The room was arid and smelled like sleep. It was bright and tinted pink from the sunlight filtered through the red curtains. Sam sat up on his duvet covers and wondered if his assignments were even worth doing, thoughts that contrasted the atmosphere of the room. It’s not like grades matter anymore anyway, although the degree he was pursuing determined his entire future. He decided not to think about it any longer or it’d get worse. He flopped back down and groaned as his spine decompressed and all his muscles ached from the sudden movement and the day before. He silently counted down from three, and hopped up to get a coffee from the kitchen before starting the day at one in the afternoon.

Sam was a spindly kid, long-limbed and sinewy. He could be a surfer if he gained muscle mass, especially with this shoulder-length dirty-blonde mop on his head, instead he just looked like a stoner that smelled like pretty flowers.

Hanging in the narrow hall, there were hundreds of keys. Varying in length and color, the strings that held them up were precariously stapled into the ceiling. These ranged from keys that fit houses to bike locks, from chests and drawers to mailboxes. Brushing past, Sam sipped his mug and admired the tendrils of steam rising from the rim. He sighed. There were so many things to do and he wanted nothing to do with it, so he just watched people go about their days from his ninth-story window.

Feeling his depressive tendencies seeping back through his tired eyes, Sam climbed back into bed with his laptop and checked his email.

“No new clients today,” he thought, “yet so many new assignments.”

As a part-time college student, school was slow, his job was slow, his life even more so. The only joy he ever got was the shot of adrenaline while driving speedily away from a scene. The only joy he ever got was being on the edge of the law.

Chewing on one of his hoodie drawstrings, he was just about to go back to browsing the internet when suddenly his email refreshed and he scanned the page. A new client, this time just a few streets down.

“Easy money,” he crowed to himself. He dressed in his normal attire, plain and dad-like, “easy on the eyes.”

Someone rang the doorbell. Sam greeted Wes at the door, hugging and making remarks about how much he’s grown even though they saw each other just a day prior.

Years ago, they would spend nights taking whichever subway was still running and be delinquents with their e-cigarettes that made them feel like they had enough confidence to kill a guy. Wes was a head shorter than Sam, and looked like he was always ready for a hike in the forest that ultimately ended in a baseball game. Wes was abandoned by his parents when he was just old enough to buy food, but he didn’t let anything stand in his way. As they pulled apart Sam made up an excuse that he had an appointment to get to, which wasn’t a lie, and said Wes could stay and wait for him if he wanted. He agreed, and Sam was off.

As he approached the house, he made note of the open windows and white drawn curtains, a small blue two-seater parked perfectly in the middle of the driveway with a handicapped parking permit hanging on the center mirror. There was one adult living here, as this person would park to one side if they needed to make room for another car. If any, another person would be between seventeen and thirteen, as one needed to be at least a teen to ride in the front seat and would want to get their driver’s license as soon as possible.

“Who would want their old man to drive them around everywhere?” Sam concluded.

His heartbeat was loud in his ears as a familiar sensation started to build in the pit of his stomach. Without hesitation, Sam walked right up to the nearest white-trimmed window and with all his weight in one hand, swung both legs over in one swift movement.

He heard the muffled buzz of a TV from upstairs and nothing else.

“What are you doing?”

“His voice is unmistakable.”

“Sam?” Wes called out to his best friend, who was facing away from him.

Just as Wes lifted his foot off the ground to take a step towards him, and his arm lifted in the air holding his fingers outstretched as if they were as confused as he was, time stood still.

The moment the knife left Sam’s hand, he instantly felt regret surge through every vein as he fell to the ground before Wes did. The blood spattered out of his chest, staining the pristine atmosphere just a few seconds ago. This is the first time Sam had ever made a mistake in the people he’s killed, the thing is, that every other person deserved it.

Around Wes’s neck, as Sam discovered, was the smallest key on a chain now covered in blood. Sadness clouded his vision as he recalled what he’d told his now-dead friend in his arms, all those years ago.

“You hold the key to my heart.”