Title: First Snowfall on Halloween

Author: PKNight nightskyfire@mindspring.com

Rating: PG-13 maybe, for a bit of violence and language

Archived: October 31, 2002

Spoilers: minor spoilers for The Bracebridge Dinner, Teach Me Tonight, Can't Get Started

Summary: At a Halloween party at the Independence Inn, Rory, Jess and Dean have an interesting encounter.

Author's Note: This is just a fun little Halloween thing. I got the idea at around ten o'clock Tuesday night. I feel like kind of a hack, getting this story out in less than two days. But, oh well. As for disclaimers, I can't claim perfect historical accuracy for anything. Any resemblance of original characters to anyone living or dead is pure coincidence. Enjoy!

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Sarah Ferguson was the mayor's daughter, and considered quite the beauty in the heyday of 1890. She was the perfect age for marrying, and in fact had the suitor that all young girls dreamed about: the wealthy banker's handsome son, John Whittaker. Their wedding was set for the spring of 1891. The wedding plans were causing great excitement among those of the higher class of their small New England town, most girls already looking for the perfect date and the perfect dress. It promised to be the social event of the season.

Sarah was just barely eighteen in the fall season of 1890, and she wanted to enjoy what was left of her freedom.

"I can scarcely draw a single breath!" she protested as her maid tightened the laces on her corset. "Can you not loosen it just a bit? This is a night for fun and frolic, not for punishment."

"Miss, I don't know why you insist on playing with the young folk about town," her very British maid said, scolding her gently. "You are to be wed in just a few months. You should be preparing yourself for marriage."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I want to cavort a bit, Elizabeth. I've the whole winter to learn how to be a good wife. Besides, the wedding is more than seven months away! While the decent weather holds, I wish to remain a child for a bit longer. Now loosen those ties!" She didn't like to order her maid about, but sometimes a firm hand was necessary with the help.

**********

She arrived at the party in her carriage. Though she had to tug her fur stole around her harder to ward off the chill, she thought the night held promise, and glided gracefully into the waiting elegance of her dear friend's home.

"Cecilia!" she cried in greeting to her friend immediately upon entering the foyer.

"Oh, Sarah, darling, you look fantastic!"

"This dress just arrived three days ago. Isn't it wonderful?" She spun around for her friend to approve of the dress, and approve she did. Cecilia wore a similar gown, hers in a slate blue instead of the near-scandalous scarlet of Sarah's.

"Oh, come now. Your dear fiancé is already arrived," Cecilia said coyly, and took her arm to lead her into the ballroom. The decorations were marvelous, and the candles lit all around gave the party a bright, festive atmosphere. "Oh, but you haven't yet met my dear cousin from Boston." Cecilia led Sarah away from the throng to a young man with dark hair.

"George Carlyle, I'd love for you to meet my dearest friend Sarah Ferguson," Cecilia said, presenting Sarah to the man. "George has just come early to spend some time with us while he takes a sabbatical from university. I'm sure he'll find our little town quite fascinating."

"A pleasure to meet you, madam," George said, bowing over Sarah's hand.

Sarah felt a strange flush creeping over her face, but smiled graciously. "The pleasure is all mine, sir. When did you arrive?"

"I fear my carriage just pulled in yesterday. I haven't quite settled in, and this old thing is the best I could rummage up at the last minute." He gestured at the somewhat old-fashioned suit he wore.

"It's perfectly charming," Sarah assured him, thinking privately that he would look remarkable in any old suit.

"Thank you." George hesitated slightly. "May I ask if your dance card has any vacancies left?"

"As it so happens," Sarah said, feeling very glad he'd asked. "My dance card has not yet been filled. I believe I have a waltz free," she added, offering her arm as the small orchestra to one side of the room began a tune.

"I would be honored, madam," George said, and took her elbow to lead her onto the dance floor. He pulled her into her arms, and she felt a peculiar feeling wash over her. Again, she smiled through the unfamiliar feeling, talking amiably with the young man dancing with her. He was quite skillful in dancing and conversation both, and she was delighted to finally meet someone with whom she could discuss literature and history, her favorite areas of study.

As the dance was ending, she readied herself to pull away, and found that she could not make her arms release him. He seemed to feel the same affliction, and asked, "Another dance, perhaps?" When she nodded, they segued gracefully into the next number, rounding the dance floor once again.

