"I'll paint you mornings of gold,
I'll spin you Valentine evenings.
Though we're strangers 'til now,
We're choosing the path between the stars.
I'll leave my love between the stars."
David Bowie as "Jareth" "As the World Falls Down"
The books Liz gave her helped enormously. She spent the next week matching names with disappearance cases of laborers and guests. She found an alarming amount of guests who'd gone missing after arriving in L.A. Apparently there was no record of them staying at The Cortez, yet no record of any other hotel either. Friends and family all said they didn't know where their loved one stayed during their visit; they hadn't heard from them either. James March made a point of choosing people who didn't have much family in the first place, particularly when it came to the women. She noted also that they all traveled alone, making them the perfect targets.
The Master continued with their generosity. Three meals a day as promised, surprise gift baskets left in her room on occasion, a decanter of sherry and crystal glasses on the side table, fresh linens and a free laundry service. She assumed they spared no expense when it came to her comfort. Rachel was grateful, but also curious. She never imagined anyone going through so much trouble to keep her happy. When she approached Liz or Iris about it, they refused to answer her. It's as if this "Master" of theirs wanted their identity a secret. Why? She didn't truly know.
Writing down the last of her notes, she came across another guest book. This one was thick and bound in leather and labeled with the hotel's name and year. She flipped through the faded, yellowing pages and searched for her next name. Darius Weston, an oil tycoon, came to L.A. on a business trip. He never showed up to his business meeting, which led his colleagues to think he was no longer interested in expanding his business. They claimed they tried reaching his office, but his secretary didn't know where he'd stayed. Darius was known for his grandeur. He loved big, fancy, shiny things. The Cortez would've been a perfect place in those days.
She searched the names until she spotted him on the next page. "There you are," she said to herself, jotting down his name and the day he checked in. Someone signed him out a week later in case Police looked for him. It wasn't much, but it meant that this man stayed in the hotel. His wealth and lack of companions would've attracted March.
As she readjusted the book, a paper fell out from the pages. Picking it up from her lap, Rachel saw the number seven written on the blank space. When she turned it over, her heart missed a beat. The man from the elevator stood in front of the hotel, dressed in the same sophisticated style, with a few other men behind him. She couldn't tell, but she was sure he had the same enthralling brown eyes as he did in the elevator. She shook her head. This was impossible. There was no way this man could still be walking around. This photograph is at least 85-years-old. Even in the black and white picture, he appeared smug and pompous. He hadn't seemed that way when she spoke to him. Surely it was a trick. Perhaps the man from the elevator merely dressed up like him. He might have been off to an early Halloween party. Yet, something in the back of her mind said otherwise.
'If you could run into a bathroom spirit,' she thought, 'What makes you think you wouldn't run into others?'
She remembered what Aunt Cordelia said. Cursed spirits linger in the places they died, and they're as physical as humans. It's almost as if they don't know they're dead. Considering what happened a week ago, March haunting his hotel didn't seem like a stretch. This hotel must've been his heart and soul. He put every inch of himself into the walls. It'd only make sense his spirit would live on. The seven on the back didn't puzzle her either. Whatever was awaiting her on the seventh floor, she'd find it. A part of her wondered if it was The Master's doing. They'd been awfully interested in her. It wouldn't surprise her if they sent this picture.
Pulling her sweatshirt over her tank top, she tucked the photo into her pocket as she left her room. Her stomach bubbled thinking of what could be waiting on the seventh floor. She didn't know whether she should even go. She had a foreboding sense in her chest. She should turn back while she had a chance. However, the curiosity ate at her. When she reached the elevator, she pressed the upward button and waited. Her hand began tapping against her thigh impatiently. She could feel her nerves controlling it. She tried stopping herself, but it was too much. This was a game. This had to be a game. Someone was messing with her and she'd find out who they were.
DING!
The elevator doors opened and she saw a couple already occupying it. Both dressed in designer outfits, they were healthy and pink. Each of them was positively beautiful. The man had soft brown hair, piercing blue eyes and a jawline that'd last days. The woman's light blond hair made her stand out the most and not to mention her black satin gown clung to her slender figure. Something appeared off about them. She felt intimidated simply staring at them. She suddenly felt foolish in her university sweatshirt and pajama bottoms. Her cheeks turned red as they turned and looked at her. She supposed they were off to a dinner party. The man gave her indifference, but the woman's jaw dropped. She appeared almost disbelieving until her confidence washed it away.
The man gave Rachel one look and said, "Sorry, elevator's full."
"Don't be rude, Donovan," the woman told him, holding the elevator door, "There's plenty of room."
"Thanks," Rachel said, stepping into the elevator with them.
