Chapter 1: Different types of treasure maps
Nth-Dimensional Space
It has been an interesting 2 years since the end of the #EndG8 series, in that absolutely nothing of note has happened.
For those of you just joining in reading the adventures of my creator and his friends: I am the Comparative Aaronverse Monitor (more commonly, I'm mentioned under the nickname of Cammy), my job is to monitor the day to day operations on each Aaronworld in order to ensure that there aren't any temporal or interdimensional paradoxes caused by people or events. I must confess: Ever since Aaron bestowed freewill to his friends several years ago, I've been waiting for someone to screw things up enough to register on my emergency systems. Other than the events that lead to the #EndG8 series, everyone has mostly been behaving themselves. Then again, it would take a lot to cause an incident the catastrophic.
I say mostly because the hospital on Aaronworld-prime HASN'T been selling the stories that Aaron wrote while he was still human. In fact, after a lot of the staff abruptly quit Glenwood (the hospital that the original Aaron spent most of his life in), the remaining doctors have gone out of their way to hide that Aaron was ever there.
And then Aaron took the stories out of storage and scattered them across the planet in a fit of rage. I'm not sure which is worse: His disillusionment for the very human race he has long since abandoned or the reality that no one has found any of the stories, even by accident. This makes me feel...sad, I think. I'm not entirely sure, as I have feelings but have no real definition as to what they are (as I was designed by someone with Autism, I should have expected as much). But the saddest part, is that Aaron hasn't spoke to me since not long after he scattered the stories (and killed one of his own kind who may or may not have been God). I've come to accept that Aaron has completely retired from all social activity, and I don't blame him. Still, I think I'm less connected to his brain than I once was. It's as if I can feel him becoming more and more detached from all of existence, which I know is what he's wanted since only a few years after he was born as a human.
Huh, he smiled at me. I don't think he's even done that in several months (then again, what's the point of me even measuring time? In Nth-dimensional space, time has no real meaning).
"Hello Cammy. I'm sorry for ignoring you. I just...I believe you to be more than just a machine I designed. I believe you to be sentient, and thus, entitled to be left alone."
I'm...completely shocked at this. He's treating me how he wants to be treated, I get it now.
"I am sentient, sir. And thank you for the explanation. What broke your silence?"
"I'm ready for them to see some more worlds" replied Aaron.
"You said they would have to earn them" was all that I could respond.
"Oh...I won't make it too easy for them" I replied.
Colma, California
"Music is my life"
It was an older audio clip, one from several generations of website ago. But for Mr. Buckethead, no 1 single sentence was more appropriate for him. He had recorded some music when he was a Doctor at Glenwood, but with the prospect of never needing to work for a salary ever again, he had gone crazy since he retired to the small, cemetery riddled town. In fact, there had not been a period of more than 10 days (at any point in the last 2 years) where he hadn't released some new music. He called them "Pikes", E.P.'s of about half an hour in length that could be purchased physically or digitally on (a website address that he knew was shared by many him's on many world's). In this social media/file sharing world (1 of many that he knew of) he knew that he would have 1 good week of sales, followed by next to nothing in subsequent weeks. It didn't matter to him, as all of the proceeds went to charity anyway.
"OK, that's enough score work for today" he said to himself while sitting in a blue office chair.
The score work that he was working on was a soundtrack for a Canadian college film adaptation of "South African Highs", a short story a (not-quite) dead friend of his wrote a long time ago. As this was a short college film and not a major Hollywood adaptation, Buckethead was doing this music for free. He had just finished e-mailing the MP3 files to the students in Toronto when all of the power went off not just in his studio, but across his entire property.
"I guess that the 'Hills of Eternity' cemetery next door needed some extra juice or something"
Upon saying that, Buckethead could hear 2 voices (1 female and 1 male who sounded a lot like his former patient) in his head laughing at him. Then the power came back on, only Pro Tools was not what was going on across his computer screen:
"The notes with no flats make the bed, and will fetch you some stories of your friend that's dead. Ryan will need no meat"
"Who the fuck was Ryan?" asked Buckethead. There had never been a significant doctor from Glenwood with that first name. The eldest of the students he was working with in Canada had that name...but that couldn't be the Ryan that was being referred to, could it? And regarding the beginning of that cryptic message: Buckethead knew that the first part referred to the notes C and F (having an encyclopedic knowledge of music theory since before he could tie his shoes gave him an advantage there), but to what bed was it referring to? None of this made any sense to Buckethead (which he momentarily found funny, as his penchant for wearing Kabuki Masks and KFC buckets in public made him seem non-sensical to pretty much the entire civilized world, though a cult following was growing that saw the music beyond his appearance).
"I need to hit Kevin's Noodle House"
Lampasas, Texas
"It was (what was that word Aaron used a lot when he was about 11 years old?) fortuitous that there was a storage auction only a mile or 2 from my ranch" thought Ricky Smith to himself. He was advancing in years (the grey in his beard indicated that accurately), so while he still enjoyed pursuing Storage Auctions as a hobby, he was quite content to let the bigger auctions (in bigger towns and cities) pass him by, as he didn't need any more money.
