"I don't want to set the world on fire,
I just want to start a flame in your heart,"
-The Ink Spots "I Don't Want Set the World on Fire"
"You look positively divine, if I do say so myself," Liz said to her in the mirror.
They'd spent a good portion of the day in Liz's room. The older woman instructed she shave everything and wash her hair. She rubbed scented lotion on her arms and legs before Liz applied light make-up to her face. She styled Rachel's hair in low pin curls and clipped them to one side. Seeing herself in the mirror with her hair and make-up, she touched the shoulder necklace draped over her chest. The little pearls and crystals on the thin strings matched her hair band perfectly. She hadn't taken so long dressing herself since her high school prom. However, she wasn't dressed up for math nerd Nick Grayson and she wouldn't be attending an overrated school dance. She was attending a formal dinner hosted by a dead man.
"Thanks," she said.
"Now for your dress," Liz said, striding over to her closet, "It wasn't easy finding something so specific and authentic. However, I am quite proud of the final product."
She pulled out a hanger bag and placed it on the bed. Unzipping it, she revealed the cream-colored dress. Rachel stood up and touched it with her hands. Flowers embroidered the satin fabric in pearl beads that connected down the overlay. Gold sequins made the dress glimmer and shine, while the white skirt underneath trailed behind. She'd never seen anything more beautiful than this dress. It reminded her of the glamorous dresses of 1920's actresses. She couldn't imagine herself in something so chic.
"Liz, this is gorgeous," Rachel smiled.
"I did have to make a few calls and mend some of the fabric, but I think it came out wonderfully," she said. "Definitely something the Master will love."
She handed the dress to Rachel, but she only stared. "Liz?"
"Hm?"
"Am I going crazy?" she asked. "There's-There's no way James Patrick March could really be hosting a party. This is just a clever costume party or something? Like, I'm gonna go to this dinner and it'd going to be some gothic nerd in cosplay?"
Liz laughed, "If it were only that simple, right?" She helped Rachel get into the dress, zipping it up for her. "When Mr. March died, every bit of evil in his body sunk into this hotel. This hotel was his pride and joy; the pinnacle of his accomplishments. He and this hotel were two lovers bound together in morbid bliss. It only made sense that if he died here, his soul would live on, wouldn't it? I mean," she scoffed, "People like him don't exactly go up the stairway to heaven."
"He's cursed," Rachel said out loud to herself. "He's a cursed spirit. He's…"
'He's a ghost that's just as real as you,' she thought.
"There are a lot of strange things in this hotel, Rachel," Liz warned her. "You just haven't seen all of them yet."
"Will I tonight?" she asked.
Liz paused, "Maybe." She dabbed some perfume behind Rachel's wrists and ears, powdered her nose a little more, and then said, "Let's get going. Trust me you don't want to be late to Devil's Night."
'Devil's Night'. Rachel remembered the holiday quite well considering her grandmother told her about it one Halloween. She said it was when the real ghouls came out to play. Knowing Mr. March's reputation, she figured the guests of Devil's Night would be as devilish as him. Liz led her towards the elevator and pressed the seventh floor button.
"Wait, you're not coming?" Rachel asked.
"No," Liz shook her head, "Only those on the guest list can go. The party's in room 78, so just open the door when you get there." She saw the nervousness in Rachel's eyes and then said, "Don't worry, Rachel. You'll be safe."
"Safe? Don't you mean 'fine'?"
"Eh, same-same. Have a good time!"
The doors closed before she could say anything else and ascended. She saw each little light climb up the button panel towards the seventh floor. The closer she got, the worse her stomach churned. Cursed spirits weren't nice. They usually had malevolent contempt, and left more cursed spirits in their wake. Just when she thought Mr. March might not be such a monster, she suddenly felt wrong. Ms. Evers's story about Mrs. March humanized him for a moment. She almost pitied him. Now, hearing the familiar ding and the doors sliding open, she thought otherwise.
Her dress trailed behind her on the red carpet. Somehow, the moldy smell of the disused hallway faded. It was shiny and new again. In the distance, she heard jazz music playing. Her stomach churned thinking of the end. Liz dressed her up and now March would devour her. She feared she might become another cursed spirit of the hotel. Stopping at Room 78, she heard muffled voices underneath the music. She could turn back. Rachel didn't have to do this. It didn't matter that March demanded it. He was dead. He didn't get to make demands.
Yet, the thought of not going was even worse.
