"For nobody else gave me a thrill,
With all your faults, I love you still.
It had to be you,
Wonderful you,
It had to be you."
-Frank Sinatra, "It Had to be You"
1913, Los Angeles, California
Only 18, James and Joanne married in spring. He'd bought them both a house in the countryside where they had nothing but seclusion and flowers. Joanne grew her own garden in the backyard, while he set his study in one of the upper rooms. She loved their two-story home. He often came home to find her playing her piano or reading by the window. She thrived in the light and quietness of their home. James marveled at her every single moment of the day. He didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky. She was no longer Joanne Tate. She was Joanne March. She was Mrs. March. She was his wife, his life, his entire soul and being. She felt the same. She did whatever was in her power to please him. She made him his favorite dinners, pleasured him often, and did as he asked from her. She was his whole world.
Yet, no matter how blissful his life became, James couldn't enjoy it to the fullest. He felt something important was missing. He tried everything to fill the void. He sniffed powder and drank absinthe. He'd throw himself into work; anything to keep his head from spinning. Nothing seemed to be enough. He always looked for a bigger high than the last. He found his true calling in their neighbors' pets first. James often waited until Joanne left for the city before grabbing one He killed in all kinds of ways. He'd dunk live cats in acid, suffocate dogs in sealed boxes, and even stomp on mice for fun. Their squeaks and squeals amused him. But of course, like all addictions it became dull.
Their maid was the first. A Swedish girl looking for work, she waited and catered to the pairs needs. Joanne wasn't fond of her, but she tolerated it. A naive girl, she appeared all too eager when he took her upstairs. He told her he needed the sheets changed for an upcoming guest. The moment she turned around, he caught his prey.
"James!"
Joanne's voice struck fear into him. He looked over at her and saw the shock on her face. Their Swedish maid lied tied to their bed, several deep gashes across her naked torso and neck. James stood in his undershirt and unbuckled trousers. In his gloved hands were two knives dripping blood. The shamed washed over him immediately. He didn't know how to explain his obsession. She was too sweet and pure. She wouldn't understand.
"What are you doing?" she pouted. James raised an eyebrow to her disappointed tone.
"I was-I was…" for once, he was at a loss for words. "I can explain, dearest."
She stood beside him, staring down at the dead girl. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist her. It was a mistake hiring her."
"Dearest…"
"She's pretty and stupid. Men like pretty and stupid girls, my mother told me," she said. She met his eyes, "Aren't I pretty enough for you, James? Haven't I done everything you've asked of me?"
"Of course you are, my love," he assured her. He pulled himself from the maid and took Joanne's face in his hands, "I love nobody else but you. I just-I-I couldn't help it. There's this need inside me, Joanne. I couldn't contain it anymore." He kissed her and then pressed his forehead to hers. James took in her scent, the skin under his fingers and the lips he kissed. "You are the light of my life, dearest," he whispered, "But I worry that not even you could fix this darkness in me."
She touched his cheek, "I don't think it could fix either of us."
He looked at her bemused, "Joanne?"
"Straighten yourself up and come with me," she said. "I want to show you something."
James did as she requested and then followed her into the basement. He watched her walk towards the freezer where they kept packaged meats. He could tell she was nervous. He saw her trembling fingers and shaky breaths. When she unlocked the lid, she lifted it and looked away.
"Oh Joanne," he groaned when he peered inside, "Not the gardener."
The slight, red-haired man sat curled up in the freezer box. His little body stiff in its position, James looked right into his frozen eyes. James noticed his white shirt completely covered in black blood. He turned to Joanne, who bowed her head and shuffled her feet like a child.
"He was a weasel of a man," she explained. "You should have seen him; you would have done it too. I caught him peeking through the crack of my door when I was undressing. When I confronted him, he said he'd be a better lover than you. He called you a pompous prat and said I deserved better. He tried attacking me, but I-I..." she paused a moment. "I-I couldn't stop myself. I hadn't meant for it to go as far as it did. I grabbed my letter opened and stabbed him, and kept stabbing him until he was dead. I tried feeling guilty, but I couldn't. I dumped in here and cleaned up the mess so you wouldn't see it." She looked over at him, "You're not disappointed, are you? I'd hate for you to be."
She truly was perfect. His heart swelled discovering the truth about his beloved wife. He smiled and kissed her once more. "Not one bit, dearest."
They laughed and kissed passionately. Jumping into his arms so her legs wrapped around him, James took his wife to their bedroom. He spent the whole afternoon proving how good of a lover he was.
'You have three new messages.'