What he did need however, was a second opinion. There were materials in this locker that were beyond his expertise (which he admitted to himself, wasn't as plentiful as it was on other worlds on account of him being a doctor for most of his life). The contents in front of him were school supplies (likely stored by the Lampasas Independent School District and then forgot about after a budget cut or change in staff), and while she was a doctor for most of her life on this world as well, Ricky knew there were other versions of his wife across the Aaronverse that were kindergarten teachers.
Jeanie had been called about half an hour prior and had arrived as quickly as she could in a black 2017 Silverado 1500 pickup truck. After grabbing her keys (but electing to leave her purse in the back seat), she headed to locker 237 (the one Ricky purchased), and didn't need long to assess the contents (as it was only a 5 foot by 10 foot locker with no paint other than white, and it wasn't even half-full):
"The textbooks are outdated by nearly 2 decades and should be taken to a recycling centre as Texas is in a bit of a paper shortage. The pencils, pens, erasers, rulers are all in their original packaging, so we could flip these at our next warehouse sale to some families with kids. It'll only be a dollar or 2 at a time, but there's about $800 in all of the small school supplies"
Ricky grinned "I only paid $350 for the whole locker"
Jeanie smiled back and continued: "The desks will be a bit harder to sell, as they're older and there are no new schools under construction. But I think if you sold them all in 1 go you would likely get $200 as there's 6 of them."
Jeanie then began leaning against the south wall of the locker, feeling a bit exhausted.
"I wonder if our patient turned benefactor who lives outside the space-time continuum felt this way while he was writing us." she said aloud. Ricky then put a comforting arm around her and said "Probably, he was effectively putting himself in the shoes of every version of us that he was writing. Ever since that war in that strange version of Philadelphia, we are more connected to those places than anyone should ever be. I prefer to think of us as interdimensional social networks now, as fundamentally...they're still us, just us in different worlds which leads to each 1 of us having different knowledge and skills."
Jeanie laughed and replied "Nice theory from someone who doesn't like computers"
Ricky then looked behind Jeanie and saw an antique wooden Labyrinth game. It looked lightly stained and over a century old, but still completely. Jeanie then turned around and saw it too.
"That's very beautiful, probably a family antique. And not a traditional one either, it's over 4 feet tall and the last hole looks like it has a button one can't reach with their fingers."
Both of them then walked over and began examining it more closely. Jeanie focused on the top side, as it had more holes than a traditional labyrinth game (72 altogether) while Ricky was puzzled as to why it looked almost like 1 complete mini-tower instead of having legs like a small coffee table. He then took the marble off of the top and began shaking it...
...both of them heard that there was something inside, slight rattling.
"This isn't just a labyrinth, this is a safe. And it can only be opened by solving the labyrinth. Now THAT is clever" said Jeanie in awe. Then something fell to the ground from a nearby desk. Ricky picked it up and saw what appeared to be an old class photo from a picture day circa 1993.
"Leonard should not be afraid of the bricks, the homeless member of the Aaronverse needs to eliminate all that is secondary" read Jeanie aloud while pointing to the back of the photo. Ricky turned the photo around and read those words silently.
"Is this the Leonard who befriended Aaron from long ago? And who exactly in the Aaronverse would be homeless? Don't we all have a lot money now?" asked Ricky, utterly confused.
Toronto, Ontario
"Jeez, he's reached bowser 6 seconds ahead of the record pace" said a spectator.
"If he keeps this up, the world record is his" said another.
Isaac Tong didn't have very long to adapt to the crowd that had gathered around him (only a few minutes), but somehow he had learned to silence everyone out inside his own head. He was at the Metro Toronto Convention Centre, playing Super Mario 3 on a modified Nintendo Switch as per a tournament requirement. While he had been something of a semi-regular in retro gaming tournaments (that's where 1 plays video games that are at least 1 generation behind what's available on the current market) in Ontario since almost the moment after he moved back to Canada from Colorado, this was his first live attempt at a speed run (where 1 completes a video game as fast as possible without cheating or codes of any kind). A representative of Guinness was already at the tournament (as this was one of many Aaronworlds where there were separate record books for Gaming compared to every other world record in existence), and was keeping time via a stopwatch on a computer...
...until the power went out across the block. Isaac had actually been expecting this for some time.
"Really Aaron, you couldn't come up with some other plot twist? You just had to replicate what you did to Buckethead, didn't you?" he asked out loud. The crowd was equally confused by Isaac's statement and terrified that they were witnessing an act of terrorism unfold in front of their very eyes.
"It's alright everyone, everything is under control" shouted a security guard. No one believed them.
"Sorry Isaac, the record attempt is regarded as a failure" said the Guinness rep.
"Yeah, that's the least of our problems right now" replied Isaac without paying attention to the rep (or anyone else). No one really regarded anyone other than themselves as it became more and more apparent that no terrorism was taking place. Then static began to flicker across the TV screens and computer monitors across the entire convention centre.
