The Keys

The keys clink and tink, clang and jangle at my hip as the men walk by in hushed whispers. They don’t notice me, the men, as we walk two abreast up each side of the hall. I walk with Martin. We don’t talk. And beside the incessant clink and tink, clang and jangle of keys, I hear nothing of the passing whispers or the pattering of booted feet as we turn right down the dull hallway, then right again.

The men we pass seem in good cheer. Martin does not. I can tell by their reactions that Martin looks down on their good cheer with an intensity that is almost dark enough to blot it out completely. We stop at a door as another pair passes up the long hallway. One of the men stifles a laugh. Martin turns about face and addresses him.

“Is there something funny, Mr. Haroldson?” 

“N-n-no, sir. Just getting our morning jollies out, sir,” answers Haroldson.

“Well,” begins Martin, smiling like a deranged fool, “We have a new man with us today.” Both men look to me and nod; I nod back, “So I suggest you do your best to set a good example, or I’ll have keys from both of you.”

“Yes, sir,” the men reply, then continue down the hallway. Martin isn’t smiling anymore.

Would he really fire men for snickering in the hallway, I wonder? Martin faces the door as he releases his keys from the clip at his hip and grabs the correct one on the first try. He turns the key to unlock the door, then turns it back to lock it, nodding with approval.

“Good. Now you try. Key AA1.”

I fumble with the clip trying to free the bulky ring. His impatience penetrates into the side of my head like magnified sun on an ant.

“Faster, man, faster,” he says. I shudder and drop the keys. I stoop to pick them up and Martin kicks them away. He slaps the back of my head and orders me to stand upright. I hesitate with my hand on the back of my head, staring at the gun on his hip. “Repeat what I told you upon arrival.” 

“What?” I say, baffled.

“You seem to be confused, young man. I asked you to repeat what I said.” His eyes burn with a piercing rage. He rocks his shoulders back and yells: “Repeat what I told you upon arrival!”

I go blank and brace for another strike.

“There are twenty keys on my ring …” he yells.

I stare at him vacantly, stupidly and he slaps me again.

“Repeat after me! There are twenty keys on my ring!”

I hesitate, and he pulls his hand back to strike me again. I drop my head and say, “There are twenty keys on my ring …” His hand drops.

“There are forty keys total …”

I repeat.

“The keys are a direct indication of my responsibility.”

I repeat, stutter.

“I will know the keys and the rooms I am responsible for as if they are a part of my body.”

A pair of men walk around us in the same gray jumpsuits Martin and I wear. They don’t have guns, and neither do I. They keep their heads forward and continue to walk as if we’re not there. Martin strikes me again, and blood trickles from my mouth onto my uniform.

“Repeat!”

“I-I-I will know the keys and the rooms I am responsible for as if they are a part of my body.”

“For the key and its lock is the union of life, and to fumble the keys is the inception of death.”

I repeat.

“Good,” Martin says, straightening his jumpsuit as if it were a fine suit. He is satisfied. “Now pick up your keys and open the door.”

I do as told. A drop of blood falls to the white tile floor and I shudder. Martin doesn’t seem to notice or care. I stand with the keys and flip through them.

“AA1,” Martin says, calmly.

With hands shaking, I flip through the keys one by one until I land on AA1. I put it in the lock and turn it. I push the handle down and Martin grabs my wrist.

“You do not enter the rooms,” he says. “You operate the keys.”

I look at his muscular hand on my wrist. The veins rise under the skin like engorged snakes. I glimpse the gun at his hip and anticipate another whip from his hand. His grip loosens. He turns the key, pulls it out, and hands the ring back to me. The keys jingle with joy as I wipe the blood from my mouth and take them.

“Your responsibility is not to know what is in the rooms, it is just to operate the keys, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He smiles like a deranged fool again and turns down the hallway. I clip my keys to my hip and follow him.

“AA1 is the first room. Now I suggest you make it the first key on your ring for easy access and association with the other keys. This hallway contains all the AA rooms—one through ten. Here is AA2. Find and try the key.”

My head burns from Martin’s blows, but I pull the keyring from my hip, find AA1 and flip to AA2. I put it in the tumbler, unlock it, then lock it back again.

“Better,” Martin says.

We complete the process down the AA hall, then turn right down AB hall. I stop at the first door and Martin continues on.

“You possess the keys for AA hallway and AC hallway.”

