The photograph in his pocket seemed heavier now. The couple’s faces smiled up at him from memory, but the address beneath the key pulled him toward emptiness. Suspicion gnawed at him: was the tag a mistake? Or worse, a cruel joke, left behind to mislead whoever might stumble across it?
He lingered at the edge of the street, staring at the unbroken slope ahead. Confusion pressed against him with each passing moment. He had the address, he had the key—but there was no house, no door, nothing to match what lay in his hand.