"Will this be for just one night or more?" asked the clerk behind the hotel admissions desk.  She showed a bright, warm smile that almost made Jerome Whitsome think she actually cared about his well-being.
         "Just this one night," Jerome replied, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness.  "I'm pretty sure of it."
         "I'll need to see identification and your birth certificate, please."  Her voice was cultured and smooth.
         Jerome passed the ID and birth certificate across the counter.  They were scanned by the computer display beside her.  The ID contained his name, physical features and identifying marks including his retina and fingerprints.  She nodded to herself and turned back to him.  "Have you already made arrangements regarding your visit?"
         "I have," he said dryly, his voice suddenly raspy.  "They'll be coming by to pick me up in the morning."
         "Very good," she said.  "Will this be credit chit or international exchange notes?"
         "Credit chit."  Jerome fished out the chit from his suit pocket.  The clerk took it and passed it over the screen.  A thousand credits were copiously drained from the account.  She passed the chit back to him.
         A thin, lanky, pasty faced man stepped up to the counter next to Jerome.  They exchanged glances, but no words, no greetings or pleasantries.
         Further down the counter a woman in sweats, bright purple in color, chatted animatedly with her clerk.  She was in her mid-sixties with a face and trim body of a woman at least ten years younger than herself.
         "Reincarnation," the woman in purple said loudly.  "I just know  that everyone is reincarnated.  Pets, too.  I had a dog ten years ago, named Maurice.  He was so wonderful.  But he died.  Old age.  Four years ago I got another dog, this one named Sanford.  And you know what?  They both acted exactly the same.  Both sit in the same spot in the car when we go for rides.  They both turn three times to the left before settling down to go to sleep.  I just know that it's the soul of Maurice in Sanford.  No doubt all the dogs that I've ever had have had the same soul.  Isn't it just wonderful?  Reincarnation and I can't wait to find out who I'll come back as."
         "Sir," Jerome's clerk said politely, drawing his attention back to her.  "Your room will be Number 438.  I  hope that you find your stay with us peaceful."
         She gave that brilliant, warm and caring smile once more and Jerome tried to smile back, managing only a grim parody with his lips.
         He took the elevator up to his floor and strode to his room.  He turned the handle of the door, scanners in the handle read his fingerprints and the lock was released.
         The room was made up of various shades of white and beige.  It gave a sterile and lifeless feeling to Jerome.  It was shocking to go from the splendorous, warm and endearing decor of the hotel lobby to the blankness of the room.  He felt cheated.  Especially after spending a thousand credits.  He smirked and shrugged his shoulders.  It didn't really make a difference.
         Tossing his suit jacket onto the white blanketed bed, Jerome approached the window and drew back the blinds and looked out over the lake at the back of the hotel.  To the side of the lake was a woods.  On the lake itself someone was enjoying the sun while performing a dead man's float, arms akimbo on the surface of the lake.
         Sunlight gently filtered into the room through the open window and was warm on Jerome's face.  He closed his eyes and elevated his head towards the warmth.  There was a moment of serene peacefulness which washed over him.
         "The last view," Jerome whispered to himself as he reopened his eyes and looked out over the lake again.

         The man who had stood next to Jerome in the lobby at the admissions desk was named Carl Morgan and he had spent his adult life as a stock broker.  He had made a decent living at it with memberships to private clubs, reservations at the best restaurants and a sports car that went fast and the mileage was lousey.  But when you've got money you can screw the mileage.
         He had done well for himself up unto two days ago when the stock market adjusted itself.  The insurance companies reported massive losses due to government control.  Taxes and regulations cut deeply into the profit margins that so many of the investors were counting on.  From there the whole thing just fell away.
         Carl could take a hint.  When the market dropped more than a thousand points and grossly exceeded the standard seven percent readjustment, which was the usual end result of a market crash, then it was time to take the swan dive and kiss it all good-bye.
         He didn't want to go quietly and jumping out of the window had already been done to death.  He didn't think he had the guts to hold himself under water and drown, nor could he imagine slitting his wrists and watching all his blood seep out.  He couldn't stand the sight of blood.  Poison wasn't appealing, either.  The only kinds that he could get hold of were slow and painful.
         He had always been a fan of Hemingway.
         Carl put down his night bag and extracted a .38 semi-automatic hand pistol and a cleaning kit.  He went to work polishing and cleaning the hand gun.

