When he finally came home, it was almost like old times, before all the bad stuff had happened. Almost. Then the gang found him, and made sure he’d never have a future. I had nothing, my life on hold, until I suddenly found a purpose for living again. Maggie.
Ever since Maggie had found the missing girls, I’d monitored her every move on TV and social media. Thanks to an interview on morning TV, I now knew that Maggie hated dark, claustrophobic spaces. The two presenters had listened, open-mouthed, as the journalist had recounted the moment she’d realised she would have to go down into the basement to rescue the girls, and how she’d had to overcome the panic that threatened to engulf her at the thought of opening the door. Her voice had been calm and steady, but I noticed the hint of terror in her eyes, and the slight shaking of her hands. This was something that could be taken advantage of.
If there was one thing I was good at, it was finding a person’s weak spot and playing on it, torturing them with clever mind games until they believed every lie they were told, and jumped at the slightest noise they heard. Making people’s lives hell was so easy, if you knew what buttons to press.
Take Maggie, for example. I knew that the letter had unsettled her, I saw her run out of the café the day she opened it. What luck; I’d only meant to follow her, watch her from afar, but it turned out she had the letter with her. Seeing her face as she read it had been every bit as thrilling as I’d imagined, the look of fear at the end was priceless. She never knew I was there – after all, who takes any notice of someone having a coffee?
I like to think she panicked, wondering if the sender was inside the flat, waiting for her to return so they could carry out their threat. The thought of Maggie paralysed with fear, searching each room in dread, was exhilarating in its beauty. And all that from a simple letter.
The idea was to slowly escalate things, bit by bit, until Maggie thought she was going mad. Phase one of the operation had been carried out. Now it was time for phase two.
6
The wind whipped up the dust and rubbish on the ground, swirling it around until it settled in untidy heaps, only to whirl skywards again with the next gust. Maggie hunched her shoulders and wished the weather would make its mind up. Yesterday, there had been glorious sunshine, and they’d spent a couple of hours in the afternoon sitting out in Sally’s garden, the rays helping to keep the chill at bay. Today, dull grey clouds scudded across the overcast sky as if chased by invisible demons, and the treetops swayed in the wind. Still, it could be worse, she could be sitting at her desk in the office, she thought.
Maggie parked her car, then let herself into the front entrance of her apartment building. She risked a quick glance at the letterbox, thankful to see it was empty. With a sigh of relief, she carried on through the lobby to the stairs. No one was around. A few minutes was all she needed to pick up her files; she’d hopefully be out before Laura even realised she was there.
But as soon as she put her foot on the first step, she realised she couldn’t make it up the three flights to her apartment. Her body was already protesting, every muscle in her legs hurt. The stress from the events of the last few days, in particular the panic attack she’d had in her flat, had left her with little energy, and she knew it was pointless to push herself. She turned to the lift.
In the eight years she’d lived there, she’d only used the lift a handful of times. She hated the enclosed space, the flickering strip lighting that no one ever replaced, the thought of all those fingers touching the buttons… she preferred to stay indoors on the days she was too sick to struggle back up the stairs.
Today she had no choice, she had to pick up her files. She gave a deep sigh and stepped into the lift. The doors swept closed with a dull thud, sealing her in. She tried to ignore the fact that she was inside a metal tomb, alone except for a white moth crashing against the neon light in the ceiling. She took several deep breaths, determined to keep calm, and pressed the button. The lift jerked into motion, and Maggie leaned against the back wall, her eyes half-closed, breathing deeply to control the wave of anxiety that threatened to wash over her.
‘It will soon be over,’ she muttered.
The lift stopped with a shudder. Maggie snapped open her eyes and lunged towards the control panel. She frantically pressed the button for the third floor. Nothing. She began pressing them all, one by one, panic building when there was no response. Then the lights went out.
Maggie forced herself to stay calm. This wasn’t the cupboard under the stairs, or a smoke-filled basement. It was a normal lift in an apartment building, and any moment now someone was going to bang on the door and let her know they’d get her out. The blackness was absolute, her eyes couldn’t adjust after the bright neon light. Something soft brushed against her cheek and she screamed.
‘It’s just the moth, Maggie,’ she muttered. ‘Just a stupid moth.’ She scrabbled in her handbag for her phone, clasping it with relief when she found it. She unblocked it and called Sally’s number. After a few moments’ silence she checked the screen. No signal. Could this day get any worse? She pressed the torch app and lit up the control panel. With a shaking hand, she pressed the call button for assistance. Nothing.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Maggie yelled, and slammed her hand against the wall. She started banging the sides of the lift, over and over again, shouting until her voice was hoarse. She sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face, and sat huddled in the corner. Childhood nightmares flashed through her mind, of skeletal hands reaching out to her while she was trapped in the cupboard under the stairs, of the ground giving way beneath her and plummeting to her death in an abyss hundreds of metres below, of beetles emerging from cracks in the wall, skittering across the floor towards her, their antennae feeling for her, their pincers ready to burrow into her flesh…
She kicked out at the door, fear overwhelming her. The walls of the lift closed in, the fluttering of the moth’s wings becoming louder and louder as the ceiling dropped lower. She kicked again. Whimpering sounds echoed all around, growing in intensity, scaring her, until she realised she was the one making them. Her breath came in small panting gasps as panic flooded through her body, convinced she was going to die in there. Desperation washed over her, making her head spin, and she lay down, her cheek pressed against the cold floor.
Footsteps. She raised her head and listened. How long had she been trapped?
‘Is someone in there?’ a man’s voice called.
‘Oh, God, yes. The lift’s stuck, I can’t get out…’ Maggie sobbed in relief, sitting up. She rubbed some grit off her cheek, disgusted at the thought of her skin in contact with some of the unidentifiable sticky substances on the floor.
‘Give us a moment, love.’ The man’s footsteps faded down the hallway. Maggie jumped as the lights came back on. She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t obey. She stretched her arm towards the buttons, but they were just out of reach.
‘Just a minute longer.’ His voice echoed up the lift shaft. ‘I’ve pressed the call button, it should work again now.’
She grunted in frustration, then almost shouted with relief as the lift jolted into motion once more. She managed to stand at long last and waited, legs trembling, for it to arrive at its destination.