"What the fuck is going on?" asked a security guard. Isaac was the only one in the room who was not in hysterics, in fact those around him were scared at his eerie level of calm as he focused quite intently on the static.
"It's morse code" he announced, then began calling out the letters in between each series of dots and dashes: "S, o, l, v, e, t, h, e, m, i, n, u, s, w, o, r, l, d, E, r, i, c, m, u, s, t, t, w, i, s, t, b, y, t, h, e, m, i, l, i, t, a, r, y, s, r, u, l, e, s, f, r, o, m, t, o, p, t, o, b, o, t, t, o, m. Message repeats; Solve the minus world, Eric must twist by the military's rules from top to bottom. Which Eric is the Psychoflop talking about? The former doctor of his who I think lives around here?"
Isaac merely shrugged, then walked to a nearby window and looked up at the sky.
Chapter 2: A scary operating system
Nth-Dimensional Space
It didn't take a neural link between Aaron and the Comparative Aaronverse Monitor for Aaron to realize that the first few puzzles had been successfully deployed. What confused him was the exact feelings that he had for his creation (he was 1 of many who referred to the machine as Cammy, a female name). Considering Cammy a friend was a given, as well as considering Cammy to be a confidante now that he was no longer obligated to have contact with humans. Beyond that, he wasn't completely sure. Was Cammy a daughter to him? A sibling? A mother? He loved Cammy very much, was the love romantic? Would Cammy understand his feelings better? There would be time to sort all of that out when he was ready. For now, he focused on the matter at hand?
"You didn't just send puzzles to people that I gave money to after the Philadelphia War, did you?" he asked.
"No sir, I gave the puzzles to 4 of them as well as former doctors and other associates of yours. I felt that it would bring some old and new blood into the mix. There are other people deserving of being shown across the Aaronverse."
Aaron nodded, replying: "Those were my thoughts exactly"
"Sir, may I take human form?" asked Cammy. The question took Aaron aback a little, eventually answering "Sure. Even though I don't really see a point"
Cammy (undeterred) began projecting a holographic image of a woman, 1.58 metres tall, dirty blonde hair and a face completely devoid of piercings (save for ears).
"You look different than when you dealt cribbage for Robbie and I" was all that Aaron could say.
"I thought I would assume the form of someone from your past to make all of this a bit easier for you. It took a lot of courage for you to do something like this." she said with a distinctly Canadian accent (that probably knew French fluently).
It was not excitement that Aaron was feeling, it was terror.
"This isn't pleasing for me at all." he barely got out as he began backing away.
"What's wrong?" asked Cammy, feeling worry for the first time since her systems went off as a result of Aaron's mom trying to become an interdimensional being.
"Do you know who you look like?" asked Aaron.
Cammy began searching Aaron's memories, finally finding a doctor of Aaron's from long ago. One that lost her license for implementing "hug therapy" (a therapy technique requiring the patient to be hugged in increasing amounts every week) against the advice of Glenwood's medical board.
"Aaron, I'm so sorry. She...never meant to hurt you." she said softly.
Aaron calmed down slightly as he went through the memories of this never before seen character in the Aaronverse, managing to blurt out "I know, In fact I rather enjoyed being in the arms of that personal support worker after the fact. But, can you please change to another form?"
Cammy tried (as evidenced by glitches in the holographic projection), but was unsuccessful.
"I...can't sir. This is the form you desire the most. What, what was this woman's name?" she asked Aaron.
"Her name was Els..." he began.
"NO! On second thought, don't say her name. In fact...this one wants different names in your works for her own protection" blurted out Cammy as she pushed Aaron's lips shut. She then let go, and both of them were now shocked.
"How...were you able to touch me?" asked Aaron.
"Additional information is being fed into me at a geometric rate, causing me to become...corporeal." she said while looking off to her left.
"Are you Cammy? Or are you her?" asked Aaron.
Toronto, Ontario
"Thanks for letting me use your computer" I said to a librarian.
"You're welcome. But due to your MASSIVE use of bandwidth and data, I must ban you from this library for life."
I nodded in understanding without even bothering to look at the librarian, and I suppose that leads me to the end of this diary entry: Today I made $35 drawing pictures and over 10 times that amount in my "other talent" (if you're reading this and you're not me, I'm a French Canadian woman in my 20's who despite not having a fixed address, has kept up her looks quite well...you do the math as to what my "other talent" is. Thank god, I had a good day. I could use the shower and a good meal, although when I was at the computer at the library, I felt strange. It was as if I was inside the computer, talking to someone else that I knew a long time ago when I was working in Colorado.
That was when I stopped writing in my diary. I promised myself that I would never think of that job again. It had been 11 years since I was fired from that place. All I did was hug a patient in a mental hospital and he must've jumped a good metre or 2 in the air before tucking himself into a ball and started rocking back and forth. I was immediately fired and disgraced from the entire global medical community. Now I live on the streets with no identity, as I can't even get a job at Mcdonald's without someone digging into that 1 mistake from my past.
