"How you turned my world, you precious thing.

You starve and near exhaust me.

Everything I've done,

I've done for you.

I move the stars for no one."

David Bowie as Jareth in "Labyrinth" "Within You"

1920, Los Angeles, California

He dumped the last of the dirt into the hole and patted it down. Joanne said she could plant flowers over it in a few weeks. Decomposing bodies made for good fertilizer. James didn't know much about gardening, so he trusted her knowledge. Panting, wiping the sweat from his brow, James entered the sun room. Joanne sat on one of the chairs, pitcher of lemonade beside her with two glasses. She looked up from the book in her lap and smiled at him.

"Everything well, darling?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he said.

"Here," she poured him a glass as he came to her. "You must be parched."

"The only thing I'm parched from is you," he said, kissing her lips before taking the glass.

He flopped into the chair beside her and sighed. His tense muscles finally relaxed in her presence. Potted flowers and Joanne's perfume replaced the stench of death in his nose. His eyes swept over her soft skin and luscious hair. Gulping his lemonade, he couldn't stop watching her. He remembered last night. She'd been a whirlwind of lust and pleasure. She lured him in with the whore she'd brought home. She satisfied him by letting him watch. Joanne knew what he enjoyed the most and gave it to him. That prostitute lay in their garden now with the others. He wondered what flowers she'd plant over her.

"What?" she giggled, catching him staring at her.

"Nothing," he said.

"Did you enjoy your surprise, darling?" she asked. "I picked her out just for you."

"I loved it," he replied. "I love anything you give me, love."

He grabbed her hand and kissed it. It brought out her smile. She got up from her seat and slid into his lap. Brushing a hand through his hair, she said, "Speaking of which, there's something I need to tell you."

"Yes?"

He sensed her hesitation. It wasn't out of fear. No, Joanne never feared him. The nerves bubbled him her stomach and she gripped his shoulder. "I'm pregnant, James."

The words struck him dumb for a moment. He wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "Pregnant?" he whispered.

She nodded. "I'm three weeks late," she explained, "And when I visited the doctor, he confirmed it for me."

He let out the breath holed up in his chest. James's face broke into a smile, followed by a laugh. Obviously, one expects pregnancy in a marriage, but it never crossed his mind. Their excitement climaxed together. She squealed and bounced in his lap while he nuzzled her nose. "This is…" he said, his forehead pressed to hers, "This is wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!" He held her close and kissed her. He smothered her in his kisses and kept on until he said, "This is the best thing you can ever give me, Joanne."

"I'd only ever give it to you," she said to him.

Nothing felt more satisfying than coming home after a long day. James put down his suitcase in the hall, hanging up his coat. He searched around for Joanne. He checked the parlor, the sun room, and the kitchen. He even looked into the garden. A pang of worry hit him when he found their library empty. Walking upstairs, James tried rationalizing his thoughts. She might be in the bath or in their bedroom asleep. He had been working late recently. She normally stayed up for him, but perhaps she drifted off.

"Joanne?" he said, walking into the bedroom. "Joanne, dearest? Where are you?"

The sobbing caught his attention. Behind the bathroom door, he heard her weeping. James opened the door immediately and held back his gasp.

"James!"

She sat in a pool of blood. It smeared on her legs and stained her nightdress. Her face puffy and eyes red from tears, she shielded her shame with blood stained hands. His heart broke. James knelt down to her. He cradled her face and kissed away her tears.

"I lost it," she said between sobs. "I-I-I lost him. I-I lo-lost our bab-baby boy."

"It's not your fault, dearest," he said. He never felt pain so deeply. Every sob tore his heart apart. All imagery he had of their son ripped away from him. They remained distant thoughts now. "It's not in the slightest," he told her. He called their newest maid and instructed her to phone the doctor. "We'll make another, dearest. Don't you worry. I'll fix this."

He'd felt marvelous against her. His hands and lips went places they shouldn't have. Hers did the same. His sweet whispers sent chills down her spine. The blood smeared across her naked flesh and they'd forgotten the body beside them. Their grunts replaced the screams. She'd expected urgency and roughness. James gave her the opposite. She'd never felt so alive until she met him. Her hands still quivered from the act of plunging the knife. The force it took. The effort she put behind it matched James's perfectly. Soft squishes accompanied each puncture, and crimson leaked out of them. James told her how much he loved her. He kissed her passionately, and never let go of her. He didn't intend to ever again.

She'd woken to silence and bloody sheets. James disappeared along with their victim. She assumed James disposed of it by now. Rachel could only smile. She grinned as wide as her face permitted. No words could express her happiness. Rachel slid off the bed, sticky and red, as Ms. Evers entered the room.

"Good Morning, Rachel," she said. "I trust you slept well?"

"I did," she replied. "Last night couldn't have been any more perfect."

"The Master is also pleased. I haven't seen him so elated for the longest time," she said. She began pulling off the dirty sheets, "I'll get to work on these straight away. In the meantime, I took the liberty of drawing you a hot bath. All the mess, oh, it can be bothersome after a time."

"Thank you."