They found themselves repeating this pattern over and over again, until the orchestra took a break, and the pair broke apart for some refreshments. "Would you care for some wine, madam?" George asked, gently disengaging his arm from hers to reach for a bottle.

She found he'd led her away from the party, into the private dining room at Cecilia's home. She also found she didn't mind in the least. "I would adore some, sir," she said, and sat herself in one of the dining room chairs. "My goodness. You certainly are quite the dancer. I can scarcely breathe. I fear my shoes may be worn down to nothing by the end of the night."

"How can I help but dance when I've such stimulating conversation?" he asked, handing her a delicate glass of wine and seating himself the proper distance away from her.

She looked down into her glass, pleased and embarrassed at the compliment. "I'm sure there are people at school you can converse with," she said, referring to the college he attended.

"There are. But none so enchanting to look at." He smiled at her, and she saw his eyes twinkling at her. "I find it amazing that a woman of your station has read as widely as you have."

She frowned at him. "Women of my station are as intelligent as anyone, thank you, sir," she said.

"Forgive me, madam. I meant no offense," he said hurriedly. "I merely meant that many women of your station prefer to put their minds to more practical matters."

"So reading is not practical for a woman?" she demanded coldly. He cursed under his breath, making her hiss, "Sir! You shall watch your language!"

"I do beg your pardon, madam. But I continue to misspeak in your presence and for that I profusely apologize. I merely meant that I have met very few ladies who wish to acquire that kind of knowledge. It is certainly a refreshing change. And I wish not to discourage you from continuing the practice."

Sarah waited a long moment before smiling. "I forgive your slight, sir," she said graciously. "And as much as I hate to admit, I find what you say disturbingly true. Most young ladies of my station view me as somewhat of a wonder. They say that I shall ruin my looks if I stay inside and read all day, getting nothing done. They say—behind my back, of course, not to me directly—they cannot imagine why John wants to marry me."

George recoiled a bit. "You are engaged?" he demanded, his tone harsh.

Sarah frowned and thought over their conversation. She had mentioned John, hadn't she? And that they were to be wed? She would swear she had. "I didn't say that before?" she asked doubtfully.

"It is the first I have heard of it," he said. If she hadn't known better, she'd have thought he sounded…hurt?

"I apologize," she said. "I was sure I said something. I did not mean to lead you on that way."

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Under the circumstances, madam, I think it would be proper for us both to return to the party." He set his wine, untouched, on the table, and reached for her hand.

She was incredibly disappointed. "Yes, of course," she said hesitantly, and took both his hand and his assistance getting to her feet.

They walked slowly through some mutual accord back to the party. At the entrance to the ballroom, he paused. "May I say that your fiancé is a lucky man," George said. Then he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it gently.

Sarah felt the most peculiar sensation skitter over her. Her breathing quickened in the brief moments his lips had contact with her skin. He held them there for seconds longer than was proper, and his eyes found hers. They held a mixture of warmth and cold, fire and ice swirled together.

"Perhaps we shall see each other again," George said, his voice slightly rough, dropping her hand gently.

"It is likely, sir," she said. "Your cousin is my dearest friend, after all. I believe we shall see much of each other."

With that, she re-entered the ballroom. Immediately, her fiancé took her arm. He, too, raised her hand to his lips. "Darling," he said warmly. "I finally find you! Come, all our friends are here!"

She smiled at him, trying not to feel disappointed that the same shiver had not come over her at his touch as it had at George's. "Of course, John, darling," she said, and crooked her arm through his.

Sarah briefly glanced over her shoulder to see George watching her walk off with John. She smiled at him; a smile tinged with longing and regret that she was certain wasn't proper. Then she turned to greet the society she been born and raised to fit into.

Stars Hollow, Thursday, October 31, 2002

"We certainly outdid ourselves with the decorations," Rory said immodestly to her mother, surveying the dining room-turned ballroom at the Independence Inn.

"Yes, we definitely did a wonderful job," Lorelai agreed. She also looked around, noting that a bit of fake cobweb hanging from the chandelier needed to be re-hung. "I always knew this place used to be a residence," she continued, "but it never occurred to me to look up the original furnishings and try to recreate them."

"Well, the place looks as elegant as any Victorian ball," Rory said. "Only, with all the cobwebs and fake dust added, of course."

"Well, we have to make it spooky. It's Halloween, after all."

"And I think the genuine-from-the-era crystal bowl for the punch was a wonderful addition."

