Shall We Play A Game?

I love browsing the bookstore after work, even if I can’t afford to splurge. In another life, I’d have the financial freedom to escape into stories for fun — but in this life, I have bills, loans, and a dream unfulfilled.

I dance my fingertips along the books when the sunlight reflects off something in my periphery. A black book, with a gold bookmark. I walk past the stuffed shelves and staggered tables. Oddly, it has no barcode. I pick it up and open the first page to one line:

Shall we play a game? Play for a chance to change lives.

I blink, reading it three more times. Is this real? I turn the page to a riddle:

Leave the S to P pipeline

Cross to Old Jane

Watch the planted seeds grow

To an oasis in the desert

I read it twice more, working it out in my brain. S to P pipeline… is there a pipeline under construction? Or maybe it’s not a literal pipeline? I look out the window and a cop car drives by.

School to prison pipeline! The next line must mean Jane Street, but what about the rest? I Google farms on Jane Street and Black Creek Community Farm pops up. I tuck the book in my bag and set my bike for the farm. After 30 long minutes, I arrive. The sun is high and hot; I breathe heavily, as sweat beads on my forehead. I lean my bike on the welcome sign and walk onto the grounds. A man sees me and greets me.

“Hello there!”

“Hi,” I reply, “I’m on… a scavenger hunt and this book led me to you.”

His face drops. “Is everything alright?”

He takes a shaky breath, replying, “About two weeks ago, all of our funding was stolen. The next day we got a package, with instructions to give it to someone with a black book. If we did that, we’d find out who robbed us.”

He pulls a glass vial of clear liquid from his shirt pocket and gives it to me.

“The instructions said to pour it onto the page,” he says.

I turn it over in my hand before pouring a drop onto the second page — ink appears, and I pour more to reveal another clue:

Now that you’re in motion

Advance to the intersection

Of the sun-kissed survivors

With X in their name

This one’s harder. I think this implies the black community, but does intersection mean another street? Or maybe X and intersection means intersectionality? I Google intersectional black people Toronto and scan the results. The third is to a ‘consent for survivors of sexual violence’ workshop hosted by Black Women in Motion. It’s not far from here, which can’t be a coincidence.

“Do you know who robbed us?” he asks.

“I don’t, I’m sorry,” I reply. He nods dejected and goes back to his work. “Thank you,” I say loudly, and he waves back distractedly.

I hop on my bike and head to the workshop. Who would do this, and why? And who’s lives am I changing? Once I get to the workshop my thighs are sore and my breath haggard. I lock my bike and head inside. I see a woman talking to some people and I walk towards her. She sees me and smiles.

“Hello,” I say. “I hope I’m not intruding- “

“Of course not,” she says kindly, “all are welcome. I’ll help you in just a minute.”

“Of course, no worries.”

She walks away, and I look around. I see all sorts of people at scattered tables, with a slide show playing on a large screen highlighting the work the organization does. I pick up fragments of multiple conversations discussing how the organization changed their lives.

In the background, I hear the woman I spoke to talking about finding something stolen, but don’t eavesdrop further. My eyes flit over the chairs by the stage and the front desk — with a large X taped on the ground. I head towards it and see a piece of paper taped in the middle. I discretely take it and read what looks like another clue:

The urge to do what’s Wright

Makes a figure eight

Building circles for the people

With no home

I pull out my phone to search for the next clue. I search housing for the homeless, and results for government affordable housing come up. None of them seem viable so I add eight hours to the search. This time, an article pops up about a man building mobile homes for the homeless. A man with the last name Seivwright. The only location mentioned is a rental garage, which happens to be a short ride away. Emboldened, I head there. When I arrive, I see a man in a unit hammering away.

Hello,” I call politely. He turns and looks at me, breathing heavily as sweat drips down his face.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“I hope so,” I reply. I pull out the black book and his face screws up. “You know what this is, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he replies reluctantly, “I do.” He sits down and takes a rag from his back pocket to wipe his forehead. “Do you?”

“All I know is I found this in a bookstore and followed the clues — every single one has led me to people that’ve been robbed. Have you been?”

He nods, looking crestfallen. “I’ve been building mobile homes for the homeless, so they’d have a place to go in the winter. I had a GoFundMe to rent this garage and pay for the supplies, and we raised enough to buy permits for a plot of land so they wouldn’t be removed by the city.”

“And someone stole all the money?”

He nods upset. “It’s been months of dealing with the City’s crap and we finally had what we needed to tide them over.”

