She walked back to the room in silence, the only sound being the echo of her footsteps on the crimson carpet. She glanced at the rooms around her, which, thankfully, were quiet. She hoped everyone had settled in for the night, though it did seem implausible in her head.

She tapped her fingers against her thigh as she walked, blowing stray locks of blonde hair out of her eyes as a faint breeze blew them into her face. It was colder than she had expected, and she longed for the cardigan in their hotel room as a shiver went down her spine.

Her eyes moved to a woman, dressed in a maid's uniform. She was humming to herself as she carried a pile of sheets in her arms, her red hair only a few shades lighter than the color of the dark stains on the white linen. Ashlynn looked at her quizzically, earning a smile as the woman said, "an accident in room 68, nothing to worry about, dear."

Looking back at the floor, Ashlynn hurried her pace anxiously, her shoes sinking into the carpet. As she passed the room next to hers, room 64, she heard the sound of footsteps pacing. Loud, angry, pacing footsteps. She bit her lip, hesitating a moment before she knocked lightly at the door.

No response. She bit harder at her lip, starting to leave before the door opened.

It was the man from her room. He stared down at her, raising an eyebrow quizzically. "You," he said.

She took a step back from the doorframe. "Sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to- -"

"Intrude? You're not," he said, a smile starting to form on his face.

"I just- - I heard pacing, that's all, and I was wondering- -"

"I'm all right, dear girl. There's no need to worry."

His smile did not meet his dark eyes, which glinted dangerously as he looked her over one more time. He stepped aside, opening the door wider. "You can come inside if you wish."

There was something to his tone that made Ashlynn step back a few more times, shaking her head. "No," she said. "No, I'm all right."

He chuckled faintly, smiling his strange, fake smile. "Do I make you nervous, dear girl?"

She didn't answer. Rather, she stepped back one more time and turned. "I should go," she said.

He watched her walk to the next door room, casting one more glance his way before she disappeared inside.

James March chuckled to himself. The girl seemed to seep pure innocence, and he enjoyed it. More than he cared to admit, he liked to see the way her delicate features twisted with anxiety as she spoke to him. It took everything inside him not to pay her a visit in her room, to ruin her pale skin and drain her dry. A bloody death for her, that was entirely certain.

But he couldn't do it. He'd seen her friend, and he knew that there would too many unanswered questions if he simply killed her. A friend meant that the police would be called, and who would believe in a killer that couldn't even leave the hotels' premises? He stared at the door to her room for a second longer before he closed the door to his own, shaking his head faintly.

Elizabeth would enjoy the girl, he realized that as he poured himself a glass of scotch. Elizabeth's children, with their white skin and their pale hair. Yes, this girl would be something Elizabeth would find perfect. Childlike in mind, innocent, and entirely naive. She would be a fine plaything for either he or Elizabeth. The real question would be who would get to her first.

He could find an empty room, slit her throat and hang her by her ankles until all the color left her skin, and dear Miss Evers could happily clean up the mess. But, he thought, there would almost be no difference. The only color her skin held was the pink in her cheeks.

He wanted her to look dead. He wanted to ruin her pretty features, render her near unrecognizable.

But he couldn't.

He had not seen very much of her friend, besides her dark hair and her tan skin. She was like all the others he killed, exuberant, full of life. It would be hardly any fun to kill her. But a naive little creature like the girl he'd met…

He took a drink from his glass, nodding to himself. He would need a plan, that was entirely obvious, if he wanted to lay a finger on the girl next door.

The girl who was currently sat on the floor of her hotel room, curled into a tight ball, her knees to her chest, head between her knees as she practiced the breathing techniques her mother had taught her the first time she'd had a panic attack. In, hold, out. In, hold, out.

There was something about the hotel that made her want to run, far, far, away and never return. But that would mean leaving Cierra, and that would make her guilty beyond belief. She laced her fingers together, taking a deep breath. She wouldn't be able to take another one of her pills until morning, but she longed for them at the moment, wishing for her mind to cloud over and all of her fear to disappear, if only temporarily. Cierra hated the pills, she said they made Ashlynn not herself. Like she was a stranger in her body.

She sat like that for what felt like hours, until she heard the sound of the door opening. She didn't have to look up to know that it was Cierra.

She didn't bother to fight as Cierra carefully pulled her to her feet. She didn't even move as Cierra tucked her into one of the beds, whispering to her, "I'm sorry."

It was only their first night at the hotel, but, already, Ashlynn was dreading their trip.