Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/635002.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Labyrinth_(1986)
  Relationship:
      Jareth/Sarah_Williams
  Character:
      Sarah_Williams, Jareth_(Labyrinth)
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Mind_Games, Nightmares, Magic
  Stats:
      Published: 2008-02-25 Updated: 2008-09-19 Chapters: 3/7 Words: 22598
****** Thrice Upon a Time ******
by Subtilior
Summary
     Sarah has moved to a new city, and stumbles across the Goblin King
     one cold night. She never thought she'd see him again - and she's not
     happy to have him on her turf. They argue, and they make a bet in
     lieu of a date ... but whose will be the victory?
Notes
     The first chapter was written for the Labyfic Holiday Gift Exchange,
     winter 2007.
     Here were the prompts
     1) Sarah out of college. Lost in a new city. Jareth is a tease.
     Pizza, stale coffee, and a park bench.Huge public argument. Sarah
     takes a gamble. Angst and romance is always welcome.
     2) Blackout. No flashlights. Sarah living alone in a one bedroom
     apartment. Annoying, yappy pet dog. An incident involving pantyhose.
     Jareth answers an unspoken wish. Sexual Tension is a must!
     3) Sarah, Jareth and swing set. Rain. Jareth in jeans and Sarah in a
     black dress.The game two truths and one lie (person says three things
     about his or herself and the other person has to guess which one is a
     lie). Romance and angst please.
     My thanks to Pika-la-Cynique for the beta read!
***** Chapter 1 *****
                                       1
The first time Sarah saw him in her new hometown was on a cold and clear
November evening.
He was sitting on the front steps of a brownstone. His hands dangled off his
knees; his wrists, jutting out from his cuffs, were bony.
Cuffs. Sarah knew that she was gaping, but she could not stop. There was the
Goblin King, in the flesh, dressed in what looked like Armani, the immaculate
suit not hanging off his frame, or baggy, as she would expect on someone as
gaunt as he … but instead outlining his back and one outstretched leg in
elegant profile.
His face was composed, his eyes hooded – no markings – nothing strange
– nothing strange except how unnaturally beautiful the lines of cheekbone and
jaw were, how perfectly the faint smile rested on his lips, how gracefully his
hands lay – and his wrists …
His wrists, with skin so pale they almost glowed against the dark fabric, were
bony – and she saw the gleam of a jewel against black cloth, as he turned a
hand to flick an imaginary piece of dust from his knee – the Goblin King
– here– she could not believe it.
She did not want to believe it.
She stared, feeling as though someone had poured ice down her back. If she
unclenched her jaw, she was sure her teeth would start to chatter –
The Goblin King inclined his head toward her, all vulpine smile and glittering
eyes. "Good evening, Sarah."
Wordlessly, Sarah backed up a few steps. Impossible. Impossible. She hadn't
seen him since she had defeated his Labyrinth. She had made no wish; she had
called upon no one – how had he come to her? What did he want?
Sarah decided that she would not stick around to find out.
She tensed, preparing to run. Jareth noticed.
"Do stay a moment, won't you?" His voice was soft. "It has been so long since I
last had the pleasure of your company."
She swallowed hard. Choked: "Not long enough."
Jareth pursed his lips and looked down at his intertwined fingers. "Debatable."
Sarah felt her stomach lurch as she saw crystal glimmerings beginning to thread
between his hands.
"No it's not – it's not debatable, there's no question about it, and
I don't want to see you." No, no, no – she realized, wildly, that she could not
deal with this, not now. Now was not the time for childhood fantasies to
materialize and offer her her dreams … For what price? her mind whispered.
"Why, only a trifle, my dear." He was holding a sphere – one she remembered.
She stumbled backwards.
Jareth's smile was sleek. "A very tiny trifle … something so inconsequential
that you will never miss it – and then you can have them all, sweet Sarah. Your
dreams. Your wishes. Anything and everything you want."
Everything I want –
After college, she had moved away – from her family, from her old house, from
the setting for the gauntlet she had run in the longest thirteen hours of her
life. She had never called on him, had prided herself on not thinking of him –
at least, not intentionally – and now here he was, appearing for all the world
like a normal city dweller, dressed for a night out and looking up at her with
a smile that promised – that promised everything she had ever desired and
denied herself –
Sarah began to tremble. "I don't believe this. I don't believe in you– this
is my city, Goblin King, my life, and you have no part in it. You have no power
over me!"
With an exasperated sniff, he made the crystal vanish. Then Jareth straightened
a cufflink. "No, I have no power over you." He tipped his head to one side.
"Nor do I have a companion for the opera this evening. Care to join me?"
Her jaw dropped. "What?"
"Light opera – it's Humperdinck, I believe – truly an unfortunate name, unlike
a more beautiful one that I sing to myself each night as I dream of you –Sarah
–"
Sarah clapped her hands over her ears.
"Sarah … Sa-rah … won't you join me?"
"No!"
"For dinner, then …" he crooned. "Don't say 'no,' my sweet – you are far too
thin …"
Dinner – to her angry dismay and embarrassment, her stomach growled. Loudly. No
job (yet – it would come) no roles (yet – they would come) and she had taken to
walking around the city, up named streets and across numbered ones,
desperately, ignoring the gnawing in her body and her mind–
Something tickled her nostrils – the smell of – my god, is that steak? Steak –
or curry – or lentil stew – or something else so savory that a rush of saliva
had flooded her mouth.
She stared at the brownstone building – at the scent she could practically see
wafting from an open window on a puff of steam. The brownstone looked cozy and
inviting, its eaves frosted with snow, the bits of stained glass in its windows
glowing like so many candied fruits – the golden light dripping like honey down
the leaded panes set in the door – gritting her teeth, Sarah pulled her eyes
away and glowered at Jareth.
"I'd rather eat pizza crusts from the trash – I'd rather drink coffee three
days old – I'd rather get the worst case of food poisoning in history than eat
with you, you jerk!"
"Sarah …" he sighed. "I took the trouble to make myself presentable and came
only wanting to make peace, and only asking you to dinner ... There's no shame
in admitting that you are hungry, by the way – you look as though you want to
start gnawing on this banister." He tapped one gleaming shoe against a wrought-
iron rail.
Furious, she ignored the stinging in her eyes and strode off, up the sidewalk
and away from him –
– or started to, for, quick as a flash, Jareth uncoiled to his feet and stepped
in front of her, blocking her path.
Sarah clutched her coat tighter around her body, and told herself that the
roiling in her gut was from hunger, not from anything else – certainly not at
the way the lamplight caught his hair (less wild) in a gleam of gold, and
turned his eyes (mismatched) into glowing sapphires as he gazed at her.
A slow smile tugged up one side of his mouth. "Why such hostility, Sarah? I
only gave you what you desired, those many years ago. Why such anger for it?"
Sarah swallowed a bitter lump in her throat. "I don't have to explain myself to
you." I wasn't supposed to think of you. I wasn't supposed to remember you. I
was supposed to be happy, because I won –
Jareth looked her up and down, his eyes glinting. "One thing, I think, you
could not explain away, even if you tried." He darted out a hand, and brought
her own hand to his mouth and – Sarah gasped as she felt the brush of his lips
– and his tongue, oh god – sear through her skin and set her blood on fire -
Something inside her wrenched as she yanked her hand away. "Don't touch me!"
she spat. "Lay even one of your chicken-bone fingers on me again and I'll snap
it off, you creepy bastard!!"
"Hey, shut up down there – some folks'r trying to sleep!" a voice had boomed
from across the street.
Jareth had caught his hands behind his back, bending toward her in a mocking
half-bow. "He has a point, you know. There's no sense in a nasty public
confrontation when you can give me the tongue-lashing of your life –" another
smile – "in private. And you know Sarah –" his eyes had darkened –
"youwill come to me. You will come dine with me … eventually."
He touched his upper lip with his tongue. Sarah felt an explosion in the pit of
her stomach – then, enraged with herself, she snarled: "Wanna bet?"
A purr. "I love a wager. Say on."
"I bet you that within six months I will have a job, and a role in a play, and
I'll be able to walk into a five-star restaurant and have people falling over
themselves to help me – all without any of your help."
"Really, Sarah." Another sigh. "You could save yourself so much time and
trouble by just making a wish."
"That's exactly the point. I don't need you, Goblin King – I don't need you, I
don't want you, and I sure as hell don't trust you. So. Deal?"
Jareth's smile had vanished. "Very well. If these terms are not met by the end
of six months, you will be so obliging as to take this crystal from me."
"With what consequences?"
He did not reply; merely watching her with veiled eyes.
"Fine." Her voice was tight. "And when I win, I want you gone from here. Gone
from my city. Permanently."
His jaw clenched; then she saw both a forced smile and an extended hand. "Shake
on it, then?"
"Like hell." Sarah glared at him. "There's another way to make it official,
your Majesty."
He went still, his eyes slits. "Jareth will do."
She did not reply. Instead, she spat at his feet. "There, Jareth. Sealed."
"Such insolence," he breathed. "How should I punish you for it?"
Sarah bared her teeth. "You don't scare me. I defeated you once, and I'll
defeat you again – You have no power over me and I don't need you!"
"No?" Jareth's lips curled. "Very well. Do enjoy your crusts, my dear." His
eyes burned down into hers – alight with a look she did not want to think about
– "We shall have to discuss their flavor and preparation over dinner some other
time, hm?"
"In your dreams, Jareth."
And Sarah turned her back and walked away. Not looking over her shoulder. Not
waiting to see the expression on his face.