"-So the key to a really good subfloor is containing the moisture below the floor. You need to make sure that there's a good enough of a layer like…"
The two men stopped talking once she entered the room. The taller of the two was fatter and had a mustache she recognized immediately; his olive-skinned companion had curly black hair and black sunglasses. She thought she'd stepped into a dream. She knew both these men on sight. She'd seen dozens upon dozens of photos over the years. John Wayne Gacy and Richard Ramirez were two of the most infamous killers in history. But, they died years ago. They couldn't be standing there having drinks and casual conversation.
"Hello there, sweetheart," Richard said, taking off his sunglasses and smiling at her. She heard the flirtation in his voice as he walked over, "Richard Ramirez. I'm married, but we're separated." He kissed the back of her hand and winked at her.
"I know who you are," she found herself saying.
"Wow," another voice said, "You are something else. You got really pretty hair." The woman tossed back her dirty blonde hair and gulped her beer. She wore dirty clothes and smelled like booze and cigarettes. Rachel certainly knew her. She smiled at Rachel through yellow teeth, "My name's Aileen."
"Aileen Wuornos," Rachel whispered as they shook hands.
"I'd ask if we know each other, but I'd remember somebody as pretty as you," Aileen winked.
"I saw her first," Richard spat.
"She ain't gonna want you anyways," Alieen said. "Not after she's had a woman's touch," she winked at Rachel and cackled. S
"Don't mind them," John said to her. "They do this all the time with new people. It's nice to see a new face though."
"Thank you," Rachel said.
Rachel looked at them wide-eyed and her heart thumped like a hummingbird's. This was certainly more than she expected. She glanced between them all. She didn't know how to express it. She was frozen in place and probably appeared ridiculous. What could she possibly say to all these geniuses of murder? She thought she might faint.
"You can sit by me," Aileen said. "Trust me you don't want to sit by Richard. He can get handsy when he's drunk, especially with the pretty ones like you." She laughed as she guided Rachel towards the table. She was about to offer Rachel a seat when someone stopped her.
"Now Aileen, Rachel will sit where her name is placed. You know we like to keep things formal around here."
"Hey suck my left tit, Clark Gable!"
The insult didn't enrage Mr. March. He smiled at it. His eyes eventually fell on Rachel. He stood in a formal tuxedo complete with a black ascot covering his throat, white vest and black tailcoat. His presence and demand of the room stilled the air for a second. All the people around her faced him with pleased smiles. His eyes met Rachel's and he appeared stunned by her a moment. She felt him look her up and down. He surveyed her as if forcing it to memory. Her cheeks grew hot under his stare. The hairs on the back of her neck rose when he walked towards her. The man in the elevator was a perfect image of Mr. March. Everything from the alluring brown eyes to the shine of his shoes matched. The ignorance in her said it was a good costume. Unfortunately, she wasn't so ignorant.
"Mr. March, I presume?" she asked.
He took her hand in his, kissing her knuckles, and said, "The very same. You're Rachel." His eyes swept over her one more time, "You are a true beauty, certainly. I never thought we'd meet face to face so soon. I'm happy for it all the same."
"Thank you," she said. She tried not thinking of how comfortable his hand felt in hers.
"I made tonight's dinner more special than usual in your honor." He gestured to the elegantly placed dinner set. She saw little name cards on each plate, crystal water glasses and decadent china. She noted small glasses of a green liquid at each place. Small red roses curled around the base of two golden candelabrums at the ends of the table. The same red roses from the vase in her hotel room, she realized. "I'm sure you recognize the flowers. I've been having Ms. Evers change them for fresh ones in your room."
"You're The Master then?" she said, facing him. "You're the one who's been sending me meals and…"
"And giving you the very best that my hotel can offer," he grinned proudly. He pulled out her chair, and she sat down. "You will only receive the best whilst you're in my hotel."
She saw the man sitting beside her. Timid with brown hair and thin rimmed glasses, she knew him right away. "You're Jeffery Dahmer," she said.
"I am," he answered softly.
"Yes, Jeffery is a regular here on Devil's Night," March said as he rounded the table. He stood on the opposite side of the table, his eyes on Rachel. This felt odd. Seeing those eyes peering down at her, she felt comfortable. She felt as if she always sat at this table, seeing him from between two candles. He tore his eyes from her and rung a dinner bell, "But come now! There are only so many hours in a night." Everyone met at the table. Each person lifted up their glass and Rachel followed suit. "Absinthe! Our customary libation," March started his toast, "To our special night and to our beautiful guest," he rose his glass for Rachel.