'Hey Rae, it's me, um, Jeanine. I wanted to call and apologize. We both said stuff we didn't mean. Call me back and we can hash it out, alright? We can find you a new deal.'
'Rae, come on, don't be like this. I didn't mean any of the shit I said.'
'Rachel, really? You're just gonna ignore my calls?! You're lucky I don't call the police and file a report after your little threat.'
She sounded crazier than Rachel. Rachel put her phone back in her bag and left it forgotten. She didn't have time for Jeanine or her rants. Rachel knew she wouldn't file any report or call anybody. They wouldn't take her seriously unless she had some evidence. Her eyes focused back on her laptop. She'd taken Liz's advice and looked up self-publishing websites. Without a contract binding her down, she was free to send her stuff anywhere. She found a few interesting places, but she hadn't decided yet.
Her phone rang in the midst of her search, and she hoped to God it wasn't Jeanine again. "Hello?"
"Rachel?" It was her mother. Amelia Goode changed back to her maiden name after the divorce. Rachel immediately thought of her mother's golden hair and sapphire eyes. Amelia and Cordelia looked much alike, as their mother pointed out often. "Honey, it's me."
"I know it's you, Mom," she said in a laugh.
"Well, you haven't called in a month," she said, "So I thought you forgot me."
"Sorry," Rachel told her, "I've been kinda occupied lately."
"I heard you got a book contract," her mother began, "And that you turned it down over money. Rachel, I understand you're proud and protective of your work. But, there was no reason to be so rude to Jeanine."
She groaned. "Mom, you don't get it. Jeanine and her company would get half my earnings if I went through with it," she said. "I would have ended up with almost nothing."
"Oh, you don't know that, baby," she said. "You're a fabulous writer. You are thorough and committed to your work. Somebody would've read it and loved it. You even had an interested publisher. Why would you throw that away over money?"
"Because I'm not going to work hard for pennies, Mom. while Jeanine gets to sit in her cozy little office doing nothing," she spat. "It's not fair. People like her get everything they want just because they're pretty. She's never worked for anything in her life; it was always handed to her. People got over what a bitch she was because of her looks. I only called her out on what she was."
"I know what this is about," her mother said. "This contract isn't the reason you exploded at her. It's because you resent her. I understand being in someone's shadow isn't great. I would know. You think I could keep up with your Aunt Delia and her ultra amazing powers? No. I strived through it anyways. I got my medical degree; I married a good man, and I have a talented daughter."
"Dad and you split up, Mom," she said.
"But we still care about each other. Your grandmother didn't care much for me or Cordelia. She was always off somewhere else. I try to be the best mother I can be, but you gotta come halfway with me. I want you to succeed in life, baby. Jeanine was nice to you when you needed a friend. She would've helped you if you'd asked her. Instead, you got upset with her because you didn't get what you wanted."
Rachel felt her stomach flip-flopping again. She almost leaned over because of it. She kept a firm hold of her shaking hands when she said, "What did she tell you?"
"She told me that she told you to call her tomorrow and you refused," she answered. "She said that you started spewing all these hateful things at her."
"Did she tell you about the things she said to me? That she said I was a psychotic weirdo? That she paid boys to go out with me because she pitied me? Huh, Mom? Did she mention that or play the innocent angel again?" Rachel said.
"Rae, honey, please," her mother said, "Calm down. You'll throw yourself into an episode if you don't. Remember what I taught you: breathe in for ten and breathe out for ten."
"Fuck breathing," she snapped.
"Rachel Madeline Corbin," her mother scolded, "Don't talk to me like that. I'm only helping you. You don't want a repeat of summer camp, do we?"
Rachel scoffed, "Trust me, summer camp isn't the only one."
There was silence on the other end. "Rachel...Rachel, you didn't," she said. "Not Ashton. He was so good to you, baby. Why? Why would you do that to him? The accident left his parents devastated. His mother's gone back to AA meetings, and his father disappeared for a while. You broke up a wonderful, happy family. They'll never see their baby boy again because of you. Why would you hurt him, Rachel?"
"I didn't hurt him, Mom," she said. "I killed him."
"Rae," she said, "You need help, honey. I've always said it. I told Delia that her little potions and herbs won't help you. You need a professional."
"Why? So I could become a zombie? They'll just put me on meds and say 'tada! She's all better, Amelia!'"
"I knew letting you go to California was a bad idea," she said. "You should never have left home. You should come home now. You have all the information you need. You don't have to stay in that horrible place."
Her eyes glanced to the violet dress hanging on the bathroom door. She thought of James. He was a spirit limited by the hotel. Her mother would make sure she never left home. She'd never see him again. "No," she replied, "I'm staying here and finishing my book. I like it here."
