----------------------------------------

Amber waited for Rachel to leave her apartment before she called Officer Glorious again. Perhaps she subconsciously didn't want to worry her friend, but the Meowth was already out of the bag on that one.

Oh well. Rachel doesn't need to be a party to this conversation. It might have started as her story, but it isn't going to end that way.

Amber dialed the number, then hit the call button. It only took one ring before the officer responded.

"Amber! Why are you calling me right now?"

"Because I had something important to tell you?" she replied quizzically. Perhaps too quizzically, for they weren't on that game show where you had to phrase your answers in the form of a question. It would only weaken her argument.

"What might that be?" the officer grunted. "Look, Amber, I am a busy man. That's the nature of being a cop in a country with more guns than people."

"I know. But this is important. It's about my…it's about Danny."

Luckily, Officer Glorious did not pick up on Amber's Freudian slip. Or, if he did, he evidently decided it wasn't notable enough to bring up. Either way, Amber hardly cared.

"May I ask why you think you have more information about Danny Sham's situation than I do? Particularly when you're forbidden from contacting him, per the terms of the witness protection program?"

Amber heaved a great sigh. "The wingnuts are at it again. Were you watching the trial?"

"Again, Amber, I'm busy. I couldn't be bothered to watch the trial when I had to resolve a domestic dispute."

"Right."

"I did, however, learn the highlights. Clint Cargile pleaded guilty, and the trial's over. It's not the end of the danger, though; in that sense, the trial is not over."

Amber didn't particularly appreciate that play on words. Instead, she responded thusly: "That's not all that happened today, though. I had Rachel over - my best friend, Rachel Petty - and we watched the trial. And then we somehow ended up on OAN, One America News, where Upchuck Weldworth was at it again."

Officer Glorious was now rapt to attention if he hadn't been already. "What is that crackpot up to these days?"

"He kept spewing this slander about Danny Sham. He said that Danny was responsible for making Clint confess. Like, he literally stated that Danny put a gun to Clint's head, and that something needed to be done about it."

The officer grunted. "Did Upchuck Weldworth say what that something was?" he asked. "Or who was going to do it?"

"No," Amber admitted. "I think he wanted to leave plausible deniability in there just in case someone acted on his poisonous words."

"Indeed, that's the way these people operate," Officer Glorious confirmed. "This seems like a textbook case of stochastic terrorism to me. We'll need to investigate it."

"Keep Danny safe, will you?" Amber requested the officer.

"You really care about him, don't you? I told you two months ago to stop having feelings for the man. He's just a man you knew."

"But I know him. Present tense."

"You knew him, past tense, for less than…you know what? I'll do my best to make sure Danny isn't harmed by the Lobster Mobsters. But part of that job starts with you."

"What can I do?" Amber asked, because she honestly just wanted to do something, anything to help Danny. She wouldn't admit the real reason to Officer Glorious, not that he couldn't guess it anyway.

"You can start," the officer replied, "by continuing to follow the guidelines. No contact whatsoever with Danny Sham. He's not allowed to contact you either. And it's best to stay on social media if you were previously active on it, because it might arouse suspicion if you suddenly go dark when nobody's expecting it."

"That shit's toxic anyway" Amber muttered.

"Maybe it is," Officer Glorious responded. "But we have to acknowledge that it exists, and as long as people keep using it, it will keep having power over us."

Amber sighed. "Right."

"Now, I will phone Danny and tell him that he needs to reinforce the ground rules in his mind. I'm not going to tell you where he is, but that we're only going to move him again as a last resort. He's on his third identity after all."

Whether there was an intentional sting there or not, Amber didn't really want to know. Instead, she thanked the officer for the conversation and hung up.

After that, Amber turned the TV back on, but nothing interesting was on. Now that the media had milked Clint Cargile's trial for all it was worth, that cash cow was running dry. They were telling some story about extreme weather down South, but the climate crisis was hardly news at this point, so Amber found herself tuning it out. Just like a frog in a pot of water that slowly boils it.

When Amber had suffered through enough negative news, she decided to heed Officer Glorious' advice. She took out her laptop and navigated to her LinkedIn page, where, to her surprise, a message was waiting.

Amber narrowed her eyes. Despite her impressive academic resumé, she almost never got any unsolicited messages from potential employers, and certainly none from strangers. This message was to be treated with mild suspicion at best.