Once Rachel downed the absinthe, she thought she might gag. The liquor went down smoothly, but not before burning her throat. She coughed as she watched the others take to it well. When they all sat down, she simply stared at them all.
"This…" Rachel began, "This isn't really happening. It can't be happening. I-I-This has to be a dream or something. This whole evening is some weird dream or whatever. There's no way I'm sitting with all of you right now." She wanted to pinch herself, but realized how silly she'd look.
"You're not dreaming, dearest," March said. "I understand it must be overwhelming for an admirer such as you, but I can assure you this is real." He then said, "Rachel, you've been in my hotel long enough. You might not leave your room often, but you have seen things. You've seen the impossible become very possible, especially tonight. I'm sure at night you hear scratching on the walls or footsteps outside to only find no one there? I heard you recently came in contact with our resident restroom spirit. Even sweet Ms. Evers surprised you, didn't she?"
"She did," she nodded. "From what she told me, she should've died ages ago; you too. All of you actually should be dead by now." She took hold of her bearings and said, "Listen, I-I grew up around strange things. My childhood was not exactly normal and my family is, well-I'm not…" she struggled for the words, "I-It's all-It's nothing new to me. It's just surprising is all. I never expected I'd be sitting here with people I've admired for such a long time."
"Devil's Night is all about surprises, dearest," March said. He looked passed her and said, "You're late!"
In walked a tall figure dressed completely in black. She recognized the sniper symbol on his front and the black bag covering his face. Sunglasses even covered the eyeholes. The Zodiac Killer.
"Too busy writing letters," Richard said as The Zodiac sat down on Rachel's right. "I don't get you, man. The fun starts after you get caught, didn't you know that? And giving yourself your own nickname? Not cool, dude. It's not cool."
"Now that we're all here, let us introduce ourselves," March said, taking his seat.
"I'm John," John said to Rachel, "John Gacy from Norwood Park, Illinois. I own PDM Contractors. Um, PDM stands for Painting, Decorating and Maintenance, by the way. I'm also a member of the Moose Club. I mean, just because you got thirty bodies buried in your crawlspace doesn't mean you can't have a terrific rec room and be a respectable businessman."
"Nice to meet you, John," was all Rachel could say.
March gestured to Jeffery, who said, "Oh my turn? Um, I'm, uh, Jeffery Dahmer from Milwaukee. I used to be in the army."
She knew that already, but she could only nod at him.
"I'm Aileen," Aileen said next. "Born in Michigan, but I lived in Florida a good time of my life. I whored myself up and down I-95 for a while before I met my girlfriend, but that obviously ended when I got locked up. Though, I won't say I ain't in the market for a new one." She winked at Rachel and laughed.
"I know who you are," Rachel said. "I know all of you. Aileen, I wrote my final exam paper on you. Richard Ramirez, I visited the places you killed those people and I based one of my essays on California killers, and you were like my first choice to end the paper. Zodiac," she turned to him, "You're in my book. Yeah, I'm writing a book about killers who got away. You were my first choice for it. You terrorized people for at least a decade before just disappearing. I put in copies of your letters and codes. They're all so complicated and funny. I loved them. I spent most of my summer travelling to all the crime scenes. John, I did a project about you in high school; Dahmer, I own the movie about you and read your biography more times than I can count. I've visited the places you all lived and killed. I've felt your presence there long after you died."
"Why go to the crime scenes?" John asked. "There's nothing there."
"There doesn't have to be," she answered. "They're my inspiration. I-It's almost like I draw some sort of energy from being in those places. A lot of them are torn down or locked away, but being near them…" she sighed, "I don't know. It-It brings something out in me." She looked to March, "And then there's you. I've been dying to write about you for as long as I could remember. I wanted to wait until I finished school before finally coming here. I didn't want a summer or a spring break. I wanted time to really sink into the novel. This hotel. It's worthy of a novel. It feels like it's the epicenter of evil; of darkness."
"And you want a taste of that darkness, don't you?" he asked.
Rachel didn't answer right way. She recalled all the warnings and precautions her mother took. She suddenly remembered the times the hold on her let up and she slipped. She remembered watery hands and thin wires. She shook the chill running down her spine. "I-I don't know."
"I think you do," he said.
"Tell us about yourself, sweetheart," Richard suggested. "I'd love to know more about you," she sensed the lust behind that tone.