===============================================================================
nibble, nibble, like a mouse / who is nibbling at my house?
who's singing?
those little wretches again – but they were so happy to see you, dearest, that
you cannot fault them for their music –
mmmm. I guess not – wait … what are you doing?
he's holding a peach, she realizes – why is it always a peach – and in his hand
it ripples and dissolves into golden-orange liquid, which oozes over his
fingers as he coasts them up and down her legs – and then he wipes his hand on
her stomach and grins up at her, bends his head and begins to lick the juice
dripping down the angle of one of her knees –
she gasps in surprise, because his tongue scratches, like a cat's
what is it?
nothing – it's just – holy god, if you keep doing that, I won't be able to
stand up –
she hears him laugh
you will not stand for quite a while, sweet, if I have anything to do with
it – and I will –
and she realizes that she's lying down, somehow things have shifted and turned
upside down, or is it right side up? she doesn't know, and she can't think
clearly, because she's staring into his glittering eyes, and his breath is warm
on her face as his lips curl into a smile and he murmurs
hungry?
she grins back at him, and then bends her neck to bite down, gently, on his
shoulder – he hisses, and she whispers against his skin
starving –
his fingers press into her jaw, turn her face back to him
then kiss me …
she does – and he tastes like everything she's ever dreamed of, and desired,
and wished for – and she clutches his shoulders – the skin warm and sticky with
peach juice? or sweat? – she doesn't know, and she can't decide which, because
his mouth is so
delicious –
she hears her own voice husk, and he whispers
sweet –
===============================================================================
The next day, Sarah went through rounds of auditions and a few callbacks with
an odd taste in her mouth – bittersweet, and strange. Her mouth itself had felt
pulpy upon her waking up that morning.
She chalked it up to being unable to afford toothpaste.
===============================================================================
                                       2
The second time Sarah saw him in her new hometown was on a dark and stormy
night.
It was mid February, and she hadn't found a job, and – Sarah yelped as she
barked her shin on a step – and it was freezing cold, and snowing, and the
power was out.
"Insult to injury, I guess …" With a sigh, she walked up the stairway,
shivering. Her tights were beyond hope, since she had received the Run of the
Century after snagging one leg on a nail at rehearsal today –
Rehearsal! She hugged the word to herself. Rehearsal! One down, only two more
to go–
Although as wagers went, it was pretty stupid – there was ample time for her to
accomplish everything – Sarah frowned at her thoughts. Useless, thinking of the
Goblin King – although she was more and more, these days – god knows why – it's
useless, pointless, and – and her frown deepened.More like playing right into
his hands.
His fine-boned, elegant, capable-looking hands – he hadn't been wearing gloves
that night on the brownstone steps – you saw that, didn't you?
She pinched herself. Get over it.
Sarah ascended the stairs; they wound up, and up; higher and higher … It was
pitch-black, but she was not afraid of the dark; ever since the Cleaners had
clacked their ravenous way down the tunnel at her, she had been afraid of very
little.
Even if she hadn't known that her miniscule apartment was on the topmost floor,
she could have guided herself there with her neighbor's stupid dog as a
lodestone. Yap – yap – yap – one of these days, Sarah would barbeque the mutt,
and the entire building would thank her for it.
Yap – yap – yap – louder and louder, until she reached her door, groaning:
"Shut up, for the love of all that's holy – I wish you would just –"
No!
Sarah hissed in a breath. That was close. She unlocked the door with trembling
fingers (difficult in the dark, had she not done it a thousand times before)
and stepped inside.
No wishes.
"No wishing for anything," she said to herself. He wanted her to, after all.
Sarah bit her lip, tossing her purse in the general direction of her front
closet and feeling for the refrigerator, and then the table, and then the
doorway to her bedroom. She wasn't stupid – he was just looking for an excuse
to play games, the bastard, and she wouldn't give him one.
I'm not fifteen anymore …
Fifteen. Sarah sighed, kicking her shoes off and standing on one foot to
massage the other heel. What had she wanted, when she was fourteen? A pretty
dress, a ballroom dance, and a Prince Charming with a disturbing resemblance to
her mother's co-star. And she had gotten them … in a way …
Sarah grimaced at the memory and felt her way to her dresser. I could have
sworn I had a flashlight there …
She fumbled through underwear and socks. No flashlight. Figures.
With another sigh, she shimmied out of her jeans and draped them on a chair.
Her sweater and shirt followed. Then Sarah reached for her pajamas on their
hook –
"Oh, shit – not tonight – tell me they're there … come on –"
She stomped towards the door, ran into the frame – ouch– and made her way to
the bathroom. There were her pajamas, hanging on the doorknob.
False alarm, I guess.
("Beware, for the path you take will lead to certain destruction –")
Sarah blinked, shaking her head to clear it. Where had that come from?
She brushed her teeth and washed her face. Halfway back to her bedroom, she
realized –
The dog had stopped yelping.
Sarah sat down on her bed and exhaled long and loud, not realizing how tense
she had been. But why? "Thank God for small mercies, anyway," she mumbled,
grabbing a handful of blankets and drawing them around herself. She shivered –
although it wasn't really cold in her bed, and that was odd, given how frigid
it was in the room …
Wait a minute …
She gulped. Why was it so warm? Nervously, Sarah reached for her pillow –
– felt bare skin –
She screamed.
"What?!"
"And I just got that dog to be quiet." A plaintive voice reached her, where she
had thrown herself out of the bed and backwards against the wall.
Disbelieving, Sarah wrapped her arms around herself. She could hardly speak,
through the chattering of her teeth. "Who is that?"
"Oh, you know very well who it is."
She did. She did. And that voice belonged to that unmitigated bastard of a
Goblin King, who wouldn't leave well enough alone –
"Has it been six months already?" she hissed. "Or do you have trouble counting
that high?"
Sarah heard a slight laugh, from her bed. "And here I thought you'd be happy to
see me – in the flesh …"
"Why the hell would I be happy to see you?" She couldn't see anything, in the
pitch-black room, and the fact that she was as good as blind made her skin
crawl –
"You have nothing to fear from me, Sarah." His voice was low. "I'm only here
because you made a wish."
"I did no such thing!"
"Oh yes you did." It was amazing, Sarah thought distractedly, how his words
sliced through the rustle of her sheets, even though the latter sounded as loud
as a rattlesnake warning her away –
Jareth continued. "You wished, however unconsciously, that you could sleep in a
nice, warm bed. And out of my overwhelming beneficence, I have chosen to
fulfill your desire."
Sarah's skin tingled; she clutched at her pajamas and snarled: "Bullshit. I'm
sure I wish for a lot of things, Goblin King, but I haven't said the words
since – since that one day."
"'That one day' – hm." His voice sounded smug. "What an enjoyable day that was,
my dear."
"I liked the last minute of it best –"
Jareth cut her off. "The words – Sarah, if it were as simple as an "I wish," I
would be run mad within a week. As it is, I take the occasional child when
someone uses the formula you most effectively did so long ago … and as for the
others, I grant a wish or two, however unconscious or awkwardly phrased, when
it most amuses me."
"So I'm an amusement, am I?"
She could hear the smile in his voice. "Only the best sort."
"Goblin King, why do I have the sneaking suspicion that you're making this up
as you go?"
"Really, Sarah, are you so timid these days?"
"What?"
"Timid. Cowardly. Afraid …" Jareth spoke low and honey-sweet. "Chicken."
Fury shot up from her heart to her head. Wordlessly, Sarah stomped back to her
bed, threw back the covers, climbed in, and made herself comfortable with
exaggerated gestures. The blankets tucked up to her chin, she fell back on her
pillow and looked into the dark with narrowed eyes.
"I am not a coward."
"No …" His voice was so close to her ear that she almost flinched, despite
herself. "Nor are you the sort to hurtle headstrong into a trap … are you?"
"Trap?" Sarah laughed. "You have no power over me, and all we have is a wager
with three months left to go on it. Do your worst."
"My worst, hm?" Jareth moved even closer; she felt his warm breath on her lips
and shivered. "Do you have any idea what you're asking?"
"I'm not asking anything. I'm telling you that my bed is nice and warm – thank
you –" she snuggled deeper within the blankets and squeezed her eyes shut – "so
you can vanish now. Fade out. Go poof, or whatever –"
And Sarah's voice caught in her throat as she felt Jareth gently brush a kiss
over one of her eyelids. The warm, fluttering sensation stole her breath away –
and then he did the same thing to her other eye, and her entire body tightened.
"Stop," she said, her teeth clenched.
He drew back. Sarah waited for a moment – it felt like an hour – before opening
her eyes.
She gasped. For where, before, there had been only darkness, now she could see
– she saw Jareth watching her, his jaw propped on one hand, and the other
draped over her – she hadn't been able to feel it, through the covers.
His jaw, his hands, his arms, his shoulders – all pale, but gilded by the light
– his skin was like white gold – his skin, because he was naked –
God, he's beautiful. Sarah tried to swallow, but could not. Her mouth was
parched. The way his eyes held hers, the way he seemed to glow, strangely –
like the first star shining at sunset, or like snow in lamplight – words were
escaping her – she could not seem to describe something as simple as the fall
of his hair across his hand, as the angle of his jaw, which changed as he moved
his fingers to –
Jareth traced his fingertips across her forehead, and brushed a lock of hair
away from her eyes. "Good evening, Sarah."
She found the words. "No – what you're looking for is: "'Good-bye, Sarah.'"
He grinned, and her heart thumped at the glint of his teeth. "So soon?"
"Yes, Goblin King, so get lost."
"Really? Are you sure you would not like me to stay, and kiss you again?"
He trailed his lips over her cheek. Sarah bit down hard on her lower lip.
"… like a peach – sweet ..."
"Jareth, go find a fruit basket to molest someplace else, and leave me alone."
"Why?"
"First, because I told you to. Second, because you have no power over me. And
third – because I have a job interview tomorrow morning, and I need to sleep."
His eyes flickered. "A job interview?"
"Yep." Sarah shook free of his hand on the side of her face, and raised her
chin in defiance. "Item number two. You're that much closer to losing your
wager, Goblin King."
When he spoke again, after a pause, Jareth's voice was quiet. "Then let it
never be said that I kept you from your beauty sleep – not that you need it, my
Sarah – my love –"
"Oh, dream on, you –" She stopped, with a muffled cry, as Jareth wound his
fingers in her hair and tugged her closer so he could whisper in her ear –
"My Sarah." The Goblin King's breath was hot; she felt goose bumps prickle down
her spine. "My beautiful, shining Sarah – my own – I wish you nothing but the
best in your interview, in your new city, in your lovely little life –" he
hissed the word as he brushed his fingers across her eyes, as fast as light –
or the absence of light, because it was dark again and she was falling asleep.
Jareth's voice came from far away; she could hardly hear it.
"Nothing but the best in your life, precious thing – nothing but the best in
your dreams."