We come to the end of AB hallway, turn into AC hallway, and I operate all the doors.

“Good,” Martin says, nodding. I want to smile, but don’t. We turn the corner into AD hall and pass another pair of men. One of them nods at Martin and he nods back. “A pair of key bearers moves in each direction and meet another in every hallway. There are sixteen key bearers per shift. Eight pairs total. We rotate every twelve hours. I am the master key bearer, meaning that I possess all forty keys. You are my apprentice, and I will walk with you until you quit or until you possess a minimum of thirty keys, at which time you will be a journeyman and walk with another key bearer. There are two master key bearers on each shift. I am one, Thaddeus is the other. We are on opposite sides of the building at all times. Besides the building director, only journeymen and master key bearers are permitted to enter the rooms at the building director’s discretion. Is that clear?”

I nod, looking ahead.

“I need verbal confirmation that you understand,” Martin says, dissatisfied.

“Yes, sir, everything is clear.”

“Good,” Martin says. I think he is smiling, but I don’t look. “Any questions?”

“Yes, sir. When do we unlock the doors?”

“You are only allowed to unlock a door when you hear the letters and a number announced over the intercom that you have a key for and is in your vicinity. Any other questions?”

“How do we know we are walking at the right pace, sir?”

“You are walking at the right pace because you are walking with me. It is part of your training. Key bearers are required to walk at eighty steps per minute. Today we will be a little behind because of your training, but we’ll keep the pace.”

I nod to show I understand, and we continue to walk with the rattle of keys at our hips. We pass a pair of men, and they look at me with pity. Martin stares dead ahead. Their whispering chatter continues after we pass. Martin continues his metronome pace down the hall, quiet and stoic. He acknowledges the man we passed before as we turn the corner of hallway AD into hallway AA.

“Who is that, sir?” I ask.

“You are free to fraternize with the other key bearers in your off time. For now, the job at hand is all that matters.” Martin replies. He’s not mad, just focused.

The swelling in my cheek increases, and the pain in my head thrums. I look for a clock but don’t find one. I want to ask Martin when we stop, but I think I already know the answer: twelve hours from when we started. There are no windows, just door after door, tile after tile, corner after corner, cinderblock wall after cinderblock wall. Everything but the buzzing lights overhead and white tile floor below is gray—the same gray as our jumpsuits. Seconds blend with the minutes, minutes with the hours. Martin continues his monotonous pace, peering ahead, nodding to the man at each opposite corner. My feet hurt, my head and cheek burn, and the clinking, clanging, jangling, banging of the keys at my side is like grating rocks and stones over broken bones. I feel I should speak up, when at the end of hallway AB, Martin stops, as does the pair of men we passed all day. From a door to our left, two pairs of men walk into the hallway. One of the men carries a gun, as Martin does.

“Well, well, Martin. I see you have a new man today,” says the man with the gun. I guess him to be the master key bearer for the other shift.

“Yes, Cray, this is our new man,” Martin replies. We stand as if we are waiting for something. Cray looks me up and down. He looks livelier than Martin, but not like someone I would want to walk with all day.

“Does he have what it takes to carry all the keys?” Cray asks.

I look to the ground, feeling I had a good day and expecting a compliment from Martin.

“No,” Martin says. “He does not.”

Cray nods. “It’s all right, boy. Most don’t. Especially this little bastard here.” He nudges the boyish man next to him. He nods his head and smirks.

“Shift change in five, four, three, two, one, zero,” a woman’s voice says overhead.

All the men stand straight at the start of the count; I follow suit. The woman hits zero, and the men just beginning their shifts enter the hallway in opposite directions.

“See you next change, Martin,” Cray says. Martin says nothing, nods.

We exit through the doors, and I continue to follow Martin. The men behind us take a left and disappear. Martin stops at another gray door and tells me to grab key D14. I remember seeing the key on my ring during our training session, but my sore cheek and painful head told me not to ask what it unlocked.

I pull the key and put it in the door. I go through the motions of unlocking and relocking it. Martin grins.

“Good work,” he says, “but you can enter this room. This is your sleeping quarters. D stands for dormitory.”