"Um, okay," she breathed. "My name's Rachel Corbin. I grew up in New Orleans, Louisiana. My aunt is the headmistress of a ladies finishing school, so I lived there with her and my mom; my grandmother was too until she died last year. My parents split up when I was ten; I don't see my dad much anymore because he lives in Colorado with his new wife and replacement children. I've sort of been strolling through life, I guess," she said nervously. "I-I've never done anything great or spectacular like you all have."
"Well that's not entirely true, is it?" March asked, leaning in a bit.
"Sorry?"
"I can see the darkness within you, Rachel," he said. "It lingers and paces in your soul. It's desperate for release, but you've kept a tight leash on it. Why?"
She never spoke about her darkness and nobody ever asked. The demon that clawed through her stayed dormant most days, but the slightest flicker sent it raging. She hated and loved it. Twice she let it go and twice her mother scolded her. She looked around the table. "My mother. My aunt. My friend, Jeanine. They all tell me I should learn to control my feelings. They say it's not normal and I should take medication. I haven't. I-I think a part of me doesn't want to be dependent on pills."
"But it's such a hard struggle, isn't it?" March said. "The constant worry you might relapse or lose control at the wrong moment? I myself was in such a bind once upon a time. My father was a religious man and the meanest son of a bitch I ever met. Any time I acted out, he made sure I regretted it. I never did. The impulse for more constantly thrived within me. I could never keep ties on it like you. I became quite dependent on powder myself, but that wasn't good enough. I was always looking for a bigger high. Nothing ever matched up to killing."
"I drank," Jeffery said.
"I moved around," Aileen said.
"I focused on being a community man," John added.
"Drugs and booze," Richard said, raising his glass.
Zodiac said nothing as expected. She stared at them all. They accepted her. They understood her. She was one of them. She felt as if she'd found the only people she could relate with. It brought a lump in her throat that she drowned in water.
"Rachel, my love," March said, "There is nothing wrong with you. We all have our addictions and lapses. Society acts as if it is so saintly. I mean, look at these police officers shooting unarmed people; look at terrorists who bomb cities and train stations. Everyone everywhere always excuses their crimes. They say its religion or criminal justice or passion. They don't dare to admit they enjoyed taking a life. If they met someone like you or me, who doesn't care about letting go, then we're the bad ones. All of us. Society calls us insane, psychotic, and evil. They say we are monsters, when in truth, everyone is a monster. It just depends on how much of a monster you're willing to be."
"They said I shouldn't have shot those men because of their 'history'," Aileen added. "They called me a monster for shooting a bunch of bastards who tried taking advantage of me. I was only taking care of myself. I don't care about their 'history'. I just know who they were on that day and on that day they were the monster."
"They said I was evil for acting out my fantasies," John told her. "I was only doing what other people do. They only hated me because my fantasies weren't like theirs."
"Society hates people like us," Richard said. "They treat us different 'cause we do the shit they're too fucking scared to do."
"You are one of us, Rachel," March said. "You don't see it yet, but you will."
"I-I don't know what you mean," Rachel said. Her palms sweated and her knee shook. "I-I've never done the things you all have."
"Bullshit," Richard said. "You got a dark side, honey, and it was bound to come out."
"Tell us, Rachel," March said, "Who was your first kill?"
When she didn't speak, John said, "It's okay, honey. We're all friends here."
Her throat tightened so much she didn't think she could speak. Rachel spent so long repressing it all. Her mother said if she remembered she might lose control again. Nobody outside of family knew what happened. They certainly never asked questions. She took a shaky breath and said, "I was nine…" she clutched the napkin in her lap, fiddling with the corner. "My-My mom sent me to one of those two-week summer camps. She said it'd be good for me to get some fresh air and maybe make some friends; some of the girls from my school would be there, she said. It sounded fun at-at first, but then I actually got there." She paused, closing her eyes, "Maggie Jones was there…" she remembered the little girl quite clearly. Blonde curls tied back in a perfect ponytail, little freckles across her face and a straight smile made her the desirable child. "She was this girl who was in my class. She always picked on me for having braces and acne. She'd call me 'brace-face' and 'pizza-cheeks'. I hated it. She'd get other people involved and they'd all laugh. I-I hated her." She could hear their laughter and see their little fingers pointing at her. "One night in the mess hall, she'd rubbed some butter on the floor where I'd walk through. I had a tray of spaghetti and salad and stuff like that. I didn't see it. I wasn't paying attention. She called out my nickname and I slipped." Tears stung her eyes, and she felt a hand patting her back. "Fa-Falling is embarrassing enough. It only got worse with juice on my pants and Maggie laughing at me. She said 'Look everyone! Brace-face peed her pants!' and I cried. I cried so hard that night." She dabbed at tears filling the corners of her eyes. "I hated her," she sniffled, "I hated, hated, hated her."
