“Do you have any other items that were sent to you of a threatening manner?” Asked the officer who had been patting his back thirty minutes ago.

Detective, Issac reminded himself. He nodded and tugged his blanket tighter, “I have a whole storage tub full of threatening fan mail.” He stood and motioned the detective to follow him up the stairs to his guest room. “It's amazing how much effort a hateful person will take. In this day and age of instant gratification, you can send a message in a blink. But these people spent time and effort to handwrite their poison. Then they spent money to send it.” Issac shrugged and steadied himself on the landing, before turning to look at the officer who followed him.

The detective's eyes were sympathetic at the same time they came across as grim, “Trust me, this is something I'm well aware of. I could tell you stories about the lengths some people will go to.”

Issac shuddered and shook his head, “I think I'd rather you didn't.” He'd have enough nightmares as it was. He turned away and began walking the short distance to the guest room. It only took seconds to find the large thirty-five-gallon rubber storage container. It was a bright red, so Issac would always know which box to toss the new hate mail in. He tugged it from the stack in the closet, then opened the lid. It was filled almost to capacity.

“Jesus, this will take a bit of work,” The detective muttered, but Issac could tell he didn't mean that rudely. He'd had a determined look on his face when he'd said it.

“Sorry, Detective Stanley. It's ten years worth of mail, though the top half is probably from the last two years,” Issac rubbed at the back of his neck. He should have categorized the mail... or something. He felt like he'd left a big mess for the police to go through.

“Call me Joe, and don't be sorry. You could have thrown all this away, then where would our leads have been?” The guy gave Issac a wry smile and clapped him on the shoulder before replacing the lid and picking the box up with a soft huff. “Where's Ink when I need muscles?” Joe mumbled after he turned towards the door with his burden.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later, after all the officers had left, Issac sat curled up on his couch. He was freshly showered and changed. His head was spinning in circles. He had no one to rely on. What was he going to do? Hire a bodyguard to feel safe? He couldn't afford that. He made decent money that kept the bills paid and allowed him to put a little back for emergencies. That emergency fund would shrivel up and blow away after a couple of months of paying some guard to stay by his side.

The only thing he could think of was to give up being in the spotlight. If the person won, and he no longer put his face out there, maybe they would be satisfied and leave him alone. Being a celebrity, especially an internet one, wasn't worth his life.

Maybe he should just move out of town? His real name wasn't out there. He could give up playing the game, too. Change his habits. If he did that, would he feel safer? The answer was yes. Maybe he wouldn't feel completely safe, but he wouldn't be jumping at noises and shadows.

His mind made up, he called the one person who would be most affected by this. Andy.

After two rings, the woman answered, “Issac! How are you?”

It didn't take long to fill her in.

“Don't do this. I have an idea,” Was Andy's response.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

How had Issac let the woman convince him to do this? He groaned as he pushed the last of the storage tubs into a corner of his office. He went back and changed the sheets, then dusted and vacuumed the guest room.

It was a small space compared to his master bedroom, but it was bigger than a lot of apartment living rooms. The guest room was a little on the sparse side as far as furnishings went. A king bed sat centered on the back wall. Two black enamel bedside tables graced either side. A dark-gray vase lamp sat on one of the tables. Other than that, there was a chest of drawers, and a single black and white print in a black frame placed directly above the dresser.

Issac sighed and rubbed his hands dry on the hips of his jeans. He looked over the room one last time and shrugged. Maybe this Markus guy wouldn't care that his room wasn't decorated by some designer. But the guy was a designer. He'd probably stick his nose up over his old mismatched furnishings.

“He's a wonderful man. Used to be with the police department. He's a designer now. I already know he'd be more than happy to be your bodyguard if you pay him with a room and food. Please? Just give it a try?” Andy begged. She went on and on about how amazing the man was, until Issac started second-guessing himself, and caved.

Now he was waiting for Markus to show up. A stranger. Who was going to live with him. Who was going to stay right next to Issac all the time, until the person who sent the package was caught. Issac wiped his palms against his jeans again and started to panic. What was he doing?!

His phone rang, making him jump like a cat who'd landed in a puddle. He fumbled with the device, finally answering it, “Hello?”

“Hello! Has Markus arrived yet? He should be there any time,” Andy asked excitedly.

While she was talking, there was a knock on the front door. “Not yet. He might be at the door now. Hang on a second while I answer it.”

Issac unlocked the door and opened it without looking out the peephole. He felt the blood drain from his face. The man standing on the other side was big. Taller than Issac by only a couple of inches, but muscles filled the jacket and snug t-shirt. Tattoos crawled up the man's neck and down the man's hands. Issac had a feeling that most of the guy's body was covered too. Dark blue eyes stared at Issac out of a bearded face that held no amusement.

This wasn't the pastel wearing, slightly snooty designer that Issac was expecting. This was a leader of a biker gang!

Issac's phone fell from his nerveless fingers, and he shrieked like a panicked person that was about to die and slammed the door shut. That... was that the person who'd sent the package?!