===============================================================================
may I have this dance?
do you even need to ask?
his smile wraps her in warmth, but his eyes – those eyes – promise something
more, with their fire –
she places one hand on his shoulder and takes his own hand – gloves – why is he
wearing gloves – in the other –
she's wearing a white dress – puffy sleeves, and puffed-out skirt looking as
though it had been caught in a blizzard of lace – why is it always this dress
– and he wears the same blue-silver coat that dazzles her eyes – his free hand
grips her waist and she feels each finger burn through a layer of glove,
and dress, and leather and lace and all the fabrics and thoughts are whirling
through her head even as figures whirl past them, caught up in the dance
she makes a small noise in her throat, and arches into him, as his hand snakes
around to the small of her back and presses her body against his
he tears his other hand from her own and grabs the back of her neck, and he
kisses her and it's like everything, everything she's ever wanted, and desired,
and wished for
she feels his glove at her neck change and float away as a piece of cloth – she
gasps
what is it?
how did you do that?
she hears him laugh
magic –
and the other glove whisks away – his coat and her gown stream out and unwind,
unravel, become undone in a gust of wind – and streamers of cloth, puffs of
silk and clots of lace float down around them and she realizes that she's lying
down in a nest of fabric, somehow things have shifted and turned upside down,
or is it right side up? she doesn't know, and she can't think clearly, because
she's staring into his glittering eyes, and his breath is warm on her face as
his lips curl into a smile and he murmurs
may I have this dance?
she smiles back at him, and throws out her arms against velvet, satin, lace,
gauze – whirling around them in a storm –
do you even need to ask?
his eyes flare, and he brushes his lips across hers
kiss me …
she does – and she runs her hands up and down his back – his skin feels like
silk made flesh, and they move together in
this dance – this dance is so –
she hears her own voice husk, and he breathes against her neck
no words, precious thing –
===============================================================================
Sarah woke early on the day of her interview. She turned on the light, happy to
see the electricity restored. Then she went to shower, and to dress.
She paused in front of her closet mirror before she left. Paused, and stared.
Everything was normal – dress suit and scarf, nylons and heels in perfect
order.
But for a split second, it had looked as though her shoes were completely worn
through.
===============================================================================
                                       3
The third time – the last time – she saw him in her hometown was on a beautiful
May day.
Sarah kicked her legs and grinned up at the rainbow zigzagging back and forth
across the sky. Up and down.Up and down. Who knew that a swing could be so
therapeutic – she had not been on one for years and years, and certainly not
since she moved to the city.
She looked at her legs, stretched out, then curling back in, and out, and in,
in front of her, whisking against her black dress.
I look good. More than good – great. Great in a job as a docent, great onstage,
great on the front page of the Arts and Entertainment section, and greatest at
the Porte d'Or – the restaurant where she and the director had gone last night,
and where she had received an offer of another role –
Her grin widened and she kicked harder. She had won. The wager was over and
done, because she had won, and there was nothing that a certain King could do
about it –
"Good afternoon, Sarah."
Speak of the devil –
She smirked down at Jareth, watching him go back and forth, back and forth out
of the corner of her eye. "Well, if it isn't you …"
The Goblin King stood immobile. Sarah looked at him fully, and let him wait for
a few moments. Then she stretched out her feet and let them drag on the ground,
slowing the swing until it stopped.
"Come to change the terms, or something?" she snipped. "It would be like you."
"Not at all."
His voice was flat. Sarah frowned, considering him. He looked – odd. Washed
out. Maybe it was the clouds that had moved over the sun – spoilsport, Sarah
thought – bringing bad weather. It wasn't the clothes, although they were a
different choice than usual – suit jacket, torn jeans, and scuffed shoes –
different from his finery in the Labyrinth, different from the suit he had worn
on the brownstone steps …
Definitely different from the last time she had seen him – that night in
February, when he had been wearing nothing at all.
Sarah yanked her mind back from that train of thought, and smirked again. "Not
your normal sparkly self today, Goblin King?"
Jareth's jaw tightened. "It isn't every day that I lose."
"No," she sighed. "Well, that's life. What have you come to say to me?"
He shrugged. "You win."
"Yep. Anything else?"
Jareth tipped his head to one side. "Will you dine with me this evening?"
She laughed, disbelieving. "You think you can get lucky, now, when you leave my
city forever, according to our wager – you honestly think that?"
He said nothing – merely watched her.
"No." She glared. "Even if I did want to go out with you – which I don't – I
have to visit my grandmother tonight."
"I did not know you had relations here."
"I don't, really – I have to take the train."
"Ah."
"But –" Sarah stepped off the swing. "This is beside the point, Goblin King. I
won – and now you leave."
"Your city, yes." Jareth inclined his head. "You will never see me here again."
She sniffed. "And you can't weasel out of that one."
His lips twitched up – but his smile had no warmth in it at all.
Sarah shifted under his level gaze. "All right. Enough. Time for you to go."
"I have one more question, for you."
"Only because I'm gracious in victory …" She swept him a curtsey, and grinned
up at his glare. "Ask away."
"Do you remember any of them?"
Sarah blinked. "Any of what?"
His smile lit his eyes, but it was a gleaming light that made the hairs on the
back of her neck bristle.
"Any of your dreams, of course."
"My dreams?"
"Yes, Sarah …" The Goblin King stepped towards her; she instinctively backed
away. "Your dreams … dreams in which I dine with you, in which I dance with you
…" He gently took her wrist. "Dreams in which I love you …"
"What?"
"Hm. Fine – a correction, then. Dreams in which I make love to you –with you …
All night long, I might add." His stare glittered at her, and his bared teeth
looked feral. "You are an insatiable woman."
Sarah jerked her hand free. "I don't believe you."
"No?" Jareth stepped so close to her that she felt her breath run away, as she
felt she should – run away, run away – even as he kissed her cheek, and
murmured in her ear. "You say that, but you know the truth …"
No I don't – he's lying – "You don't know truth, Jareth –" she bit out, holding
herself rigid against his hands gliding down her neck to rest on her shoulders.
"You can't handle any truth – you with your twisted little maze and your dreams
and your games – wait." She batted away his hands. "If you want truth, then we
can play a game right now."
His eyebrows flew up. "A game?"
"Yes, a game. Two truths and a lie." Sarah marched back to the swing, sat down,
and looked up at the darkening sky. "We say three things, but two of them are
true, and –"
"One of them is a lie; I gathered that." Jareth crossed his arms on his chest.
"You first."
"Fine. I'm visiting my grandmother tonight. And," Sarah gathered her thoughts.
"If I dream of you – and it's a big "if" – it's my own overactive imagination
and hormones, nothing more …"
Jareth waited. "That's only two, you know."
"Right. Last night I broke into my neighbor's apartment, caught her dog, tore
it limb from limb, and ate it." She smiled at him, tightly. "Two truths and a
lie, Goblin King – which is which?"
Her smile faded as she saw Jareth look off into space, considering.
"It's really not that difficult, you know."
"Quite." Jareth's mouth thinned. "You lie when you speak thus of the dog. As
cruel as you are, my precious thing, you are not quite capable of killing in
cold blood and feasting on bones and gore."
"Very good. So you see the truth, Goblin King? I don't love you, I
don't desire you, and if you think I dance through dreams with you, let alone
fuck you every night, you're deluding yourself."
"Am I?"
His voice was so quiet she had almost missed it. Nonetheless, she glared.
"Afraid so. Your turn, your Majesty."
The Goblin King was still for a long moment.
"Any day now."
He hissed. "I hate you."
Even though Sarah was sitting, she felt her knees tremble.
But she made her voice light. "Whew, scary. What's the next one?"
His lips twisted. "I love you."
Scarier, said her mind. But she only shrugged. "Mm-hm. And number three?"
Jareth paused. Then he smiled.
"Your grandmother is in excellent health."
"Well, I know that," Sarah said, nettled. "But for the others – well, shit,
Goblin King – how am I supposed to know which is true? Oh, wait: I know,
because of this."
She got to her feet, walked over to him, and stared up into his eyes. "You hate
me. That's the truth. Because you can't love, Jareth – you can't, and you know
it, because wanting someone isn't the same as loving them. And that makes you
hate me even more."
He said nothing, but she saw his rigid stance, and knew that she had hit a
nerve. "Besides," she said lightly. "I don't think you can hold two
contradictory thoughts in your head at once."
"You'd be surprised."
"Nothingyou do could surprise me, Goblin King."
"Really."
"I –" Sarah's snarl was cut off, as a roll of thunder sounded. "Crap. I have to
catch the train and I don't want to go in a downpour –" She bent to grab her
coat and suitcase, propped against the swing-set. A drop of rain fell; then
another, then a patter began. "Damnit."
"Here."
And Sarah blinked up at Jareth, who had unfolded an umbrella and now held it
over their heads.
"Um." She brushed raindrops off her forehead and shrugged herself into her
coat. "Thanks."
Jareth looked at her coolly. "You're welcome."
Sarah blinked again. "Well, I have to go, but –" she grabbed her suitcase and
firmed her resolve. "Tell me, something, Goblin King – and tell me the truth."
Jareth was silent, waiting for her to speak.
"What was in it, for you? "A trifle," you said – a trifle for my dreams, my
desires … all my wishes come true. What was it?"
She heard the patter of rain turn into a cascade, on the umbrella. The wan
afternoon light shone through the thin red plastic, painting part of Jareth's
face in crimson.
"A crystal, and a kiss."
"A crystal and a kiss? That's it?" Sarah huffed in disbelief. "The truth, I
said. Those two for a boatload of dreams doesn't seem like an even –"
"A crystal – a gift – out of the generosity of my heart … and a kiss to make
your dreams come true …" Jareth's voice was low, meditative. "A trifle they may
seem to you. But to me, that gift and that kiss would have sealed with your
heart all of your wishes, all of your desires – all of your dreams … the same
dreams in which we feast, and dance, and love through the night …"
She gazed at him, mesmerized despite herself.
"And you have one wish, Sarah that I would take great pleasure in granting –
one desire that you never voice, that you never even think…"
"And that is?"
Jareth's sharp teeth gleamed in the red light. "That you would be mine.
Forever."
For a long moment, Sarah stared at him, aghast.
The wind blew a gust of rain against her neck, and her skin crawled. "You're
lying."
"You asked for the truth. And, Sarah –"
The Goblin King stepped closer, and his free hand fluttered and twisted to pull
a crystal from flying raindrops. She froze.