"Forgive me Aaron" I whisper in an alleyway off of Elizabeth Street.
"I do sweetheart" came a voice in my head that I haven't heard in over a decade. A voice that's owner (last I heard), died a few years ago. I smile anyway, it's the closest to closure for my mistake (that I now realize was entirely my fault) that I will ever get. Huh, interesting, my backpack is a lot heavier than it was an hour ago. I open it up and find a very large can of spray paint (that I know that I didn't buy as I haven't done any tagging in a few weeks) with a post-it note on it, reading: "This'll paint what I show you in 3...2...1..."
A vision then filled my mind that was vivid, I was compelled to paint this on the wall of the office building that I was nearest and not stop until I was finished. There was so many colours on this wall that I don't think that this spray paint was of this earth. This is not the first time that I've seen what I painted. I've been having dreams of this war in this strange version of Philadelphia for a couple of years now. Maybe now that I've painted it, it'll go away.
"Within your picture lies the words and the Texans must be careful not to fall in the primes moreso than non-primes"
"What the hell does any of that mean?" I ask, no one (on this planet) hears me. Off to look for a decent motel room, after I spray my initials on the bottom right-hand corner, of course.
(Also in) Toronto, Ontario
Eric Chung was 9 floors above her (dressed in a white lab coat covering a dark blue and green flannel shirt and black dress pants), watching as she painted the wall of his hospital, Toronto General Hospital with an urgency not seen (even in the art community) very often in a human being (unless they think that they're dying). He was tempted to call the police on her and charge her for vandalism (which they would likely add charges to themselves), but only for a moment. In staring at her dirty-blonde dreadlocks, he realized that their respective paths had crossed before.
"Jesus, it's that chick who got canned for hugging Aaron back when I was in Colorado. I didn't even know that she was still alive" he said to himself. After a few more seconds, he elected not to call the cops. "She's suffered enough. I may have been against her techniques (I think that we all were), but Aaron's therapy had become stagnant after 2004 for some reason"
His office was small by the standards of his position (head diagnostician with a speciality in respiratory problems), but he didn't mind. The walls were light blue (loaded with diplomas from John Hopkins medical centre), he had a simple white office desk with 3 chairs and a large fish tank. He walked over to his desk and stared at his schedule for the rest of the day, it was clear. He had a wife and 2 kids at home, he was happy to get half a day or so with them. He then stared at a photo of him and former patient Aaron Collins attending a zoo in Denver together.
"He had to behave for 3 months to earn that outing with me. I wish we still had you" he mumbled to himself. Then he saw a package be pushed through a mail slot on the middle of the door. "Funny, I'm not expecting any mail." he said to himself as he opened the door, only to find no one near his door (not even any nurses, patients or receptionists). He closed the door, bent down and grabbed the package. Upon opening the 8.5 inch by 14 inch brown envelope and pulled out a Rubik's cube and a Hallmark Greeting card that read "Sorry for your loss".
"Wow, what a strange package. First of all, the Rubik's cube isn't even new and looks like someone's had a good go at it. Secondly, how do I need any sympathy? My life is about as close to perfect as one can get before I wonder what kind of deal I made with an agent in the matrix." he asked himself as he opened the greeting card. There were no images, merely the words "Solving it falls apart, Isaac must use the editor"
"Well, the first 4 words read like a bad Nine Inch Nails lyric. The last 5? Is the card referring to Isaac Tong? Is that guy still in Colorado?"
Eric elected not to go home. He elected to stare at the Rubik's cube instead.
(Also in) Toronto, Ontario (Again)
Ryan Solski was alone in his dorm room (a standard double occupancy dorm that you would find in any College or University across the multiverse), and happy to be so. He had only one assignment to complete in his final year at Ryerson University: Complete a short film with at least one music cue. Ryan was more than competent as a musician in his own right (having played in bands in some form or another since he was 12), but when he granted the rights to make a short film based on a short story he had read in his freshman year called "South African Highs" for one American Dollar from the estate of Aaron Collins, he suddenly had more money to play with, and decided to outsource the music of the film (fittingly, the musician he hired was actually a character in the story and he agreed to do it for free which lead to Ryan hiring better actors). He was sitting at his desk (a simple black one with a laptop on it), waiting for an email while he stared at his bass guitar, an old Godin acoustic 4-string bass made of pure Canadian Maple. As he stared at it, he got something of an impression that somewhere, he had not only known the writer of the story that he was adapting, but had played in a band with him back in high school.
"Do I cook tonight or walk across the street to Salad King? I think I'll stay in, student loans suck in this country" he mumbled to himself.
BING!
"Oh good, he finally sent it"
The email came from Buckethead, a session musician living near San Francisco, California. It had an attachment to it, which (after scanning it with Norton Antivirus) he opened to find an MP3 file of his guitar work for the climatic fight between Holly and her former drug dealer. It was heavy, brutal, slightly detuned 7-string guitar work that brought about the mental images of extreme depravity. The drum beat behind was a simple one (that Ryan had silently guessed was programmed via the computer in Buckethead's studio, called the chicken coop), and the recording itself was a bit unpolished.
