Part 1: Mystery of the Business Card
Aaron stationed himself in a corner booth of the bar where he could be alone. He didn't want to expose himself to any distractions right now. All of his focus ended up on the contents laid out on the table surface in front of him. A pack of cigarettes, a ripped open envelope and a blank white business card. No snazzy font, no information-- nothing. He continued to flip the card over in his fingers a few times, inspecting one blank side after another like something might magically appear.
Nothing did.
This seemed par for the course considering his luck of late. After Charlie had passed Aaron information on a new possible connection in the area, there was a spark of optimism that tried jump starting his spirit. But it quickly faded back out of existence once he returned to the bar and took stock of what his money had earned him. Just some pointless junk. He'd been had apparently.
A lame looking pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes (he didn't even realize they still sold them) and a less than helpful blank business card. Who the hell passes out blank business cards anyways? The least they could have done was print a 'Fu*ck you.' on there in nice black font. The minimal effort put into it managed to make it feel even more insulting.
With an air of fu*ck it, he peeled open the pack of Lucky Strikes and pushed his lips apart with a single cigarette. After lighting it, he helped himself to a soul soothing drag. A deep inhale in and a real smoky exhale out, blowing smoke past his lips like he was dispelling all the accumulated tension from his body. Aaron raised the blank business card one last time, prepared to crumple it with a fist when suddenly he saw something that froze him.
His dark eyebrows creased together quizzically, the barest squint of his blue eyes focusing tighter on the card. What the--... He must have been seeing shit. Denial set in, then denial of that denial, all in the span of fifteen or twenty seconds. He couldn't explain why, but now-- clear as day, there was a '17' printed there on the card in black font.
How. The. Fu*ck? How the hell was the card completely blank one minute and then had something on it now?
Did he do something to cause it? ... He was a bit hesitant at first. He took a sketchy look around, inspecting the room, hoping no one was watching him. Aaron pursed his lips and blew on the card first. Nothing. Then he shook it like a ketchup packet and got no results. Stealing glances around between tests, conscious of his surroundings, worried someone might think he lost his mind.
... 5 minutes later ...
That self consciousness was gone. He looked certifiably mental, but he was too fixated on the mystery now to care. He tried looking at the card from various angles-- dipping his head down low, raising it higher-- squinting his eyes into dramatically thin slants-- opening his eyes as wide as he could-- going cross eyed didn't help at all-- nor did pretending like he wasn't paying attention and then snapping quick glances back at the card, trying to catch it unaware.
Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. What the hell did '17' mean?
None of it made sense. He gave up and decided he should go home. Aaron took a final drag of his cigarette and angled his profile down to watch as he knocked some ash off into the ashtray. He blew out a thin mouthful of smoke-- smoke that hit and washed over the surface of the business card that was laying nearby, and then Aaron witnessed the way the smoke seemed to mysteriously suck the black font up to the surface of the card. His expression immediately went wide eyed and stupefied.
More blown smoke followed, similar to how someone might blow on a dying fire to keep it alive and burning. He blew cigarette smoke until he believed there was nothing more to be revealed-- and then he lifted the card to see what it said.
Follow the yellow brick road.
North 17th Street & Monroe
Make it a round trip.
!!... -- Aaron almost knocked the booth over with how hastily he gathered his sh*it and bolted for the exit.
Part 2: North 17th Street & Monroe
Aaron parked his Camaro as close as he could to the intersection of 17th and Monroe and now he was on foot. (Magical?) Lucky Strikes were kept safely in his jacket pocket. His lean body and dark hair swam upstream through the counter flow of urban civilians, rubbing shoulders with strangers and keeping his blue eyes peeled for signs of whatever he was looking for. What was he looking for anyways? It was strange. Aaron hadn't stopped to rationally consider the progression of things yet-- he was merely reacting. Which was unlike him. He was under the spell of blind ambition and following it's aroma to the source.
He walked up and down Monroe street twice, back and forth, scoping out buildings that he passed and hovering briefly at the mouths of alleyways to peer into their shady depths and deliberate whether they looked yellow brick road-ish or not-- .. Wait... Stop.
... This was ridiculous.
He must have been feeling more desperate than he realized to be chasing his tail like this. There was nothing out here. Whoever supplied the cigarettes and business card was probably stashed away in one of the building windows above and snapping pictures of Aaron right now, having a good laugh about it at his expense. He just stood there motionless in the middle of everything. Giving reality a moment to catch up with his delusional fantasies.
