"I need to speak to the owner." Zoe broke the barrier of silence that had settled after the trio made their way into the back room. Liz had simply grabbed three glasses and a dark brown bottle (which she was now staring at longingly, as though debating on whether or not to down the entire thing herself.) James hadn't said a word, sinking into a chair across from Zoe and lighting a cigarette. His eyes were focused on the carpet, refusing to budge no matter how desperately Zoe silently willed for him to look at her.
"And why is that?" Liz finally asked, looking between the two before filling each glass. If anything, having Zoe and James in the room together only proved her suspicions. The day was only getting stranger as time went on. She handed a glass to Zoe, James didn't bother to look up.
"I think you know," Zoe muttered, taking a sip and welcoming the numbing burn. "Something happened while I was out and I want to know why."
James exhaled slowly and Liz pursed her lips. Though she knew better than to expect such, the bartender would have been intrigued to see how the previous owner would have handled the claims - especially now with his sudden 'anti-murder' policy in regards to one Miss Zoe Benson. However, James obviously had no intentions of speaking any time soon, so Liz took a stinging gulp of liquor and began with a vague and wary, "Would you care to elaborate?"
Zoe's eyes said that she did care, but she obliged all the same. "Is it normal for your guests to become amnesiacs upon leaving the property? You're the one who told me to leave." Smoke swirled over James' face, but Zoe caught the way that his eyes briefly darted to Liz, who finished her drink with irritating nonchalance. "It took me an hour or two," the witch continued quietly. Her heart still stuttered when she thought back to her overwhelming confusion and fear when she became aware of the time and memories she had lost. "At first I thought: drugs, maybe all the drinking." Zoe sent an accusatory glance at Liz, the latter's eyebrow lifting ever-so-slightly. Zoe hadn't wanted to think so poorly of the woman, the one she first befriended, and luckily it hadn't lasted. "But, then again, what drugs erase only one person from your mind?"
At this, James finally met her gaze. His expression was unreadable, though it briefly confirmed her suspicions. He knew. He knew that not only was he the tampered memory, but he also knew why it had happened. Zoe met his eyes, silently prompting him to open up about whatever it was, but he instead grabbed for his glass, sipping it and drowning any explanations he had to offer.
The awkward encounter did not go unnoticed and Liz cleared her throat. "What exactly do you know about the hotel?" The words caused James to retreat into his thoughts again, brow twitching as he sunk back into his seat. She would have to tread carefully. Such extended silence from James March was never a good thing.
"It was built in the 1920's by some psychotic serial killer. He killed like... two hundred people, that the cops know of, before he committed suicide. And some say it's been haunted ever since." The words flowed easily, but when she finished both James and Liz appeared to be expecting her to continue. They seemed to be holding their breath, but Zoe only shrugged. "What? That's really all I know. I was going to research more but... I came in a hurry, and you guys don't have Wi-Fi."
"We're working on that," Liz hummed, pouring herself another drink. "You said you came in a hurry?"
Now it was Zoe's turn to hold her breath. Part of her wanted to point out that this wasn't supposed to be about her, the other part figured they deserved to know something considering how she expected answers from them. Yet, as soon as she glanced at James, she wasn't sure how truthful she could be. Not yet at least. "My roommate came out here to be on a game show a... few weeks back. She checked in here, but that was the last we heard from her. She's gone missing. I came out here because my... other roommates and I are worried about her."
Liz turned to James, who had tensed up significantly. A young woman at the Cortez a few weeks prior? It was reasonable to assume she probably hadn't survived her first night. If not by James' hand, then by Elizabeth and Donovan's seductive routine. "What does she look like?"
Sensing tension, Zoe suddenly felt fear knot up her stomach. "A bit shorter than me. Black, heavy. She probably would have spent more time outside than in." Zoe watched as James shoulders fell and—was that relief on his face?
Liz, on the other hand, looked at Zoe with barely concealed horror. Remember that large black girl that checked in not too long ago? ...Elizabeth... Locked up in the basement. She tried to gather herself, but Zoe had already caught onto her unease and was gazing at her with those large, glassy caramel eyes. "I remember her checking in," Liz finally admitted. She could feel James' gaze on her and she bit her tongue, not wanting to upset the man further. Noticing Zoe's forlorn expression, she sighed. "She didn't check out."
