The Apartment

by K. L. Slater

  Audrey stares at me, then turns soundlessly and beckons me to follow her upstairs. I start to climb, looking back to see Dr Marsden standing there watching us.

  At the first floor, all is quiet. Both apartment doors are closed and still, nobody is peering out. There are no signs of life. After all my screaming and banging!

  What the hell is this place?

  When we pass Lily’s apartment on the second floor, I notice for the first time that there’s a dent towards the bottom of the door, like someone had a go at kicking it open.

  Is that how the Marsdens forcibly took Skye away from Lily earlier in the evening when I was out with Mark . . . by kicking the door in? I know Lily wouldn’t willingly let Skye come to any harm. She might be in there herself, injured, needing medical help.

  But we don’t stop here. Audrey continues up to the top floor.

  I shiver when we get to the top. My apartment door is still open, just as I left it, the landing still eerily quiet.

  49

  My heart cracks when it becomes obvious Skye isn’t here, but a bolt of fury also shudders through me. My face feels like it’s on fire as I turn to face Audrey.

  ‘Where is she? Where’s Skye?’ My voice sounds measured even though I’m teetering on the edge of hysteria.

  ‘It’s important you stay calm, Freya,’ Audrey says. She’s fidgety and her eyes are constantly scanning all around her. ‘This is exactly what we’ve been dreading . . . it’s the reason we had the camera installed, to try and protect you. But you wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Protect me from what?’ She’s making no sense at all.

  I run into my apartment, check all the rooms again. No sign of Skye or Mark. A noise outside on the landing has me rushing out again.

  A small figure stands very still and apart from Audrey. I exhale with massive relief that she’s here to help me.

  ‘Lily, thank God you’re OK! Where’s Skye? Did they take her?’

  Lily stares at me, and then she smiles. She smiles!

  ‘Skye is fine, my dear . . . for now, at least.’

  There’s a quiet menace about Lily I’ve never seen before, and suddenly, I can’t move. I’m frozen with fear and denial at the realisation that I’ve placed my trust, my precious daughter’s safety, with the wrong person altogether.

  ‘Where’s my daughter?’ I whisper. My whole body begins to shake. I clasp my hands in front of me to steady them. I don’t want to show my fear, not now, not while I still have a chance to find Skye. ‘I trusted you.’

  My daughter has been with her for hours!

  ‘Of course you did, everybody does.’ She takes a step forward and I press my feet into the floor. I will not move from this place until I have my daughter. ‘It’s incredibly easy, you know, to gain that trust. Most people fall for the clichés of a trustworthy person: small, elderly, smiling, apparently caring. It works all the time for me, so you shouldn’t feel foolish. You’re not the only one.’

  ‘Skye really liked you. Why would you want to hurt her?’

  ‘Hurt her?’ Lily frowns, apparently offended. ‘I would never hurt the child. On purpose, that is. She’s very valuable to me, you both are. I couldn’t continue the experiment without your daughter, Freya.’

  I feel sick to my stomach. ‘Skye was your . . . experiment?’

  She nods and slides a tablet out from under her arm. ‘Your husband dying so inconveniently somewhat ruined our plans for Skye for a while. We thought she’d be too traumatised to be a solid subject, but looking on the bright side, you being alone turned into quite a gift. We’ve been watching you for some time, you see.’

  All the creepy feelings I’ve had that someone is watching our every move, blaming Janine Harworth . . . and it’s been them all along.

  I shake my head, trying desperately but failing to process her words. ‘But why?’ I eventually manage.

  ‘In the name of progress. Useful research is virtually impossible these days, we’re restricted at every turn in a world obsessed by ethics and correctness. We need real research on real people. It’s the only way to get results and make headway.’

  She shows me a black-and-white still on her tablet.

  ‘My grandfather carried out one of the most important pieces of research, and it’s still highly relevant today. But he was vilified, labelled as unethical.’ Her mouth twists into a tight knot. ‘Here at Adder House, we are all committed to pushing boundaries in the area of psychology. We gravitated together in our early careers, have known each other for many, many years. The only thing we were missing were subjects . . . real people we could study in a controlled environment.’

