Re: Jake R/Clem M
[Jake was real tired of doors leading anywhere. The fight through town to some door that Graham seemed to know would do the trick, and then the hotel and then through yet another door into a world that felt close as close could be to the New York in movies and on TV. Graham knew where he was going exactly but Jake, he'd left behind all those canvases and supplies in the back of a truck someplace in dead-people country, and maybe it was just paint on canvas but he missed them something awful. He'd carted the bunch of them back and forth 'round Vegas and he blamed Graham because blaming Graham was real easy and he wasn't set on striking out from easy just now.
He lit out soon as he saw an opening. Took his backpack, and he bolted out into the cold, fresh air where no dead people were strolling around like Sundays and he left behind the stretched tension and anticipation, the expectation that near dying in one of those stupid doors was gonna fix something that was broke as could be. He couldn't summon up a single word, not right off and he found a real rundown, cheap place where they understood him fine right off asking for a bed.
When Clem's words showed up he was crammed into a bunk-bed that smelled like somebody else's sweat, too close to all that dead stink to be comfortable and if it meant the hotel to go somewhere that was a little more like living, Jake figured he could brave it. He crept the length of the corridor, bag shouldered and he slid through the open door real quiet. If it was the wrong one, better to sneak back out before you got noticed - or the door shut behind you.]