I unlock the door, feeling a sense of relief at having a place to sit and sleep. I am weary beyond anything I have experienced before, and I desire nothing more than to remove my boots and have a rest. I push the door open and Martin follows me in. There are two beds, two dressers, two bedside tables, two closets, and one bathroom to the right of the door. There is a window in the back wall, but I cannot see out of it—it only allows light in. And judging by the low quality of the light I guess it is nearing dusk, but in these times of war and bombings and smoke and dust, it is too difficult to tell.

“You share your quarters with a man that works the opposite shift. Keep your quarters clean and tidy and he will do the same. There is no food allowed in the rooms, but you are allowed water. There is a uniform for each day of the week hanging in the closet. When the day is complete, throw your soiled clothing down the chute,” he points to a hole in the wall. “On your bedside table is a timer that resets every twelve hours. It will go off when you have thirty minutes to your next shift.” Martin exits my quarters and points down the hall. “To the right is the mess hall. That is where meals are served, and where you can buy any additional items you may need: soap, paper, pencils, envelopes, stamps, playing cards, and so on. The funds will be pulled from your paycheck if you choose to purchase such things.”

Martin turns and walks down the hall. “Eat whenever you like, but dinner is hottest in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, Martin,” I say. He continues down the hall at the same pace he walked all day, turns right, and vanishes without response.

I walk into the room, hear the door click shut, and collapse on the bed. My cheek, head, and feet throb with unbearable rhythm. I remove my boots and wiggle my toes. They are swollen and lethargic, every movement an ache. I look at the clock on my bedside table—it reads 11 hours 24 minutes.

I breathe deep and lay back on the bed. I feel myself drift with thoughts of home, thoughts of how I got here, and just when my eyes are about to close, a knock hits the door.

“Dinner is hottest in five minutes.” Martin.

“Thank you, sir,” I reply. No response. I can hardly get out of bed as the pain suffuses from my cramped toes up my legs. The only benefit of the pain in my legs is that it dulls the pain in my head. I get up and walk to the bathroom. In the mirror I see my swollen red and blue cheek and a small crack on my lip. The pain rushes back now that I see its source. I relieve myself and put my feet back in my boots. The only thing that gets them in is the food in the next room. I tie them as tight as I dare and go to the door, checking for my keys as I exit.

The door closes and two men greet me in the hallway.

“Hello there, new fella,” one man says. His protruding belly stretches the jumpsuit tight. I wonder how after walking all day.

“Hello, gentleman,” I reply.

“How was the first day, friend?” says the other man. He is tall but strong looking. “Brutal, ain’t it?” He smiles, and I smile back.

“I’m not in such bad shape,” I reply.

“Yeah, well, that shiner on your cheek says otherwise,” the chubby man says, laughing. I can’t help but chuckle myself.

“I’m Dobbs,” says the chubby man. “And this is Ray.” I greet them both.

“C’mon,” Ray says, “I can’t stand eating that gruel cold.”

Dobbs nudges me. “You’re in for a treat now,” he says. “Warm gruel, two fried eggs as hard as rocks, and a piece of toast covered in butter that even a dog wouldn’t dare sniff at.” He laughs deep and hearty.

“Sounds better than what I had on the outside,” I say.

“I suppose you’re right.”

#

Dobbs and Ray and I sit at a table and talk in hushed tones. The other thirteen men from our shift sit about the cafeteria in no apparent order. Two men sit together and the rest sit alone. Martin sits the farthest he can be from any other. He eats as methodically as he walks the halls.

The food is not as bad as the men described, much better than what I guess my mother is getting this evening, or morning, whichever.

“Does your face hurt?” Dobbs asks, glancing at Martin.

“Not as bad as my feet hurt,” I say.

“If you think they hurt now, wait until tomorrow,” Ray prophesizes.

“I think the third day was the worst for me,” Dobbs interjects, wiping his bowl clean with a heel of toast. “But where can you find a job nowadays with two hots, a cot, and a paycheck as good as this?”

“Nowhere,” I say.

“What’d you do before you came here?” Rays asks.

“I was a runner for a prominent man in the city. He recommended me for the position.”

“You got a family?” Dobbs asks.

“Just a mother,” I say, downcast as I think about her eating tepid cabbage broth alone.

“Well, she’ll be getting a nice check from you, I imagine. That’s why I’m here.” Dobbs reaches into the opening of his jumpsuit and pulls out a picture of a woman surrounded by six children. “That’s it there. That’s the gold.”

I look at the picture and smile. “Don’t you miss them?”

