"So excuse me forgetting,
But these things I do.
You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue.
Anyway the thing is,
What I really mean,
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen."
-Elton John "Your Song"
She tried forgetting the strange message as she walked the 7th floor. Rachel wondered how many spirits haunted the hotel. She imagined a majority of them were James's victims. Yet, she never saw any of them. She tried not thinking of it. She wouldn't let the message dampen her night. She knocked on room 78's door and waited for an answer. Instead of James, Rachel found Ms. Evers. "Hi, Ms. Evers," she smiled.
"Oh Rachel," she replied, "You look stunning this evening. Please, do come in. Mr. March has been eager to see you."
And she'd been eager to see him. She followed her into the apartment and found the dining table made up for two. A romantic setting lit by candles and faint jazz music, the real world fell away from her. She didn't feel like herself here. In Room 78, she was Mr. March's female companion. Nothing pleased her more. The setting only brightened when she saw him enter. Dressed in a pin-striped suit, James walked towards her with open arms.
"Rachel," he said, taking both her hands and kissing them, "How wonderful to see you again. You look ravishing."
"Thank you," she smiled. "I hope I'm not too late?"
"Of course not, dearest," he said. "I'd wait all night for you if I had to," he guided her over to the table, pulling out her chair and letting her sit down. No other man ever did this for her. They never made her feel as important as James did. "I worried you wouldn't accept my invitation," he admitted as he took his own seat.
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Well, considering the debacle of Devil's Night-"
"-James," she stopped him, "It wasn't a debacle at all. I will confess the ending of the party wasn't so wonderful, but the rest of the evening had been amazing. I loved every moment of it. Didn't you?"
"Of course I did," he said. "You being there was the best part."
She blushed, "James, you dote on me too much." He was incredible. She kept thinking back to everything she'd told her mother. James was clearly not like the rest. For one, he was dead. He'd killed hundreds of people in his hotel. And he never shamed her. He embraced her darkness rather than shunned it. In fact, he even encouraged it. She couldn't take her eyes off him as Ms. Evers poured them both wine. He noticed it right away.
"What?" he asked in a soft laugh.
"Nothing," she shook her head, "I just can't stop thinking of how wonderful you are. You're different than the people I've met. You're better than them."
"This is going somewhere…"
"The last day or two haven't been great for me," she told him. "I, um, had an episode recently. I let my darkness get the best of me, and I smashed a wine bottle, murdered my pillow, and tore up a pending contract. Poor Ms. Evers cleaned up the mess herself." Her nerves bundled in her stomach when she said, "There is something else…"
"Yes?"
"Elizabeth," she said, "She invited me to her penthouse at the top of the building. We both had wine and talked for a long time before we-we…"
"Had relations," he finished. He drank some of his wine and said, "I know, my dear. I know about everything that happens in this hotel."
"You're not angry with me then?" she'd hate herself if she'd upset him.
"Never," he said, "You were only exploring your inner self. Elizabeth used to do the same. My wife isn't one to hide her own depravity."
She paused, "Elizabeth? I thought Joanne was your first wife?"
"Elizabeth is my second wife," he said. "I married her shortly after Joanne's death." She saw how uncomfortable he looked talking about her. She couldn't imagine anything hurting him. James always appeared so impenetrable.
"We don't have to talk about it," she said. "I wouldn't want to spoil another evening with you."
"I thought Elizabeth was special," he continued. "Her fire, her beauty reminded me of Joanne. You must understand I grieved for my wife for the longest time. Her death severed off a part of me, and the rest of me broke into a hundred pieces. I thought if I married Elizabeth, she'd put them back together."
"But she didn't," she said.
"She didn't. In fact, she proved to be the exact opposite of Joanne. My Joanne would never have tried leaving me."
"So," she said, "Does that mean Elizabeth is dead too?"
"Sadly no," he answered. "I found out about her condition later in our marriage."
"Condition?"