"Fuc*king yellow brick road.." Aaron muttered under his breath with a self-deprecating distaste, incredulous that he'd even drove out here.
"Tin man. Is that you?" A homeless woman croaked.
Aaron paused and snapped a look down at the source. She looked old and worn out. Her thin silver hair was haphazardly stuffed under a black stocking hat and she was clutching a disgusting looking quilt to herself with black gloves full of holes. There was dirt and stains all over her features and clothing. He might have disregarded her entirely if it wasn't for how alert and alive her black eyes appeared despite everything. She sounded a bit like the Wicked Witch of the West. Hello my pretties!
"What?" Just what Aaron needed. A crazy homeless woman.
"Your heart... you're looking for your heart tin man, are you not?"
"Listen, I don't have any change--"
"Oh but you could, tin man... you could change quite a lot.."
".. Yeah, well. I should probably get going."
"Without your heart!? But you were so close.."
"Looks like it." Aaron moved to turn away.
"It's just around the corner.." Her last words were hissed like a snake.
The homeless woman broke into a maniacal fit of giggles afterwards. She thought she was hilarious apparently. But the conversation did cause Aaron to pause momentarily for a brief reflection. It's hard to say what inspired him then to walk just a little further up the street, to investigate a bit more. When he reached the closest alley, he turned to look down the length of it. Imagine Aaron Murray's surprise when he spotted a strip of yellow bricks leading to a door.
Part 3: The Alley Door
The alley was dim and dark and smelled dank, but Aaron was entirely alone in it. He stood at the very back of it-- face to face with the door. Surrounding the door was a wall constructed of large grey slabs of brick, all cracked and disheveled looking. It reminded Aaron of something he would see overseas. It felt ancient. Pre-everything. A small lamp light burned dimly above it. The shadows it cast made the door look dramatically ominous.
But, it was a revolving door. Which felt incredibly out of place. One of those doors where a person steps inside a compartment and pushes the door around in a circular rotation until they end up on the desired side. Aaron just stared at it cock-eyed for a moment before he thought (not for the first time tonight)-- fu*ck it.
He put a hand out against the door and pushed, stepping inside. When he pushed, the door rotated, going about it's normal counter clockwise rotation. Entering only required a semi-spin. Half a rotation would permit him passage to the other side. And what did he see? As he pushed through the door?
... Just an empty warehouse. Abandoned-- or at least it appeared that way at first glance. It looked like no one had stepped foot inside of the place for years. There were thick support beams stretching from the cement floor to the high ceiling. It was an impressive looking structure, but it didn't feel like the kind of place someone needed to be led to. He'd walked into a construction grave sight. Old, forgotten equipment was littered around the scene. Dusty sledge hammers. Bobcat loaders covered with tarps. It was easy to see that there was nothing of significance here. At least not in the terms of what he had come for.
The realization soon dawned on him that standing there gawking at old construction equipment was pretty fruitless. So, without further ado, and consistent with the rest of his oddly unsuccessful night, Aaron turned to place his hand on the door and pushed. A half rotation semi-circle led him directly from his side to the opposite-- stepping back out into the alleyway and the night air. Remembering the alley exactly how he'd left it only a minute ago.
Then... out of nowhere, something sparked.
Metaphorically speaking. Something in his mind sparked. A small thought sizzled and then suddenly his mind caught fire, wildly burning out of control with a looming realization. It must have been how detectives felt when they stumbled across that perfect piece of evidence that could crack the case wide open. Aaron rifled through his pocket hastily and yanked out the business card to review the text again.
Make it a round trip. -- the bottom line read.
A round trip... A round trip... A round trip. Aaron spun on a heel to face off with the door again. A round trip. His blue gaze surveyed it like he was looking at it now with new eyes. A. Round. Trip. Around. The door. It was a rotational door. Stepping through to the other side and into the warehouse had only required a half rotation's worth of a spin. Equivalent to a one way trip. Which was not a round trip. Normally this logic probably wouldn't have existed in his mind; that something like this could even be plausible. But there was a resurgence of his blind ambition from earlier-- and without thinking, and simply reacting-- Aaron pushed his way back through the door.
Only this time? He didn't stop at the warehouse. Ignoring common sense and how insane it felt, Aaron pushed that door a full three hundred and sixty degrees. One entire full rotation around. A round trip. Conventional wisdom would have one believe that this would result in him ending up right back in the alley again, where he started...
But... he didn't.
No.