A manager comes out of the front office and walks towards him. He tells Seivwright his money won’t suffice for the month, and he apologizes but he’ll have to leave. Seivwright compels him to understand, that their money was stolen unexpectedly, and if he could reconsider.

“We have nowhere to put the mobile homes,” Seivwright says, “and nowhere for homeless people to go besides the shelters.”

“I’m really sorry for what happened,” I interject. “But do you know anything about the next clue?”

He looks at me, his face incredulous. “We just got robbed, and you’re asking me about a clue?” he asks.

I reply quickly “Maybe the clues could lead to an answer about where your money went. I could help you.”

He looks at me silently, enough time passing for me to feel embarrassed. “I doubt this would end with us getting the money back. And no offence, but I doubt you have our best interests at heart. You’re doing this for yourself.”

I stand there, dumbfounded. He reaches into his toolbox for a black tube. He pushes one end, and an ultraviolet light turns on. It’s a blacklight.

“I found this with instructions to give it to someone with a black book, and to cooperate or we’d never get the money back. You’re supposed to shine it on the page.”

I shine the light on the next page to reveal the next clue.

Please be advised

Mothers of the land

Your birthright granted to others

Trickles away on tainted land

“Thank you,” I say to him. He continues pleading with the office manager. I empathize with him; he’s trying to do a good thing changing these people’s lives, but he’s forced to stop because he was robbed. Makes me sick, the lengths people go to for money.

Mothers of the land. Mothers of this land? Their birthright… everyone has the right to survive. What do we need to survive? I shuffle possibilities in my head when one stands out from the rest: water. I search unsafe drinking water in Ontario and ‘water advisories in Indigenous communities’ pop-up. I look for one near here, the closest one on Georgina Island in the Chippewa community. There’s an office located a few kilometres away from there, where I’ll probably find my answer. It’s a long way, so I order a car to take me there.

I arrive 30 minutes later at a small log office, with an Indigenous man on the doorstep. I take my bike out of the trunk and walk towards him.

Hello,” he says in a calm voice. “What can I do for you?

“Hi, I’m hoping you can help me with my next clue.” I hold up the black book. He gently takes it from me and looks down at it.

“I wondered what I would do when I saw this book, after all the strife it’s caused our community,” he says.

“Was your money stolen from you?” He looks at me curiously, handing the book back.

“Yes. We’ve been fundraising for years to build infrastructure that’ll give us clean water. Our government has failed us, and we’ve been doing what we can. Two weeks ago, a stranger came seeking help and while I went to get a nurse, he hacked his way into our accounts and stole all of our money.”

“I’m so sorry,” I reply. “Ever since I found this book, I’ve crossed paths with good people who are just trying to make a difference. I wish I could help you.”

“Maybe you can,” he says. He takes a small piece of paper from his shirt pocket and hands it to me — on it are coordinates.

“This was left on the table, with instructions to give it to a stranger with a little black book. He wrote that it could change lives.” I look at him wide-eyed as he says this.

“Your journey brought you here for a reason,” he says. “Maybe that will help you discover what it is.”

I thank him, key in the coordinates on my phone and head there. I arrive at the Lakeshore, which is deserted, except for a small black box at the water’s edge. I walk towards it, my heart pounding, and open it. A single folded page lies inside, and I open it to read:

You tread the trail of uncertainty

For the chance to change lives

Turn the final page in your story

To seize your opportunity.

I turn it over and find a cheque taped to the back. For $20,000. I quickly stand up, hooting and hollering in disbelief. I carefully remove it and look at it wide-eyed. The cheque is printed, with my name on it. Whoever wrote this knows who I am and must’ve been following me. Whatever their motives, this is $20,000 in my name. This could change my life.

I look up and see three people walking towards me; as they get closer, I notice the faces of the people I’ve met along the way. The man from the farm, the woman from the consent workshop, and Seivwright. I look at them confused and they return my stares.

“Wh-what,” I stutter, “What’s going on?”

“Beats me,” says Seivwright. “A note was waiting for me after you left, with instructions to come here.”

“You too?” asks the lady. “It said I’d find our money and an answer.”

My stomach sinks, as realization hits.

The man from the farm pulls a note from his shirt pocket, handing it to me. “It came with a note, to give to the person with the little black book.”

They all hand notes to me, and I take them cautiously. Each note has a dollar amount, with words below them. I do the math in my head — the amounts total $20,000. I look at them shocked, and they look back with mistrust.

I put the papers beside each other, and read the words on each to form a sentence:

This is your opportunity. Will you seize it for yourself? Or will you use it to change lives?