Against her own better judgment, however, Amber clicked on the message icon, where she was greeted with an unfamiliar username. Given its seemingly incomprehensible string of letters and numbers, she assumed it was associated with what some called a "throwaway account", a term popularized by people on Reddit and other social media sites who didn't want a certain post to be associated with their main account.

There was no profile picture, which was almost enough to make Amber delete the message immediately. However, the keyword is almost, because the message said something she certainly hadn't expected after all this time. Something she couldn't help but read multiple times from top to bottom.

Hello, Amber. I know it's been two months, so reaching out now is probably random and weird. And I'm sorry about that. I just wanted to let you know that I learned Clint Cargile pleaded guilty today and that I'm safe up here. I can't tell you where I am, but I look forward to the day when I don't have to hide anymore. I just don't know when that'll be. Sincerely, Danny.

Amber gasped. Danny may not have given her any identifying information, but that was hardly the only way he might have put himself in trouble. After all, websites like LinkedIn monitored every click, every activity, every ad viewed by a user, all for the sake of "security." Only in this case, Danny would have just blown up his own security, at a time when he'd supposedly just been warned about the increasingly grave danger he found himself in!

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

What was wrong with that young man? Why didn't he care about his own safety enough to think about the consequences of his actions for more than five seconds?

Nonetheless, after she responded to that message, Amber would admit that she had little moral high ground here.

Danny, I'm already kicking myself for writing you back. You're supposed to remain safe! You're not supposed to talk to me, and you think I don't know that?

But Amber hadn't thought hard enough before sending that message, for she was shortly thereafter greeted by the following text:

Then why did you answer in the first place?

Amber sighed. She knew how irrational it was to keep in touch with Danny considering the circumstances. The logical side of her brain, the side that allowed her to excel in a subject as difficult as Chemistry, kept telling her that she shouldn't give Danny the attention he might well desire, as difficult as that might be for both of them.

I didn't rescue you from that harbor to see you die to the Lobster Mobsters, Amber typed. I want you to live a long life, Danny. I'd rather you not be subjected to an early departure from this world.

The messaging app showed Danny typing for a good minute. When he finally replied, it was with these words:

Amber, this so-called life is hardly a life at all. I'm so lonely here, and I just wish I could have thanked you in person. It haunts me every day.

Those words might have tugged on her heartstrings, but Amber refused to give in. She replied as follows: If you want to thank me, pay attention to all of Officer Glorious' rules. He knows your situation better than I do.

No answer was forthcoming for almost a minute. For a few seconds, Amber was almost able to convince herself that Danny had elected to heed her advice, not that the damage hadn't already been done. But then he started typing, and it wasn't long before he'd concocted a response.

But I wanted to make sure you were okay. Is that a crime?

Amber shook her head, not caring that Danny wouldn't be able to see this gesture. She responded as follows:

If you're breaking the terms of the witness protection program (and you are, by messaging me), then I might consider that a crime, yes. For the record, I'm fine. If anything, you should be far more worried about your own safety, especially after this stunt you're pulling right now.

Danny didn't take long to answer again.

Just because something is illegal doesn't mean it's wrong. More importantly, I figured that this message was worth it. Even if it's dangerous.

Danny, Upchuck Weldworth is sending his followers after you. No matter where you are, they're going to find you eventually, and then you'll be in serious danger.

Considering the length of Danny's next message, it didn't take him nearly as long as Amber might have expected for him to complete it. This is what he said:

And I'm not in serious danger already? Amber, I know they're looking for me. I know that they're going to find me at some point. But I also know that we're here for a good time, not a long time. And if there's one thing the last two months have taught me, it's that there are sometimes more important things than safety.

Amber wasted no time. Like what?

Look, Amber, I've missed you a lot over the last two months. I think about the afternoon we spent together most days. It's tearing me apart, Amber.

And that's my problem because…why?

Danny's next answer surprised Amber to no small degree.

Amber, as frightening as that afternoon was, I'd still have every day be like that if it meant a reprieve from this existence. The day we met, Clint Cargile (fuck him) mentioned that I grew up in a prison, and that he'd escaped his own prison several times.

He won't be escaping again, but that doesn't mean his followers can't still do a lot of damage.