"It is not too late. Take this from me –" he held the crystal before her eyes;
she saw his whitened knuckles. "Take my gift, and kiss me, my sweet Sarah –
kiss me and all of your dreams and wishes will come true. Kiss me, and I will
give you what you desire – not your sweet, innocent heart'sfondest little wish,
but the dream of the dark side of your soul …"
Light shining through the umbrella splashed across his mouth, like blood. His
mouth – drawing closer, and closer, and oh, God she could remember what it had
been like in her dreams –
That's a lie! Sarah shoved him away. "You have no power over me!"
Jareth snarled and threw the crystal from him. "I know – and thus it has been
for our first contest, and our second, but Sarah …"
His mouth twisted from anger into a strange relish –
"Sarah – I think that our third contest will prove different."
"No it won't," she spat, "because I'm going away, right now, and I'm going to
get therapy or hypnosis or something to take care of those dreams – if
they do exist, which they don't – and I'm never going to see you again, waking
or sleeping. Good-bye, and good riddance!"
She turned with her suitcase and strode off into the rain.
"Sarah –"
Don't turn around, don't turn around – he just wants the last word –
"Sarah, please –"
She turned. "What?"
Jareth was holding out the umbrella to her. "I would hate to have you catch a
cold before our final battle." He quirked a half smile at her snarl. "Whenever
that may be."
Sarah looked at him, her skin prickling with unease – or maybe it's just the
rain. It's pouring. It's just an umbrella. It won't bite.
Carefully, she took the umbrella. Unfolded it, and hoisted it above her head.
"Thanks again," she said, sarcastically.
His eyes were steady on hers. "Think nothing of it."
Sarah blinked, and shook her head to clear it. She was relieved to see that the
hand holding her umbrella was steady, even though she felt … strange, somehow.
Like something was tickling at her mind – something important she should
remember –
Who cares? she thought. You won. Time to go.
"Good-bye, Goblin King."
"Farewell, Sarah."
He bowed to her.
"And do give my regards to your grandmother."
===============================================================================
Sarah made it to the station in good time. She stood on the chilly platform,
waiting for the train.
He was lying. Lying to you. The bastard was just angry because he lost.
"Lost the first time, lost the second," Sarah murmured to herself. "Third time?
What the hell – if there's a third time, he'll lose." She twirled her
umbrella's curved handle – back and forth, back and forth. Raindrops flew from
its spines. "Third time's the charm, Goblin King."
She fumbled in her coat pocket for her gloves; it was getting colder. There–
she took out the gloves, and then, frowning, looked at her cell phone.
"Shit." She had turned it off for dinner last night, and forgotten to turn it
back on – "Seven missed calls. Seven– what on earth –"
Sarah flipped the phone open. Seven missed calls. All from her mother. She
shrugged, and put the phone back in her pocket. "Probably can't find Gran's
slippers –"
A whistle sounded. Sarah stepped back as the train chugged into the station,
and ground to a halt. She smiled as she realized that she didn't even have to
move to get to the door.
Staring at the dull metal, waiting for the door to open, Sarah twirled her
umbrella. Back and forth, back and forth. The red plastic behind her head
looked like a halo – the world's biggest hat –
"Skin white as snow," she whispered. "Hair black as ebony. And –" she grinned
at her reflection. "Umbrella red as blood."
Fairy tales. Wicked stepmothers, glass slippers, fairy godmothers and harps of
gold. Little children lost in the woods. Worn-out shoes. Lips red as blood.
Goblin Kings –
"Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever you may be …" she whispered even more
quietly. "I wish that you would realize that you're a fairy tale, and that I'm
all grown up – and –" she smiled to herself, at her own melodrama "– that
desire and love are two different things …"
The doors opened with a whoosh. Sighing, Sarah closed her umbrella and hoisted
her suitcase. She would find a good seat. She would return her mother's calls,
and talk to Gran on the phone –
– and would leave off thinking of fairy tales – she yawned – maybe take a nap –
while riding on a train that would carry her out of the city and into the
country, over the river and through the woods, to her grandmother's house far,
far away.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Warning: bad language.
"Just fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave ..."
Sarah looked into his eyes – those strange eyes, flashing at her from beneath
the upswept brows in that hatchet face … that strange face, his strange form
already turning into that of an owl …
And when an owl, he would fly away from her …
Were those feathers braided into his hair? Or hair braided into feathers? Or
were they all turning, the one into the other, even as he would turn, and fly,
and she would turn, and leave?
She felt a hard lump in her throat. She would leave, and all the magic would
fly from her world, away with him, to where it belonged. No longer with her,
but with him …
"Farewell ..." she thought. "Farewell, forever ..."
Sarah knew she would say the words. "My will is as strong as yours; my kingdom
as great," and then, and then – "You have no power over me!" And the magic
would be gone, flown away like a ghost fleeing the morning.
She closed her eyes at the sorrow of it – the weight of the moment of change –
the step that would take her from being a child to being grown-up. A small
step, a simple one, but irrevocable.
"Sarah?" His breath was warm on her hair.
… wait …
Her eyes flew open. How – how did I –
She had taken one step forward, and he was there, his eyes glittering into hers
from where he stood, poised to fly, his face less than a hands-breadth from her
own.
Looking back into his eyes, Sarah realized that this victory – you have no
power over me – this victory meant he would be gone, that he and magic would
fly away together, and she would never see either again -
Moved by an impulse she did not understand, as the lump in her throat sank and
grew into an ache in her heart, she reached up to touch his cheek.
Jareth's eyes widened.
The flutter of change around him paused – time seemed to slow – and she could
almost smell the magic, crackling between them like ozone, drawing as tight as
a rope pulled taut –
"Goodbye," Sarah whispered. Then she stood on tiptoe, and kissed him.
A strange sound. A snap, or maybe it was a spark – something that she saw, like
lightning, but small? - but her eyes were closed - all she felt was
thestrangeness of her lips pressed on his. It was like trying to kiss ice, or a
red-hot coal – a hummingbird flutter against her mouth – something unreal,
something quicksilver, changing too fast for her to catch, but centered on her,
flying rapid circles around her – too fast – she felt dizzy – she didn't
understand –
Jareth snatched her wrist in a grip like iron, and she yelped, because it hurt.
"What are you –"
But then she looked into his eyes.
And Sarah didn't need to see their blaze, didn't need to feel his other hand
catch her shoulder before she could run – didn't need to hear the clock's gears
grind and fall into the hour with a crash and a clang –
She didn't need to understand Jareth's smile to realize that she had just made
a terrible mistake.
===============================================================================
"No –"
Her eyes flew open as she woke with a jerk.
Trees were moving past the window in a dark blur. Rain pattered down the glass,
and a foggy patch marked where she had breathed in her sleep.
Her neighbor was engrossed in the crossword and listening to music. An old
woman near the front of the train car was knitting; a young girl with a mop of
yellow hair was reading a book. Her neck had a crick in it. She was safe – on
the train …
And the memory … her dream …
That dream …
Sarah wound her fingers together and shook her head once, hard. She hadn't had
it in such a long time, and yet there it was. The dream of –
She stared down at her whitened knuckles.
"The wrong choice."
Hearing her own voice, quiet but steady, reassured her, helped her quash the
memory.
A false memory. A lie. Because it never happened.
"Wrong choice," Sarah told herself, lightly. "Fear me, love me, do as I say,
and I will be your slave – oh, but forget about the baby, Sarah. Forget about
your home Sarah. Forget about your life, forget about your mind, forget about
everything but me, me, me –"
She broke off as the intercom crackled to life.
"Greenfield, next stop. All for Greenfield. Please check for all your bags
before leaving the train. Greenfield is next."
Her seatmate took off his iPod and folded his newspaper, lumbered to his feet,
stepped to the car exit without a backward glance.
Feeling strangely blank, Sarah hoisted her purse from between her feet and let
it fall into the now-empty place beside her. She cast an eye to the cordoned-
off luggage area to check on her suitcase – fine – and glanced down at her red
umbrella, lying in a puddle on the floor – also fine –
"Everything's fine," she whispered. "It's over. I won – again – and he's gone
for good. He's gone – he's a fairy tale, for God's sake –"
Sarah cut herself off and stared out of the window. Sometime in the middle of
her distraction, the train had begun to move again. The trees flickered, too
fast to see, even had it been light outside – which it wasn't …
She shivered. So dark … An early evening in May, and it was dark as night …
A rumble of thunder explained why, and a sudden gust of wind made the train car
rock slightly.
"Everything's fine," Sarah told herself.
Why, then, did she feel so nervous?
Sarah glared at her dim reflection in the window, as thunder growled again.
"Ooh, I'm so scared." She clapped a hand to her face. "It was a dark and stormy
night, and our intrepid heroine knew that the forces of evil would do anything
to keep her from getting to her grandmother's hou – oh !"
Oh, shit – shit, I forget when I fell asleep –
She had dozed off after boarding the train, cushioned in her coat from the
unseasonable chill. And she had forgotten to return her mother's calls
– shit– what if it's important? – Sarah rummaged through her purse for her cell
phone, and then checked her pockets. It was a matter of seconds to find the
missed calls – that's right – seven of them – what could – and to punch the
right button.
The other end rang.
"Come on …"
It kept ringing.
"Come on, Linda," Sarah muttered. "Pick up. Pick up."
As if on cue, her mother's voice sounded over the line.
"Hello – hello who's this?"
"Mom? It's Sarah."
"Sarah – Sarah, honey, where are you?!" The voice was frantic.
Sarah blinked. "Mom – I'm on the train –"
"I've been trying and trying to call you – Sarah honey, your grandmother –"
The line went out, with a crackle and hiss of static.
Sarah jerked her ear away from the phone, cursing, and glanced out the window.
Blackness, with the occasional orange light flying by –
"Damn it, the mountain tunnel … and that's it for three minutes!" She slapped
the phone shut. "Shit, mom – 'your grandmother' what? What?"
An unpleasant mix of fear – what is it – guilt – I should have called earlier –
and anger – that tunnel – made her slam one fist against the window.
The neon lights inside the train flickered. Sarah inhaled, and looked back into
the car.
The towheaded girl had glanced up from her book, and the old woman had put her
knitting in her lap. The girl was asking a question, her voice high-pitched –
"What is it, grandma?" – and it skirled upward into a squeak as the lights
flickered again, and again – and went out.
