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PERCY didn't realize how comfortable it was to run with a monster through the rain. Something that should be so vicious – so frightening – was grinning at him with such an immense delight that it made him wonder if things were moving too fast. Time was so short now. Every second was meaningful as Hadley pulled him through the downpour.
The way she twirled him around and back to the hotel made him question if she was conducting a dance. Each move she made was so fluid, like a dancer. Every step was calculated and precise. When they were finally near the hotel, she moved a few strands of hair out of her face and chuckled in his direction. They were both soaked to the bone, looking like wet dogs in the middle of L.A, standing on a street corner by the Cortez. The moon rose into the sky, and Hadley turned her head up, allowing the droplets to cascade down her cheeks. The sight of happiness on her face made Percy's stomach do flip-flops.
When their eyes met again, a mysterious glint appeared in her stare. "Do you know about all the killings that happened at the Cortez? Is that why you decided to stay there?"
"What?" Percy's brow rose. "No, wait – killings?"
Hadley flashed a grin and tugged on his hand. "James Patrick March built the Cortez in the late twenties. He was a serial killer, actually, and constructed a bunch of secret rooms and hidden passages to hide all the evidence of his murders." They continued walking back, and Percy found his eyes viewing up at the hotel sign that served as a beacon to light their path. "March was very ... theatrical, apparently. I think it's because he considered killing people some kind of art. Drugs and alcohol never satisfied him. Only killing did."
"Why?" Percy interrupted. "Was he psychotic?"
Hadley snorted. "If only it were that easy," she muttered. "He's famous for this series of murders called the Ten Commandments Killings. He modeled each murder after one of the ten commandments, obviously. He was only successful in committing two, though, before he slit his own throat when he realized the police were onto him."
Percy frowned. His face was highlighted by the sign of the Cortez as they neared the entrance. "Did he just hate religion or something?"
"No, silly," she sighed. "He wanted to kill God."
Percy swallowed hard. He wiped his sweaty hands on the back of his pants. Jesus Christ, he thought to himself, I really got myself into something, didn't I? His conscious chastised him, but truthfully, he knew he didn't want it any other way.
Hadley held up a finger and began to imitate a male's voice from the 1920s, "You want to know what the worst thing in this world is? Religion. As long as there is a God, men like me will never find peace. Not even in the afterlife." She shrugged then, sending him a delighted smirk. "At least, that's what he told me."