Danny seemed to weigh his next message carefully. It took a good two minutes for him to send it.

Well, as much as I despise that man for what he put us (and so many other people) through, I could at least relate to him on that. The Sacred Heart Institute was my prison for my childhood and teen years, but even that isn't as difficult as being in witness protection. There are days when I just want to scream - there's nothing to do here.

Amber replied with a paraphrased quote from Aesop. She hadn't read too many of the ancient Greek writers, but this line stuck with her. It's better to be safe with a little than scared with a lot.

More typing, then an answer: I know, but I'm not convinced that I'm actually safe here. I do wonder if some Crawdaunt crazies are going to storm my new home at any moment and kidnap me.

Amber bit her lip. She didn't want to say serves you right or even what did you expect?, because that would just be too cold for someone who clearly still cared about her. But at the same time, she couldn't help but feel that Danny had brought this fear upon himself.

You do realize that you're putting yourself in more danger by messaging me? Someone's bound to locate your IP address on this site, and we're known to have interacted with one another that fateful day.

Nobody knows that, though.

Amber snorted without any humor. Everyone knows! How do you think I know?

True.

Danny, no matter what, you have to promise me that you'll never contact me again unless they decide it's somehow safe for you to leave witness protection. Please promise me that.

Danny's response came quickly, almost automatically. But I care about you.

If you truly cared about me, you'd realize that I care about you too, which includes caring about your safety. We need to give each other distance, for your sake especially.

After that, Amber cut off the conversation and glanced out the window at the afternoon sky. Despite the heat of the day, the air wasn't terribly humid, making it an ideal day for a walk by the harbor. There was one place she wouldn't go, however, and that was the beach at Castle Island.

Given what had just transpired over the digital superhighway of information known as the Internet, however, Amber doubted that she'd be able to enjoy that walk. And she couldn't shake the belief that their story was about to end tonight.

(Insert a horizontal line here)

It was nearly midnight when the police cruiser crossed the border from New Hampshire into Maine. (For those who aren't nerds about U.S. geography, Maine was the only state to border only one other. And given what was inside the car, it would hardly be able to cross into the state through Canada).The driver of the vehicle wore an expression of grim determination as he stomped on the gas pedal.

Driving on the highways of Maine at this late hour was akin to playing that old, shitty video game called Desert Bus. Nothing much happened most of the time, but because you had to be prepared for anything to happen - a car to show up out of nowhere, an ambulance or fire engine to come along blaring its siren, a deer dashing across the road - you needed to remain vigilant.

The driver checked the address on Google Maps. He confirmed that he was heading to the right place; a small lakeside town in the interior part of the state. And he narrowed his eyes further, which were behind his dark sunglasses despite the night.

I'm twenty miles away from the exit. I just have to pay attention to the numbers, though Google Maps sure makes this a hell of a lot easier.

Given an average speed of eighty miles per hour, it took all of fifteen intense minutes for the police car to reach the exit for this particular small town. By now the clock had struck twelve, and even though it was no longer July 4, many of the homes in this rural community still had their flags out in full display. Elsewhere in the state, firework displays were occurring, but not here.

The driver sighed as he slowed down on the town roads. Within residential areas, the state of Maine enforced a strict speed limit. Those driving police cars were not exempt from the law; if anything, they were expected to comply with it even more strictly, for they were supposed to set an example for the civilian population to follow. That being said, there were no speed traps to be found, raising questions about the degree of enforcement of this traffic regulation.

It only took a few minutes to find the house. Really, it looked just like the other houses in this small town, humble and seemingly under questionable maintenance, if any at all. Of course, Google Maps had made his job far easier when he knew the address.

The driver pulled the police cruiser up to the home. There were no vehicles whatsoever in the driveway, but based on what he knew about the house's occupant, this was to be expected. The resident was not the sort of person to engage in frenetic nightlife either, not that "frenetic nightlife" and "rural Maine" could possibly fit in the same sentence.

The driver of the police car exited the vehicle and walked over to the front door. He knocked on the door twice to the tune of "Ode To Joy", but nobody answered it.

Oh well, he thought. The guy's probably asleep right now. But he won't be asleep for long.

So he rang the doorbell. Again, no response came, not even when he held the bell for about ten whole seconds.

That's okay. If we really need to send him a message, we have other ways of doing it. I'll head back to my car.