Zoe's eyes widened and she looked between the two. James made an almost inaudible, strangled sound deep in his throat and Liz shrunk back under the girl's frantic gaze. "So—So what does that mean? She's still here? Is she okay? Is she trapped too? What room is she in?" There was a weak hopefulness in her voice, matching the glassy desperation in her eyes. There was a split beat of tense silence before James stood. He didn't even acknowledge the two women as he left the room.
"Don't," Liz warned as Zoe rose to go after him. The witch stared at the doors longingly, a look that tore at Liz's heartstrings while simultaneously making her stomach churn. "Let him go, honey. It's probably best that we talk about this alone anyway."
After a moment, Zoe reluctantly sunk back down into her chair and Liz re-filled her glass. "Liz... What the hell is going on? There's—There's something really messed up about this place." She took a deep breath before taking a sip of her drink, the glass lingering against her lips for a moment before her eyes landed on the bartender. "It's haunted, isn't it? Really?" The words came out like an uneasy statement and Zoe quickly tried to stifle her nerves with another burning gulp.
Liz wasn't sure where to begin. She had assumed this conversation would have to take place one day, with someone, but these were not her ideal circumstances. She had always kept a speech prepared, stored in the back of her mind, constructed of her own opinions and theories on the place. "Sweetie, if there is anything that you need to know about the Hotel Cortez, it's that there is a darkness here. An evil. I think it's the hotel herself. Of course, she has her moments—she can be quite the home. But, in reality, she's a selfish mistress who infects all those who enter. Our long-term residents are those that she's claimed. Rarely does someone stay here by choice." An almost mournful tone entered her cavalier voice as she picked up the bottle. She stared at it for just a moment before taking a swig from it, sighing before continuing. "The darkness will get inside you if you let it. It's corrupted brilliant people, caused them to do terrible, terrible things."
Zoe fell silent for an unbearably long period. The girl was hunched over, blonde curtains hiding her guilty, downtrodden expression. "Terrible things," she echoed. "You think Queenie's dead."
The girl had caught on far quicker than Liz would have expected anyone else to. It was interesting, Zoe continued to surprise her. She wasn't skeptical of the concept of ghosts, nor did Liz fear her going to the police with claims of "murderers" residing within the hotel. Of course, Zoe appeared to be rather smart, so she surely knew the accusations would only be responded to with ignorance. "I can't say for sure, but if that's your reason for coming here, I would leave now." Compassion was something that Liz did not often deliver, but now she took Zoe's hand in hers, eyes searching hers in something akin to desperation. "Honey, you have a entire life ahead of you. The last thing I would want would be for you to lose that here, of all places."
Zoe's lashes fluttered, overwhelming guilt produced in the form of stinging tears. Killer ghosts, pure evil—why had she not seen that coming? After all she had experienced, she couldn't help but feel idiotic for not having come to the conclusion sooner and prepared herself against the spirit of the hotel. Now she was at a loss; she had been robbed of a week and now learned that she may have been too late in saving her sister witch. The thought made her head spin and her stomach lurch. She and Queenie had never been incredibly close, not even after the struggles they endured together, but having first lost Kyle, then Queenie and—
"James." The name slipped last her lips before she could really think it through. Liz gave her a wary look and Zoe sat down her glass—the alcohol was doing nothing for her headache, and was probably increasing her unstable emotions, rather than numbing them as she had intended. "What's his story?"
Liz stared at the girl for a moment, briefly wondering if she had overestimated the young woman's intuition and intelligence. Then she recalled the awkward glances, the similar glints in their eyes, and the emotionally impulsive way they reacted to the very mention of each other. "His story is something that should come from his own lips." That was, in Liz speak, a way of saying, 'I'm not touching that with a 30 foot pole. I actually enjoy living.'
"Of course," Zoe mumbled, the hint of a bitter smile tugging at the corner of her lips briefly. It was quickly replaced with a grimace as she ran a hand over her face. "God," she whispered. "I just thought... If Queenie is... Maybe..."
