the path outside Albuquerque House. It was like he’d been stabbed, and he couldn’t let his breath out. What the old lady had just said to him… It couldn’t be true.

But then, insanely, it made sense.

The numbers had switched: the numbers had changed, with apartment six becoming apartment seven temporarily. She said the numbers were back to normal the following morning. Could Meagan have done it? Swapped them around, tricked him, making him kill the wrong guy?

For fuck’s sake. The more he thought about it, the more realistic it seemed. Meagan had begged him to kill her husband; she’d said the second floor, the first apartment on the right past the lift, then she changed her story, insisting she’d told Oliver the apartment was on the left. She’d definitely told him apartment six was on the right side. Oliver was one hundred per cent convinced.

She could easily have swapped the numbers and made him break into the wrong apartment. Oliver thought hard, wondering why she’d done it. What was the purpose of making him kill the wrong man? Unless… He tried to figure it out, his head rushing, his brain on fire, trying to piece it all together. Unless she worked with someone and had planned it all in advance. His mind drifted to the guy who kidnapped both Meagan and Claire. The guy who asked Oliver to transfer fifty thousand pounds. The same guy who’d turned up looking for his partner and making threats. It would explain everything.

Oliver stepped back, holding the side wall, realising the truth of what had happened. It was the only thing that now made perfect sense.

Meagan and the kidnapper had both fucked him over, used him and then spat him out. They’d planned it together all along. She had tricked Oliver into breaking into the wrong apartment, making him kill the wrong person. She had framed him, blackmailed him and then run off with the money. He knew it now, it made sense; she did it, knowing Oliver’s hands were tied. He was unable to go to the police, unable to go after her. She had something over Oliver that would see him locked up for the rest of his life.

Meagan was a fucking genius. She reeled me in, shafted me and threw me to the lions. Oliver dropped to his knees, and holding his head in his hands, he screamed on the steps outside Albuquerque House.

Phil drove with Meagan sat in the passenger seat of the pickup truck. She had the music blaring, her feet on the dashboard, her head buried into her hands and she was laughing uncontrollably.