He didn't end up in the alley at all.
Aaron stationed himself in a corner booth of the bar where he could be alone. He didn't want to expose himself to any distractions right now. All of his focus ended up on the contents laid out on the table surface in front of him. A pack of cigarettes, a ripped open envelope and a blank white business card. No snazzy font, no information-- nothing. He continued to flip the card over in his fingers a few times, inspecting one blank side after another like something might magically appear.
Nothing did.
This seemed par for the course considering his luck of late. After Charlie had passed Aaron information on a new possible connection in the area, there was a spark of optimism that tried jump starting his spirit. But it quickly faded back out of existence once he returned to the bar and took stock of what his money had earned him. Just some pointless junk. He'd been had apparently.
A lame looking pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes (he didn't even realize they still sold them) and a less than helpful blank business card. Who the hell passes out blank business cards anyways? The least they could have done was print a 'Fu*ck you.' on there in nice black font. The minimal effort put into it managed to make it feel even more insulting.
With an air of fu*ck it, he peeled open the pack of Lucky Strikes and pushed his lips apart with a single cigarette. After lighting it, he helped himself to a soul soothing drag. A deep inhale in and a real smoky exhale out, blowing smoke past his lips like he was dispelling all the accumulated tension from his body. Aaron raised the blank business card one last time, prepared to crumple it with a fist when suddenly he saw something that froze him.
His dark eyebrows creased together quizzically, the barest squint of his blue eyes focusing tighter on the card. What the--... He must have been seeing shit. Denial set in, then denial of that denial, all in the span of fifteen or twenty seconds. He couldn't explain why, but now-- clear as day, there was a '17' printed there on the card in black font.
How. The. Fu*ck? How the hell was the card completely blank one minute and then had something on it now?
Did he do something to cause it? ... He was a bit hesitant at first. He took a sketchy look around, inspecting the room, hoping no one was watching him. Aaron pursed his lips and blew on the card first. Nothing. Then he shook it like a ketchup packet and got no results. Stealing glances around between tests, conscious of his surroundings, worried someone might think he lost his mind.
... 5 minutes later ...
That self consciousness was gone. He looked certifiably mental, but he was too fixated on the mystery now to care. He tried looking at the card from various angles-- dipping his head down low, raising it higher-- squinting his eyes into dramatically thin slants-- opening his eyes as wide as he could-- going cross eyed didn't help at all-- nor did pretending like he wasn't paying attention and then snapping quick glances back at the card, trying to catch it unaware.
Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. What the hell did '17' mean?
None of it made sense. He gave up and decided he should go home. Aaron took a final drag of his cigarette and angled his profile down to watch as he knocked some ash off into the ashtray. He blew out a thin mouthful of smoke-- smoke that hit and washed over the surface of the business card that was laying nearby, and then Aaron witnessed the way the smoke seemed to mysteriously suck the black font up to the surface of the card. His expression immediately went wide eyed and stupefied.
More blown smoke followed, similar to how someone might blow on a dying fire to keep it alive and burning. He blew cigarette smoke until he believed there was nothing more to be revealed-- and then he lifted the card to see what it said.
Follow the yellow brick road.
North 17th Street & Monroe
Make it a round trip.
!!... -- Aaron almost knocked the booth over with how hastily he gathered his sh*it and bolted for the exit.
Part 2: North 17th Street & Monroe
Aaron parked his Camaro as close as he could to the intersection of 17th and Monroe and now he was on foot. (Magical?) Lucky Strikes were kept safely in his jacket pocket. His lean body and dark hair swam upstream through the counter flow of urban civilians, rubbing shoulders with strangers and keeping his blue eyes peeled for signs of whatever he was looking for. What was he looking for anyways? It was strange. Aaron hadn't stopped to rationally consider the progression of things yet-- he was merely reacting. Which was unlike him. He was under the spell of blind ambition and following it's aroma to the source.
He walked up and down Monroe street twice, back and forth, scoping out buildings that he passed and hovering briefly at the mouths of alleyways to peer into their shady depths and deliberate whether they looked yellow brick road-ish or not-- .. Wait... Stop.
... This was ridiculous.
He must have been feeling more desperate than he realized to be chasing his tail like this. There was nothing out here. Whoever supplied the cigarettes and business card was probably stashed away in one of the building windows above and snapping pictures of Aaron right now, having a good laugh about it at his expense. He just stood there motionless in the middle of everything. Giving reality a moment to catch up with his delusional fantasies.