The woman continued studying her as she said, "So what brings you to The Cortez, Ms…?"
"Corbin," Rachel answered, "Rachel Corbin. I'm just doing some research for my new book; nothing important."
"A book? You're an author?" the woman asked.
"I am, well sort of," she said. "My first one hasn't been published yet."
"Of course you'd be an author," the man scoffed.
"I'm sorry?" Rachel said.
"Forgive him," the woman said, glaring at her companion, "Donovan can be rude sometimes. I'm assuming your book is about the hotel?"
"It is actually," Rachel nodded. "It has an interesting history. I've thought about writing about it."
"You would be," Donovan said under his breath.
"Really dude?" Rachel looked over at him. "If you're gonna be a dick at least be upfront about it."
The woman laughed, "At least one of you has some fire in them." She then said, "I'm Elizabeth."
"Elizabeth?" Donovan questioned to her.
"Nice to meet you," Rachel said. "Do you-Do you live here?"
"We do," she replied. "Penthouse suite," the elevator dinged again and the doors opened. Elizabeth and Donovan stepped out, but she looked back at Rachel, "You should visit sometime. I know some things that might interest you."
"Um, thanks," she said. "That'd be a good help."
The doors closed as the couple walked away. Even being alone in the elevator, she could feel the tension Elizabeth left behind. Her confidence was contagious. Her mystery was alluring. Not to mention, she was the most beautiful woman Rachel ever saw. She'd never met anyone like that before. Not even Jeanine could match up to such perfection. She'd nearly forgotten the photograph sitting in her pocket and the man in the elevator. It didn't even matter anymore. Elizabeth completely eclipsed anything Rachel planned on doing tonight. She was permanently stunned. She pressed her floor number again, not interested in the seventh floor anymore. She could always go another day.
She'd thwarted his plans. James couldn't prove it, but he knew she was involved somehow. Elizabeth knew everything that went on the hotel. It wouldn't surprise him if she'd known of Rachel's presence. Sitting in his office on the seventh floor, he drank brandy as his foot tapped the floor. The photograph would've sparked curiosity. Rachel should be walking through the dusty, old corridor towards his office. He imagined her walking into the office anxious but attracted to the place. He'd come out and greet her. They'd sit and talk over drinks and cigarettes. Soft jazz music would play from the gramophone the way Joanne always liked it. She'd be interested in his book collection on the shelf. She could have whichever one she wanted. He'd worn his best shirt and ascot for the occasion too. His dearest would get nothing less than immaculate from him.
Instead, he sat in his office alone. Elizabeth saw to that. Whether it'd been intentional or by chance, James wasn't happy. He'd certainly let her know. Rachel would not become another victim of Elizabeth's perversions. He will not let her be turned into another creature. Elizabeth grew bored easily. She wouldn't love Rachel the way he did: devotedly and passionately.
It seemed he'd have to wait until Devil's Night. Yes. That was a much grander choice. He'd hoped they'd meet before then, but alas, it wasn't meant to be. Fate has intervened once again and its name was Elizabeth.
An interesting little thing she'd been. Far more interesting than Donovan or Ramona or anyone else Elizabeth ever met. As she and Donovan drove to their destination, she thought about the strange encounter. She'd felt Rachel's anxiousness the moment the doors had closed. She sensed the rage blanketed under her polite demeanor. Elizabeth never imagined this happened. She never thought she'd meet the famous Joanne in person. Watching the nightlife of L.A. roll by in the window, she remembered the only time she ever caught a glimpse of Joanne.
She'd been an elegant, gorgeous face in a picture. Elizabeth found it on his desk one day when he was busy with his morbid experiments. She asked Ms. Evers about her. The maid answered her in a snide tone. It was obvious she preferred the former Mrs. March over the new one. She and James were one in the same. They'd each found their soulmate in one another. Elizabeth guessed they shared the same disgusting habit. She said Joanne and her newborn child both died in childbirth a year before the hotel officially opened; the penthouse suite was meant for Joanne. It devastated James so much he never spoke about her again. When she dared bringing her up at dinner, James became tense and angry. He was hurt. She could tell even if he hid it from her. The thought of losing someone he loved tortured him; it'd torture him forever. For the first time, they had something in common.
Rachel was as beautiful as Joanne. She also saw the small spit of fire she always imagined Joanne having. She could see why he was so fond of her. Ms. Evers-when she wasn't giving disgusted glances-hinted Elizabeth would never be as important; she'd be a close second. Elizabeth didn't care. She never loved him. It'd been his riches and heartbreak that brought her to him.
He'd tell her to leave Rachel be. Elizabeth might not do that.