Standing in front of him is a man dressed in a dark hoodie. He wears a pale expressionless mask with a large bleeding red ‘@’ sign daubed over one eye. He is holding Hamilton’s phone with a gloved hand and taking pictures of him in bed.

‘Who are you?’ asks Hamilton. ‘What do you want?’

‘Time to pay for your sins, Mr Hamilton.’ The voice is deep, guttural, cold.

Hamilton shakes his head. ‘No, please. They made me do it. I didn’t mean to write that stuff. Please don’t hurt me.’ He slides across the bed with an idea he might make a run past him but the man is blocking the door as he fiddles with his phone. After a moment he sets it on the dresser with the camera lens pointing toward them.

Hamilton moves finally and makes a dash for the door, but @nonymous grabs him. He is strong.

‘Please don’t hurt me!’

The killer spins him round to face the camera. Hamilton can see his own terrified expression in his bedroom mirror.

‘Apologise for that article. Apologise to the people for writing that trash about me,’ he whispers into Hamilton’s ear.

‘I’m sorry for what I wrote. I won’t do it again. I promise.’

‘Tell them how wrong it was to write that article and how pathetic you are.’

Hamilton trembles and feels warm piss flow down his legs. ‘Oh God, please!’

‘Tell them!’ he hisses.

‘I was wrong for writing that article. I’m a pathetic hack. I should have known better.’

@nonymous drags him back to the bed and shoves a pair of underpants from the floor into his mouth. He then gags him with one of his ties, which he secures with a tight knot. Hamilton tries to break free but he is frightened and weak. The killer straddles him and lifts one of his hands in view of the camera. He produces a pair of garden secateurs and pinches Hamilton’s thumb with the razor-sharp blades.

‘Say bye bye!’

‘Nooo!’ shrieks Hamilton, his voice muffled by the gag.

The intruder squeezes the blades on his thumb, the skin breaks and warm blood flows down his hand and wrist. The pain intensifies, Hamilton screams as the intruder squeezes harder cutting into the bone and tugging at his thumb. He tries to pull away but his assailant laughs and tugs harder until the thumb is wrenched from his hand. Blood splashes on Hamilton’s damp face, electric white pain surges through his body. Sweat saturates his skin, tears stream from his eyes as he stares up at the bloody hole where his thumb once was.

‘One down. Nine to go!’

The blades of the secateurs bite into his index finger. He screams at the blinding pain which sends shock waves through his system. His head begins to spin and he, mercifully, passes out.

Chapter 42

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