The old woman quavered, "I'm sure it will be fine, pumpkin."
A voice came on the intercom, as the train ground to a halt. "Ladies and
gentlemen, you've noticed the lights – well, we've got a problem with the main
fuse box, so just sit tight and enjoy back-up power while we fix it. No trouble
at all, and we'll get back on our way within minutes. Thank you."
Emergency lights powered up with a snap and hiss, outlining the aisles and
exits, and nothing more, in red.
"There, you see?" The older voice sounded relieved. "Just sit tight."
"Right –" the girl giggled.
"I know I don't feel like laughing," Sarah grumped, turning back to the window.
Then she gave herself a rueful smile. "Or maybe I do." She opened her phone
again. "From absolute victory to this – our heroine, reduced to a Rail Sale
fare, and stuck on a train with a wonky lighting system, still looks good –"
she struck a pose, then soldiered on – "still looks damn good, even in the grim
artificial light of a cellular phone …"
She held the phone up, with a flourish, and let the dim blue screen light play
over her features.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm ready for my close-up …" Sarah laughed, half-
heartedly, but then stopped.
The back of her neck prickled, as she realized that she could not see her own
eyes.
Their sockets were pools of shadow, and her skin had an unearthly blue tinge.
"Or not." She looked away from her window as she shut the phone and put it deep
in her pocket. Ready to snatch, as soon as they got out of the tunnel –
"C'mon, hurry up already …"
Sarah hunched her shoulders in her coat, against the chill, stared up at the
ceiling – can't see it, the lights are out, earth to Sarah – then glanced back
at the window with a smile, a smile that froze as –
Jareth smiled back.
===============================================================================
"No!"
Her own shriek echoed in her ears, as she landed painfully in the aisle after
shoving herself away from the window. She fought for breath, gasping, half-
crying – "No, it can't be – it can't be because I won – I won, damn him!"
Sarah scrabbled backwards, clambered onto the bench across the aisle from her
seat. The window was now blank and dark. Her own face was still visible – a
white disk, smaller, since she was further away.
She gulped in air. He had been behind her shoulder, so then, she should have
bumped into him when she had jerked backwards.
"But I didn't …" Shakily, she sat up. "I didn't feel him. I didn't touch him.
He wasn't there."
Her voice sounded feeble, to her own ears.
Sarah glared at her distant reflection and spoke louder. "He wasn't there –
he isn't here – because I won!"
The last word was a shout.
Self-conscious, Sarah looked over her shoulder to the two passengers near the
front of the train car. Even in the gloom, she could see them lying half-
slumped in their seats. The old woman had dropped her knitting; the girl's head
drooped forward, like a dandelion flower too heavy for its stem.
"Oh, god, no," Sarah breathed. "No …"
Before she could think twice, she heaved herself up from the bench with both
arms, took one long step and gripped the cold metal struts of her original
bench. There was her own face again, dreadfully white, and – I can't see my
eyes –
"No," she spat. "I'm not afraid." She clenched her cold hands into fists.
And she gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering as the Goblin King's
face shimmered into being behind her, over her shoulder – and not just his
face, but his entire body. She saw the decaying armor that she remembered, the
high-collared cloak, ghostly and insubstantial in the window, marred by streaks
of mud on the glass.
"I'm not afraid of you, you bastard," Sarah hissed.
Jareth's reflection smiled.
You should be.
Sarah gasped, both at the sensation of his words in her mind – god, it's cold,
or hot, what is it – and at their reflection. For the image of the Goblin King
had been at her shoulder, his head tilted slightly, but then she blinked and he
was flush against her back, his hands on her upper arms and his mouth at her
ear – surely, surely that was the only reason his whisper had crawled into her
mind from so goddamned close –
She turned her head carefully to the left. He should be there – right here –
but she saw nothing except darkness.
Instinct made her glance out of the corner of her eye, back at her reflection,
and she froze as she saw Jareth tracing her jaw with one thumb, his left arm
crooked around her own, and the silvery cloak fluttering around her as he
angled his head to meet her lips in a kiss.
Sarah yelped, and twisted away. Then she stared at the window, aghast, as the
Goblin King grinned and rested his forehead against her hair.
She found her voice, and whispered, "Stop."
Jareth slanted his eyes to hers, and bared his teeth.
Make  me.
"You have no power over me, you rat bastard, so leave!"
The Goblin King's grin made her skin crawl.
I have a much better idea, precious thing …
His sibilant voice should have been tangible, but she felt nothing on her skin
– felt nothing but a white-hot ice-cold needle slicing through her thoughts.
Sarah … my sweet Sarah … I shall do as you wish.
She saw his reflection trace one hand along her hair, and then the Goblin King
kissed her temple and her stomach lurched.
I shall leave you. But then –
He quirked one eyebrow and grinned at her again
Then you had better come find me – and find me quickly. After all, my dear, I
wish to discuss … terms.
Sarah licked her lips. "Terms?"
Yes –
One gauntlet rested on her hair, and the other spread wide at the base of her
throat, stark black on white.
I wish to discuss the terms of your surrender.
For a long moment, she hardly breathed. Then she violently threw off his hands
– nothing there, nothing there –
"Bullshit! I won, Goblin King, and you had to leave –
your city, yes. I did, precious. But I also took the liberty of joining you on
this train at the next borough.
She felt her jaw drop. "You – you cheat!"
Jareth shook his head; the ghostly mane of hair fluttered. His smile was cold.
I do not cheat, Sarah. I merely take advantage of foolishness. And now, my
pretty fool, come find me. Use my gift to you – the one you were so obliging as
to accept from me …
"Liar – I never –" Sarah choked, remembering – thanks – think nothing of it –
and bent, scrabbled for the umbrella, grabbed it in a panicked flurry and stood
back up. She stared at the flimsy metal and plastic – still wet – and then at
the Goblin King and herself in the window – her image in the window, with a
blood-red crystal ball clutched in her hands.
She could not speak. She only saw her reflection, shaking her head back and
forth.
Jareth smiled.
I'm afraid so.
Sarah felt the sting of tears in her eyes. "You bastard," she ground out.
"You cheat. Fuck you!"
The Goblin King stopped smiling.
Slowly, his wavering, ghostly image reached forward with one hand, and still
more slowly, he extended his gloved fingers and touched the crystal.
It flared to life – the red was burned away by the glow of magic. The orb shone
with a pure light into the gloom, turning her reflection in the window as
silver as Jareth's own.
He slowly leaned his head against hers, and Sarah gasped as she felt his
whisper, hot and intimate, at her ear.
"You'll need to find me first."
The brush and drag of his cloak against her back as he turned, the slide of his
left hand away from the crystal and up her arm – she felt both as she would
needles or knives in her skin – and he began to walk away.
Sarah whipped around and stared down the aisle. Nothing. Nothing, except a clot
of darkness expanding, growing ever larger – spreading like an inkblot on grey
paper.
She looked at the windows on the side of the car, and felt her stomach jolt as
she saw Jareth gliding down the aisle, his arms outstretched and his cloak
brushing over the girl's curly hair, the grandmother's face –
Sarah raised the crystal high – and its silver light showed the old woman and
her granddaughter gone, the chairs vanished, the sides of the train car turned
to solid rock, and the Goblin King gazing back at her, expressionless, as he
walked straight through the wall where the door had been.
===============================================================================
She stared ahead, into the darkness, silently, and focused on her breathing. In
and out. In and out.
Raising the crystal, Sarah felt her heart sink when she recognized those rough-
hewn walls – the walls of an oubliette.
"And not just any oubliette," she muttered. "The oubliette. The one I fell into
before …"
She lifted her chin in defiance. "And I got out of that oubliette before. It
doesn't scare me. I've defeated him before – he doesn't scare me. So watch out,
Goblin King." Sarah held the crystal high. "Ready or not, here I come."
She walked forward, through what had been the train car, ducking her head to
avoid stalactites. She reached the far wall. Piece of cake.
"OK. All right." Feeling for the hidden catch, she concentrated. "What did
Hoggle do? …"
Whatever he had done, Sarah reflected after minutes had passed, it was damned
hard to duplicate. She fumbled at the wall, dropped the crystal, and cursed as
it rolled into a corner with a strange, clanking sound.
didn't the other crystal ring?
Then she stopped, and stared.
Where the silvery light crept across the floor, she saw the dust and stone of
the oubliette. But in front of her – she squinted – she could just barely see
the ordinary metal and glass of the train door.
"Oh." Sarah blinked, and then shrugged. "Pretty lame, Jareth." She grabbed the
crystal, held it behind her back, and opened the door.
"Well …" She kept her voice matter-of-fact. "I suppose this reveals your magic,
Goblin King – and shows me what you want me to see? Let's take a look."
She held up the orb, and saw a glass wall, two glass doors – and past them, a
familiar sight ... Sarah eased into the lobby – the lobby? – and laughed. "Ooh
–" she cried. "I'm quaking in my boots – it's the bank where I took my
allowance, growing up, oh, the bank! The horror! The horror!" Miming a fainting
fit, she tottered to the next door, and tugged on the handle.
It opened onto a metal hall that swung on a pivot, connecting the cars. Sarah
looked left and right. Down those stairs … She bit her lip. Down those stairs
on either side was an exit, and she could just throw open the door, and chuck
the crystal into the mountain tunnel.
"For the rats," Sarah hissed. "The lying, cheating rats –"
Cheating …
Sarah felt the crystal behind her back, thinking hard.
Come and find me, he had said.
Use my gift to you …
She brought the orb in front of her, before her eyes, and stared into it.
"Without this … without this, I'll just see the train – and I'll be a sitting
duck. I won't be able to see him except in a window - right." Sarah clenched
her jaw, and shoved the crystal behind her back again. "Nice try, Goblin King."
She opened the next door with a jerk, and stepped through into the train car,
brandishing the crystal without hesitation –
– and saw, with an unpleasant twist of her stomach, a chamber with a high
ceiling lost in the gloom, lit by flickering candles – and dominated by an
immense bed in the middle.
"And not just an ordinary bed, oh no," she murmured, walking up to it. "No, you
have to pick a reject from a brothel, don't you?" Sarah curled her lip at the
purple velvet and contrasting red silk, and flicked a contemptuous hand through
the tassels hanging from the posts. "King size … compensation much?"
