(Untitled)

[e_delmar]

It ain't like Ennis Del Mar had a lot of possessions to be doin' away with, in Milliways or in Wyoming. Junior's got her share, he didn't take a lot with him. But he's still got some stuff Jack might be left t'deal with. Back in that cupboard in a corner of his room in Shadow, there's a note in the neat and proper handwriting of the caretaker.

Comments

[jack_f_twist]

They've all left him alone, for now--Sallie's gone off somewhere, and maybe she took Junior with her or maybe she didn't. All Jack knows for now is that when he reads the letter, he's alone.

He reads the letter, and his eyes sting and his knuckles grow white, but it isn't until he's sorted through the objects (and they're all objects now, just like that thing that used to be Ennis under the sheet on the bed; don't mean a thing, no life left to 'em) and his hand comes upon dirty stiff fabric--tan checks hiding blue faded denim--that he puts the paper down.

His chair's still sitting at the bedside; he goes to it now, pulls it back and sits down heavily, hands on his thighs and his hat over on the counter, and he has never been so strongly reminded of his room back in Lightning Flat, with the road out the window stretching forever into absolutely nothing.

Nothing's out the window; nohing's what he gets; nothing's what Ennis gets, and maybe it's better because nothing is sure as hell a better deal than the shit they'd been dealt, isn't it?

He glances down at the postcard in his hand

(What in hell happened to August?)

and maybe his hands shake and his breath comes fast and painful and maybe Jack Twist weeps: tearing himself up with trying to keep it in, weeps at one more stupid disapperance, at one more unfairness, at the loss of the person he'd loved most in life...

But no one's there to see.

So maybe not.

He does say he's sorry too.