  I look at Audrey in disgust. ‘All the residents were in on it?’

  ‘Oh no, those lily-livered fools tried to stop me.’ Lily lets out a brittle laugh. ‘They didn’t want to get involved in any useful, solid experimentation. Two residents even left the house. Cowards who wanted no part in my vitally important studies.’

  ‘So, both me and my daughter, we’ve been your . . . your lab rats?’

  ‘Well, that’s an interesting way of putting it.’ Lily throws back her head and chuckles. But I need more. There’s so much that doesn’t make sense.

  ‘What were you hoping to get from this? There must be far more interesting people out there, so why study us?’

  Lily takes another couple of steps forward. Her expression is so kind, so caring, completely concealing the dark heart that lies beneath it.

  ‘My dear, you’re very modest. It’s touching, how unaware you are of your own uniqueness and value.’ She splays her fingers and studies her short, neat nails, as though we’re discussing the weather. ‘Freya, have you ever studied your own family tree?’

  ‘I was fostered. Family history has never interested me.’

  ‘I can hardly believe that. You’ve never wondered or had any curiosity about where you came from?’

  ‘It is what it is. I never knew any of my family.’

  ‘Perhaps I can help you after all. Your mother was a teacher. Her name was Elaine Cantrell and she . . .’

  How does she know all this?

  Why would Lily go to the trouble of finding out my family history? I was telling the truth when I said I had no interest, and yet hearing her relay the facts so plainly makes me almost want more. But I can’t let her lies distract me from getting my daughter back.

  Lily’s voice fades out as I try and distance myself. After the incredible deceit she’s shown, I could never believe another word the woman utters.

  ‘Anyway, I digress. The generations before that are of far more interest to me. I suppose you could say it’s what binds you and me together.’

  ‘I’m not bound to you in any way.’ My lip curls as I look at her, detesting the vulnerable, kind image she displays to cover up her cruel nature.

  Lily smiles. ‘What a shame you never knew your great-grandmother, Freya. I see glimmers of her in you.’

  ‘You knew her?’ The words escape my mouth before I can stop them.

  ‘Sadly I did not. But my grandfather, Professor John B. Watson, knew Beatrice and her son very well. Take a look at this.’

  She turns to the tablet and taps something into the search bar. Soon, a grainy black-and-white video loads.

  50

  ‘Meet one of your ancestors, known in academic psychology circles as Little Albert.’ Lily’s tone is almost affectionate.

  The short film is jumpy and a little blurry in places but I watch in fascination . . . and then in horror . . . as a man in a white coat – the professor I assume – assisted by a young woman, systematically taunts a small boy with a series of unexpected things.

  The child is clearly distressed at the sight of a rat, a dog, and bizarrely, a man posing as Santa Claus. Anyone can see they must have ruined the poor child’s life.

  ‘The principle of classical conditioning was not a new one, even back in my grandfather’s day. What he did was groundbreaking; to success
fully imprint fear, a phobia, on to an ordinary little boy was staggering progress.’

  ‘It’s so cruel,’ I gasp. ‘Your grandfather was a monster.’

  She frowns, obviously annoyed that I’m not displaying the enthusiasm she’d hoped. ‘He was a genius, known as the Father of Behaviourism,’ she hisses. ‘And your own relation, Beatrice, she made it all possible.’

  I shake my head. Look at Audrey, who seems powerless against this frail old lady who holds a power greater than the physical. Between us we could simply storm her, force her to tell us where Skye is . . . where Mark is.

  ‘Little Albert’s mother, Beatrice, was your great-grandmother, Freya.’ Lily smiles at me with affection and I shiver. ‘As Professor Watson was my own relation . . . Now do you see our beautiful connection? Do you see why it always had to be you and your daughter who helped me achieve my goal?’

  Lily Brockley is quite obviously insane. I rack my brains trying to figure out what to do. I’ve no phone, I’m locked inside this madhouse. But my daughter must be here somewhere, else why bring me up here again?

