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Aberrant: In the Beginning - Warren Van Adder


Warren

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26 W 57th St

Manhattan, NY

April 9th, 1998

0902 Hrs

arren stirs from his dream, as the indirect sunlight on his face was a beacon from the subconscious world. His eyes open, facing the open window, and he is instantly blinded by the sunlight that has bounced off windows to conspire against him. He wanted more sleep, so he simply rolled over and closed his eyes once more. Cuddling up in his blanket, he swiftly became aware of his surroundings. The air was cold, as he liked it, but he had a lot of cleaning to do. His clothes were thrown about the floor in no particular order as his bedroom seemed to be lacking a dresser. It was nothing new, though, as this is how he left his room every single night. Whether or not he would clean in the morning, it never failed to revert to its former self before nightfall. Gripping at this annoying concept that his room was some type of dream creature, Warren through his blankets off him and stood up from his queen-sized bed. His apartment was just that, an apartment. He was the only person he knew who had an apartment in midtown, and not just a studio. Sure, studios were cheaper, but they offered much less freedom.

He walked towards the window, grabbing a sketch book from a table and the glass of water that was conveniently placed the night before. He wore gray and black plaid pajama pants and a ratty old tee shirt that barely fit his small torso. The outside world paid him no mind on this day as he stepped through the open window and out onto the fire escape. He was careful of the plant he had on the window sill. The cold from the metal below him was an inconvenience at best as he sat to the conveniently placed lawn chair. The busy street below paid him no mind, but he was ignorant of their existence in this moment. Upon opening the sketch book, he inspected each page carefully, looking for flaws in the drawings and floor plans of the buildings around him. Even if the floor plans weren't anything what the inside of the buildings looked like, he presumed it was an improvement on what the buildings had currently. Finally his eyes fell onto the businessmen below him and he longed to be one of them. The universe seemed to be against him more than usual, these past few months. He had been wrongfully kicked out of school and his father died. Sure, he got his fathers money and could live comfortably for the next few years, but it was not something that he had wanted to happen. He stared at them businessmen and women of the world, wondering if he could get back into a school, and wondering if he would ever make something spectacular of himself.

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Warren worked for an hour before hunger drove him to the shower and then to the corner store for a quick meal. On the way back, he saw his mailbox was full and he snatched his mail on the way back to his apartment. He set the mail aside until his lunch/breakfast/meal was burbling along. Only when his food was in self-maintainance simmer mode did he rip open the first envelope.

The junk mail got tossed in the trash without him opening it. That left three envelopes, and he went through them randomly. The first was from his bank, reporting what money was currently in his account. It was a reminder of the inheritance from his father, and of the loss of the same. Angrily, he shoved the envelope in a cranny, leaving it for later.

The second was from his old school. He'd been hoping that it was offer a glimmer of hope for his future, but it was informing him that due to a miscalculation, he owed them $54.44. They promised that he couldn't get a transcript from them until he paid in full. Another bill to be stuffed into a cranny for later - if he cared later.

The last had his address listed as the return address, bringing a frown to his face. Shrugging, he tore it open too.

Inside was a single piece of paper. Unfolding it, it simply said:

I killed your dad.

40.753402,-73.976033

condoms in the West Men's Room

914

Find me if you can.

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Warren stared at the letter for a few moments, wondering if this was a joke or not. The autopsy report didn't say anything of a murder, and surely if one had taken place the mortician would have notice.. right? Still, it was something for him to do today. Laying around a Manhattan loft can only bring so much excitement. First, there were some things he needed to figure out about the letter.

40.753402,-73.976033

"Numbers. Whole numbers and partial numbers. Positive and negative numbers. A comma. A comma!" Warren ran to his lap top, which was set up on his living room coffee table. Pressing the ON button, he waited several minutes for the computer to turn on while looking over the letter.

condoms in the West Men's Room

"West Men's room?" He was speaking out loud, surely only to himself. "A bathroom, obviously, but what kind of establishment has enough men's rooms to merit one being described as the West one. It was no ordinary restaurant, surely. Or maybe he was reading into this too much. Maybe the West Men's Room was the only men's room, but saying its on the west side is telling me I am in the right place." Finally the computer had booted up. He clicked a few buttons, popping up the internet explorer, but not before the dial tone to connect.

