I saw Ben’s eyes avoid Kelly, which seemed like an excellent decision. I could smell her fury through her pungent perfume. I guess their presentation didn’t go well. Without blinking an eye, Stephanie waltzed over and took her seat -- late again. I loaned her a pen as always. She begins to tap her foot under the table, paying no mind to the dirt coming off of her sole -- or maybe she just pretended not to notice. The four of us study our notes. Given sets of symptoms, we tried to piece together a reasonable diagnosis -- or one good enough to pass. Kelly threw her papers in anger and left. Ben looked relieved. Honestly, if we weren’t in this class, none of us would ever even speak to each other. We tolerate one another to achieve a common goal: a decent grade. After an hour of effort, we called it a day and gave up.

    Sitting in my dorm, the sunlight left my window and I switched on my lamp to see my work. My notes list “acrodynia” and “failure to thrive”. I plead my mind to remember something other than salmon and mercury poisoning, and something more than erythroderma polyneuropathy, but it remains blank. I felt trapped; I couldn't find an adequate diagnosis. Sifting through my notes, I see something slip. I snatch it from the floor. The blue ink is thick and smeared on the crumpled paper, but I decipher the words, “might as well quit”. I stash the scrap into my drawer and lock it. Staring at the dark wood of the desk, I assure myself that Kelly tried to slip this note to Ben. I assure myself that it was only a message of annoyance. I assure myself that Kelly did this. She was quite angry at him earlier, so this must have been from her. It must have been. I’m glad it never got to him. Even if the presentation was terrible, Ben doesn’t need this message. No one does. Still unsettled, I chewed some bubblegum and tried to quiet the whispers lurking in the back of my mind. They danced around my head, weaving in and out of my thoughts, and dissipating into the empty air of my dim room. I inch my lamp closer, so the pink shade can whisp away these ghosts.  

***

    Before class, I saw Stephanie. She offered me a fruity soda, but I declined.

“What’s up with Kelly?” I asked her.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure it’s about her presentation with Ben”, she glanced at the door.

“I still don’t think she should be that hard on him. That was over a week ago. Was it really that bad?” I questioned.

“The presentation wasn’t bad, it wasn’t there. Ben wiped the whole thing clean before they were supposed to present. Traces back to his account,” she shrugged and walked away, her dark ponytail swaying behind her.

Against my better judgment, I sat next to Ben in the lecture hall, but I decided I wouldn’t mention the presentation. I said hello and pulled out my notes, dropping my pink pen.

“I didn’t erase the presentation,” he said quietly.

“I don’t understand why you would. That’s your grade too,” I replied.

I picked up my pen and wrote a note in the corner of my page.

“So how’s Paul, then?” He asked.

“I didn’t talk to Paul,” I said.

“But you knew about the presentation, right? I could see it in your face. Paul saw it and I just figured he told you,” he said.

“Stephanie mentioned it, but I asked,” I admitted.

“I didn’t think Stephanie was in our class,” he said.

Our study group commenced again, but Stephanie remembered a pen this time, and Kelly wasn’t as irritable. Ben looked troubled.

“You okay, Ben?” I asked.

“Tell you later,” he muttered.

***

    I opened my phone and found two messages: one from Ben and one from an unknown number. I opened Ben’s, reading “I’m being blackmailed”. I started typing, but before I could respond, the text was deleted. It was replaced by a foreign “Have a terrific day”. My pink fingernail froze on the screen. Spooked, I opened my other message, reading “stay in your lane”. I started to run to my car. I need to get to Ben.

    I quickly inspected my car and found one tire slashed. It seemed like I interrupted someone before they could finish slashing the rest. I pulled out my spare tire and jack and changed my tire in a panic. There were dark blue clouds creeping in. As soon as the last bolt was secured, I jumped in my car, locked it, and called Kelly. Thankfully, she picked up.

    “Hi”, she said.

    “Hey, do you know if anyone is angry at Ben -- besides you?” I asked.

    “No, I mean Paul was annoyed earlier, but he’s never really around,” she said.

    “Why? Is he mad about something?” I asked.

    “Ben didn’t pay him back for lunch a few times, that’s all,” she replied.

    “Look, I think he’s being blackmailed. I’m getting all these weird messages and someone slashed my tire. And he didn’t delete the presentation. I think someone hacked it,” I explained.

    “Woah, Abby. That sounds insane, but you know he deleted it. It came from his account,” she said.

    “It was hacked. The texts I got from his phone were hacked,” I insisted.

    “That’s extremely unlikely,” she replied.

    “Well, it’s happening,” I said, weaving through traffic.

    “Fine, but if you thought someone is blackmailing him, why didn’t you suspect me?” she asked.

    “That was your grade, too. You wouldn’t sacrifice your own grade just to get at Ben. Also, you don’t have enough patience to learn how to hack technology. You’d get angry after two minutes,” I retorted.

    “Fine. We should warn Stephanie,” she said.

    “No! Absolutely not! She could have something to do with it!” I yelled.

    “Stephanie wouldn’t do anything. She’s known Ben longer than we have, and they get along fine. She wouldn’t know how to hack anything,” she said.

    “Just don’t tell her, okay? And is she in Orchid’s class with you and Ben?” I asked.

    “No, why?” she asked.

    “Just curious,” I said.

    “Look, I got to go, but this sounds like nonsense. Maybe you should stay in your lane,” she said.

    “Wait! Who said that to you?!” I demanded, “Where did you hear that?!”