"Fuc*king yellow brick road.." Aaron muttered under his breath with a self-deprecating distaste, incredulous that he'd even drove out here.
"Tin man. Is that you?" A homeless woman croaked.
Aaron paused and snapped a look down at the source. She looked old and worn out. Her thin silver hair was haphazardly stuffed under a black stocking hat and she was clutching a disgusting looking quilt to herself with black gloves full of holes. There was dirt and stains all over her features and clothing. He might have disregarded her entirely if it wasn't for how alert and alive her black eyes appeared despite everything. She sounded a bit like the Wicked Witch of the West. Hello my pretties!
"What?" Just what Aaron needed. A crazy homeless woman.
"Your heart... you're looking for your heart tin man, are you not?"
"Listen, I don't have any change--"
"Oh but you could, tin man... you could change quite a lot.."
".. Yeah, well. I should probably get going."
"Without your heart!? But you were so close.."
"Looks like it." Aaron moved to turn away.
"It's just around the corner.." Her last words were hissed like a snake.
The homeless woman broke into a maniacal fit of giggles afterwards. She thought she was hilarious apparently. But the conversation did cause Aaron to pause momentarily for a brief reflection. It's hard to say what inspired him then to walk just a little further up the street, to investigate a bit more. When he reached the closest alley, he turned to look down the length of it. Imagine Aaron Murray's surprise when he spotted a strip of yellow bricks leading to a door.
Part 3: The Alley Door
The alley was dim and dark and smelled dank, but Aaron was entirely alone in it. He stood at the very back of it-- face to face with the door. Surrounding the door was a wall constructed of large grey slabs of brick, all cracked and disheveled looking. It reminded Aaron of something he would see overseas. It felt ancient. Pre-everything. A small lamp light burned dimly above it. The shadows it cast made the door look dramatically ominous.
But, it was a revolving door. Which felt incredibly out of place. One of those doors where a person steps inside a compartment and pushes the door around in a circular rotation until they end up on the desired side. Aaron just stared at it cock-eyed for a moment before he thought (not for the first time tonight)-- fu*ck it.
He put a hand out against the door and pushed, stepping inside. When he pushed, the door rotated, going about it's normal counter clockwise rotation. Entering only required a semi-spin. Half a rotation would permit him passage to the other side. And what did he see? As he pushed through the door?
... Just an empty warehouse. Abandoned-- or at least it appeared that way at first glance. It looked like no one had stepped foot inside of the place for years. There were thick support beams stretching from the cement floor to the high ceiling. It was an impressive looking structure, but it didn't feel like the kind of place someone needed to be led to. He'd walked into a construction grave sight. Old, forgotten equipment was littered around the scene. Dusty sledge hammers. Bobcat loaders covered with tarps. It was easy to see that there was nothing of significance here. At least not in the terms of what he had come for.
The realization soon dawned on him that standing there gawking at old construction equipment was pretty fruitless. So, without further ado, and consistent with the rest of his oddly unsuccessful night, Aaron turned to place his hand on the door and pushed. A half rotation semi-circle led him directly from his side to the opposite-- stepping back out into the alleyway and the night air. Remembering the alley exactly how he'd left it only a minute ago.
Then... out of nowhere, something sparked.
Metaphorically speaking. Something in his mind sparked. A small thought sizzled and then suddenly his mind caught fire, wildly burning out of control with a looming realization. It must have been how detectives felt when they stumbled across that perfect piece of evidence that could crack the case wide open. Aaron rifled through his pocket hastily and yanked out the business card to review the text again.
Make it a round trip. -- the bottom line read.
A round trip... A round trip... A round trip. Aaron spun on a heel to face off with the door again. A round trip. His blue gaze surveyed it like he was looking at it now with new eyes. A. Round. Trip. Around. The door. It was a rotational door. Stepping through to the other side and into the warehouse had only required a half rotation's worth of a spin. Equivalent to a one way trip. Which was not a round trip. Normally this logic probably wouldn't have existed in his mind; that something like this could even be plausible. But there was a resurgence of his blind ambition from earlier-- and without thinking, and simply reacting-- Aaron pushed his way back through the door.
Only this time? He didn't stop at the warehouse. Ignoring common sense and how insane it felt, Aaron pushed that door a full three hundred and sixty degrees. One entire full rotation around. A round trip. Conventional wisdom would have one believe that this would result in him ending up right back in the alley again, where he started...
But... he didn't.
No.
He didn't end up in the alley at all.