914

"Nine fourteen? That can't be a time, especially todays time. It must be a clue as to the next clue." He thought for a few moments in relative silence. He was really reading into the letter. He crumpled it up and threw it on the floor with a sigh. It landed on a pile of clothes. He stared blankly at his computer screen, as if trying to decide what to do now. The words I killed your dad. rang though his head, even though he had no voice or face to go with it.

I killed your dad.

I killed your dad.

I killed your dad.

I killed your dad.

He had to know. He stepped over the table, avoiding falling on another pile of clothes, finally picking up the crumbled letter. "40.753402,-73.976033" He recited to himself as he reached his computer. He rushed to put the numbers into a local map program, than waited as the page loaded to find his results and future destination.

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The maps program crunched the numbers and brought up something very close to home: Grand Central Station. It was large enough to have a couple of men's rooms, so now the specific directions made sense. It was only about a mile away, an easy walk. There was even a Grand Central terminal about a block and a half from here. It'd be really easy to get over there and back; it wouldn't take much time-

The scent of just-this-side-of-burned food filled his nostrils and Warren realized he had seconds to save his food. He dashed into the kitchen and yanked the pan off the burner with a towel. A quick examination of his food showed that there was no carbonization, but the food on the bottom had an unfortunate gummy texture and a bitter taste to it. Grimacing, he saved what he could and returned to the living room, eating.

I killed your dad.

The computer waited, the arrow on the map pointing at Grand Central Station.

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Warren sat back on his couch, chewing the food thoroughly, wondering what today would would have in store for him. He sat in silence and eventually placed the empty bowl on the table next to the computer. He ran through his mind possible outcomes for the day and how many different ways he could end up in jail. Within five minutes though, he was out the door after grabbing a coat, slipping on his shoes, and filling his pockets with quarters.

He joined the business masses on the street but he could be pointed out in an instant. He didn't change from his pajama pants or the nearly-too-small shirt. As he walked to Grand Central, he remembered the last time he was there. It was years ago with his dad. On one of their last times they spent the day together. Warren remembered it fondly but knew that he hated it when it happened. Still, though. Grand Central off all places.

As he approached it he wondered if he was being watched. He kept an eye out for anyone who may have been, but it was impossible to tell. The entrance that he took into Grand Central faced South-West-South, so he turned left once he entered. It must've looked like he was crazy, lost, or both, but he paid that no mind. He continued towards the bathrooms.

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In the west men's room, there is one condom dispenser. Warren didn't pay attention to anyone else in there; he walked straight to the machine and tried to figure out what was going on with it. A couple of seconds of proding and he realized that it was broken; the front just swung open. And wedged between two gears was a piece of paper. Warren pried it out, carefully. It said, Last stall. Turn over the ceiling tile.

It was awkward, given his lack of height. But he persevered, and the ceiling tile came down. Taped to the other side was an envelope, something somewhat bulky inside. Warren pulled it loose and ripped it open. There was a key, and it was distinctly a locker key, possibly even for here in Grand Central Station. And he was right; when he tried locker 914 with the key, it opened.

A red backpack hung inside. Warren pulled it out and opened it. There was a map of New York City, a bus schedule and a ticket to the Bronx Zoo. And of course, there was another letter.

This is an experiment. How far will you let yourself be driven by the need for knowledge? At the Bronx Zoo, a man will be waiting for you until 2:00 p.m. After that, he will leave, and your window will close forever. He will be near the croc enclosure and will have a matching backpack to this one. He will have further instructions.

I know you won't fail me. See you soon.

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  • 4 weeks later...

Warren slammed the locker in aggravation. Sure, he had nothing better to do today than to follow these clues which will lead to further clues, but it was low on his list of priorities. He could be sleeping, eating, trying to pick up chicks at the park. Really, anything was better than this.