"I read up on that hotel," she said. "I know its history and it's horrible. I don't know why you'd want to be there."
A pang stabbed her heart. "You sound like everyone else."
"No, Rachel," her mother said, "I didn't mean it like that, sweetheart. There's nothing wrong with a little morbid curiosity, but yours goes beyond curiosity. You've done horrible things, and you're lucky I'm the only person who knows. Could you imagine what would happen if Jeanine or anyone else knew about it? Being in a place like that could-you know-make things worse.
"Because things aren't already bad, right?" she said.
"Jeanine's worried about you," she told her. "She said she thinks you're spiraling out of control. I really think you should come home."
"So because Jeanine thinks I'm crazy, I should come home?" she asked. "Looks like Jeanine's getting what she wants again."
"This isn't about her. This is about you."
"Jeanine only wants me closer so she could bitch at me in person," she said.
"That's not true. She's your friend, Rachel. You're only friend. Do you really want to lose her over a petty grudge?"
"I have new friends now," she said, "And they're better than Jeanine ever was."
"What do you mean 'new friends'? Don't tell me you've made friends with some sort of addict or something?"
"No," she said. She knew how to turn this conversation, "One of them is a transgender woman whose one of the managers here. I also made friends with the woman who owns the hotel. She's super pretty, like prettier than Jeanine even. There's also this woman here who I think is a junkie, but she's more of an acquaintance right now. I'm also friends with Ms. Evers, who's the maid and has this thing with cleaning stains off sheets. Then finally, there's James."
"Well, that is a colorful cast of people," she said, sounding mildly impressed. "Who's this James person?"
"Just this guy that lives here," she responded. "I ran into him in the elevator on my own out to town, and he and I have kinda gotten along well. He invited me to this Halloween party he was throwing, and we hit it off that night. He and I are having dinner tonight."
"Honey, that's great," she said, most likely smiling.
"It is," she nodded. "He's so charming and educated. He's intellectual, sophisticated, well-read and has a great taste in jazz music. He gets me, Mom. He's not like the other guys who only drink beer and watch sports all the time. I can talk to him about stuff. I feel safe telling him things. He doesn't judge me or think I'm weird. He-He accepts me."
"He sounds wonderful, baby," her mother said. "I'm happy you found a guy so wonderful."
She began telling her all about Devil's Night. She left out the parts about the guests' true identities and made it sound like a normal dinner party. She also neglected mentioning James's state of being. Her mother seemed so impressed by him. Rachel had butterflies merely talking about him. For a brief moment, they sounded so normal. She couldn't even picture a modern version of James. She liked him just the way he was.
When she finally said goodbye to her mother, she thought about Jeanine. Naturally, Jeanine spun the story to make Rachel seem crazy. Getting up from her bed, she decided she'd shower first. Jeanine's lies usually only protected herself, which resulted in Rachel getting the blame. She recalled the one time she asked Jeanine to stop lying about her, but Jeanine only dismissed her. She said real friends look out for each other. Turning on the shower head and stripping off her clothes, she wondered what else Jeanine said. It wasn't unlike Jeanine to make Rachel the weird one. She remembered how Jeanine drunkenly told a boy Rachel dated that Rachel once killed a bird with a rock. Rachel tried defending that the bird was already hurt. She was doing it a favor. The boy didn't believe her. She certainly didn't mind telling people what Rick Taylor and his two friends almost did to her. She'd been lucky someone stumbled in and distracted them. Jeanine made it sound like Rachel enjoyed their attention. People believed her.
She stood in the shower, her darkness stirring at every single memory. Jeanine was an awful human being. Nobody would miss her if she ended up dead. Rachel blow dried her hair, fixed it up in a faux bob and pinned it with a bejeweled lavender headband. As she applied her make-up, she felt the air shift. Rachel shivered at the sudden draft. Putting down the blush brush, she didn't want to turn around. She avoided looking in the mirror. Something watched her, and she couldn't shake the feeling. Her breathing became unsteady and her palms sweated again. Her teeth chattered from the fear running through her.
Turning around, she expected another cursed spirit. Instead, she saw nobody. Rachel sighed in relief. It could have been the air conditioner blowing too hard. The place did tend to make someone feel uneasy at times. She remembered the bathroom spirit and shuddered before turning back to the mirror. Then, she realized it wasn't the air conditioner.
'YOU ARE ME. I AM YOU,' went across her mirror in red lipstick. Rachel didn't scream. She didn't gasp. She searched around the room for the culprit but found nothing. She was afraid to stand as if the spirit would pop up somewhere.
Rachel didn't know who they were, but she'd find out.