The sentence was broken, but Liz was no fool. She knew what the girl was getting at. If her friend was dead, then maybe she could save James. Liz visibly cringed at the realization. The girl was a masochist, unintentionally setting herself up to be heartbroken one way or the other. "I stand by my word," the woman stood, bottle in hand. There wasn't much more she felt she could say on the matter, and the muffled voices and footsteps reminded her that she had a bar to tend. "I think it would be best for you to leave now." The look on Zoe's face said the girl was considering it, but her eyes betrayed her and Liz knew better than to hope the young woman would heed her warning. "It may be a blessing to forget, you know. I know many people here wish they could be so lucky."
Weak.
James was weak. The walls judged him, the windows mocked him, his weapons laughed at him. His mind screamed at him with every step he took, and no amount of absinthe could silence its taunts.
He had done well, in his opinion, remaining in that meeting until the rope threatened to snap. He wasn't sure what had possessed him to follow the two women into the room to begin with—well, that wasn't entirely true. He had been so enraged when he realized Zoe had left the property, the concept of losing the girl proving to be another one of his hidden fears. He hadn't felt that emptiness, that regret and pure abandonment for such a long time that he could feel his mind slipping away. He could scarcely recall the following events, save for the shattering of glass, though he clearly remembered the horrified expression on Liz's face when she dared to insinuate that James—that he harbored feelings for Zoe Benson. Then she simply had to bring up Elizabeth.
That had stirred up another bout of emotion he had been hilariously unprepared for. Fear was still present, but it was accompanied by something else. Something he hadn't felt in almost a century and had since learned to despise. His marriage to Elizabeth had seemed ideal at the time. It happened quickly, and James was too smitten by her beauty and dry humor to notice that his infatuation was unrequited. She had been quick to approve of his sickness, encouraging him as long as she gained something. He interpreted it as loving support, understanding. He cursed himself after he found out the truth. Cursed himself for being so blind, so ignorant to the signs.
Zoe was different. Surely, James wouldn't say he was in-love, but he was intrigued. He was drawn to the young woman. Yes, she was beautiful and witty—very much similar to Elizabeth—but there was more to her than that. She was genuine. She was caring, sweet, intelligent, and there was an energy about her, an aura that had never witnessed in anyone else. She was unlike any other women he had encountered.
Of course, that was only because she didn't know the truth. He hadn't been blind to the look on her face when she spoke of him earlier. Some psychotic serial killer... Two hundred people... Committed suicide... The look in her eyes said she wasn't afraid, but disgusted. Who he was, what he had done—it sickened her. He sickened her. When she found out the truth, it would be no different. She would look at him the way he saw himself; weak, pathetic, disgusting. The thought alone had a lamp colliding with the wall.
James was suddenly overwhelmed by an emotion that he had not welcomed since he was a child; regret. It lasted only for a moment as his mind refused to let him feel guilt over his work. He slumped into a chair, chest heaving as he tried to regain what composure he had left. All these trifling emotions over one girl? One girl who would undoubtedly be gone before the week was up.
It's your own fault, a sharp voice reminded him. You could have kept her here if you simply stuck to the plan. If you had just killed her—James silenced the intrusive thoughts with a sigh. He still wasn't sure why he hadn't offed her to begin with. Maybe it was because he feared he would ruin something about her, one of the many things he had come to admire, by ending her life. He had certainly changed in death; become more bitter and even less stable. There was nothing about Zoe Benson that he wanted to change, and that included the beating of her heart. Or maybe it was because she had been the light in the darkness, the one to show him the awful error of his ways. He scowled at the thought.
Weak.
"Mr. March!" James groaned as Miss Evers scampered in, the laundress looking about the room apprehensively. She glanced at the broken lamp and seemed relieved that it was the only destroyed piece of furniture this time around. "Are you alright?"
"No, Miss Evers, I certainly am not." Her ruby lips twisted into a concerned frown and James cringed at it.