“Of course,” he looks at me almost offended that I would ask such a thing, “but I make a good living for them here, and I get to see them one week out of the year, so it’s not so bad. Give them the best life I can, that’s for sure. Better than cutting meat back home,” Dobbs says.

“There’s meat where you’re from?” I ask, intrigued.

“No,” Dobbs smiles, “that’s why this job’s much better.”

We all laugh.

“What about you, Ray? Any family?”

Ray shakes his head, and I leave it at that.

Martin gets up, dumps his tray, leaves. The other men around the room follow his lead, one by one.

“How ‘bout some cards?” Dobbs says replacing the picture and returning with a deck of cards like some sort of jumpsuit-wearing magician.

I nod, and Dobbs deals us in a game of blackjack. We play a few hands and the interest decreases as the room empties. I look around and see us alone except for the two sitting and whispering together.

I venture to say, “What do you know about Martin?” They glance over their cards at me.

“Not much to know, really. Just a hardass that takes his job too seriously,” Dobbs says. But I sense there is more to know.

“Did he train you both as well?”

“He’s trained damn near everyone in this building,” Ray says. “He’s been here since day one, and he’s always had a stick up it from what I understand.”

“Does he have family outside of here, too?”

The men look at each other and shrug. “He takes his week off like the rest of us, but I know nothing more than that,” Dobbs says.

“Did he ever hit you?” I ask, embarrassed.

They both snicker. “As far as I can tell, kid, you got it easy. Either Martin is getting soft, or he really likes you,” Dobbs says. Ray agrees. “I spit out teeth on my first day, and Ray here had a black eye for a month.”

“But he said I wouldn’t become a master key bearer,” I counter.

“You probably won’t,” Dobbs says. “There’s only four in this building—maybe even the whole world.”

“What about Cray?”

“Now he’s a real piece of work,” Dobbs whispers. “Luckily, you won’t see him much, he’s a B-shifter.” Ray nods.

I look around the room and see that we’re alone, though I fear we are never really alone in this building. I lean in over the table and whisper: “What’s in the rooms?”

Dobbs and Ray both look at me, surprised that I would ask such a question. 

“You don’t want to know, kid. Just remember, Martin and Cray aren’t the way they are for no reason.”

Ray nods.

Dobbs looks at his cards. “Hit me.”

#

Three weeks have past, and we continue the monotonous walk down the halls, dinner and breakfast, or breakfast and dinner (it’s difficult to tell the difference), and then sleep. I write to my mother once a week. I send money and give her my best. She writes back once a week, and it is the only connection I have with the outside world. I miss her dearly, more than I ever thought possible, but with the money I send I know she is fed and warm.

I walked the halls for twenty-one days before I hear a voice come over the intercom: “AA3, I repeat, AA3. AA3, I repeat, AA3. AA3, I repeat, AA3 …”

I see Martin perk and run. We are in the AA hallway and we race with the crew coming toward us for door AA3. We beat the other crew to the door, and I look to Martin for my orders.

“Find the key,” he says, calmly.

My hands shake, but I find it quickly, as I have every day for the past weeks of training. I wait for my next order. We stand at attention and face each other, one on each side of the doorframe.

“Good morning, Martin,” a voice says from behind me. I don’t turn to see who it is. 

“Good morning, sir,” Martin says, raising his hand to salute. I do the same.

A man steps between us and salutes lazily. He is fat and wears a tailored white suit stretched taut over his stomach. His bald head shines under the fluorescent lights. He grins at Martin.

“Did you miss me, Martin? It has been a dangerously long time since we’ve seen each other.”

“Yes, sir. I am glad to see you, sir,” Martin replies, with little emotion.

The man looks me up and down. The light shifts on his bald head. “Is this the new man?” he asks, pointing a thumb at me.

“Yes, sir. This is key bearer Williams, sir.”

“Looks like a fine young man,” the smiling man replies. “Key bearer Williams.”

“Yes, sir,” I say.

“Would you mind opening door AA3 so that I may do my job?”

“Yes, sir,” I say, sticking the key in the tumbler and unlocking the door.

“Much appreciation, key bearer Williams.” I nod and he turns to Martin. “Join me, Martin.”

