Fourth Floor Landing.
Cory climbed up the stairs and came to a stop. There was music rattling in his ears, the band Cake singing about going the distance and going for speed, so he couldn't hear the conversation, and he didn't try. He had more nightmares, strange ones about driving in the rain and being chased, which was weird because it hadn't been raining the night Becky died. Three years and whenever he thought about dreams he thought about Becky, and here he was, working a silver key around his palm and looking for a door he wasn't sure existed.
Cory looked down at his palm. (She's all alone [all alone] in her time of need..., Cake wailed.) The key was silver, a modern cut key made on a machine; the blade was a complex multilevel shaving set ready for a modern deadbolt lock, while the bow was a strange geometric design of rectangles that made Cory dizzy to stare at it too long. He should go down the hall and find where it fit, but he wasn't sure he wanted to. What was the point? More nightmares?
Cory knew the someone that was with him, and he knew that up until this point that someone didn't have much to say to him. He was too apathetic to be insulted, and maybe that was part of it. Cory took a step back down the stairs and sat down on the dusty carpet. (Because he's racing, and chasing, and plotting the course...)