A knot had already formed in Danny's stomach by the time he woke the following morning. It felt as though his internal organs were twisting themselves around one another, determined to become a pretzel.
To make matters worse, as soon as he tried to stand up, his left leg protested. Sleep had not healed his wound; if anything, it needed to get worse before it got better.
But as Danny looked out the window at the rising sun, he became increasingly immune to the pain. He'd heard a long time ago that daybreak was a good time for decisions, even though he'd made his choice in the middle of the night.
I'll be there.
Danny had promised Clint Cargile that, for the first time in three days, he'd meet the CIA agent in person. They'd find one another at Castle Island, where they'd discuss next steps. Whatever that meant, of course.
Since he couldn't be bothered to shop for groceries, Danny ordered food on DoorDash from one of his favorite breakfast restaurants. He selected a hearty meal - pineapple pancakes with sausage links and fruit salad on the side. He'd need the energy the food brought him for whatever would come his way today.
Nothing's going to happen. Meeting Clint is totally safe. Or at least, safer than the alternative.
That's what he wanted to believe. That's what he chose to believe, because if he didn't, how could he justify agreeing to it?
When the food came, Danny took no more than five bites before his stomach curled up further. The pancakes were fluffy, golden brown, and delicious, but he couldn't bring himself to finish them. Not even close. In the end, it didn't matter how much he normally loved that restaurant.
Soon, the pancakes joined the other takeout containers from Starbucks and the Thai restaurant he'd ordered from on Friday. And man, he'd really need to take out that trash soon; it would probably attract flies before long.
I'll do it after I get back from Castle Island. After all, I will be back this afternoon, and I will be able to take it out then.
Of course, that logic, if you can call it that, is often used to justify even the most egregious cases of procrastination. "I can do it later" is the perfect excuse for not doing something now. The notion that he'd be back that afternoon sapped Danny's motivation to do it when he knew he had the chance.
At about 10:30 AM, Danny decided he'd had enough of sitting around his apartment, so he took his key, locked up his flat, and made his way downstairs.
"Hello, Mr. Summers" the landlord muttered.
Right. Mr. Bitshoot doesn't know about my real name, and I should probably keep it that way.
"Good morning, Mr. Bitshoot" Danny replied, trying to be as polite as possible.
"Nothing is wrong," Mr. Bitshoot said, "but if you keep neglecting to take out your trash, it will be. It's not healthy to live in a pigsty as a human, and you know it."
"Right."
"So you'll do it soon, correct?"
"I'll do it this afternoon," Danny told his landlord. "I'm heading to Castle Island for a meeting, but I'll be back in a few hours, and then I will take out the trash."
"Very well. Just make sure you remember."
I will, Danny thought to himself, hoping very much that he was able to keep this promise.
With no further obligations here, Danny left his apartment building. He'd purposely allotted himself extra time to reach Castle Island, because Clint had told him he couldn't bring his phone. Therefore, he was unable to use Google Maps or any other navigation aid - he had to get there the old-fashioned way.
I'm going to find out what happens next. Isn't that exciting? I'll be surprised.
Danny couched his personal "pep talk" in the language of what you'd tell a child looking forward to seeing what they'll get for Christmas. Perhaps it was merely an exercise in self-deception, but as far as he was concerned, it was better than keeping your stomach all knotted up like a climbing rope.
As it turned out, Danny did not need nearly as much time as he'd allowed himself to reach his destination. Of course, having lived near it for almost four years by now, he knew the way quite well. He just wanted to make sure nothing happened to jeopardize their meetup.
With over an hour remaining, he saw the sign for Castle Island, as well as the park just across the street from the boardwalk. Said park contained a gazebo that was used as a bandstand; right now, there were no concerts taking place, perhaps because it wasn't even 11 AM yet.
I wish there were some music right now. What would be a good addition to the playlist for meeting a CIA agent? "In Great Fear" from Mario Party 5?
Danny took his sweet time walking around the property. He may have been too old for the playground, but he still observed a few children enjoying the swing set while supervised by their parents. The day was brightly sunny, with hardly a cloud in the sky, and the ocean breeze from Boston Harbor moderated the temperature to no small degree. Perfect weather for any outdoor activity in the city.
As he made his way over to the boardwalk, figuring that this might well be where Clint wanted to meet him, Danny noticed a sign discussing the Boston Harbor Cleanup, a project that had begun a few decades ago. Once upon a time, the harbor had been a dumping ground for the city's sewage, which not only made it a sight for sore eyes, but also meant that it couldn't be used for anything else.
And yet, through a time-consuming, expensive effort, the authorities had managed to make the harbor one of the country's cleanest. It served as a wholesome reminder that even in an era when the U.S. government got so much flack for not solving problems, Boston had managed to solve at least one.
Castle Island's beach was not the softest - there were a large number of shells in the sand, which could easily cut the feet of an unsuspecting sunbather. But for the most part, it was a welcome example of nature existing on the edge of the city. Ultimately, Boston wasn't a bad place to live by American standards.