"Well, let's give a big thanks to Mom for letting us use it, though not without a list of things to not do around it, up to and including drinking liquids."

"It was still a nice gesture," Rory defended her grandmother. Lorelai merely nodded, then turned to her daughter.

"All right," she said. "Costumes all perfect?"

Rory surveyed her mother's politically incorrect Native American dress: made out of faux-buckskin, with large plastic beads on too-long fringe. She'd straightened her hair ruthlessly until it would ply into a braid down her back. The outfit was topped off with a beaded headband that probably was only as old as the 1960's.

"If by perfect you mean screamingly inaccurate, yeah," Rory said.

"You've been hanging around Paris too long," Lorelai said. "I've told you over and over again to hang out with dumb people. But you just don't listen."

"What about me?" Rory asked, spinning around.

"I still can't believe you're voluntarily wearing one of those things," Lorelai said, but dutifully inspected the heavy Victorian-era dress her daughter wore. She was rather proud of it, actually. She'd made it out of a nice durable cotton fabric in a warm scarlet hue that brought out highlights in Rory's hair. The bodice had given her pause, but she'd gotten through it. "I mean, you even have petticoats on."

"Yeah, but people aren't supposed to know that," Rory said. "It was underwear back then, remember? Unmentionables?"

"Ah, but you're still in modern times, dearie," Lorelai answered. "It looks great, if you like that sort of thing."

"Thank you." Rory nodded. "I haven't seen a party this big in this town since the Bracebridge dinner." She looked around and spotted all their friends from Stars Hollow. There were Babette and Morey as Sonny and Cher, respectively (something to file away in the "didn't ever want to see" category, Rory thought). Miss Patty came as Mae West, so she could just act like herself. Lane was dressed in the kimono from pre-war Mulan (she thought it would be fun, if not entirely accurate). Kirk was Freddy Kreuger. Taylor was the Phantom of the Opera. Bootsey was a stereotypical rock-and-roller (and she fervently hoped there wouldn't be another rendition of "Hotel California"). Dean wore a costume matching hers, the quintessential Victorian gentleman, which was his tuxedo from the debutante ball. His sister Clara came as Hermione from Harry Potter, and was currently hijacking him around the dance floor to the CD of Halloween tunes intermixed with classical music.

Rory's mind wandered back to the Bracebridge dinner. It was before all the bad stuff had happened. Before her car was wrecked, before her arm was broken, before Luke and her mom got in their fight. And before she and Jess stopped being friends.

Friends? a voice in her head asked. The voice had started out almost minuscule, but had slowly grown in size as time went on. It was the same voice that had prompted her to say; "Turn right!" and everyone knew how that little foray into daring had worked out. Which reminded her, she hadn't seen Luke or Jess anywhere… She looked around, and spotted a familiar head of bushy brown-black hair. But she didn't get his costume until he turned around, and she saw he was dressed as Dodger! She smiled despite herself, and went over to talk to him.

Things were still a bit awkward between them, but since he'd helped her with the water, she figured it would be all right. "Hey," she said, somewhat hesitantly. Just because she thought it would be all right didn't mean it would be.

"Hey," he said, smiling slightly at her. "Nice costume."

"You, too, Dodger," she said.

"You're the first one that's gotten it," he said, disgusted. "Don't people read in this town?"

"Where's Luke?"

"He's the baseball player over in the corner." Jess jerked his chin in the right direction, and Rory saw Luke, positioned so as not to draw attention to himself, nursing a cupful of punch.

"Huh," she said, and saw her mother going up to him and dragging him forcefully out onto the dance floor. She smiled.

"Want some punch?" Jess asked.

"Uh, yeah, sure." She followed him towards the punch bowl, manned by Jackson, who wore a lumberjack costume. They got their cups full of punch and moved out of the way of the dancers. "So," Rory said, taking a sip. "How's it going?"

"Okay," Jess said. "You?"

"Okay," she mimicked him. He shot her a sidelong glance, then turned his attention to the party. "Come on, Jess. I want to go back to when we could talk about books and music and movies and stuff. When we were friends."

Jess snorted briefly, and looked very unhappy for a long moment. Then he wiped his expression clean. "Okay," he said. "We're friends again." Again, silence engulfed them. "So, read any good books lately?"

Rory smiled, and began telling him about some reading assignment for school. Neither of them really realized they were moving until they'd left the noise of the party behind. She merely shrugged, grateful for the drop in decibel levels, and continued with their discussion.