         Geraldine Scott, in her purple sweats, laid on her bed and went through a stack of snapshots that she had taken during the years of her lifetime.  Her eyes were misted and damp with remembered events and loved ones.
         While she appeared to be in her late fifties her true age was 73.  She kept fit with aerobics, organic foods and jogging.  She had as much as thirty to forty years left before her.  Rarely did anyone die before their nineties anymore.  Unless the person had inoperable cancer or a rare disease.
         Even most common forms of cancer had been cured.  Once scientists had discovered the secrets of cancer causing genes and how to counter them with gene therepy,  the rest was easy.
         Nevertheless many of her longtime friends and loved ones were nothing more than memories and dust.  She had been abandoned in a strange world that she had spent all her life in but which had changed all around her.   She had done her best to remain a vital part of it but had failed.  All that she had ever been able to rely on were her pets.  Dogs, cats, parakeets and even a rambunctious ferret.  All of them had come and gone.  Maurice, Chancey, Winifred, Chet, Clarise and her prized and beloved Sanford had preceded her out of this world.
         There were no more friends.
         But hopefully she could start all over again.  This time coming back to the world as a newborn who would grow up in the strangeness and shiftiness of a restless world.  Maybe she would find a place to fit in when she made a new try at life.

         Carl loaded the clip of the gun, sliding in the shells and locking them in place.  The clip filled, he popped it into the handgun until he heard the click that the locking mechanism made.  Pulling back the bolt he loaded the chamber.  Then he disengaged the safety.

         Jerome finished his constitutional and washed his hands in the sink basin.  The medicine cabinet contained only sleeping pills and a straight razor.  He kept the cabinet closed and went about washing.
         Drying his hands he turned away from the mirror, not wanting to look at himself.  Over the doorway of the bathroom was a hook.  He looked at it for a minute and then put the towel back on its rack.  Jerome reached up and pulled on the hook.  It was solid and he was confident it would hold his weight.

         The sleeping pills were exhausted and the empty bottle sat on the night table.  An empty glass sat next to the bottle which had held the powerful downers.
         Geraldine continued to go through the pictures, one by one.  She stared at each and remembered as much as she could about the pictures.  Her eyes were getting heavy with the coming sleep.  It would be the final sleep.  It seemed appropriate that she go to sleep as the sun started to set on another day.
         A friend had once said that the setting sun brought about a little death in the world.  The death of another day and all the things that had made that particular day special and important was now dead as the night crept in and the people waited for the coming of the next sunrise.  Only memories preserved the passing day and the people in the day who had left life with the twilight.
         Geraldine had few doubts that anyone would remember her.  All of those who had a reason to remember her were gone already.  The clerk at the admissions desk would not remember her.  The man at the bar wouldn't, either.  Nor the two men who had made reservations at the same time that she had.
         She couldn't see the pictures clearly anymore.  Bit by bit her sight was fading and everything was going black.

         Room service had sent up the glass of claret and the platter of shrimp cocktail for him.  Just one glass was all that he wanted.  It was empty and the wine had been good.  The shrimp had been suculent, tails and all.  Carl sat in the chair, back to the window which overlooked the lake.
         He reflected on the modest success of his life.  All of the last twenty years he had been searching for the big success that would make him famous and rich.  It had never come.  Only the small victories.  Losses and defeats came with the victories.  That was alright.  It was expected.  But what was unfair was the entire market collapsing.  Failure on his own part was acceptable, but not failure on the part of some unliving institution.
         "Seek not for whom does the bell tolls.  It tolls for thee."
         He fitted the muzzle into his mouth and pointed the end of it upwards and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
         His hand shook as he worked on his resolve.  He tightened his grip and a sudden bought of nerves made his trigger finger spasm.

         Jerome took his belt and slid the hook through the innermost hole of the strap.  He had already made a loop with the buckle.  Standing on a chair he fitted his head through the loop and swallowed the excessive amount of saliva in his mouth.
         Just another dead end, he thought and kicked the chair out from under himself.

         Three different undertakers arrived for the three bodies as the morning sun rose and brought life into a new day.  The undertakers were greeted by others of their craft who were there to take claim of other clients.  The county  coroner's office took care of the ones who had not made plans in advance of their stay at the hotel.

         Geraldine was the easiest.  They lifted her onto the gurney and covered her body.  Housekeeping disposed of the glass and pill bottle.  The sheets were destroyed as well and a clean set put on the bed.  The pictures were destroyed as per Ms. Scott's request.
         She was cremated after her body had been prepared and her departing soul blessed by a priest.  A brass urn became the final resting place for her remains.  The urn was locked into a vault in a wall which held over two hundred vaults, all filled with urns.
         The marble plaque which sealed the vault said simply:
 

         The bullet had struck the window of Carl's room but the glass was reinforced and bullet proof.  It was splattered with brains and skull fragments.  The windows and walls were all stainproof and slick.  The blood, flesh and bone were easily cleaned away.
         His body was bagged and taken to the mortuary where he, like Geraldine, was cremated and placed into a small vault that bore a small placard on the front with his name, birth date and the date of his death.

         Jerome was cut down from his improvised noose.  There was a small service for him three days later.  The eulogy said that he had enjoyed a pleasant life with a pleasant wife and children.  The decision to take his own life was not understood but neither was the will of God and Jerome was in His hands now.
         A few roses pelted the coffin as it was lowered into the earth and the living turned away, going about the strifeful art of living.