As Danny looked out into the harbor, it occurred to him that Castle Island's property was pretty massive. The boardwalk led for quite some distance to a peninsula containing Fort Independence (which had been built in 1634, apparently, showing how "historic" Boston was compared to most American cities.) There was also a walkway over the water that curved its way for a mile or two all the way back to the parking lot near where Danny stood now.
All of that is to say: Clint hadn't specified where at Castle Island they were going to meet at noon, and that was a problem.
Danny couldn't panic yet, though. Maybe he'd notice a vehicle pulling up at a certain spot along the boardwalk. Of course, he didn't know what sort of car Clint drove, nor was he confident in his ability to pick it out among dozens of others.
As time passed, the beach became more and more crowded, and Danny massaged his throbbing leg. He glanced longingly at the waves - those would have been heavenly to play in as a child, back when nothing mattered. How ironic it was that during his childhood, he'd yearned for his actions to have any consequences at all, and now he was faced with the cold, hard truth of adulthood?
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Do I even want to know where Clint is? Maybe this is all a trap, and he's lured me here as part of a sting operation.
Come to think of it, that was at least conceivable. Clint was a CIA agent after all, and it was well-known that they sometimes blended in with the civilian population when necessary to do their job. Maybe Danny was taking the bait.
Well, if I'm "taking the bait," I'm doing so reluctantly.
Danny eventually decided that he'd search for Clint along the path near Fort Independence. A number of joggers had taken to said path, a category Danny couldn't dream of joining himself with his wounded leg. Still, if there was one spot known as Castle Island, that was it.
Why did he tell me not to bring my phone? That makes it so much harder to communicate!
Danny sucked it up and began the long trek along the boardwalk. The wind was picking up now, and the sea was covered in gorgeous white caps. (Of course, they weren't exactly gorgeous when you were on a boat, but our hero didn't have to worry about that.) He focused on the beauty of the spring day in order to stop himself from howling in pain with every step.
He passed a view of Boston's working harbor, which contained a cruise ship affiliated with the Walt Disney Company, stacks upon stacks of shipping containers, and more. He passed a famous restaurant selling fried seafood, which was hardly appetizing when Danny felt tempted to throw up his breakfast. And he passed another playground, which was currently being enjoyed by children who had no idea what events were about to transpire at the nearby fort.
There'll be plenty of witnesses, Danny told himself. If Clint's going to harm me, he'll have to do it when nobody's looking. Now, if he were going to try it in a small town, things might be different - he could get away with a lot more.
In any case, Danny painfully climbed the hill to the remains of Fort Independence. Because nobody in their right mind would try to invade the United States, the fort was not active in its purpose; indeed, the general public wasn't permitted inside. But Danny still wished he could have hidden there.
There's nowhere to hide, he told himself. And besides, I'm not sure I want to hide. There's a meeting coming, and it's going to happen one way or another.
"Hey, you?" Danny asked a woman walking her dog (which looked rather like a Lillipup to Danny - what was up with that, anyway?)
The woman glared at Danny. "Is that any way to treat someone you don't know?"
"My bad!" the young man responded quickly. "It's just…what time is it?"
The woman glanced at her phone. "It's 11:24 AM. Why? Is there somewhere you have to be?"
"Right here at noon," Danny said. Though I don't know if I really want to be here or not.
"I see," the woman responded with a weak nod. "I hope it goes according to plan."
She doesn't care. Admittedly, should I expect anything different? It's not like I know any of these people!
In the absence of a watch or iPhone, Danny had only the sun to go by to tell time. Maybe Clint had referred to solar noon, which was not necessarily 12:00 PM on the dot. If so, he'd have his answer pretty soon.
Time sped up as Danny sat on a bench near an obelisk-shaped monument to something. He realized quickly that he didn't want time to go by quickly - he wanted as much time as he wanted to take in the sunny harbor view and remain blissfully unaware of the events that were about to unfold.
As he sat there for a while, nursing his leg wound as his body was warmed by the sun, Danny realized that it had only been three days since he'd met this CIA agent. And it had only been one day since he'd been attacked by a Crawdaunt in his very own apartment. It was as though he'd insisted that the next day could not be as wild as the last, and Father Time had replied with, "Hold my beer."
Danny did not know how long he sat at that bench. Maybe it was half an hour, maybe it was slightly more, but eventually he heard someone scoot beside him. He was too busy staring out at the ocean and its endless possibilities, contemplating his fate.
"Mind if I sit here?" a Southern accent asked him.
"Oh. Uh, yeah" Danny stated. "That's fine, I was just about to l-".
"You're not going anywhere" the voice snapped, and a strong arm suddenly grabbed Danny's left wrist.
Somehow, the young man kept his cool as he replied thusly:
"Please get off me. You're invading my personal space. And if you don't, I'm going to call the police."
"That's all fine and dandy," the man muttered, "until you realize that I work for the police. We need to talk, Dennis."