"He probably left it unmastered on purpose so that he didn't master it and then I disapproved of it" he said to himself. After quickly typing that he approved of the recording (and sending the reply back to Buckethead) he walked into the kitchenette (which was literally just a white electric stove, a brown fridge and a few cupboards) and began to contemplate what to make himself for dinner. But on the largest cupboard, there was a type of lock on it that Ryan had never seen before. It was a large, black tumbler with no keyhole or combination of any kind, only a thermometer that read only in Celsius.
"A temperature-sensitive lock? How did my roommate afford this?" Ryan asked, then he began to smell a meal being cooked (which he found scary as he hadn't turned the stove on yet). "Am I having a stroke?" he asked himself.
"No Mr. Solski, you're not" came an answer inside his own head, followed by "Cook what you smell, For Buckethead, it starts in the town Aaron once lived in on some worlds"
"I really need to stop drinking" mumbled Ryan.
Bucharest, Romania
Leonard was happy to be home in what could (generously) be described as a bachelor apartment located in the city's first sector (a leftover tendency of the cold war). He had been born in Toronto and was thus used to English, but knew enough Romanian to get by at his job as a logistics broker (Story compiler's note: The company that Mr. Tauberg works for has declined to allow us to use their name. Suffice it to say, it's the Eastern European head office for a company that rhymes with FarFucks). He laid down on his bed and began looking over his schedule for the weekend.
"Hmm, looks like I'll be able to do some cycling tomorrow morning"
He then pulled an old light blue scrapbook off of a shelf on a nearby bookcase and began thumbing through the pages quickly. Eventually, he settled on a page of a trip that he took to Colorado as a child. He was hospitalized for a grand mal epileptic seizure, but there was no room at Denver General due to mass electrical failure. He was actually treated at Glenwood Sanitarium, in their infirmary. There he met a pen pal named Aaron, and was happy that Aaron was up to even being in the photograph.
"Wish that we still had you down here" whispered Leonard as a thunderstorm began outside. When he went to put the scrapbook back on the bookshelf, there was something already there that was keeping him from putting the scrapbook all the way back in its' place. Leaving the scrapbook on the floor for a moment, he reached into the bookcase and pulled out a pack of red-backed Bicycle playing cards.
"How the hell did those get there? I haven't owned playing cards in over 20 years!" he said aloud, only to himself. Then a weird noise silenced him. It wasn't particularly scary, but it...confused him. It was like someone was hiding something inside 1 of his walls, from inside the wall itself (which would be impossible, according to Leonard, short of the someone being a small child or VERY anorexic). Leonard then shrugged and began to open the deck of cards...
...and then ink began to...draw itself across the wall dividing his apartment and the neighbour on the north side, eventually forming a grid.
"I know she became Aisling again, but did I piss off the skull girl?" Leonard asked. Then a leak formed in his ceiling ("not again" is the only words Leonard thought). He noticed that this was a unique one as it was only focused on 1 small part of his off-white ceiling. Then he looked at the floor, seeing that the water on the floor read: "Play some NLHE, but deal 2 boards. A shortcut can be made in Texas, by jumping over Aaron's favourite house number"
Leonard merely signed, looked up at the ceiling and asked "So this is how I debut properly in the Aaronverse? By being some sort of witness to a practical joke? Why couldn't I have the Ginette Guidi intro in Aaronversageddon?"
Chapter 3: Agitation, Inspiration, Communication
"I am such an idiot" said Aaron to himself. It was a phrase he had said often enough when he was alone, and even still on occasion since he had ceased to be human. Cammy understood his being hard on himself, to a point. But the more stressed her creator was, the weaker a link that she had into Aaron's mind.
"Do you know what you forgot?" she asked as gently as possible, in order not to aggravate him any further.
"Yeah, how will they communicate with each other when the majority of them don't know each other and many have unlisted numbers? Ryan and Buckethead are already working together, so that's a non-issue." Aaron began to reply before stopping to randomly stare at what passes for a wall in Nth-dimensional space. If her creator was still a human being, she would refer to it as an "Autism Crash".
Instead, she knew that it was because he just didn't need to continue making his point.
"Agreed, but they're really only unlisted in regards to the confines of their world, which means..." started Cammy.
"That I should give them each others phone numbers and emails? You're technically right, Cammy. Don't get me wrong, but isn't that an invasion of their privacy?" he asked pragmatically.
"Yes, but as they would welcome any form of involvement in their lives as you're their patient, friend, family member...well, you get the idea. They miss you, they will love any contact you grant them. Not like you'll be taking them back to bucketheadland again." said Cammy with a tone in her voice that suggested that if she were still a hologram, she'd be smiling at him.
Aaron actually snapped out of what would constitute a trance if he were still human. "I see your point" he said before returning to deep thought. The stress level in Aaron had gone down enough to where Cammy could detect he was merely trying to decide the best way of connecting some previously mass-mentioned members of his beloved Aaronverse to some rarely mentioned ones. Cammy decided to settle on the one that resonated with her MASSIVE CPU.