"You don't like Shakespeare?" Rory asked incredulously, not quite believing that they hadn't ever come across this before.

"Not his sonnets," he said. "It's just poetry, and we've already gone over what I think of poetry."

"Except for Howl," Rory pointed out, sighting the slim volume he'd stolen from her the first night they met.

"Well, Howl is in a class by itself," Jess said. "Most poetry is just skirting around the issue: can't say anything plainly. Prose is straightforward and to-the-point. I would like Shakespeare a lot more if he'd written in prose."

"That's sacrilege," Rory said. "Shakespeare is classic! He's been around for centuries!"

"But you know what he did? He used to re-write his scenes to appeal to the audience more. So the version of Romeo and Juliet we know is probably very different than what he originally wrote. His works were intended as entertainment, not to be 'great literature' and 'classics.'"

Rory blinked. "Well, then, why do you think they turned out that way?"

"Because some self-righteous English teacher somewhere said, 'hey, you can read a lot of meaning into these words,' and decided to teach it as some deeply meaningful literature piece. Not to mention the fact that it is written in old English, and doesn't even have the same meaning now as it did then."

"Okay, okay," Rory said, leaning back in her seat on a couch and holding up her hands. "I give!" She suddenly looked around. "How did we end up here?" They were in the common room on the second floor; a meeting room for smaller groups than would fit in the dining room.

"I don't know," Jess said. "Nice and peaceful, though," he added.

"I love this room," Rory confessed. "I used to come in here when I was younger and bored and play. The balcony was great for acting like a beautiful kidnapped princess locked in a tower, awaiting rescue. Of course, I fantasize about rescuing myself as often as I got rescued. I was a modern little girl," she added, smiling fondly as she remembered.

"I bet you tied the bedsheets together to climb down, huh?" he asked.

"Sometimes. Other times I would just fly down. Because, of course, I had magical powers," she added. She stood and walked over to the tightly shut doors, pulling aside the draperies to look outside. "Oh, goody! It's snowing!" Jess moved to stand next to her, and she felt so peaceful that she didn't even protest. "The first snowfall of the year on Halloween night," she added, and turned to find him standing very close to her.

"Naturally," Jess said, his voice low, his eyes fastened on hers. Once again, it was her doing when their lips met. His hand moved up to her head this time, the better to hold her if she tried to bolt again. She sighed, relieved to know that the amazing kiss hadn't just been her trying to build up the memory.

The kiss ended much more gently than their previous one. "Jess," she whispered, not pulling away from him, her breath fanning over his cheek.

"Don't say it again," he begged her. "Don't ask me to forget, or not say anything."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just…I'm confused. I thought…."

"I'm not with Shane anymore," he said. "We got into a stupid fight and broke up. Now she's going with Chip Hutchinson." He looked intently at her. "But…I take it you and Dean are still together." She nodded, biting her lip.

"I'm so sorry, George," she said. "I'm so confused. I never meant to hurt anybody, least of all you or John." She blinked hard and put a hand to her head. "George? John? What's going on here?"

"Are you all right?" Jess asked her, concerned at the sudden pale cast to her skin. "Sarah, what's wrong?"

"Sarah!" a furious voice said from the doorway. "How could you do this to me? Embarrass me in front of the whole town?"

Rory and Jess both turned in utter confusion to find Dean looming just inside the room, glaring daggers at Rory. She looked at him, terrified at the fury in his gaze. "John, it's not…John? You're…Dean. George?" she asked, facing him. "You're…Jess."

"Sarah!" Dean said from behind them. "Explain yourself. I'd heard rumors that you were courting a man behind my back, but I never thought them true! How could you do this? We are to be wed!"

"John." Rory stepped towards him. "I never meant to hurt you. But our engagement was not my idea, nor even yours. I…I love George, and I wish to marry him."

Jess looked on in bewilderment, half understanding everything that was said. It was as if he was two people at once: George Carlyle and Jess Mariano. What was going on here? He looked around. The room was different. All traces of modern life were gone. Candles flickered where lights had been, a fire burned in the fireplace instead of a cold hearth.

"You wish you were engaged to the poor scholar?" Dean/John demanded, drawing Jess' attention back to the past. "Please! He can barely even clothe himself. Look at those rags!"

"John, he is a brilliant man," Rory/Sarah defended her lover. "I'm very sorry, but it's high time and our engagement is off!"