“Yes, sir,” Martin says. His voice drops as he opens the door for the man. I struggle to keep my head forward as my eyes fight to peek into the room. The door closes and I release my breath. I look ahead to the two men in the hallway. They stand starch still with their hands at their sides and their eyes forward. I pass them every day but know nothing more of them than that. They are constantly talking and suppressing their laughter, and Martin makes a habit of staring crossly at them. They also sit next to each other in the cafeteria every night and morning and talk in hushed tones. I don’t know their names. The only names I know are that of Martin, Dobbs, and Ray. But now the men stare ahead, and not a word passes between them. All laughter is silenced.

Two minutes pass, or what I guess to be two minutes. Under the buzzing lights I try to listen in on the happenings of room AA3, but all is silent. I feel myself leaning closer to the door when it is ripped open. I stand upright and salute the man as he comes out.

“Unnecessary, Williams,” the bald man says, “the job is complete.” He wipes his hands on a silky handkerchief and returns it to his pocket. He looks at Martin and smiles. “Gets easier every time, doesn’t it, Martin?”

Martin gives him half a nod and stares somewhere over my head.

“Yes, well, wonderful work today, Williams. We’re glad to have you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The man pats me on the shoulder and returns from where he came. Martin and the other men stand at attention; I do the same. I hear a door close behind me, and the voice over the intercom comes again.

“Commence walking in five … four … three … two … one … commence.”

Falling back in formation, we continue walking. Martin and I make three laps around the building before I ask: “Did I do all right?”

He gives half a nod. I am satisfied.

#

I meet with Ray and Dobbs at dinner, ravenous and pleased with the work I performed that day. They both nod as I sit; neither speaks. They eat with their heads down, and I take a few bites. After a few weeks of the same food, I have to agree with Ray: it is quite difficult to get down when cold.

We finish our meal in silence and I cannot contain myself any longer.

“I opened the door today. It was my first one!”

“Is that right?” Dobbs says. He shuffles his cards but has no intent to play.

“It was exhilarating,” I say, realizing that the simple act of unlocking a door held so much power. Neither man replies. Dobbs shuffles and Ray watches him shuffle. “Have either of you ever unlocked a door before?”

Ray shakes his head no; Dobbs yes.

“It’s a powerful feeling,” I say. “A man in a suit came and thanked me and welcomed me to the force. It was brilliant. Now I know why I took this job. What’s his name?”

“Who’s that?” Dobbs says. Ray looks up at me, concerned.

“The man in the white suit? What’s his name?”

Dobbs shrugs, shuffles.

“You mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t think anyone knows it. Maybe Martin, but I wouldn’t be too quick to ask him if I was you.”

I look over as Martin gets up and clears his plate. The room is full of key bearers, but it’s quieter than I ever remember it being before.

“What’s the matter?”

“Look, kid,” Dobbs begins, scanning the room. “Unlocking a door is what the job is about, but most are only here for the pay. That’s the first door we’ve unlocked in three months, and none of us find pride in opening a door for the suits. It’s all right if you want to be excited, but understand that most are not happy to hear a room called over the intercom.”

“Why not? Don’t you take pride in your work? It’s a prominent position back home. Men line up to get it, but only the ones with a solid reference do.”

“Men line up for the pay,” Ray says. His voice startles me. “Men line up to feed their families. Good men always have and always will.”

“There are things you don’t know, kid, but from my experience, anyone who can afford a suit these days is not doing the Lord’s work. We’re only here to clear their consciences for a thing they won’t do alone.” Dobbs returns the cards to his breast pocket and pulls out the picture of his family. “I’ll see you boys in the morning,” he says, getting up and leaving.

Ray stands to follow. “Don’t take it too hard. It’s your job, and you performed it well. Just think about why you took the job, and it will help you through.” He leaves me alone to chew the words.

The room clears, and I go back to my quarters to write my mother.

#

Six weeks have gone by since I unlocked the door. The mood lightens again, and the cafeteria regains its quiet joviality. Dobbs and Ray and I play cards and talk of the outside world. The only news I get of it comes from my mother or what Dobbs passes on to us from his wife. He talks of his children a lot, and though it brings us all joy, I can see it leaves him with a swollen throat and watery eyes. Dobbs gets to go home in five more weeks, and he holds the picture of the ones he walks for more often.

Ray is his regular quiet self, but he continues to surprise me. The other day he bought a skein of yarn from the commissary shop. I asked if he was going to send it home, suddenly remembering that he has no family. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘I’m knitting a hat. It gets cold in my room at night.’ I fought a laugh to avoid hurting him, but I must confess that I laughed about it later in my room. Ray is a good friend, and an even better card player, but I never pegged him for being adept with the knitting needles.