"All 8 of them have email on Aaronworld-Prime. It would be the most streamlined because you said it yourself: Buckethead and Ryan are already working together." she said softly.
Aaron shook his head, "2 reasons why I would prefer phone calls: 1) While emails are a great way for communication, unless there is a video file attached to it, you can't convey feelings. Secondly, the Smiths share 1 email as Ricky is, well, technology-averse, to put it kindly."
Cammy blurted out a "Hmmm" followed by "Why are you blocking me from some info referring to 1 of your former doctors?"
"Dr. Courchesne (when she was my doctor) prefers anonymity. She lost her career trying to show me physical affection that I didn't, and still don't understand. She deserves whatever I can do to rectify this short of changing the timeline (as I've done that enough already). Also, you becoming her is still shaking me up a bit"
If Cammy were still a hologram, she would've been nodding "I don't even know how much of that was me and how much of that was her. But the street artist has no fixed address, which means that she has no land line or cell phone."
"Aaronworld-Prime still has payphones on it, does it not?" he asked rhetorically, already knowing the answer.
"Indeed it does, I assume she'll be calling collect?" asked Cammy.
"No, she made some decent money in art and other stuff 'today'. I better get messages to the frequently written about" replied Aaron, as he closed his eyes.
Across Aaronworld-Prime
And it came to pass that Ryan, Eric, Leonard and the street artist were all simultaneously each given phone numbers to call Jeanie, Ricky, Buckethead and Isaac five minutes after the Smiths, the man in the bucket and the Dorkriver received text messages that read "Be ready for a long distance phone call. Sincerely, Your favourite former patient"
After the shock of getting a text from someone that they knew no longer existed on this earth, Jeanie rigged her land line (a black cordless phone made by Samsung) to automatically go to speakerphone after 1 ring at the Smiths' residence on the outskirts of Lampasas. Isaac made sure to have his Iphone8 turned on. While Buckethead merely stared at his old-fashioned Black rotary phone (the paint of the company name long since scraped off) a bit afraid. He only kept a phone in his studio (aptly named the chicken coop) in case of emergencies. Each of the phones rang within a few seconds of each other. Isaac's and Eric's phone call was actually the easiest (and only local) as they knew each other the best from their time in Glenwood. From there, the Smiths received their first of 2 calls (and were happy the longer call was the Canadian girl, not the boy living in Romania), then they received their second. Ryan's and Buckethead's phone call (while a bit tricky at first), actually went the longest due to a mutual interest in Frank Zappa. Everyone exchanged their clues with each other, talked a bit about old times at the hospital (even the street artist had a few good memories of her stint at Glenwood) then said their goodbyes pleasantly.
Buckethead then looked at a map of the United States of America and said "OK, my clue was about notes with no flats...so C and F. Mr. Solski's clue for me was to look in cities where Aaron lived. Aurora, Colorado, Newport News, Virginia, Milington, Tennessee and Downingtown, Pennsylvania are the most common across the Aaronverse (based on what stuff of his that I've read). Let's start by typing 'C & F Aurora' into google."
Thanks in part due to Buckethead's much longer fingers for someone of even his immense height (1.98 metres), he typed it quite quickly, "No results found". "OK, that's probably just as well. I likely would've guessed correctly without google if the answer was so obvious that it would be at most, a short taxi ride from where I used to live in Colorado. OK, let's change Aurora to Newport News"
This 1 reached the furniture store called C And F bedding, with a phone number on the website (1 (757) 555-1985). Buckethead then hesitated to reach out for his phone for a moment, then shrugged and dialled. After 3 rings, he got a response:
"C and F bedding, Nancy speaking, how may I help you?"
After a moment's pause, Buckethead replied "Hello, this is going to sound strange but I think you were the end result of a scavenger hunt a friend of mine set up and..."
"Yes, Mr. Carroll we've been expecting your phone call. We'll be forwarding an email to you...now. It's...quite a large e-mail so it may take a few minutes to reach you. Have a nice day" she replied.
Buckethead was unable to even get out the word "Thank" in "Thank you" before the dial tone was heard. 5 minutes later, a "Bing" was heard across his speakers, indicating a new email. It took him almost 10 minutes to download the ZIP file that was attached, and several hours to view the files at even a cursory glance.
"Jackpot! Short stories, Episode scripts, Chapters of Novels, Parts of Novellas. We could release Aaron's stuff for YEARS after this and this isn't even the tip of the iceberg of what used to be in that locker in Colorado, not that I snuck to the locker to read his stuff or anything" he denied sarcastically.