Danny turned to the left and saw that the man sitting beside him was none other than Clint Cargile, dressed in a windbreaker labeled CIA. He wore sunglasses owing to the weather conditions, but it was unmistakably him.
"Uh, sure," Danny replied. "What about?"
"Don't be cute with me, Danny. Don't be funny with me. Let's head over to the dock, and then we can discuss what happens next."
The younger man's stomach churned at the thought of what Clint might be planning. He glanced at the pedestrians around the fortress, hoping that someone would notice his predicament. Maybe not all of them, maybe not many, but surely one bystander would be bold enough to call Clint out.
Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Most of the visitors to Castle Island didn't bat an eye at Clint's presence, maybe because he was clearly a CIA agent. (Though, to be fair, it didn't matter what the reason was. Not when Danny's life might be in danger.)
Danny was ultimately given no choice but to follow Clint onto the dock. With his injured leg, he would not be fast enough to run away, and besides, Clint probably had backup somewhere. The CIA agent's most athletic days were definitely behind him, but he was still able to corner Danny against the edge of the dock.
"What's going on?" the young man asked frantically.
"I suppose I owe you the truth," Clint stated simply. "After all, if I'm about to capture you and turn you in, you might as well know why I'm doing so."
He's going to take me to the police. And then they'll know I've faked my identity. Maybe I should have stayed at the Institute! Okay, maybe I wouldn't go that far, but…
"I know, Danny Sham, that you are a liar and a cheat. You are, in fact, a sham."
Danny forced a smirk. "Clever. Did it take you all day to come up with that line?"
Clint wasn't amused. "I know that you obtained a fake ID from the Jeanies, an organization that was recently busted. Did you read about that in the paper?"
"I don't get my news from the paper" Danny spat. How am I so brave to just talk back like that?
"That's true. Nobody reads the Globe anymore, but if you did, you'd know that the Jeanies have been shut down. They will not be assisting anybody else in faking their identity, or their death. You faked your own death, Danny Sham!" He didn't even bother referring to his captive as Dennis this time.
"Well, how was I supposed to know they would be shut down?"
"Because they engage in illegal conduct" Clint snarled, his Southern accent even more pronounced in this case. "What did you expect? Danny Sham, what possessed you to fake your own death? To put your friends through the anguish of thinking you'd killed yourself?"
Danny didn't bother answering that question. No response would satisfy Clint's craving; that was clear.
"The Lobster Mobsters…".
"They're real, aren't they?" Danny retorted. "Or are you just playing with my mind?"
"They are real," Clint snapped. "And they're after you. They're still after you. You'd be wise to submit to my protection service. This can still work out, Danny."
"Can it?"
Clint didn't answer that question. Instead, he continued with his speech.
"That brings us to today. I told you not to bring your phone here, correct?"
"I don't have it," Danny confirmed. What's he getting at, anyway?
"To be fair, it doesn't matter if you have it or not. I work for the CIA after all, and if you called the police, you'd only be calling them on yourself. Because I'm part of the police."
"Right."
"Now let's get to the little something hiding in my pocket," Clint said. "Because I've got a Pokéball here, and I intend to use it today."
Danny gulped, unsure if he wanted to know the answer to his question. Predictably, his morbid curiosity got the better of him (emphasis on morbid.)
"Who are you going to use it on?"
Clint lowered his eyebrows, though it was hard to see his eyes narrowing due to how dark his sunglasses were.
"You" he replied curtly. "I took you here so that I could capture you in a Pokéball and bring you to the police. I have to do that."
"Not only do you not have to, but you can't" Danny responded breathlessly, hoping desperately that he was right. "I'm a human - I can't be captured in one of those."
Clint winked, but didn't smile. "You don't know yourself as well as I thought you did. I thought you needed to have the facts straight in order to get a fake ID, but I guess I was wrong."
Danny glared at his captor. "Clint, this is crazy! Do you really think you're going to catch me in a Pokéball, take me to the police, and that all works even though I'm not a Pokémon?"
"Not as crazy as making up a new identity and faking your own death! And you're not even the worst offender - some criminals go through identities like underwear!"
"Well, thanks for that analogy."
"The point is," Clint continued with a grunt, "that I'll be handsomely rewarded for turning you in. You see, I have a specific reason for opposing the Lobster Mobsters."
Danny gulped. "What's the reason?" he snapped.
"It doesn't matter!" the older man shouted, taking a Pokéball out of his pocket and pointing it directly at Danny's heart. He was about to press the button when a young woman came running onto the dock.
Is she going to save me? Danny wondered, allowing himself the slimmest possible degree of hope.
The woman was about Danny's age, but almost a foot shorter and somewhat slimmer. She wore her blonde hair in a few small braids behind her head, as well as an expression of what looked like abundant confusion.
"Oh, there you are," Clint muttered, putting away his Pokéball for the moment. "I'm glad to see you've come."
The blonde lady frowned. "I don't understand, Chris. I was supposed to find Danny Sham. So why did you do it for me?"