She lowered the crystal, put it behind her back, and walked to the metal door
that appeared amidst stone and tapestries. Opened it, and closed it without
looking back, focusing on holding the crystal with clammy fingers.
Then she stopped.
The silvery light glinted off racks of sharp surgical instruments, off the
gleaming outlines of a metal faucet and sink, off a large, padded chair in the
middle of the room …
"Brrr." Sarah only half-faked her shiver. "Well, that's a bit freakier. The
dentist. You've got me – I'm far, far too afraid to continue."
She marched on, but her hand did shake slightly, on the door handle, and she
had to try twice to open it, cursing – only to see another pivot hallway.
"Every two cars, I guess …"
Then she thought of something, and raised the crystal to see what he had put
over the exits –
She almost screamed.
The massive, twisted face of a False Alarm stared at her.
Beware –
She wheeled and turned to the other – it had equally distorted features,
twisted in fear, with bulging eyes.
For the path you take –
"'Will lead to certain destruction,' yeah, congratulations." Sarah mocked,
keeping the quaver out of her voice with an effort. "You finally got to say
your line."
Gripping the crystal tightly behind her back, she yanked the next door open,
and cast the silvery light over the room.
She paused.
"What …"
The strange light showed her the kitchen of her apartment.
The kitchen, and the hall … Sarah walked over linoleum, and then over wood,
feeling her skin prickle. She fought off the shivers. Why should this one be as
creepy as the dentist's office?
Perhaps it was because it was so familiar, but so unreal, etched in silver.
Perhaps because it was dank, and enclosed – as it had been the day she had
moved in … dark and dirty …
Sarah stopped at the next door.
Perhaps …
Perhaps because her instincts told her that this next door was the last. That
there would be no more illusions...
That he was on the other side.
Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes. I've defeated him twice now … I've done
it before, and I can do it again. "No power over me," she murmured, resting her
brow against the cool metal of the door. "None."
Opening her eyes, she gripped the door handle, held up the orb, and pulled
forward all at the same time.
Sarah let the door swing shut behind her –
And then she gasped, and blinked hard, as the lights blazed back to full
brightness. The train lurched forward, Sarah stumbled and dropped the crystal,
and it rolled down the aisle, its own light only a glimmer.
It had almost reached the opposite door when someone stretched out one foot,
and stopped it.
===============================================================================
"Ah, Sarah … How pleasant to see you – in the flesh." That familiar voice
drawled out from near the front of the car. "And in quite good time as well."
There. The Goblin King was folding a newspaper in half, casual in the same suit
coat and jeans that she remembered from the park, and smiling –
Sarah half-walked, half ran down the aisle, taking in the still-slumped
passengers only in passing, until she reached his seat. She glared down; he
peeked up at her through a fall of golden hair, and his smile widened.
"How have you enjoyed the sights, my dear?"
"The what?" she sputtered – "Jareth, you can't send hallucinations at me
because you have no power over me, you cheat, and –"
"I am not a cheat," he said softly, his grin vanishing.
"Do I need to spell it out? No power over me –" she held back from jabbing a
finger into his chest. "That extends to modes of transportation, the
weather, electricity, for god's sake, and whatever twisted shit you have in
your head!" Sarah halted, breathing hard.
Jareth shook his hair out of his eyes and gave her a long look. "Temper,
temper, Sarah. You give me far too much credit. I have no power over you … but
I have the ordinary power to buy a train ticket. I have the mortal wherewithal
to sabotage a fuse or two and really …" He stretched and yawned, like a cat.
"As to the elements, perhaps I begged a favor of the North Wind and the East,
of the lightning and the rain …"
Then he held up the newspaper. "Or, since those are tempestuous demigods,
perhaps I read the weather forecasts like an ordinary person." His eyes
glinted. "Hmm?"
Sarah narrowed her eyes. "And all the stuff I just saw?"
"Ah." Jareth uncoiled from his seat and stood; Sarah instinctively stepped
back. He looked down at the crystal beneath one scuffed shoe, tapped it, and
rolled it to the other.
"This, my dear, is my gift to you. It's a crystal, nothing more – but if you
hold it aloft, and set it alight …"
"It will show me my dreams?"
The Goblin King's lips twisted into a cold smile. "Rather the opposite."
Sarah's throat was suddenly dry. "Not my dreams … My nightmares."
Jareth inclined his head. "In my long existence, I have observed that this is a
gift guaranteed to build character – and I thought you could benefit by it."
"And you think I'll come running to you like some goddamn chicken or a two-
year-old – fuck you, you arrogant –"
"Speaking of which, we have a far more interesting topic to discuss, Sarah
mine." The smile now had teeth. "And that is – your surrender." Sarah stared at
him, horrified, as he continued, "There's no shame in it, precious, and it is
most certainly inevitable, so you could save yourself a good deal of
unpleasantness by kissing me." He gestured around them – "Here" – and brought
one finger to his mouth – "and here."
Sarah bared her own teeth. "Not on your life."
"Why, no, not on mine, but rather –"
Her cell phone rang shrilly, cutting him off.
The Goblin King tapped his lower lip. "I'm not expecting any calls, sweet."
He watched as Sarah unfolded the phone with hands that shook. She saw him
watching, and turned away.
"Hello –" She cleared her throat. "Hello?"
"Sarah – what happened? Where are you? Your phone cut out, and I couldn't get
you back –"
"Mom," she breathed. "I'm sorry, Mom – the train went through a tunnel but
we're out now." She glanced outside. Darkness still obscured all the trees,
save those made golden in the light of lamps flashing by. "I think we're
getting closer to civilization, and we're out of the tunnel, but Mom – what's
going on? What's wrong?" Her memory whispered – Sarah honey it's your
grandmother – "It's Gran, isn't it?" Her throat closed up. "What's wrong with
Gran?"
"She's in the hospital. I'm here with her, but honey – she's had a heart
attack."
Sarah heard a high-pitched buzzing in her ears. The train car swayed; she put
out a hand to steady herself – her fingers closed on air and she lost her
footing.
Then Jareth caught her elbow, and braced her with his other hand at the small
of her back. For a long moment, Sarah could hear nothing –
"– and the resident cardiologist will be here in an hour, because the doctor on
call hardly knows what to make of it – Sarah? Sarah, are you there?"
Her other ear was close enough to Jareth to hear him swallow as she turned her
head away, brushing his throat with her hair.
"Yes," she said faintly. "I'm here."
"Honey, I need you to stay at Gran's house and to take any calls from your
aunts and uncles. They don't have my cell, and –" her mother's voice caught –
"they're not in my contacts list, so be sure to tell them exactly what
happened. Write down these numbers –"
"Just a second." Sarah reached for her pocket, wresting her arm from the Goblin
King's hand. She pulled a pen from her coat, and searched for a scrap of paper.
Jareth gestured, took a piece of parchment from out of thin air, and extended
it to her. She gave him a cold look, and scratched the pen across her wrist to
get the ink flowing.
"OK, go ahead."
Carefully, she wrote down the telephone numbers her mother gave her, tracing
them over the back of her hand – first hurriedly, to keep up with Linda's
voice, then again to make them darker, then again because she could, because it
kept her from bursting into tears –
"Be brave, honey – Sarah …" Her mother's voice caught. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"OK." Sarah heard her own voice, small. "I love you."
"I love you, too." Her mother hung up.
Sarah tried to fold the phone shut. She fumbled it, and fumbled for it, as it
slipped from her hands –
Jareth caught it easily, and held it out to her.
With a feeling of deep unreality, Sarah took the phone back. Her fingers
brushed his – he's not wearing gloves – and then she felt aware, aware with
every nerve, of the way he had crowded close to her – too close – of the hand
still resting at the small of her back, and of his breath warm on her hair –
She elbowed him away, and turned her back on him.
"Sarah –" Jareth began.
"Are you happy?" she gulped. "Two truths and a lie – you, you knew, Jareth, and
you let me sit there chattering like an idiot –" Her voice broke. "You knew,
didn't you?"
A pause. Then: "Yes."
"God!" She felt the tears begin to fall. "Why didn't you tell me?! Why didn't
you tell me? – unless –" she gasped – "unless you did this. You did this!"
"Slander, Sarah …" the Goblin King hissed. "I have no power over you – that
extends to relatives. Do try and maintain some semblance of reality –"
"Reality?! I'm talking to a fairy tale, and my grandmother's dying, and you're
talking to me about reality?!"
She whirled back to face him, and felt a chill from the expression on his face.
"Such insolence exceeds my patience, even with you."
"It's not about you, Jareth, it's my Gran –"
"Your grandmother?" Jareth tilted his head haughtily. "I will save your
grandmother, Sarah. I will restore her to the bloom of eighty-year-old health
…"
"Wh- what? … You will?"
His eyes were hooded. "If."
Sarah felt cold. "If – what?"
"Our third contest, Sarah …" The Goblin King's eyes gleamed. "Engage with me in
our final conflict, at the stroke of thirteen, and if you prove victorious, I
will save your grandmother."
Silence fell.
Sarah only heard the rumble and clack of the train as it sped along – as she
thought, desperately. She darted a glance up at him. His arms were crossed over
his chest. His stare was diamond-bright – diamond-hard.
Sarah closed her eyes. "What's the catch?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me, Goblin King. What's the catch?"
His voice was sleek. "Actually, precious thing, there are three."
"Three. Great." She held her coat tightly to herself; the train car was cold.
"And they are?"
"First, that you must prove yourself worthy of this contest –"
Sarah snorted; he paused, and spoke on. "The second is that you must dine with
me. And the third …"
She heard the quiet tap of his shoes as he stepped closer. Too close. She felt
his breath on her hair.
"The third catch, Sarah, is that you will lose. For, all I need to triumph is
that you kiss me. And you will …"
Then Sarah felt his breath against her mouth; she jerked back and her eyes flew
open. His own were a few inches away and cold. Cruel.
"How do you know that?" she whispered.
"I know," he whispered back, "because I have foreseen it. I have flown through
the Gate of Horn, and flown through your dreams, and I have seen you kissing me
with all of your heart … The Labyrinth has shown me this." His eyes glittered.
"Labyrinth has always intended you for me – and I love you, Sarah. My Sarah …"
Jareth's gaze flicked down to her mouth, then back up. "My Sarah … Kiss me."
He touched her jaw with the fingertips of one hand; she felt the brush of skin
on skin all the way down to her feet.