  Lily continues in the absence of my reaction. ‘You, with your impeccable ancestral history . . . if we could breathe fear into you, condition you to be afraid, then we could do it to anyone. Don’t you see what our studies could be worth? To teach new behaviours and discourage unwanted ones? To mould children into what we need them to be to fulfil their potential for society? To infect our enemies with fear . . . imagine that! The possibilities are endless.’

  She takes yet another step forward and I step away, feel the banister against my back.

  My fingers touch the metal filigree work that looks so attractive, but that Linda told me Sophie glanced her head on when she fell.

  And here I now stand myself. Is this what happened to Sophie? Did she discover they were monitoring her every move, too?

  She walks towards me clutching a syringe.

  ‘It’s time for you to sleep, Freya. We’ve come so far in our work here, I can’t let it be ruined at this stage. If you cooperate, you can stay with your daughter . . . for a while, at least, until my studies are complete. I give you my word.’

  Her word?

  ‘You give me more lies, you mean.’ I look desperately at Audrey as Lily walks forward and I press harder against the balcony. ‘Please, make this stop now. She can’t carry on ruining people’s lives like this.’

  I feel dizzy, vulnerable. I can rush Lily and try to knock the needle from her hand, but if Audrey assists her, she can probably sedate me even with a struggle.

  ‘Think of your sacrifice as a wonderful gift to so many. We are not simply money oriented. We are psychologists, scientists, devoted to our field even when today’s experts wish to discount our work, obsessed as they are with their political correctness, their human-rights legislations.’

  I slide further along the balcony towards the wall at the end. She’s completely deluded.

  ‘What you’re doing is unethical!’ I shout now. ‘You can’t just do this to people . . . it’s illegal!’

  Lily shakes her head.

  ‘Some of the greatest psychological studies have been unethical. I ask you, where would we be without them? Take Stanley Milgram’s obedience experiment, or Philip Zimbardo’s Stanford prison situational study. Both of these great men, now vilified and shunned by the very people they helped to progress. The ethical do-gooders still whine that Little Albert was not protected from harm. Barely a mention of the great strides in progress my grandfather made during his lifetime.’

  ‘Skye!’ I scream as loud as I can in the hope my daughter can hear me, wherever she is.

  She lunges at me, the syringe held high.

  ‘And now it’s time for you to leave us, in the knowledge you have contributed to a very worthwhile experiment. As dear Sophie and little Melissa did before you.’

  I duck down and jump behind her as her arm comes down, vicious and stabbing.

  Before she can pull back her arm to attack me again, I push her as hard as I can, and with a terrific crack and groan of metal, the decorative balcony gives way and Lilian Brockley crashes down three floors with it.

  The house seems stunned into deathly silence . . . And then, as Audrey and I look down on the apparently lifeless body of Lily Brockley, an apartment door opens and Matthew and Susan Woodings soundlessly step out on to the landing and stare silently up at us from the first floor, their faces without expression.

  I rush to the stairs to make a run for it just as a figure appears on floor two, looking up at me as he rushes to the stairway.

  Dr Marsden.

  51

  I run back inside my apartment and snatch up the heavy bronze hare Brenna bought us as a housewarming gift. Where is Skye?

  I feel like I’m about to vomit any second, but I run back out on to the landing to find Dr Marsden waiting there. I never suspected Lily, but I’ve known all along in my heart there’s something strange about him.

  ‘Get away from me!’ I swing the sculpture down and up in front of me. I am more than willing to smash it into his face if he comes near me. I’ll do anything necessary to get my daughter back.

  ‘Freya, please. Just settle a moment, the police and ambulance service are on their way.’

  He’s called the police? It doesn’t make any sense.

  Audrey appears from behind him, for the first time looking slightly dishevelled and wild eyed. When she speaks, her usually deep tone sounds weak.

  ‘Lilian Brockley is our sister, Freya, she owns Adder House and we are all family here.’ She glances down. ‘Even Susan Woodings, my niece, has suffered with her nerves which has affected her pregnancies.’