The other men here are strange, quiet. I haven’t met half of them from my shift, and I know none but Cray from the other shift. Martin keeps to himself, though he seems to have relaxed as well since the last door-unlocking. A week ago, seeing that his mood had improved, I ventured to ask him who the man in the white suit was. ‘Your superior,’ was his reply. I took Dobbs’s advice and left it at that. The deed of opening the door gained me three more keys to my ring: a burden of pride.

I continue to write mother once a week, and she writes back regularly. Her quality of life has much improved since I took this position. She tells me she has been able to keep the house warm all winter, and that she has even put on a little weight with all the food. She would never tell me this, but I know she feeds the hungry children in the neighborhood. I asked her not to when I left; I asked her to use the money on herself, but it gives me pride to think that I not only provide for her, but for my former neighbors as well. Once a year, the egg farms slaughter half the chickens to be replaced by a younger stock. They sell the slaughtered chickens to the public but only the well-off can afford them. I can honestly say that it brought me to tears to read that my mother was able to buy half a chicken this year—the first meat she’d had in a decade. Walking these sterile hallways and eating this insipid food day in and day out is worth it when I hear how I provide for my mother.

I have to walk a full year before I am allowed a week to go home, but I can’t wait for the day I get to see the outside world again. I have not even been here three months, but I am already counting down the time.

#

The intercom has called for a room three days in a row, and the key bearers in the cafeteria are despondent. I have never seen men asked to perform the duties they are paid to do—and paid very well at that—look so disheartened after completion. Ray unlocked the first door and hasn’t been to the cafeteria since. I asked Dobbs if Ray was in trouble. Dobbs replied, ‘I think we’re all in trouble, boy.’ I don’t ask any further. The picture of his family absorbs him; he only has two weeks before he returns home to them.

Even Martin seems down. I would have figured a man that takes his job so seriously would be happy to see so many doors unlocked, but he is as low as the rest. At the shift change that day, Cray asked, ‘How many today?’ Martin looked to the ground, and replied, ‘One.’ Cray shook his head, ‘Jesus, that’s three on your shift and two on mine this week.’ Martin nodded. The men started marching at the intercom’s request as we exited the hallways. They looked in pain.

The depression is leaking over to me, but I take Ray’s advice to remember why I am here: to provide for my mother. Knowing that I am changing her life pushes me forward.

#

There has been no call to unlock doors for a week now, but the men are still down. Ray has returned to dinner with us, but it remains a quiet affair. I have been thinking more and more as I walk but I fear my thoughts are taking me from my duties. I am determined to be master key bearer; I am determined to be as disciplined as Martin; I am determined to become a leader better than he. It is the fault of his own that morale is so low. He never speaks to his men—he never speaks at all. I think about this as we turn the corner into AD hallway. The intercom buzzes overhead, and I can feel Martin straighten beside me, though his pace remains steady.

“AD5, I repeat, AD5. AD5, I repeat, AD5. AD5, I repeat, AD5 …” the feminine voice says overhead. I hear Martin’s breath catch in his throat. He stops in the hallway by door AD2. Only master key bearers possess the keys for hallway AD, but Martin remains still.

“AD5, I repeat, AD5. AD5, I repeat, AD5. AD5, I repeat, AD5 …”

The pair at the end of the hall stop and watch Martin.

“Martin,” I say, nudging him, “only you have a key to that room.”

“Don’t you think I know that!” he hisses. We march to the door and stand at attention on each side of the frame, facing each other. Martin looks over my head. He begins to sweat; his entire body shakes. The two men down the hall stand at attention, both paler than porcelain in their gray suits. The fluorescent light shines on their foreheads.

The man in the white suit marches around the corner behind them and stops by the door. He is not smiling today, but wears a mask of pale, sweaty fear.

“Martin,” he says. His voice shakes. “Door AD5.” 

Martin stares over my head. His body shakes. Beads of sweat trickle down his face.

“Martin, this is an order from your superior. Door AD5.” Martin remains still. The man in the white suit pulls his heels together and stands taller. “Dammit, man! Can you not hear me? Door AD5!”

“Martin,” I say.

“Shut up, boy,” Martin says under his breath.

“You’ll answer him, but you won’t answer your superior? I’ll have your keys for this, Martin.”