"Kiss me here, and you need not prove yourself. Kiss me now, and I will fly to
bring your grandmother back from death's door. Kiss me –" his breath was hot –
"kiss me, precious thing, and you will be mine forever …"
It was the hardest thing she had ever done – to take a step back, and another –
to break free from his eyes. But Sarah did so.
"Prove myself? Why?" She kept her voice calm, though her heart hammered. "Why
do I need to prove myself? And how would I do so, great and mighty King?"
She allowed a sneer into her final words, and knew it had been the wrong thing
to do even before she saw Jareth's gaze turn to ice.
"You little fool. I offered myself to you on bended knee, at our first
contest's end. I offered my powers to you. I offered my heart to you. I offered
to be your slave … and you refused me. You passed through dangers untold," his
voice mocked her, "and hardships unnumbered – you declared your power equal to
mine at the great old age of fourteen – you fool! Yet I met your spirit with
mine – I answered your call and did everything you demanded of me and more –
and you refused me!"
"Defeated you," Sarah corrected, calmly.
She felt removed from the scene – Gran is dying – curiously outside of time, or
she would not have dared say it. As it was, she felt nothing as saw his face
twist.
"And for our second contest, Sarah, it was I who played the malleable fool. I
set no task of immortal import, I put no trials to you – instead I lowered
myself to your pathetic mortal plane and did nothing more than offer you gifts
and ask you to dinner – no more than any pathetic human boy would do – and you
refused me."
"Defeated you."
The Goblin King paused. "So it would seem."
Silence.
Sarah took a deep breath. "So, what now?"
"What now …" Jareth spoke softly. "'What now?' she asks. 'What now' is that you
prove yourself worthy of a third challenge. I am the King of Dreams, Sarah
Williams. I am Lord of the Labyrinth. And I say to you that you find your way
out again – retrace your steps – go and fetch your belongings, withthis to
guide you."
He flipped the crystal orb to his hand with one smooth roll of his foot, and
held it out to her.
"Do you see this, Sarah? It's a crystal, nothing more. But if you turn it this
way, and look into it, it will show you your dreams. And …"
Jareth raised the crystal up on high. His teeth were bared.
"If you hold it aloft, and set it alight–" he struck the orb with his other
hand, and Sarah cried out, shielding her eyes against its blinding glare –
burning silver-white and far, far brighter than before.
"– it will show you your nightmares, Sarah mine. So …"
Sarah heard a clanging noise, and whirled to see the crystal hit one bench and
ricochet through the metal door.
The horrible clanging continued for a long time. And then it stopped.
Fear reached up and choked her, as she saw how the entire car had turned
silvery, insubstantial, in the magical light – how the passengers had vanished
into thin air – how many cars away is it? – how far – oh, god …
She turned back, and bit back a cry at the Goblin King looking like a wraith, a
ghost, in the light of nightmares. His ordinary clothes had changed into the
decaying cloak and armor – his hair was a blazing crown, and he smiled at her
with teeth sharp and glittering, merciless.
"So, precious thing –" and his whisper sliced through her ears – "Go and
retrieve your belongings, and my lovely gift to you, and meet me at your
grandmother's house before the stroke of thirteen. Prove yourself stronger than
your nightmares, worthy of the King of Dreams. Or –"
"Or what?" Her voice shook.
"Or you could admit defeat and kiss me – now. Yield to me, and we will go to
your grandmother together." A smile. "And to places as far beyond your dreams
as your city is beyond a single stone."
He held out a gloved hand.
She lifted her chin. "So – just the suitcase and my purse?"
Jareth curled his hand into a fist, and brought it back to his side, slowly.
"And that lovely crystal, precious thing …"
Sarah began to step away.
He half-closed his eyes, drew his cloak closer. "My only love ... What time is
it?"
She fumbled for her cell phone, checked the digital display. "Seven-thirty."
"Half past seven, precious thing – only an hour, precious thing …" The Goblin
King smiled at her, his cloak fluttering as he swayed. His eyes gleamed. "Sixty
paltry minutes until your mortal track comes to its end, precious thing …"
His sing-song voice dropped to a grating whisper. "Fetch me that crystal,
precious thing."
Sarah felt for the door handle behind her, her fingers numb.
"Fetch it for me, precious thing …"
She felt the door open.
"Fetch – fetch –"
The Goblin King spat his last word at her.
"Fetch."
Sarah turned and ran, and heard the door slam behind her.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     Warning: consider the fic as having earned the rating here, for bad
     language, disturbing imagery, violence, and underage squick.
By the time she saw the figure on its knees in the center of – my kitchen – it
was too late to stop. Sarah tripped, yelled, and falls hard on the linoleum.
"Ow – ow –" She clambers to her knees. Sorry – I'm sorry, I didn't see where I
was going –"
There is no one else there.
Sarah turns slowly in place, eyes wide. "Hello?"
No answer.
Bewildered, she looks down. There is nothing but a bucket, full of suds, and a
sponge clutched in her own hand. Her skin feels tight, as if she has been using
bleach.
And she knows, somehow, that she has to clean the floor.
Sarah dips the sponge in the bucket and sets to work. She scrubs and scrubs,
until the suds turn a foaming brown-gray and one swathe of linoleum is
considerably lighter.
Panting, she gets to her feet and looks in dismay at the wide expanse of floor
still black with dirt. But – "I can do this." She hoists the bucket and lugs it
to the sink. "Piece of cake."
She empties the bucket,and turns the water on to run as hot as it can go. After
a generous dollop of cleanser, though, and after rinsing out the sponge twice,
she is still waiting for the water to turn warm.
"Come on," Sarah mutters. "Hurry up." She flicks her fingers through the water
– cold – and glares at the faucet. "Hurry up, hurry up –"
A crash outside her apartment door makes her jump.
"Williams!" a hoarse voice shouts. "Open up!"
"Who is it?"
A curse. "Who is it – who is it – it's your landlord, Williams, and I wanted
you gone this morning!"
Sarah looks frantically for a clock. There is one with a dingy face, half
hidden behind a pile of old newspapers on the kitchen table. She grabs it
– seven thirty-four – and panics. "But I'm cleaning!"
"Bullshit!" the voice snarls. "I want you to pack up and leave – you
understand?"
"Wait – wait –" she cries. "I just need one more minute!"
The water is still cold – she runs it into the bucket anyway and watches the
cleanser froth up. She looks down the hall, at the door, sees the light at the
peephole wink out – someone's looking in – and hears a jangle of keys.
Sarah flings the sponge on the floor and scrubs as hard as she can, as the door
slams open and a tall, obese man stomps inside.
He glares at her and jerks a meaty thumb. "Out."
"Mr. Gallagher," – that's his name – "Mr. Gallagher, I'll have it clean for you
as soon as I can, I promise –"
A bark of laughter. "That's what you said three months ago, Williams, and I've
got your neighbors complaining, and the health department breathing down my
neck –"
"The health department?" Her voice cracks. "Why?"
"Pawloski next door – she called 'em."
Sarah sputters. "That's only because I complained about her dog barking all the
damn time! That's not fair!"
"News flash, Williams – she's right! Look at this!" He flings open a cupboard
and greasy take-out cartons spill onto the counter. Sarah winces, bends to pick
up a packet of soy sauce.
It squirms in her hand – she shrieks and drops it – it is a cockroach and it
scuttles away as soon as it hits the floor.
"Nice." Her landlord looks at her, his heavy features twisted in contempt.
"Pack your bags and get out, or I'm calling the cops."
"Go ahead!" she snarls. "And I want my deposit back! This place
was dirtier when I moved in – it took me a week to clean it, and –"
Sarah feels a wave of vertigo. She has cleaned it – it had been pristine – and
there should be a rug in front of the refrigerator, covering a tear in the
linoleum – there should be two plants on the windowsill – there should be a red
cloth on the table –
– but there is no rug, there are no plants, and everything is filthy.
"Yeah?" The man sneers. "You got pictures?"
She blinks hard. "No."
A derisive laugh. "No pictures, no proof – and no rent! You haven't paid your
goddamn rent for three months and you're bitching about your deposit?" He pulls
an awful face, and shrills in falsetto. "'We're not gonna pay – last year's
rent! This year's rent! Next year's rent!' You Broadway wannabes are all the
same – too dumb to write a check, too dumb to buy a stamp –" Spit flies from
his mouth. "You're so dumb you probably bring your johns here and wonder why
they want their money back!"
"I work at a museum!" Sarah cries. "And I have paystubs to prove it!"
She grabs a rusty cookie tin from on top of the freezer, wrenches it open and
shakes it at him.
Her landlord howls and falls back as a mass of silverfish falls out of the tin,
comes apart and cascades to the floor, and then the bugs run off in all
directions –
Sarah drops the cookie tin; it clanks and rolls away into a corner. More
insects stream out of it – dozens, hundreds –
"No," she whimpers. "No – make them stop –"
"That's it!" Furious, the man shoves himself up from the floor. "Get out!"
"But I –"
"Out!" he bellows. "Out!" His mouth gapes, wider and wider – black and huge –
– a cockroach falls out of it –
Sarah claps her hands over her own mouth, as he drops to his knees, choking and
gurgling – and then he spews cockroaches all over the floor.
She screams, as waves of roaches and silverfish pour out of his mouth, but the
man cannot hear her – even as she leaped out of the other Sarah, still
screaming, and pelted towards the door – the real door – the train door –
She whirled around, her fingers clawing for the handle and saw herself in the
middle of the kitchen, shrieking, as her landlord's huge stomach swelled and
swelled, until a geyser of insects and filth exploded from it –
Sarah forced the door open, ran through and slammed it shut before she could
see any more.
===============================================================================
Gagging, she doubled over and fell to her knees. "Oh god, oh my god –"
It took a long moment for Sarah to wrench her head back up, and stare at the
door in front of her – wait –
"Oh …" She heard her own high-pitched laughter, near hysterical. "The pivot –
this is the pivot, and there's the door to –"
What next? Still fighting dry heaves, she racked her brain and then remembered:
"The dentist – the dentist, oh no …"
Biting down hard on one knuckle, Sarah fought for control. "Just a dream, just
a bad dream …" With her free hand, trembling violently, she pulled her cell
phone from her coat pocket. "Seven forty-one – oh, I've got to go in there –"
She stood up, and took a deep breath. "Just a nightmare –
Prove yourself stronger than your nightmares –
"– and I've survived worse. OK. OK."