"Her immortality, dearest. She drinks blood to stay alive," he said. "At first, I thought it was the most erotic thing I'd ever heard. Now," he sighed, taking more of his wine, "It's irritating. Her little blond haired monsters popping in and out of hallways like ghosts. She has a new play thing every couple of months. Not to mention those dresses," he scoffed, "Could anyone else be so ostentatious?"
Rachel giggled, "I assume the dislike is mutual?"
"It is," he said. "She makes it clear whenever we cross paths. Thinking she'd turned you into one of her toys infuriated me. I refuse to let her take you from me. She can have whoever she likes. She can't have you."
"And what if I want her?" Rachel asked.
"Oh well, dearest, if you like her, you can keep seeing her. I'd never stop you from indulging in your fantasies. I'm only requesting she keep you human."
She felt too shy telling him that he filled all her fantasies. Ms. Evers brought them salads as a starter, which they ate as they talked about their lives. She told him about the school and her family's special gift. She never told anyone about Fiona, Cordelia or the school. She said witchcraft skips a generation or two, but she'd experienced it at an early age. She said the strangeness of the hotel didn't surprise her. The impossible wasn't new to her. Ms. Evers brought them the main course of lamb chops in a balsamic reduction of thyme and rosemary.
"Tell me, dearest," he said during their main course, "What was it that angered you the other day?"
She stopped cutting into her lamb chop. Rachel tried putting Jeanine from her mind, but here she came back to the forefront. "A woman I knew named Jeanine."
"What about her?"
She sighed, "Her true colors finally came out. She'd been the one helping me publish my novel; she'd gotten me a deal with a publishing company. I couldn't tell you how elated I was when she found an interested company. I thought my head might explode from it all. When the contract finally came, I read through it like anyone else would. It was then that I found out that Jeanine and her company would receive half of my earnings. It meant that they would take most of what little I make. It hurt even more when I learned Jeanine would get a similar cut because she was my agent." Rachel gripped her fork thinking about it. "I called her to discuss it, but she tried blowing me off like she does with everything. I told her that it wasn't fair what she was doing, and that I wasn't surprised she'd done it. We said horrible things before we both hung up on each other. I was-I was so angry at her. She'd never been a real friend. No, she hadn't. She only befriended me because she wanted someone to do her essays for her. After that, she sort of let me tag along."
"She treated you like a lost puppy," he added.
"She did," she shook her head. "You wouldn't believe the things she's done. She still does it. She never liked it when I got one over on her. Jeanine always had to be the best. I could never be better than her. I wasn't worthy of it. She made me feel so small. I felt so insignificant around her. She was pretty and popular. Boys liked her. She got all the attention and left me in the background! The one time I stood up for myself, she tried tearing me down! You have no idea how many times I thought about hurting her. The fact she gave so many opportunities didn't help either." She took a breath, then said, "I exploded. I did things I shouldn't have done, but..."
"But what?"
"I enjoyed them. I enjoyed imagining her screaming and crying beneath me. I thought of awful things. I came up with a million scenarios at once. I couldn't control myself, James. I couldn't control my darkness, and for the first time, I didn't."
"I wish I'd been there."
"When?"
"When you lost control," he said. "I wish I could've seen the wildfire burn everything around you. I imagine it is a glorious transformation. Watching a wallflower become a goddess is something worthy of an epic. I'd love to have been there. Nothing would've captivated me more than seeing you rise towards your fullest potential."
"You think I have potential?"
"Dearest, I know you do. All you need is a little direction and focus."
They finished dinner and took drinks in the lounge. She drank the cognac as she stared out the window. The view wasn't marvelous, but in 1920's L.A. it might've been nicer. She saw the other tall buildings against the night sky. People passed on the sidewalks as cars drove through the streets. Her mind settled on the mirror message. The writer couldn't be a cursed spirit. She guessed it might be a person who died before James. Perhaps one of the people he murdered during his lifetime? She assumed so. The message gave her chills.
'I am you. You are me.'
Could it have been James? She didn't think so.