"Enough to kill her, I bet," March said.
"She and some of the girls would sneak out of the cabin and go to the lake. The counselors were a bunch of teenagers who didn't care to watch us, so they got away with it. I knew they did it because I heard them walk past my cabin at night." She envisioned herself in her bunk, tears tracking down her face into her pillow as she fought back sobs. The pain in her chest ached already. "I didn't plan on following them. I never did. But that night-that night I heard them talking. 'Did you see brace-face at the mess hall?! She slipped on the butter! You're right, Mags. They didn't suspect anything!' Hearing that fucking pissed me off! She was always singling me out in groups. She always found ways to torment me. My mom told me if you have a problem with someone, you tell them and work it out. So that's what I planned to do."
Richard snorted, "Oh you worked it out alright."
"I waited until most of the girls left. I sat in the bushes and watched them do cannonballs and splash each other in the shallows. I knew Maggie would be the last one to leave since her cabin wasn't far, so the others left before her. I waited until she waa alone before approaching her." She saw Maggie in her swimsuit, clutching her clothes when she spotted Rachel. "She was pissed because I scared her. She called me a freak and a lesbo because I was watching them. I told her what she did that night wasn't nice and I wanted her to apologize. She only laughed. She said 'why would I apologize for making people laugh? It's not my fault you're so easy.' And I-And I-I don't know what happened. One minute we're standing on the bank of the lake, and the next thing I know I was-I was-I was holding her underwater." She heard the splashing and gasping. She felt Maggie's pretty face under her hands. The girl clutched and smacked her, but Rachel held her down. "She tried screaming whenever her head came up, but nobody heard her. Nobody heard me killing the most annoying bitch in the entire world."
"And how did it feel?" March asked.
"Good," she breathed. "It felt good. I felt her little body slowly stop moving, and saw the bubbles come up from her last breath. I could feel her chest stop rising up and down. She went completely limp in the water. I kept her down a few more minutes in case she wasn't actually dead. All the rage in me, all the pain in my chest just left. I felt relieved. I felt glorious and happy. For the first time, I felt happy about something." A smile curled on her lips, "I ran away before they could find her. I went back to my cabin and changed my clothes. I stuck them deep down in my suitcase and never took them out until I got home." She laughed, "I watched those stupid fucks spend the whole morning looking for her body before they found it washed up on the other side. She'd like bloated up because of the water and her lips were purple. She didn't look so pretty anymore."
"They never suspected you?" John said, impressed.
"They didn't," she said. "To them I was mousey, ugly little Brace-Face who was afraid of getting hit by baseballs and wore floaties in the water. It took my mom a week to figure it out. She said she found my pajamas from camp stuffed at the bottom of my hamper, and said they smelled like lake water. She knew Maggie bullied me because I told her over the phone. That was when she knew…" she paused. "She knew I was different. She asked if I felt sorry, and I said 'no'. Of course, she wouldn't tell anyone. She didn't tell anyone when I killed my boyfriend either. I cut the breaks on his car before he went to work and waited for the call from his job. He'd gotten hit by a truck and died on impact. They didn't investigate because, well, it seemed like an accident. The only accident I made was dating him in the first place. Right, Aileen?"
"Too fucking right!" she cackled.
"Greatness is about vision, dearest," March then said, "And society has tried stomping out your greatness."
"You need to listen to this guy, Rachel," Richard said, putting an arm over March's chair. "He is the master. I mean, he taught us all. He's a genius like Galileo or Peter Frampton."
"It's why we come here every Devil's Night," John said. "It's a real honor to be invited. Only those who really took The Master's advice get invited."
"Do you know why it took so long for the little piggies to catch me?" Richard asked. "Cause one night I came into this place; spent a few nights and The Master came into my room and beat the shit out of me. And he told me that if I wanted to be a volume operation I needed to be indiscriminate; kill anybody. Your pattern needs to be no pattern."
"Guess I was out sick that day," John joked.
"It's not funny, Gacy!" March scolded. "We are the Mount Rushmore of Murder. We have rules and codes of conduct. How many times did I tell you "leave no evidence"?"
