A single obscure clue.

The first thing you notice about the car is it is immaculate. Brand new in fact. Checking the glove compartment you find a surprise, the title. It isn't signed either, “How strange.” Looks like it is a brand new passion cabriolet. No indication of who bought it or how. The only other thing in the little case is the owners manual and the name of the dealership where it was purchased as well as a little business card with the name, “Max Cartwright.” Putting it back in, you close the glove compartment and look to the back seat. Nothing, no indication of who the owner is or anything. “What is going on?” You push the key in the ignition and turn it. The engine whirrs to life and the radio clicks on to a pop music station on satellite radio. Some teen bop chick wails about her last boyfriend as you look at the new you in the rear view mirror as you adjust it so you can see. “Well the mirrors and seat aren't exactly adjusted for me. Not sure what that means either.” You sit there pondering your next move for a few songs, finally deciding out loud, “Fuck it I am going home.”

You slap the little car into gear, pop on the lights, and head out. Soon you are zipping down dark streets heading for home. As you drive you can't help but feel tired from the crazy events and with the music surrounding you, your mind sort of drifts into auto pilot as you make your way home. Pulling into the parking lot, you find a spot, step out of the little car on your impossibly high heels, and make your way up the stairs. A drab green hall greets you as you enter the building, you check the mail... nothing, then head up to your door, slip in the key, and click, the door unlocks. “Wait where the hell am I?” You suddenly realize as the door unlocks with this key you have never seen before. Suddenly you are horrified at what might be beyond the door. How did you get here? Where is here? Questions flood your mind and your hand begins to shake on the doorknob.