BooksBarbecue
Back Rabbit Hole
Chapters (73)
  1. Rabbit Hole
  2. Also by Mark Billingham
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. Preface
  8. PART ONE
  9. ONE
  10. TWO
  11. THREE
  12. FOUR
  13. FIVE
  14. SIX
  15. SEVEN
  16. EIGHT
  17. NINE
  18. TEN
  19. ELEVEN
  20. TWELVE
  21. THIRTEEN
  22. FOURTEEN
  23. FIFTEEN
  24. SIXTEEN
  25. SEVENTEEN
  26. EIGHTEEN
  27. NINETEEN
  28. TWENTY
  29. TWENTY-ONE
  30. TWENTY-TWO
  31. TWENTY-THREE
  32. TWENTY-FOUR
  33. TWENTY-FIVE
  34. TWENTY-SIX
  35. TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. TWENTY-NINE
  38. THIRTY
  39. THIRTY-ONE
  40. THIRTY-TWO
  41. THIRTY-THREE
  42. PART TWO
  43. THIRTY-FOUR
  44. THIRTY-FIVE
  45. THIRTY-SIX
  46. THIRTY-SEVEN
  47. THIRTY-EIGHT
  48. THIRTY-NINE
  49. FORTY
  50. FORTY-ONE
  51. FORTY-TWO
  52. FORTY-THREE
  53. FORTY-FOUR
  54. FORTY-FIVE
  55. FORTY-SIX
  56. FORTY-SEVEN
  57. FORTY-EIGHT
  58. FORTY-NINE
  59. FIFTY
  60. FIFTY-ONE
  61. FIFTY-TWO
  62. FIFTY-THREE
  63. FIFTY-FOUR
  64. FIFTY-FIVE
  65. FIFTY-SIX
  66. FIFTY-SEVEN
  67. FIFTY-EIGHT
  68. PART THREE
  69. FIFTY-NINE
  70. SIXTY
  71. EPILOGUE
  72. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  73. Back Cover

It was a . . . numbness, I suppose, an inability to feel much of anything. It was the agony of being ignored. I could always feel that blade against my arm, though (a Stanley knife quite often, oh the irony), and there was no way that even a dolt like Andy could ignore the bloodstained tissues on the bathroom floor. So, yeah, we spent a ton of time in A&E and there were lots of tears and plenty of shouting, but I thought my scars looked pretty cool, and however many days went by when I would say nothing or not leave the house, I never stopped being vigilant. I was always aware that there were people waiting out there in the dark that I couldn’t see, keeping an eye on me.

Then I did start seeing them and that’s when the whole business with the masks started.

In a nutshell (I might as well say it before you do – nutcase more like), I’d see these people in the back of shot on television shows. In crowds or walking through a scene. They were all people I’d helped put away at one time or another. A bloke who’d killed his wife with a hammer, a woman who drowned both her kids in the bath, a rapist who attacked women outside underground stations. I’d just be sitting there on the sofa with Andy eating crisps and I’d spot them in the background, pretending to be extras or whatever they’re called. Thing is, I knew it wasn’t actually them. It was people I didn’t know wearing masks – people connected to the lights and the music and the watching – disguised as these criminals from my past.

Standing at the end of the bar in the Queen Vic.

Or in a restaurant in MasterChef.

Or on Made in Chelsea, sitting at a table in some coffee shop.

I spent a lot of time on the Internet, back then – OK, I still spend a lot of time on the Internet – but it was exactly what I needed, because I realised I was not alone and believe me, that was massive. There were plenty of other people in plenty of chat rooms, plenty of people in YouTube videos all saying this is some scary shit and talking about the anon­ymous organisations that orchestrated this kind of stuff. They were speaking out about ruthless and powerful groups that were capable of anything and were seriously well connected. Secret societies that watched and waited, then moved against anyone they perceived to be a threat.

That was the only thing I never really understood. The thing I spent every day trying to crack. I couldn’t figure out how I was a threat to anyone, but I knew as surely as I’ve ever known anything that I was, and that one day soon they would come for me.

I could feel them getting closer.