"I covered them all with lye! It's not my fault the cop who used my bathroom was familiar with the smell of rotting bodies!" he looked at Rachel, "I told them it was my Lhasa Apso who tinkled on the carpet, but they didn't believe me."
"Murder is one part perspiration and nine parts preparation," he said. "I built this hotel for the sole purpose of hiding the evidence! All of my chutes and ladders, have you seen them yet, Rachel?"
"No," she said, "But I imagine it's quite impressive."
"Indeed," March said. His annoyance simmered down and he said, "Perhaps one night I'll give you the grand tour."
The rest of the group hooted and cheered. Rachel flushed, still toying with her napkin. "It'll certainly be interesting."
"Yoo hoo!" a voice said. Ms. Evers rolled the cart into a room carrying plates of salad.
"Ah, Ms. Evers!" March called, "Always a delight."
"Ladies first," she said, picking up two plates.
"Please..."
She placed Aileen's in front of her and then rounded to Rachel. "Rachel, if I may say so, you look absolutely stunning this evening," she said, placing down the bowl. "Liz really went out of her way for this dress; such expensive beading."
"Thank you, Ms. Evers," she smiled as the woman went back to the cart.
She passed plates all around, but nobody seemed interested in the food. Richard and Aileen went to the gramophone, and put on a record. A smooth melody began playing through the room that the pair danced to away from the table.
"Ms. Evers," March said, "Would you please bring out the amuse booze now, please?"
Ms. Evers went and retrieved a half-naked man, confused and scared. Rachel watched Jeffery's eyes light up seeing the young man. She said nothing as he was sat in Aileen's place. Jefferey marveled at him, almost in disbelief at the sight of him. March came around and ruffled his hair. "You see Jeffery," March told him, "Don't I always take care of you?"
Jeffery only smiled at the man, pressing his forehead to the stranger's. "Please don't ever leave me," and then said, "I'll go get my drill."
Once Jeffery left the table, Rachel merely started on her salad. She couldn't let Ms. Evers's work go to waste. She watched everyone enjoying themselves as she munched on it, simply glad to be in their presence. Jeffery drilled a hole in the man's head, and she didn't mind. She wasn't appalled or bothered. It was as if a movie was taking place in front of her.
"You see, Rachel," Jeffery said, picking out a point for his drill, "I want to control them. I didn't want to kill them. I wanted them to be mine; to be a part of me."
She swallowed her salad, "I know. You were lonely. You wanted someone who would do whatever you asked without complaining. You wanted control over them." She then said, "Too bad they died though."
"My last one lasted ten minutes," Jeffery scoffed. "Then the cops found me."
"Poor Jeffery," March said. "He found himself here during a detour on his way to Ohio after being kicked out of the army. I told him if he wanted to be a great killer, he must understand his victim. In order to hunt, he needed to get inside their heads. I didn't think he'd take it literally."
Rachel's giggle made him smile, dimples in full view for her now. It felt so real. It was normal. Being across from him was right in some way. Jeffery noted that he listened to him about melting the flesh off the bones with acid. March then stood from the table as the song changed to a slower pace. He offered Rachel his hand, "May I have this dance?"
Butterflies filled her stomach. "Yes," she took his hand and they went to the dance floor.
Aileen and Richard grinded close to one another. They hardly noticed the couple come up beside them. March danced differently. He held her hand and placed his arm around her waist. Her hand touched his shoulder; her fingers intertwined with his. He closed the space between them, only leaving an inch left. "You're dead," she said, "But you feel so real. You feel so…" she was too shy to say it to him. She couldn't get it out right.
"Familiar?" he suggested. "Natural?"
"Yes," she nodded. "How is it we've never met before tonight, but I'm not trembling with you? I'm not usually this, you know, comfortable with someone." Especially of the opposite sex. "But you-you feel right. I know that sounds weird, but it's-"
"Because this has happened before," he answered. "You just don't remember right now, dearest."
"'Dearest'," she repeated. "You keep calling me that. Why?"
"You'll understand in time," he said, spinning her around before bringing her back to him. He pressed his forehead with hers, his eyes full of love and care. She never expected this of him. It seemed such a difference from the March she'd heard about. "For now, let us enjoy our evening. I have a surprise in store for you, dearest. I hope you like it."
"You didn't have to get me anything, Mr. March."
"James," he corrected, "And yes I did. You're one of us, Rachel, and tonight is your initiation."