The Key: Finale

                “Look you guys are just being drunk and stupid. None of those stories make any sense. First of all if the politician lost the key when bringing back a sheep, then how did he get into the room when he arrived? Plus no hotel would ever let a sheep into a guest’s room. Secondly there’s no such things as ghosts and demons. As well as that, that is not the kind of key that would be used on a steel plated bunker door. And finally, Mafiosi’s? Really? In our town? In our country? In our millennia? Yeah, no. I don’t think so.

                “I know this stuff is fun to think about but it just doesn’t go that way in real life. Tomorrow morning we are all going to go to the hotel and hand in the key. There will be a brief exchange of pleasantries then we’ll forget this ever happened. In the morning we meet at the potted plant where we found the key, around noon let’s say and we return it together. No sheep, demons or gangsters.”

                And so the journey of the four intoxicated friends came to an end, for the night. At their usual crossroads each took their own paths to find their way homes into a comfortable, warm bed where the night’s imaginative fluorescence may bloom in their minds. And such was the point where none of them would see each other for many hours.

                The next morning came and then the clock struck noon, waiting by the potted plant there was only one. The one waited five minutes or so but when ten minutes past they knew they were going to be alone. The dreaded hangover had gotten the best of their comrades so their mission was to be a solo one.

                Just as expected all went as planned. They entered the hotel and nobody batted an eye to the person in possession of a key which belonged to the hotel. Unlike some of the predictions there was indeed a woman behind the desk. She greeted the one with a smile and a good morning. The key was graciously returned and no fuss was made. But unfortunately curiosity peeked its head out once more for an attempt at complete closure.

“So I was wondering, would you be able to tell me who is in the room for that key?”

“Oh I’m very sorry, guest confidentiality is one of our strictest rules here so I cannot give out that information.”

“Oh, of course not sorry for bothering you then.”

“No, it’s no problem at all. Thank you for returning the key. As a matter of fact if you would like I could offer you a free drink from the bar as a sign of our appreciation for your good deed.”

“No thanks. I couldn’t.”

“Please, it’s no imposition. And it’s completely complimentary.”

“Oh well okay. I’ll just have a tea then.”

“Very good.”

“Thank you.”

                The thanks were genuine but slightly futile as the woman was already gone. She seemed to be a highly efficient worker. The one took a seat in the lobby and scrolled through their phone while waiting for the tea. Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr and even ABCTales wasn’t producing all that much entertainment for the time being, so it was even more of a pleasant surprise once the tea arrived.

                While sipping their tea, they just looked across the lobby as the staff and customers weaved back and forth between each other in a very stale dance that didn’t seem to offer much of a challenge. Eyes only drawn away by an occasional apologetic message from the rest of the group. People watching didn’t seem all that fulfilling at first but it didn’t take long before it became quite titillating to see people approach the front desk and perhaps reveal themselves as the owner of the key. Alas the key remained on its hook behind the desk.

                An hour passed and seemed as a sufficient amount of time to be wasted on a Saturday morning. They left, leaving the empty teacup in their wake. As much as curiosity is a poison to those lacking in stimulation, so is patience as a virtue to receive what one wants. Had the one remaining stayed in their seat they would have seen the owner of the key.

                A man, early to mid-thirties, standing about six feet tall. Black hair slicked back with a matching pencil thin moustache resting on a lightly tanned lip. Dressed in a pinstripe suit with a complementing trilby and a briefcase. His shirt collar mildly stained in speckles of light brown. Residue of blood, but not his. And the final piece of the artwork, a copy of the Necronomicon resting in his breast pocket.