Rachel walked into the bathroom where a full bathtub awaited her. Stepping in, the scent of lavender emitted from the suds. She embraced the warm water and sighed. Thoughts of the previous night continued rolling in her head as she washed the blood from her skin. She almost wished she couldn't wipe it away. If she did, she'd have no reminder of it. It'd be as if it never happened. His grunts, his growls, his gripping hands and delighted laughter aroused her. The wailing and muffled screeching of their victim excited her beyond belief. She felt refreshed. She felt new.

After finishing in the tub, she pulled on a nearby bathrobe and came back into the room. Ms. Evers had laid out a full breakfast for her on the dining table. The scent of cigarette smoke made her smile.

"You weren't here when I woke up," she turned to him in the lounge.

He sat fully dressed with a cognac in his hand and cigarette in the other. He returned her smile. "Forgive me, dearest," he stood up from his seat, "I had things to dispose of before you woke. I didn't want you waking to such a mess."

He kissed her softly, putting his drink down and bringing her close. James offered her his cigarette, which she took coolly. "I wouldn't have minded," she said before taking a drag and passing it back to him. "As long as I woke up to you, I wouldn't have cared. Now, should we have breakfast?"

He chuckled, "I don't know about you, dearest," he said, "But suddenly, I'm not as famished as I was before."

The glint in his eyes told her everything and she couldn't resist.

She walked back to her room in her evening dress. She felt different. Rachel didn't feel that familiar hold inside her. She didn't stare at the ground when she walked. It was as if she tread over the world. Jeanine's angry voice messages and threats didn't worry her as they would've. She didn't care about her mother's cautioning words or Delia's concern. Nothing mattered. They were all beneath her now. She was a queen, a goddess. She could live out her fantasies carelessly. Here in the Hotel Cortez, the world was her kingdom. James gave her that. Rachel opened the door to her room, and then that shrunk away. The thick scent of blood hit her right away.

'I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME. I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME. I AM YOU. YOU ARE ME.'

The phrase covered the entire room. They started on the ceiling and reached down to the floor. Some words were bolder and larger than the rest. They crossed over one another, leaving little of the wall left. It was still etched across the mirror, and written out in rose petals on her bed. She immediately checked her closet where she found all her dresses intact. The jewelry box James gave her remained untouched on her vanity table. She didn't understand. She couldn't piece any of it together. Why did the mirror spirit bother her? Why did it write this message? Who were they and why would she be them? She felt anxious thinking of the only possible suspect. She couldn't stop reading the red words and taking in their meaning. She could feel the words slipping into her chest and nesting inside her.

"It could've been worse."

The voice startled her and she turned around. Elizabeth walked into the room, wearing all black with a fur shawl. Rachel wasn't as captivated by her as before, yet couldn't help admiring her still. Elizabeth kissed the side of her lips softly and then stared around the room. "She could've waited until you came back," she said, "She likes scaring people."

"Who?"

"Joanne," she answered, "Jimmy's first wife. Surely it's crossed your mind? People have been talking more about her since you came. She likes the attention."

"It did cross my mind," she said, "But my research didn't say anything about her dying here."

"Unless he covered up," she examined the bloody message and swiped her finger on the wall. Tasting it, she scowled. "Jimmy didn't want investors knowing his beloved died in the hotel's basement. It would've been bad publicity, especially when he married me. Also, they would've found his torture chamber."

"I could understand that," she nodded.

Elizabeth looked at her curiously. She scanned her body and saw the dress, "Where did you get that?"

"Things have been turning around for me," she replied. "So, she died her? How?"

"It's absolutely gorgeous," Elizabeth touched the thin lace sleeves and said. "Jimmy told me she'd always been the elegant dresser."

"Elizabeth…"

"She died in childbirth," she said. "Every baby they had miscarried. This one managed to last the full term and came out a stillborn. I think it devastated him; propelled his hobby more and more. He married me because he thought I could replace her. I'll admit his darkness drew me in, but not the way Joanne had been." She paused, and then said, "They were both naturally evil."

"They were being themselves," Rachel said. "They created a place where they could do that."

The other woman smiled, gently touching her cheek, "There's something different about you. You smell like blood."

"James and I had an interesting night together."

She tried concealing the horror on her face. "You did?"

"We did."

She pulled away and said, "I suppose it was only a matter of time. I guess that's why she's speaking to you. She knows you're like her. She'll pop up again. She does it to me all the time."

"Because you married her husband?"

"And because I'm living in her room. He'd designed the penthouse suite for her," she told her. "She likes to smash my personal stash and rip up my clothes. She came around more often when Jimmy was alive. She'd mostly tamper with his things and make it seem like I did it. It angered him, but he never hurt or killed me. He simply thought I was crazy."

"Another way of getting him to leave you," Rachel said. "She was doing it so he'd kick you out."

"Exactly," she said. She then said, "Anyways, the real reason I came is because of Will Drake."

"Will Drake? The fashion designer?"

"The same," she nodded. "He's buying the hotel and remodeling it. He's hosting a fashion show to celebrate. I thought you might like to join me."

"What about Donovan?"

"Don't worry about him," she said. "You just worry about what you're going to wear. I have some things that would look spectacular on you."

In truth, Rachel was more concerned about Mrs. March than a fashion show.