George/Jess stepped in front of Rory/Sarah in time to take the blow to the face. He recovered from the blow and delivered one of his own to John/Dean. The men began to spar, Sarah calling out for them to stop, but staying out of range of fists and feet. Finally, George went down. John raised his foot, ready to deal a killing blow to his rival's head when Sarah threw herself against him. The force of her tackle sent them crashing through the doors onto the balcony, slick with the fast-falling snow. They grappled for purchase and with each other for a long moment before John lost his balance, toppling through the railing.

Sarah cried out, jerked off her feet by the grip he had on her dress. She began falling from the balcony, seeing the yard below, ground frozen from the cold. Hard, unyielding…

"Rory!" An anguished scream ripped through the air and a hand grabbed her flailing arm. Rory found her downward plummet halted, and she looked up into her mother's eyes.

"What…?" she demanded dazedly, then turned to see that Luke had hold of one of Dean's arms.

"Grab my other hand," Lorelai instructed, her voice choked with panic. "Please, grab my other hand." Rory did as she was instructed, and her mother pulled her back up onto the balcony. She began shivering as she realized they were sitting in damp snow. But she was alive. Not like Sarah and John. They'd died. Dean was sitting next to Luke, his eyes glazed over.

Then Rory found herself pulled into her mother's arms. She hugged her mother tightly back, relieved beyond belief that she'd been there. "What happened?" Lorelai demanded, still not letting go of her daughter.

"I…I don't kn-kn-know," Rory said, her teeth beginning to chatter; though whether from cold or fright she didn't care. "Let's go inside, o-o-okay?"

"Yeah," Lorelai said, and stood, darting inside as fast as Rory would.

"Jess!" Rory cried, dragging her mom to the floor with her to check on the teenager.

He was still prone, but he groaned in response. She touched his neck, checking for a pulse, and he said, "God, your fingers are freezing." He sat up with Luke's help. "What happened? Sarah?" He blinked for a moment then said, "Wait…Sarah? Rory? What's going on?"

"George…I mean, Jess," Rory said, still trying to sort it all out. "You're okay?"

"I know this question has been repeated a lot," Luke said. "But what the hell is going on here?"

"I think…" Rory began, looking around the room that suddenly seemed very foreboding. "I think…this place is haunted. Can we please go someplace else?"

"What do you mean, haunted?" Lorelai demanded, disbelieving. Nevertheless, she helped Rory to her feet and hugged her tightly to her as she waited for Luke to help the boys. They moved down the hallway and into a vacant room. Lorelai repeated her question as she wrapped her daughter in the comforter from one bed.

"I think we were just possessed," she said doubtfully. She shook her head. "And that's undoubtedly the weirdest thing that I've ever said, and the craziest, too, but I think it's true. I was Sarah."

Jess was wrapped in an extra blanket from the closet. "I was George."

Dean said, "John," blankly, still in shock.

"It was a love triangle," Rory said. "I—I mean, Sarah—was engaged to John. George was her friend's cousin. She and George met and fell in love, despite the fact that she was engaged. They met in that room," she added, "on Halloween. Then John came in. He went crazy when I—Sarah—broke the engagement. George was apparently poor, and John couldn't believe that Sarah wanted to marry him instead of John. He moved to hit Sarah, but George took the blow and began fighting. George went down, and John was about to kill him. Sarah tackled him to stop him, and they went out onto the balcony. They fell and they died."

"George died, too," Jess said. "From his injuries, not long after. He wasn't discovered until John and Sarah were." His voice was dull. "This is too weird," he said. "I…can remember all this. I can remember dying. Well, George dying."

"Why did it happen tonight?" Lorelai asked. "Not to mention, why haven't I heard about this before in some shape or form?"

"The Halloween then was on a Thursday, too," Rory answered. "It snowed then, also: first snow of the year. And we were there. The triangle brought back to life. The setting was perfect."

"Dean?" Lorelai asked. "What do you have to say about this?"

"I'm sorry, Sarah," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me, Sarah. I'm sorry." He rocked back and forth in his chair for a long moment before his eyes began drooping, and he stilled.

"He fell asleep?" Lorelai asked, incredulous. "How can he fall asleep after being possessed?"

"You're encouraging this?" Luke demanded.