Hazel was different from Zoe. They both showed concern, care, support—but for completely opposite reasons. His affection for Hazel had stemmed from her abilities; her borderline-motherly instinct to take care of him. Of course, that was probably because she was a maid and it was her duty, but James had appreciated it all the same. She was not outstandingly beautiful, was significantly older, and she would undoubtedly be living off his success, but he had taken delight in her crooked smile and the way she would bring him tea after a particularly rough day. She had always supported his hobby, believing that he was doing beautiful work and, having her own suspicions on God, making a point that the Almighty Father was not the only one who chose who lives and who dies. When she confessed her feelings for him all those years ago, he had accepted them solely based on the idea that he would never find love elsewhere. She had been far more thrilled than he had expected, only to be completely heartbroken when he found Elizabeth. He supposed it was karma of some sort, allowing him to feel the pain of knowing the person you loved never truly returned the sentiment. Now he was left to watch as the woman continued to fuss over him, adoration still in her eyes as she changed bloody sheets and used all her strength to remove corpses from his room.
"Mr. March?"
James blinked, suddenly noticing the laundress' face significantly closer to his than before. She had a hand raised, and James wasn't sure whether she was waving it to get his attention or preparing to slap him. He almost would have appreciated the latter. He took a deep breath, standing and making his way to the fireplace. He grabbed his pipe and a match, lighting it up and puffing silently for a moment before sighing. "Where do you think we will go, Miss Evers?"
Blinking, Hazel shook her head. "I'm sorry?"
James closed his eyes, a pained expression settling onto his features. "If we were given the chance to move on. Where do you think we would go?"
"Ah! A hypothetical, of course." James didn't respond and Hazel beamed. "Well, it depends on where your beliefs would stand. Purgatory, maybe? Hell?" She tittered, finding the concept amusing. "Of course, I personally prefer my room."
James shook his head slightly. "I deserve much worse than that." If it were possible.
His murmuring had hardly been audible, but the laundress' smile faltered only a bit. She was used to James going into periods of self-pity and hatred, but she was never sure what to tell him. 'You were a good man, Mr. March'? 'Don't worry, you will be forgiven by the one you proclaimed war against'? Instead, she simply shuffled out of the room, re-entering seconds later with three shopping bags. "Your friend left these for you, sir."
James opened his eyes, zeroing in on the bags. He immediately recalled the way Zoe had dropped them only to throw herself at him. He inhaled sharply, waving his hand. "Just leave them."
Miss Evers nodded enthusiastically, peeking inside as she set them down. "Anything else, Mr. March?"
James shook his head. "No." He paused. "Thank you." There was probably too much sincerity in his tone as the woman appeared startled and almost tripped over her feet as she left the room.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, staring at the bags, before he finally went to grab them. He carefully lifted out their contents and set them on the table. Thin v-neck t-shirts, soft sweaters, dark, faded jeans. There was even a pair of ridiculously cheap looking shoes. He licked his lips before choosing what he hoped to be a good combination, judging from what he had seen on guests and in magazines. It was far simpler to put on than his suits, and he was surprised at how warm the sweater was. He hesitated for quite a while before approaching the mirror. A shocked breath shot through his lips, a combination between a gasp and a laugh.
He ran a shaky hand through his hair, similar to how Zoe had done in the past, gelled strands falling across his forehead. His gaze trailed over the outfit and he envisioned Zoe hesitantly picking each piece, completely oblivious to what James would like other than colors (which he gleefully realized she had paid attention to, choosing navy, black, and white.) The smallest of smiles played at his lips for a moment before he broke out into a grin, a surprised laugh bursting from his lips. Happiness crept past his self-reproach until he felt a tingling in his throat. No, on his skin. On his neck. His smile faltered and he tugged the collar. He wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed before, maybe he hadn't wanted to. Pulling the fabric down a bit further, his eyes focused on his neck; a bitter reminder of who he was, what he did, and why he had spent the past two hours hating himself.
Weak.
Author's Note: Sorry about the late update, I had some serious writer's block when it came to this chapter. I also wrote this on my phone so I apologize for any errors that I may have skimmed over. Anywho! This chapter was more of a filler-ish kind of chapter to bring Queenie back in, so next chapter starts Zoe's search for Queenie and some (hopefully less awkward) Zames interactions. The chapter after that will probably be the one you guys are looking forward to, because some shit's gonna go down and Devil's Night is coming up. Wooooo. I'll try to update faster next time. Thanks for the follows and reviews!