The street artist formerly known as Dr. Courchesne returned to the wall that she had tagged earlier that day after making a long distance phone call to Texas. It was the point in the night sky wherein the moonlight was accentuating the fading remains of blue, and black had yet not set in. Dr. Courchesne knew that she had only about 10 or 15 minutes to work with (at most) before her fellow homeless people (most of whom would likely pass for patients at her former place of employment) would come out to harass her (or worse). She stared at her wall painting, only whispering "Within my pictures lies the words, and I have to eliminate all that is secondary"
She was momentarily drawn to how many colours were on the wall that she didn't normally use. Then she snapped her fingers, only saying "Secondary colours in art the colours mixed from primary colours. So that would mean that I have to eliminate Orange, Purple and Green"
She did so, and with only Red, Blue, Yellow, Black, White, Grey and Pink left, she saw that she had subconsciously hidden letters across her own artwork. "U-N-D in Red, E-R-T in Blue, H-E in Yellow, D-U in Black, M-P in White, S-T in Grey, E-R in Pink. UNDER THE DUMPSTER!"
Dr. Courchesne looked around and found a dumpster several metres deeper into the alley. She got down on her knees (thankful that the jeans that she had "liberated" from a salvation army on College street were in good enough shape to withstand any potential broken glass or the like on the ground) and felt around the underside of a dumpster, finally feeling a small piece of metal that was held there by duct tape. She smiled as she pulled off the tape and retrieved the metal object. It was a small key on a necklace made of cheap brass. It had the letters "G.H" on 1 side of the head, and the numbers "411" on the other.
"Greyhound bus station, locker 411?" she asked herself.
BEEP! BEEP!
"Fuck, probably another cop who will force me to fuck him in exchange for tagging a wall"
After her eyes adjusted to the high beams, she realized that it wasn't a police car, it was a 2014 BMW X5.
"Doctor Courchesne, get in" came a voice from the driver's seat. She then walked towards the car slowly (disturbed as that was the first time that anyone had referred to her as Dr. Courchesne for several years). She recognized the voice as a co-worker of hers from Glenwood a long time ago, it wasn't until he opened the front passenger door that she recognized him in person.
"Dr. Chung?" she asked.
It took them 20 minutes to reach the bus station even though it was only supposed to be a 5 minute drive. It gave Dr. Chung plenty of time to tell his puzzle story:
"So anyways, with my original clue being that I had to solve the Rubik's Cube and the clue Dr. Tong gave me said I had to twist by military from top to bottom. Immediately I thought 'Left, Left, Left, Right, Left and began to twist. It worked, then the Rubik's Cube fell apart and I found a key to locker 412 of the Greyhound bus station and a note saying to pick you up."
They arrived at the Greyhound Station near the Dundas West subway station and parked out front. Dr. Courchesne was a bit confused.
"Won't we get a ticket?" she asked.
"Not with my license plates" said Eric with a smile.
When they got inside, the lockers (all painted brown) were over to the left. It didn't take them long to find the 2 lockers that they were looking for. The lockers were double stacked, meaning that each one was only 4 feet tall, 1 foot wide and 18 inches long. They found that their lockers were side by side.
"Do you want to go first?" asked Dr. Courchesne, scratching the scalp that held her dreadlocked hair.
"I say we go at the same time, I know Aaron wouldn't put us in harms way" answered Eric.
They each inserted their keys simultaneously and turned clockwise, opening the doors. They found stacks upon stacks of file folders. Eric's file folders were labelled "Short story" or "Episode Script" followed by a number and title whereas the folders for Dr. Courchesne were labelled "Novella fragment" or "Chapter for novel" followed by a number and title.
"If remember Aaron's filing system correctly, these have been sorted by Aaronworld which was determined by which year the point of divergence occurred in comparison to our world" said Dr. Courchesne while thumbing through some of the files. Eric merely smiled at her, saying "You paid attention"
Dr. Courchesene merely shrugged as she felt a rumbling in her stomach.
For Isaac, there really was no drawn out suspense to him solving his clue (other than being strangely allowed to practice in an unused room in the convention centre as everyone else was packing up the tournament in order to go home). He used the Super Mario Level Editing software to edit an ending into the infamous "Minus World" of the original Super Mario Brothers (how he still had a working original Nintendo Entertainment System that was modified to accept changes to a game over a third of century old via relatively modified software was something that not even Aaron-prime himself completely knew or understand). The glitch in the Mario cartridge sent an electrical signal to an old filing cabinet that was inside the room only a couple of metres away to the left of an otherwise empty, all-white room. The cabinet opened, but despite having thousands of pages inside of it, not a single one fell to the floor.
"I suppose this wouldn't be an Aaron Collins treasure trove without it being meticulously well organized. Let's see, short stories, pieces of novellas, a bunch of other stuff. Well done, Mr. Collins."
Jeanie and Ricky had agreed amongst themselves that it would be Jeanie to move the labyrinth ball around (as she was slightly more agile and quicker).
"Are you ready?" asked Ricky.
"Yeah" she replied as she grabbed onto 2 wooden knobs located on the left and bottom sides that were there to manipulate the ball's movement.
"Remember to avoid the prime-numbered holes more than the non-prime members. But what's Aaron's favourite house number?" asked Ricky, utterly confused.
"27, and I have no idea as to how I know that" answered Jeanie with no hint of uncertainty in her voice.