    “Oh, it was just written in my horoscope newsletter. It’s good advice,” she said.

    “Are you subscribed to a horoscope newsletter?” I asked.

    “No, it just showed up in my email,” she sang.

    “Of course it did. Did you write Ben an angry note?” I asked.

    “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I have to go. I have work to do. Bye,” she declared.

    I ran into Ben’s apartment, finding him frozen on the couch.

    “Stephanie is doing this. What does she want?” I asked.

    “Four hundred dollars, but it’s no use. She already got into my bank account,” he whispered.

    “You idiot! Call your bank! Freeze your account! Report fraud!” I yelled.

    “I don’t know why she’s doing this, but there’s nothing I can do to stop her. I might as well quit,” he stated.

“Are you serious!? You’re just going to let her win?!”, I shouted.

He paused and his face crumbled, “I think she’s going to go after my parents.”

I was nearly speechless. “Do you think she would?” I inquired.

“I’m not sure she would go that far,” he pondered, “but if she did, I don’t think she’d feel a hint of guilt.”

“How do you know? Did she tell you?” I asked.

“I had some of their information on my computer. Things like emails they’ve sent me, and I’ve ordered them gifts and sent them to their address. My computer showed that I had recently accessed these emails and information, but I hadn’t. I know I sound like I don’t know what I’m talking about, but she’s been messing with stuff,” he insisted.

“Let me help you, Ben. Please,” I pleaded.

“Okay, just get me out of this mess. I feel so trapped,” He said.

We contacted Ben’s bank and reported fraud. That was the easy part. We cut off some signals from Ben’s computer and wiped the memory. That was the simple part. We decided to wait to contact the police. That was the hard part. Our situation walked around wearing a mask of speculation, and with dangerous implications swimming around it, we find ourselves toying with a game of dangerous disguise. Initially, we secured Ben’s accounts and information the best we could, but without much technological knowledge, there was only so much we could do. Luckily, Paul has a minor in information technology.

I wanted Stephanie to be cursed with a demon when she tries to open Ben’s computer once again. Paul came over and was able to provide me this demon in the form of a flash drive. I held in my hand a specialized computer virus sure to destroy any intruder. Ben and I infected his computer with it, creating a time bomb that would shatter the first computer code it confronted. All it needed was the classic internet connection to feed its disguised power. The glow of the screen fueled something fiercer than hope and more potent than greed.

    The three of us waited for the mouse to step into our trap. Paul estimated that she accessed Ben’s online property at least every four hours. She is constantly crawling under the cover of her screen and snatching snippets of Ben’s life for her enjoyment. He has failed a few assignments because of her, a few projects, but most of all, he has had to live these past three months under the torture that her haunting has caused. He has been subjected to a life of powerlessness. I asked him what she had blackmailed him into doing, but Ben would only cringe and shake his head in shame. I fear what she has done to him. I fear what she made him do. Maybe it’s better that we didn’t contact the police. I look at Ben now, hunched over the screen, waiting for the bomb to explode. Waiting for his freedom. Paul has done some supplementary coding in the time we have been given, but there isn’t much more we can do. Crackle, crackle, pop. We hear the router suddenly sizzle and rush to see.

    “The WiFi is down! We need the connection or the virus might not be active enough!” Paul shouted.

    “I have a hotspot! Will the be strong enough?” asked Ben.

    “Just do it! It should be enough!” Paul said.

    “Did Stephanie mess with our WiFi? Does she know what we’re doing?” I asked Paul.

    “She could have bugged one of us or something in this room. I don’t think this is an accident,” he said.

    “I don’t think it’s an accident either, but what if she was just reacting to the changes we’ve made in the software? She might not know,” I told him.

    “Let’s just see. I think if the hotspot works, we’ll be alright,” he stated.

    I looked down at the computer and saw the glimmer of the pink hard drive. Ben’s hotspot was fluctuating in strength. Suddenly, the computer screen went black.

    “I think it worked,” Paul stammered, “we can show this to the police.”

    “But it just gave her the virus, right? How would the police use that for anything?” Ben asked.

    “No, we have access to everything she’s accessed with any relation to your information and your account. Any hint of your data is tracked,” Paul explained.

    “We can’t give this to the police. She’s made me do things that I could go to jail for,” Ben said.

    “Ben, you were blackmailed and we can prove it. What did she make you do?” Paul asked.

    Ben didn’t answer. Instead, he went to grab us some coffee from the shop down the street.

***

    “I don’t know what Ben’s talking about. Nowhere in this data does Stephanie ask Ben to do something awful. She doesn’t directly message him much at all,” Paul noticed.

    “That’s weird. Maybe they talked in person,” I said.

***

The police came and investigated. Everything was accounted for in the data we retrieved. It was only until they searched Stephanie’s apartment that something seemed out of place. Her floor was littered with flash drives, cords, equipment, and her own dead body. Toxicology reports discovered that her diabetic medication reacted with another substance. Grapefruit concentrate was detected in a bottle of fruit juice on her desk. Every med student knows that grapefruit reacts with certain medications, but perhaps Stephanie didn’t. Perhaps the police didn’t see that grapefruit wasn’t listed as an ingredient on the juice bottle. Perhaps the police didn’t know that Ben left earlier. Perhaps no one saw that the Starbucks sells juice. But all of it is highly unlikely, and at last, Ben is free. Free from the manipulation of Stephanie, but plagued by the guilt and shame of his own actions. Maybe the overlooked and unlikely claim our freedom. Maybe it is the price of freedom that traps us in debt.