She felt a pair of hands touch her hips, drawing her back close to his chest. The irritation of the day escaped her in James's presence. She forgot Jeanine and the phone call. His lips brushed the cartilage of her ear, and kissed right beneath her earlobe. Warm breath dampened her skin and made her shudder. He felt so real. He was dead, but his hands radiated her sides. His lips were flames across her neck and shoulder. Unlike most men, his hands never wandered. James kept a firm hold on her, but he kissed her anywhere he lips landed.
"I have a gift for you," he whispered, "Something for the beautiful darkness inside you."
She turned to him, "I-I don't think I can do it."
"It's only me this time," he promised. "No expectations or judgments. It'll be only us. This is a moment for you and me."
She smiled coyly, "This is because of Elizabeth, isn't it?"
He smirked back, "I have no idea what you're talking about, dearest."
He took her over to the double doors leading into a bedroom. She wasn't surprised by the elegance of the room or the person on the bed. A dark haired woman hog-tied in only her undergarments squirmed about against the sheets. From her smudged mascara and eyeliner, Rachel saw her tear stains. Her olive skin and shiny dark hair reminded her of someone.
"She looks like her," she said. "How did you know?"
"Educated guess, precious," he said. "Do you like this one? Ms. Evers can always fetch another one."
"No, this is fine," Rachel said. "I wouldn't want to trouble Ms. Evers."
Rachel hesitated. She imagined Jeanine in this woman's place. Rachel never said but she often fantasized about her old friend. Jeanine would be rude or put her down, and it'd suddenly come to her. Every time, every fantasy, usually ended with Jeanine tied up and sobbing through a gag. Rachel never saw Jeanine in a romantic way. She didn't feel sexual towards her in the slightest. Yet, she thought of her being much more than a friend. She would've made a beautiful start to something better. Rachel often held back her darkness. She'd stop herself before acting. She should stop walking towards the bed. She couldn't slip up this time. But, she couldn't keep Jeanine's hateful words out of her head. The flow of depraved daydreams flooded her mind. She didn't bother supressing them. Her hand touched the woman's smooth legs, and they twitched. Rachel laughed.
"I have some tools of the trade here for you," he said, walking over to a trunk. "I keep all my favorites in here." James popped it open and she saw the various knives, saws, axes, and even the gun inside. "Pick whichever one feels the most comfortable for you," he insisted. "I'd like to get practice started."
"What are we practicing?" she asked.
"Pattern," he said. "I once told Richard that if he wanted to succeed long-term, he must be indiscriminate. Yet, he was a simple break-in and wreak havoc killer. You are more refined. Every artist has their special technique. Our first lesson is finding what yours is."
"Okay," she nodded. Rachel picked up the kitchen knife again. She raised it up for James's approval.
"Perfect starter tool," he smiled. "It's practical and easy to use. I wouldn't have you using anything complicated for your first lesson. Come with me, love, let's begin." He led her towards the bed.
Rachel felt a rush of excitement standing over her victim. James stood behind, clasping his hand over hers. She studied the woman beneath her. Like the man from Devil's Night, she searched for sympathy. Rachel tried recovering a shred of pity or remorse for this woman. Just like the time Jeanine broke her ankle during cheerleading practice, she felt nothing. The darkness within wouldn't allow it. She looked over her shoulder at him. His eyes read nothing but admiration and love. Both their hands clutched the knife. She felt one with him.
"I've never done this before," she said softly.
"Just relax, dearest," he said. "I will guide you through it. You'll be fine. I promise."
The ropes rubbed the woman's wrists and ankles raw. Her body contorted to the bindings; most likely aching from the position. The gag ball muffled her cries. Rachel couldn't have been more aroused. The tension built up inside her chest. Having him so close and the knife pressed to her palm, she trembled with anticipation. She gave a shaky breath. Her body melted into his. He wasn't cold like she would've thought. He was warm. He was alluring. His lips cascaded over the crook of her neck. His mustache tickled the skin at her jaw. James kissed her ear before whispering against it.
"Now, this is your first time. I'll be as gentle as you need me to be," his free hand trailed up and down her side. She shuddered at his touch. "We have the whole night to discover all the little things you love." Their hands gripped the knife together. "Ready, dearest?"
"Yes," she nodded. "I'm ready, darling."