Pockets of iniquity still thrive amidst the rampant redevelopment of downtown Los Angeles. Around 8am on a grey Saturday morning an inconspicuous 1990s-era Honda cruises slowly down San Pedro Street, heading closer and closer to the once notorious Skid Row area. Its operator searches for a sign bearing the name of the long-defunct La Jolla Hotel. Facades of recently renovated buildings dominate the landscape although many of them still abut abandoned rooming houses and weed-strewn lots. After a halting, circuitous journey the visitor finally spots the decayed old sign looming above the barricaded entrance to a century-old, dark brick building. Despite the earliness of the weekend hour people are milling about on the sidewalks, carefully assessing each passerby who ventures into this quadrangle of rough turf. Gentrification has not yet reached the intersection of 6th and Stanford, but it will. The Honda rolls to a stop about one block past the former La Jolla Hotel. After shutting off the engine the driver surveys the grim surroundings, senses the presence of mostly invisible watchers. The humble appearance of the vehicle does not fool anyone. Longtime residents of the area know that cruel surprises almost always arrive in a seemingly innocuous manner. They wait patiently. The object of their scrutiny reclines in the front seat and takes an internal measure of the atmosphere while ruminating upon the checkered history of the La Jolla. Several decades earlier authorities had forced the closure of the business after three suspicious deaths had occurred on the premises. News of the untimely passings had neither made the headlines nor come to the attention of the general public, but the ensuing police investigation had given rise to a disconcerting rumor. The lead detective handling the La Jolla matter claimed that once-promising Hollywood actress Madelyn Porter was residing inside of the decrepit establishment. Barred from the film industry during the McCarthy era Porter had focused her considerable energies on creating a reputation as a mystic. Back in 1950 many acquaintances believed that she was researching means by which she could destroy the lives of those who had betrayed her. Since that time unconfirmed accounts of Madelyn's secretive, vengeful existence had become legendary, taking on momentum as the decades passed. Most recently, a maintenance crew on a routine inspection had reportedly encountered the former actress on the third floor of the condemned La Jolla building. Each of the spooked workers swore that she looked exactly the same as she had in the iconic publicity stills taken for her last film in 1949. Blinding flashes of light and powerful tremors had forced the men from the structure before they could confront her. Shortly thereafter city officials had deemed the La Jolla unsafe for entry and had slated it for demolition. The cassette player inside the Honda reaches the end of a tape and makes an abrupt clicking noise, jerking the driver back to the present reality. From a distance various observers see the front door of the vehicle slowly swing open. Its occupant steps onto the sidewalk, determined to gain access to the La Jolla and at long last put both Madelyn Porter and her legend to rest..
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