Stuart James - Apartment 6

‘Hey, it’s fine, I’m just glad you called.’

‘Rob is out most evenings; I hate being–’

There was another loud thump on the front door. Meagan cried out, ‘What the hell? They’re going to get in, Oliver, whoever’s out there is trying to get into the apartment.’

‘Meagan, is the front door shut? Is anyone in your apartment?’

‘No one is inside. The door’s locked but someone is either trying to get in or falling against it, maybe being attacked. What should I do?’

‘Wait, keep as quiet as possible; move away from the door. Don’t let them know you’re inside. Do you hear me?’

‘Yes. Yes, I hear you.’

Meagan waited for a couple of minutes. Only her light breaths informed Oliver that she was still on the line.

‘I think they’re gone, Oliver. I haven’t heard anything for a few minutes now. It’s quiet.’

He heard a clink, and then the squeal of a hinge. ‘What are you doing? Meagan?’

‘I’ve got to see what’s happening.’

Silence. Then, ‘Oliver, are you there? Oliver.’

‘Yes, I’m here. What’s going on, Meagan?’ He needed to know what she was doing.

‘I’ve opened the front door; I need to make sure whoever was out here isn’t trying to get into one of the apartments. Call it neighbourhood watch, if you like.’

‘Meagan, please, don’t be stupid. Go back inside. You’ll get hurt. Are you listening to me, Meagan?’

‘I’m walking along the communal hall. The apartment doors are all shut, it doesn’t look like there’s any damage. Maybe it was kids. They often get in here, smoking their shit.’

‘Fine. Okay, well, now you know it’s safe. Please listen, Meagan, and go back inside. Lock the door where it’s safe.’

‘I’m just looking. I need to know.’

‘What’s happening, Meagan? Are you back inside?’

‘No. I’m going down to the first floor. Just stay on the phone. I feel safe hearing your voice.’

‘I don’t believe this. Please, go home. Leave it, Meagan.’ Suddenly, Oliver heard her voice, the phone seemed to drop and there were ruffling sounds in the earpiece. ‘Meagan. Talk to me, please.’

‘Shit, shit, shit.’

‘What? What can you see?’

‘I’m on the first floor… And there’s a woman lying–’

Oliver could hear a raised voice.

Meagan paused. ‘She’s trying to speak. A guy is standing over her; he’s wearing black gloves, he’s leaning over the woman, his hands are around her fucking throat, Oliver.’

Oliver recalled the guy who had challenged him recently while he stood outside the building. He also wore black gloves. ‘Is she alive?’

Meagan froze, struggling to produce the words, sounding confused. ‘I think so, but her body’s twitching. He’s lifting her, putting her over his shoulder. She’s not moving, Oliver.’

‘Go back up the stairs, Meagan, get inside and lock the door. Now.’

Meagan followed Oliver’s instructions, stepping back onto the stairs and racing up to the second floor.

Oliver heard the door banging shut and the lock being engaged.

‘I’m by the front door. I can hear him; he’s outside, Oliver. I’m watching through the spyhole. I can see a shadow. I think he’s passing my door, moving along the hall.’

Meagan held her breath for a moment, then continued. ‘He’s opening a door on the second floor, my floor. He’s a fucking neighbour.’

Rob sat at the bar, swigging a double Jack Daniels, straight. He watched as the bartender wiped a glass with a tea towel and placed it on a shelf above his head.

Rob turned, facing the stage. A woman in a tight bikini was gyrating in front of him, slowly removing her clothes. The music was loud, a slow dance track from the nineties. He got off the stool and took a seat by the edge of the stage. He watched how she moved, her smooth body glistening with oil, her perfect figure, then he dipped into his pocket and drew out a fifty-pound note, placing it into the side of her underwear.

She smiled, giving Rob a provocative wink. When she’d finished dancing, she strutted towards him. ‘Hey, you wanna take this further, boss?’

Rob smirked, taking her hand as she led him into a back room where she continued the private show. There was a large bowl of cocaine on a table, and the door was shut and locked.

Meagan stood in the hallway of apartment six; her body pressed against the wall, arms by her sides, her right hand loosely gripping her mobile. Oliver was still on the phone, trying to calm her down, struggling to digest what had just happened.

‘What if he comes for me, Oliver? A neighbour’s just strangled a woman and dragged her into his apartment.’

Oliver listened as Meagan struggled to gain control.

The lights were out, the apartment in darkness. Feeling her way towards the living room to the right, Meagan crept over towards the window. The thick, heavy curtains were closed, keeping whatever light there was out of the room. She went to the window, her hands shaking and her body numb from adrenaline. She pulled the curtain slightly to the right and peered into the communal hall. Meagan listened intently. ‘It’s too quiet, Oliver.’

She recalled the day-to-day sounds she’d become accustomed to hearing. The lift as it passed through the levels, a robotic voice announcing the second floor; a neighbour playing jazz, the music blaring from his living room. She recalled the old lady who lived upstairs pulling her shopping trolley behind her, moaning about the lift but also frightened of small spaces, cursing about the stairs getting harder to manage and the smell of piss in the landing. And there was the oversexed couple at the end of the hall, who often stopped at the top of the second floor to seduce each other on the way to their apartment.

‘Should we call the police?’ Oliver asked.

Meagan went back to the hall, crouching down by the front door. ‘Rob would lose the plot; he never interferes with neighbours, ever. He’d never say hello when he meets them in the communal hall, ask how they are or wish them a pleasant day; they aren’t important to him.’

‘Charming,’ Oliver said.

‘Secondly, the guy down the hall would know I called. He’d find out, and what then? He’ll come for me, Oliver. I have to do something. I have to help her.’

‘Meagan, no, don’t interfere; there’s nothing you can do. Just leave it the fuck alone.’

Meagan jumped up suddenly, moving towards the front door. ‘I have to find out.’

‘Meagan, don’t be stupid. Leave it alone. I’m begging you. Stay where you are, do you hear me?’

Removing her shoes, she slowly opened the front door, looking along the communal hall, seeing it was empty. She spoke into the phone. ‘Stay with me, Oliver.’

She listened to his raised voice as her hand dropped by her side, still gripping the mobile phone.

Meagan went down the stairs, glancing behind her, listening intently. Rubbish had piled up outside an apartment on the first floor, white bags filled with something rotten. She passed through a haze of flies and the stench was unbearable. The next apartment along had a plaque nailed to the door with an Irish greeting: céad míle fáilte , in black letters. She held the rail at the top of the first-floor landing leading to the ground floor, steadying herself she made her way to the ground floor. There was a cupboard to the left by the communal front doors which was always unlocked, containing the mains stopcocks for each apartment.

She pulled the front door, holding it open. Standing out on the street, Meagan looked at the panel to the right and jabbed a couple of buttons. She held the phone to her ear.

‘Where are you? Are you outside? Is that traffic?’ Oliver quizzed her.