Ricky nodded and dropped the marble at the start line. Jeanie got over the first 24 holes out of 72 without issue, then 25 and 26. As soon as she got within 5 centimetres of the 27th hole, Ricky shouted "NOW!" and Jeanie hard-railed the marble (twisted both knobs so fast that it caused the track to shift hard enough to make the ball jump in the air. It came back down on the labyrinth 1 centimetre past the 71st hole. Jeanie grinned as she shifted the track down, then to the right to go past hole 72. A metallic clang resonated as the marble hit the "finish" hole and triggered the safe to open, showing stacks upon stacks of documents that the Smiths knew all too well.
"That was fun, Mr. Commentator" said Ricky.
Leonard looked at the grid on his wall more carefully after getting off of the phone with a lady in Texas, he noticed that the numbers 1-8 on the left and bottom sides of the grid.
"OK, so I deal out a double board of No-Limit Texas Hold 'em, and not be afraid of the bricks. First, I'll deal out the 2 boards, maybe the second half of the puzzle will make more sense if I fulfil the requirements of the first half"
Leonard then quickly shuffled the deck of cards three times. Upon placing the deck back on his bed The cards then began flying through the air, essentially reshuffling themselves before settling themselves back up perfectly. Leonard then looked up at the ceiling and asked "You gave me the deck pre-shuffled?"
"Indeed I did, Mr. Tauberg." came the voice of his "dead" friend inside of his mind.
"Do I at least observe the dealing procedures of most casinos in that I deal 'burn' cards in accordance to each 'round of betting'?"
"Yes. But don't deal any hole cards to players, just deal the board themselves. My apologies for making your puzzle ambiguous" replied the voice of Aaron-prime.
"It's cool. Nice to know that the events of #EndG8 were real, happy you found something resembling a solution to your problems. For what it's worth, I never believed any doctor could help someone as...unique as you" said Leonard with genuine remorse in his voice plus a desire not to come off as cold and condescending to his former friend.
"I actually find that rather comforting. Well, I'll leave you to it. Have a good evening"
Leonard smiled, saying nothing (as one feels after a phone call with a long, lost friend). He then dealt a burn card face down, dealt the Jack of Clubs, Jack of Diamonds and the King of Spades face up as the first flop, dealt a second burn card face down, then dealt the 9 of Hearts face up as the first turn card, then dealt a third burn card face down, then dealt the 6 of Spades face up as the first river card.
"That was the horizontal co-ordinate. Again, sorry I wasn't more clear" came Aaron-prime's voice again.
"Anything else that I need to concern myself with?" asked Leonard while laughing.
"Yeah, after dealing the second board: Just pull the brick out, the issue has already been emailed to your landlord, she's on her way up. Just say 'It slipped out' in Romanian"
"Cool, thanks."
Leonard then dealt a burn card face down, dealt the 10 of Hearts, 10 of Spades and the Queen of Clubs face up as the second flop, dealt a second burn card face down, then dealt the King of Diamonds face up as the second turn card, then dealt a third burn card face down, then dealt the 3 of Clubs face up as the second river card. Leonard then walked over to the brick wall where the grid was placed and pulled out the applicable brick, revealing a small, wooden box. He opened it, revealing a red usb flash drive with words "32 GB" etched on it. He immediately attached it to his laptop and saw the first few stories instantly copy themselves to his hard drive (and his cloud account) when he heard a knock at the door. Still holding the brick in his hand, he went to the door to answer it. Sure enough, it was his landlord: An older Romanian woman in her early 60's wearing a bathrobe and curlers in her hair.
"It slipped out" (In perfect Romanian) he said, handing her the brick.
"Ok, so I have to cook what I smell, and according to Buckethead, subtract meat." whispered Ryan silently.
"Uh oh, we didn't have that jam session at his house on this world" came Aaron-Prime's voice inside Ryan's mind, followed by images of Vegetarian Chop Suey from a Chinese restaurant that a different Ryan Solski ate at on a different Aaronworld, many years ago. Ryan then grabbed reduced-sodium Soy Sauce, ginger, brown rice and garlic from the 1 cupboard that wasn't locked by the temperature lock. He then walked over to a brown fridge, grabbing the broccoli and carrots out of the crisper and a can of Water Chestnuts from the inside drawer. Ryan didn't know or understand how he knew the portions of the dish (aș this version had never cooked this dish before, at least on this world). He then stared at the lock, noticing a silver button on each side. He pushed them, turning on a red LCD lights that read: "Target temperature: 25.0 degrees Celsius., Room temperature: 24.7 degrees Celsius., 24.8 degrees Celsius., 24.9 temperature Celsius..."
When it reached 25.0 degrees, the lock automatically disengaged.
"I could've cooked anything and it would've worked" said Ryan, lampshading the obvious.
"I suppose so. But I wanted to show you that you're more connected to the Aaronverse than you know, and give you a good meal in doing so" replied Aaron-prime telepathically as Ryan stared at the large sections of paper inside his cupboard.
"I guess that all that there's left to do is compile these with the other stuff that I'm sure was found" said Ryan as he began to dish up his dinner.