Martin turns and stares at the man. “I refuse, sir.”

“Re-what? I don’t believe I’ve heard you correctly, Martin.”

“I refuse to unlock the door, sir.”

The man in the white suit clicks his heels together and attempts to stand taller still. “What about your orders, man? Are you willing to lose your keys? To be dishonorably discharged?”

“Yes, sir,” Martin says. He’s not shaking anymore, but the rivulets of sweat darken his collar. 

“Of all the people, Martin, I never guessed you to defect! What do you have to gain?!”

“What do you have to gain, sir?” Martin says. He stares the man in the eyes. I hold my position, fighting the urge to step back.

“I am following my orders, from my superior, as you should be doing! Now open the door!”

“I refuse, sir!”

“Then you have failed your country.” The man says, quickly grabbing Martin’s gun—quicker than his frame and the suit should allow. He points the barrel at him with a steady hand. “Give your keys to the boy.”

“No, sir! I refuse!”

“What do you have to gain, Martin? You have no one there.”

“I have a wife, sir, and other men also have loved ones.”

“Give me your keys, Martin,” the man says. His voice is pacifying, but he points the gun with fury.

“I refuse, sir.” Martin’s voice is calm, but implacable.

“So be it.” The man pulls the trigger. Blood spatters his white suit, adding more color to the building than I have yet seen. Martin drops to the floor.

I cower back, trying to keep my tears in.

“You, pick up the keys.” He points toward the keys with the gun shivering in his hand. I stand still. “That is an order, Williams. Do as your told!”

I crouch and unclasp the keys from Martin’s waist. They are still warm as his body cools.

“Now, unlock door AD5, please.” He smiles at me sickly. I fumble through the keys, feeling his impatience penetrating my back. I find the key, unlock the door, and stand aside.

“Enter with me, Williams. I need a witness.”

My body shakes with each drum beat from my heart. The keys jingle in my hands as I follow through the door, glimpsing Martin’s murdered corpse as I do so. He does nothing but stare blankly at the ceiling—we do nothing but walk the halls.

We enter the room and the door clicks shut behind us. The room is small, maybe six-by-six, and in the middle of the room is a keypad below a large red button, red as Martin’s blood on the white suit.

“Well, now, that was unpleasant,” the man says, laughing nervously. He readjusts his suit and smiles. I stare at the blood, shining bright as the stains spread in the pure white. “Now, let’s get on with it.”

He lifts the clear cover from the pad and button, types in a code, and hesitates. I stand back and watch. Did Martin die for nothing? I wonder. The smile drops from the man’s face and he breathes deep. He pushes the button, replaces the cover, and regains his smile.

“Turn to the camera, raise your right hand, announce your name, and say that you witnessed the act I just completed.”

I do so, stuttering as the words fumble out. I turn back to the man and ask what he just did. “War, my boy. It’s always war. We’ll always have it and it will always control us. You’re part of it now. You always have been, and you always will be.” We exit the room. Two men carry Martin’s body away. A pool of drying, clotting blood remains behind as it continues to drip from his head, leaving a trail down the white tile of the hall.

“I’ll take those keys, boy.” The man says. I hand him Martin’s keys and he smiles. “Martin said once that you don’t have what it takes to be a master key bearer.” He jingles the keys. “But I think someday you’ll make a fine master key bearer. But don’t let your weaknesses break you down—that’s what Martin did. Trust your superiors. Do as they say, and you will be successful.”

The man shoves the keys in one pocket and the gun in the other. He walks past the men standing at attention down the hall. They relax as he goes by, but their faces are green with sickness.

“Commence walking in five … four … three … two … one … commence.”

I walk by the men, and they look the other way. Whispers arise from the others as they see me walking alone. The blood in hallway AD is cleaned up by the time I make it through my next turn, all but one drop. That one drop of color, one drop of life gone by, haunts me as I pass through this colorless world. The keys continue their lifeless clink, tink, clang, and jangle at my hip as I continue to walk.

#

It is the first time in a week that I have seen Dobbs and Ray. They show up at the cafeteria and sit next to me.

“Did you take your vacation early?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood. 

Dobbs pulls out the picture of his family and looks at it. Tears drop from his eyes and splatter across the faces of his wife and children.

“Don’t think I’ll be going on vacation this year,” he says.

I receive no more letters from mother.

THE END