"Well, consider the sources," Lorelai said. "My daughter, your nephew, and my daughter's boyfriend. Three pretty rational kids, normally. Besides, why would they go to all this trouble for a ruse? It was dumb. They would have died."

"Mass hysteria," Luke said stubbornly. "It's been known to happen."

"Cecilia," Rory spoke up. "Cecilia Carlyle. That was the friend, George's cousin. She used to live here. Look it up. That should prove our story."

Lorelai shook her head. "I think this is too weird for words. What are we going to say to Dean's parents?"

As if hearing his name had summoned him, Dean awoke. His eyes weren't glazed over any longer. "Rory?" he demanded. "What the hell happened?"

Rory looked at her mother pleadingly. "Message received, loud and clear," Lorelai said, and grabbed Luke's arm, dragging him forcefully out of the room.

That left the three teenagers alone. "We got possessed," Rory told Dean frankly. "By three ghosts. You…your ghost killed all of our ghosts, even yours."

"I know that," Dean snapped. "I mean with Jess. I thought…I thought…well, never mind what I thought. Guess why the ghosts chose you and Jess? Because you guys like each other. I was the odd one out. So." He took in a deep breath and let it out, bolstering his courage. "I think it's time we broke up."

"But, Dean," Rory said, eyes widening.

"I'm not blind, Rory," Dean said, his tone pained. "I saw it a long time ago. I just let myself deny it. I let you deny it, too. But I still care about you, Rory. Not like John. He didn't care about Sarah. She was just his, and there was no way she would get away until he released her. He's sorry for it now, but that was what he felt." He looked down at his rumpled and damp tuxedo. "It's over between us," he said. "I'll miss you. And I love you. But right now, I just want to collect my sister and go home. Good bye, Rory," he added, standing and leaving.

Rory gaped after him, her brain not processing what had just happened.

After a long moment of silence, Jess said, "You can go after him, if you want." She turned to him, confused now.

"What?"

"If you still love him, go after him," Jess said. "Don't stay here just because it's the easiest thing to do."

"Easy?" she demanded, feeling anger boiling up. "Easy? It's supposed to be easy to sit here with you? It's supposed to be easy to realize that I don't love Dean any more, that maybe I never really did? That's easy? It's easy to watch someone who used to be a good friend walk out of my life, so hurt he couldn't even look at me?" She stopped, her breathing ragged. "It's supposed to be easy to admit that I like you, that I find you fascinating and fun to be with and talk to? That I think you're gorgeous? This is easy? I'd hate to see what's hard in life."

She looked at Jess, to find that he was grinning. "I meant it was easy to sit here wrapped in a blanket than to go running outside again after Dean," he explained. Then he stood and approached her. He took her hand and drew her to her feet, searching her eyes hard for any sign of unwillingness. "Do you want to do this?" he asked her gently.

She nodded. "I want to do this," she said, and kissed him.

"Okay, okay, break it up," Lorelai called as she opened the door. She waited a moment before dropping the hand she'd been using to shield her eyes. "So, I take it everything is straightened out?" She looked pointedly at her daughter and Jess' now-joined hands. "Good. Now, what are we going to do about my broken door and railing? Who's gonna pay for that?"

"I'll fix it," Jess and Luke chorused. They eyed each other warily for a long moment before Luke pointed out, "You've got school."

Jess shrugged. "You'll fix it," he agreed, knowing it was a great excuse for his uncle to spend time around the inn and Lorelai.

The foursome stood around in silence for a long while. Finally, Lorelai said, "Well, are you guys up for re-joining the party?"

"I am," Rory said. "Not positive about my dress," she added ruefully. "But let's go anyway." She led the way out of the room, Luke following her. Lorelai hung back and grabbed Jess' arm as he was about to leave.

"You hurt her again," Lorelai said fiercely, "whether it be physically or emotionally, I will see to it you're run out of town on a rail."

"I expected nothing less," Jess replied. "I didn't intend to hurt her before, and I don't intend to hurt her ever again."

"See that you don't," Lorelai said, and quit the room.

Jess heaved a sigh and also left. He paused on the way down as he passed the now-closed door to the common room. He looked appraisingly at the wood of the door as if he could see through it. Then he shook his head and descended the stairs.

**********

Author's Note: Okay. It's my theory that the Independence Inn used to be a private residence. Most of the inns in New England were once homes for the wealthy. That's why they're big enough to be inns. Uh…yeah. Hope you enjoyed the Halloween story. Please review. Thanks!