  ‘But you were part of this, too.’ They can’t all just shirk responsibility. They turned a blind eye to Lily’s actions.

  ‘It happened gradually, you see. Lily got the idea a few years ago, of carrying out real-life experiments on real people – experiments that would never be allowed legally for ethical reasons. But they weren’t serious, didn’t hurt anyone, and we were just observing.’ He sees my shocked expression. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but she was far less ambitious about what she wanted to achieve then and her monitoring was fairly harmless.’

  In his opinion! I’d like to speak to some of her victims.

  ‘That’s why you expressly brought me and Skye here? To be experimented on?’ Emotion floods up through me like a tidal wave. ‘You lied through your teeth, targeted me in the coffee shop. I confided in you and you knew we’d had a hard time of it since my husband’s death. I trusted you! ’

  ‘I swear I didn’t know what Lily had in mind. I didn’t know about this.’ He hangs his head. ‘She promised . . . after Sophie died . . . it would never happen again. But I saw what she was doing to you and we tried, we really did try to help but—’

  Audrey appears behind him. ‘We realised she was getting seriously out of control. She was ill and we’d planned to get her medical help. But in the meantime, that’s why we wanted to put the CCTV camera in your hall, to try and protect you from her, so we could see what she was up to.’

  ‘We’re so sorry, Freya. You were always kind to me,’ Susan Woodings calls up. ‘We never knew she was watching you to this extent.’

  But they all knew something was amiss! They all knew Lily was disturbed but they put up with it to live in their comfortable bubble.

  ‘What was Lily doing exactly . . . and why?’

  ‘Infecting you with fear,’ Audrey replies. ‘She was recreating the Little Albert experiment all over again in a modern setting. It was particularly apt, she said, due to your family tree. In Lilian’s disturbed mind, you and Skye were the perfect subjects.’

  ‘How did she know all this stuff about me . . . stuff I didn’t even know about myself?’

  ‘We have a great-niece, a DNA expert who can track down the most distant ancestral connections. She alerted us to your genealogy as a matter of pure interest, she hadn’t a clue how Lily would use the i
nformation.’

  I feel so low and helpless. I reach out to him.

  ‘If you’re truly not part of what she did, I beg you to tell me . . . where is Skye?’

  Without speaking, Dr Marsden walks past me and unlocks the door to the apartment next to mine. He opens it only slightly.

  ‘This is where she observed you and spent her time.’ He sweeps his arm to guide me inside. ‘After you.’

  I look at him warily. Can I trust him? But I have to know what’s inside.

  I walk through the entrance hallway of the apartment next door and let out a scream.

  Skye is asleep on a single mattress near the window and Mark is lying on the floor with a head wound.

  I rush over to my daughter, press my cheek next to her mouth. She’s breathing. She looks pale, but she’s breathing.

  ‘She’ll just be sedated,’ Audrey says from the door.

  I cradle Skye’s head in my lap and let the tears of relief splash on to her face.

  Then I lay her head back down gently on the mattress and rush over to Mark. He groans, barely conscious. There’s blood down his face and spotted on the floor, but at least it looks like the wound is no longer bleeding.

  ‘Looks like she was waiting behind the door when he broke into the room,’ Dr Marsden explains. ‘The ambulance is on its way.’

  I look around me into a space that was once designed to be a lounge, where Sophie and Melissa lived. But Lily took it over to essentially turn it into a secret monitoring hub for Adder House.

  On the wall adjoining mine, there are cameras showing every angle of my home.

  Mark obviously missed some cameras in his search as there’s a clear view of the lounge on one of the screens . . . and, oh my God . . . even the bathroom!

  I turn and rush out, Dr Marsden running after me.

  ‘Please, Freya, wait!’

  I rush downstairs, past all the faces, some of whom I’ve barely spoken to, down to the ground floor. I run past Lilian Brockley’s twisted, bloody body and barely give it a look. The front door is locked. I twist the lock, tug and pull at the handle, but nothing happens.