The Apartment - K. L. Slater Page 0,80

So far as I can tell, there’s nothing anywhere else.’

‘Dear God.’ I choke back tears. ‘Spying on a tiny girl . . . Marsden must be a pervert . . . and Audrey knew about all this, I’m certain of it.’

‘Only the worst kind of people could even think of doing this.’ Mark shudders and falls silent for a second, his expression grim. ‘Listen, Freya. I need to tell you exactly what I found. There’s a camera fitted into a fake book casing on the shelves and . . .’ His voice falters.

‘Go on,’ I say fearfully, steeling myself.

‘There’s a recording device secured under the bed.’

‘What?’ I clench my fist and bite my knuckle hard. ‘What would they be recording, me reading her a bedtime story? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘You misunderstand me,’ Mark says gently, shaking his head. ‘It’s the sort that plays recordings into the room.’

‘Huh?’ And then it hits me.

The voices, the crying child . . . Skye’s troubling dreams.

I jump up and run over to the sink just in time, turning on the tap full pelt to wash down the vomit.

Mark hands me some kitchen roll.

‘Let’s leave it there, I can fill you in with the rest when you’re—’

‘No! I want to know everything right now. Tell me everything.’

‘Well, from what I can tell by a quick survey of the wiring, it’s clear that all the data is being beamed next door.’

‘The empty apartment?’

He nods. ‘Someone is using it as a kind of spy HQ. It’s like you and Skye are part of someone’s sick experiment.’

‘We have to call the police.’ My stomach is still churning, wanting to retch even though there’s nothing left in there. ‘I just need to know Skye is OK. Lily can keep her until we’ve told the police, but I want to see her first.’

Mark nods. ‘Why don’t you go downstairs now and get Skye? Act as normally as you can. I wouldn’t say anything to Lily yet until I’ve got access to next door to see the full extent of it all before anyone else gets involved . . . We don’t want to tip them off.’

I nod but don’t know how calm I’ll remain when Lily answers her door. I feel like screaming the place down right now, letting everyone know the full horror of Michael and Audrey Marsden’s wicked existence.

I walk towards the door. My head is swimming, my heart feels raw.

‘Freya?’ I turn around to face Mark. ‘When you get back up here after checking on Skye, we’ll ring the police, OK? This will all soon be over.’

‘OK,’ I whisper, feeling so grateful I’ve got someone like Mark onside.

47

When I leave the apartment to walk down to Lily’s, Mark takes a tool and starts prodding at the handle of the apartment door next to ours.

‘Any luck, I’ll have this open in no time,’ he says as I pass him on the landing.

The thought of the Marsdens sitting in there watching my daughter makes me feel sick to my stomach. But I have to get past that and try to think clearly. I push the thoughts aside. My priority now is to get her back safely in my arms. Nothing else really matters.

Lily is perceptive. When she called earlier today, she could tell right away there was something wrong with me. It’s going to be hard not to tell her the horror of what Mark has uncovered, but the time isn’t right now. The main thing is to get Skye and then let the police know what’s been happening here.

I knock on Lily’s door and when there’s no answer, I knock again and wait. Nothing. I knock harder.

No answer. I feel a heat rash break out around my collarbone.

Maybe they’re out in the garden.

I rush downstairs and out of the front door, leaving it wide open behind me. I can hear the sound of traffic passing by on the top road. I’m in my own little bubble of horror just paces away from where people are leisurely driving home, taking a walk through the park, or just out for the evening.

And I can’t find my daughter in a house I can never think of as home again. ‘Skye!’ I shout before I even round the corner of the building. ‘Where are you?’

Birds whistle and the whisper of a warm breeze caresses my damp hands. But my daughter doesn’t answer.

There’s no one out there.

And then I hear a whimper. I rush down the garden. ‘Skye! Where are you?’

A small white