The slammed locker got some attention from those around him, who then immediately dismissed Warrens act. He mutually ignored theirs and absent-mindedly waited at the bus station. The entire time he was thinking about all the clues so far. Were they directions, or foreshadowing to future events. "An experiment to further knowledge.. " He spoke out loud, but no one seemed to pay him mind. He stepped on the bus and headed towards the station, in which he switches to one with the destination of the Bronx Zoo.

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Finding the croc enclosure wasn't a problem. There were printed maps available all over the place. Warren did notice that the enclosure was in a corner of the zoo, conveniently isolated from the greater part of the zoo. The problem was that he didn't see the man he was supposed to contact. It was well before two, and Warren sighed as she decided that he'd been the subject of a prank.

A flash of red caught his eye. A man wearing a red backpack was walking away with a woman next to him. She was holding on to his arm and curled close to his side, but Warren decided there was something stiff and wrong about the scene. He had a sudden sense that the game had been changed by an external source.

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Warren took a seat on the ground. If the game had actually changed, he could do absolutely nothing. He was a player in some persons grand scene in which Warren had absolutely no control. He sighed and opened the backpack once more. Perhaps there was just something he missed in the clues. He figured he'd wait around until two and see what happened.

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Twenty minutes passed before the woman came back, alone. She was carrying the backpack, which she dug around in as she walked, pulling items out enough to look at them before dropping them back in. Warren saw a map and some envelope as well as a sketchpad and a loose piece of paper; from the distance he was at, he couldn't see any details.

The woman slung the backpack onto her shoulders, adjusting her jean jacket as she settled the bag. As she passed Warren, she said, "You might want to leave." Without another word or another glance, she walked away, deeper into the zoo.

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Warren stared at the girl for a good ten to twenty seconds before reacting. Something was up and he didn't think it was part of the plan. She knew who he was and what he was going here, but it wasn't her that he was supposed to meet.

But she had the red bag.

He stood and bolted after the girl, dodging in and out of the crowds. "Who are you?" He muttered out quickly as he reached her. "Where is the guy and whats in the bag?"

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She jerked away from him, and he realized she was older than he thought. She was at least in her late thirties, with hard, angry eyes and a scowl that looked to be permament. "I'm Ka- Call me Hunter," she said, covering poorly. She stared at him for a moment and added, "I know this isn't your bag, so what do you care?"

Behind them, back by the croc enclosure, someone screamed, and Warren immediately heard someone else shout, "Call the police!"

Hunter turned and hurried away, leaving him behind again.

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He stopped when he heard the scream, wondering what it could possibly be. Then he put two and two together.

He chased after Hunter once more. "Barbara!" He yelled after her, calling attention to himself and the woman. "Barbara Morse-Barton." He said while catching up to her. "That bag has information about the death of my father. You can hand it over, or I can call more attention to us." As he said that, he moved in front of her and turned around, looking at her straight in the face with a smile while slowing his pace. Surely when he started bumping people, they would notice.

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She stopped, glaring at him. After a moment her face softened. "I know what you mean. I lost my love and my son. But... don't let them use you." She pulled the backpack off and gave it to him. "They have directions in there to someone's house, and instructions to steal a painting. You won't get satisfaction that way."

She looked at him. "If you come with me, I'll help you find out about your father, ok? And I won't make you play games with mobsters or ask you to steal."

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He looked square at her, pondering his options. If what she said was true, than he'd have to commit illegal acts for a group of people who may or may not just be fucking with him. If he goes with her..

He attempted to look at the scene near the alligator pit, but there were too many people. Did she kill him?

He thought if his options for less than a second total. "Fine." He said, and gave her back the pack. "Too backpacks is suspicious." He said, smiling.

Besides, the mobsters might have thought he killed their man.

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The woman nodded and they fell into step together. Warren started to speak, but she just shook her head. "Let's get away from here," she murmured, setting a good, fast walk. Hunter didn't say anything until they were out of the zoo.

Hunter sat down on a bench. "Now, tell me everything you know about your father's death and I'll see what I can find out. I have some contacts, so I hope that I'll be able to find some answers for you pretty quickly. Then I'll help you figure out what to do."

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