Slowly, carefully, she pushed open the next door.
Goosebumps prickled up and down her arms and her back as she saw the dentist's
chair, silver-grey in the magical light, with someone lying down in it.
Sarah took another deep breath, swallowing a gush of bile. "It's just the
dentist."
She walked forward and peered at the prone body. Its face was difficult to see
in the weird light – she stretched out a hand –
– and Sarah finds herself staring up at the bright ceiling, shivering in a
flimsy paper gown, conscious of the sharp smell of rubbing alcohol and a sting
on the back of her left hand.
"Right, Ms. Williams, that's the I.V." A deep voice speaks and a white-haired
man comes into her field of vision, smiling. "You'll be out when I start, and
it might be a few minutes, but Dr. Gregor here will be here the entire time."
A much younger man leans in, grinning shyly. "Hey."
"Hey –" Sarah tries to say, but her mouth feels stuffed full of cotton wool –
and then her vision blurs, the faces fade, and blackness threads in front of
her eyes. – What's going on? is what she wants to say, but it's too late. Her
tongue is frozen, and everything is black.
"Run an instrument check."
She hears the older doctor's voice, clear as a bell, and curt. "I'll be back in
ten minutes."
"Yes, sir."
Footsteps sound, first loud and then softer; a door opens and shuts.
Then all she can hear is the clink of metal and off-key whistling, as the
younger man – Dr. Gregor – does something – what – what is he doing? –
Long moments of dark nothing pass. Nothing but her own breath and the
whistling.
This had better not be my wisdom teeth, Sarah thinks. All four impacted – that
was the worst weekend ever –
The door squeaks open and she wonders if it's the older doctor, but, "Sam-my!"
she hears, and "Hey, what's up?" Gregor – Sammy? – replies.
"Nothing much." Gum snaps. "Pretty boring day. When do you get off?"
"Forty-five minutes."
"You up for pool at Rigley's?"
"Sure."
"Great." She hears a yawn, and then, "So, who's the chick?"
"Uh –" She hears riffling pages. "Caucasian, forty years old – oh, here –
Sarah Lynne Williams. I didn't know her middle name was Lynne."
"Did she do anything cool?"
Dr. Gregor – Sammy – sounds young as he replies, "I think she was in that one
movie – you know, that long one all in a coffee shop –"
"Huh."
"– and all they're doing is smoking cigarettes and talking about philosophy –"
"Yeah, whatever." The gum snaps again, closer. "Not bad for forty."
She can almost hear the shrug in Sammy's voice. "I guess not – hey!"
what is it? – she wants to say, but she can't move her tongue, can't even gasp
as gum snaps above her head and a finger pokes at her left breast.
"Are these for real?"
"Shit, man! You'll get us in so much trouble –"
"Aw come on, I'm just asking …" Another poke and then a squeeze. "You're not
going to tell on me, are you?"
"Pete, quit it!" The young doctor's voice spirals upward.
"Then tell me – are they real?"
Another rustle of pages. Then Sammy's voice wobbles: "Yeah. Or, at least, she
didn't get them done here."
Gum Snapper – Pete – whistles. "Da-yum. Not bad at all for forty."
Sarah has been trying to shout, to scream – she wants to kick the bastard where
it would kill him, but she can't even twitch –
"I don't know why she wants this." The young voice is plaintive. "I liked that
movie – the coffee shop one – and I liked that weird sci-fi one. She was really
pretty in both of them. I just don't get –"
"Man, she's forty. You gotta do what you gotta do when you hit that rut."
"I guess … wait – shit! Pete!"
"Yeah?"
"Put that away!"
put what away? – Sarah wants to move, to get up, but she can't –
"You'll get us both fired!"
A laugh. "I'm a lab tech, dude – I can get a job anywhere. And if I get
something for these, we'll go even, O.K.?"
Sarah hears a rustle of paper – feels cold air on her skin –
– hears the click of a camera.
"Yeah." Pete's voice is hoarse. "Damn good for forty." Another click.
"Dammit, put that away," Sammy quavers.
"C'mon man – look at this shot –" click – click – click – "See what the light
does, there?"
A pause.
Then Sarah hears Sammy croak. "Yeah."
"Yeah, baby," Pete laughs. "I wanted to do cinema-tah-graphy once, you know –
wait – move her arm a bit." Sammy does; the other man pops his gum again.
"Nice. She ever do a skin flick?"
Sammy's voice cracks. "How the hell should I know? –" and then Sarah hears him
gasp. "Shit, shit, he's coming – cover her, quick!"
Paper crackles, and she hears footsteps.
"Half and half," Pete mumbles, and then: "Hey, Dr. Morgan."
"Good morning, Peter," an older voice returns.
it's the other doctor – stop them –  stop  him! – get the camera, the camera –
Sarah's eyes and mouth are closed and her body is still – but somehow she hears
herself shouting, feels herself thrashing –
"All set?" the older doctor – Morgan – says. A door closes. "Good. Mark seven
fifty-two, and starting. What's this one again?"
"Rhinoplasty."
"Of course."
A brief swish of cloth, and then:
"Scalpel."
Sarah hears a metallic clink –
– and then screams as a blade cuts down the side of her nose – screams with no
sound, for her mouth is closed and she can't tell them that she's
awake, awake –
"Now, Dr. Gregor, the first step is to peel up the skin to make room for the
next incisions –"
The voices ring in and out of Sarah's ears, echoing with the thunder of her
pulse as pain radiates out from her nose into her skull, into her brain – stop,
stop – I'm awake! I can feel everything –
"And they must be securely fastened, before we proceed to the cartilage. Now –
normally, one uses which instrument to break the nasal dorsum?"
"The osteotome, sir."
"Correct. But as the record shows, more drastic measures have been requested,
so –"
A pause.
"Bone saw."
Sarah hears a high-pitched, electric squeal and shrieks, louder than she has,
louder than she ever has before, and, rolling, fell out of the other Sarah and
ran as fast as she could from the chair.
She did not look back, but smelled charred, burning bone, and saw blood
reflected in the next door, her own blood, red and glistening -
- as she wrenched that same door open and shut it as fast as she could.
===============================================================================
She was gasping for breath with her face pressed against something cool, and
bumpy.
Just a bad dream, just a nightmare. You're OK – you're OK ... Just breathe.
Breathe …
Sarah stared at the door that she had slammed. Carefully rising to her knees
and then to her feet, she looked long at the heavy, polished wood – how it was
carved in a pattern of leaves, but leaves with metal spikes jutting out in
place of flowers. The handle was hinged and made of silver studded with jewels.
She felt her skin prickle. This is the one with the bed in it …
Closing her eyes, Sarah leaned forward and rested her forehead against the
wood.
– Just don't panic. Breathe. Don't panic. You'll get through – whatever this
is.
She still took another moment to open her eyes, turn, and squint in the silvery
light.
There were two figures, blurred in her sight, sitting on the bed.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Sarah walked forward, doing
her best to keep her distance …
But despite herself, her feet slowed as she glanced back over her shoulder and
saw … what looked like ropes of diamonds, emeralds, and pearls, scattered on a
table next to the bed. That table was insubstantial in the silvery light, much
as everything else had been at first – before some dream reality kicks in, or
something, I don't know – but the jewels … Even with the magic, the jewels
shone and sparkled …
Sarah eased around the side of the massive bed and stared at the glittering
heap.
"Oh …"
She wouldn't touch, wouldn't even get too close, but – I just want to look –
Then a ghostly limb stretched in front of her eyes; she gasped and recoiled,
throwing out a hand to catch her balance –
And she feels nimble fingers doing something to her hair – weaving it in and
out, twisting it around something that is a substantial weight on her neck.
"What is it?" she whispers.
There is silence for a moment, though the fingers do not stop their work. Then
she feels a breath of laughter on her back. Goosebumps rush over her flesh, and
the laughter turns audible.
"Patience, pet …"
Sarah's mouth goes dry. She knows that voice –
– but before she can move away, she feels something even heavier settling on
her forehead, around her temples, on the back of her skull. She moves her head
cautiously and hears something clink.
"Would you like to see?" the same voice drawls.
"Yes, please," she whispers. – What is it? –
A rich chuckle. "That's my polite girl. Now, look."
Candles flare around the room, and dappled light seems to slide over the
velvets and silks on the bed. Branches of them flanking the mirror crackle to
life as well. Sarah sees her reflection.
Oh –
She stares.
Oh, I'm so  young  …
The girl in the mirror lifts a small, pale hand to a jeweled diadem circling
her head. Brown strands of hair are caught in it; she tries to tug them free
and notices –
There should be a scar at my hairline by the left – I fell from my bike, Sarah
thinks, my new bike, the day after I turned fifteen, and three months to the
day after I ran the Labyrinth …
The diadem has a finely wrought symbol at its center, lying at the mystical
third eye. The metal looks like horns and an infinity sign somehow twisted
together.
The Labyrinth … oh my god, I never left the Labyrinth – and that must mean –
"There, you see?" That voice – it accompanies a face that swims into focus
behind her left shoulder.
The Goblin King gives her a lopsided grin.
"Pretty as a picture."
Wait ... is that really him?
The older Sarah stares out of her younger self's eyes. It is the Goblin King,
but as she hardly remembers him. His eyes are heavily rimmed with kohl and his
mouth is a crimson slash, and –
I never did see him with his shirt off, did I?
Yes, she had, Sarah realizes. The second contest – he had lain in her bed to
warm it and smiled up at her – his white-gold skin almost glowing … but here
... he is different.
Her Jareth – my Jareth? – had been beautiful, yes, but almost painfully thin –
sternum, shoulder bones, and ribs all plain as day. But in this dream
(nightmare) the Goblin King has a sleek, visible strength. Corded muscles stand
out and flex as he shifts closer to her, stretches his arms around her, plants
one hand next to each of her thighs.
Perhaps Sarah shivers, or squeaks, because the grin turns from lopsided into a
full display of sharp, crooked teeth. He leans even closer, rests his chin on
her shoulder. He scrapes those teeth over the side of her neck and bites –
Sarah hears herself whimper and then sucks in a breath; somehow, she knows that
she should not –
The Goblin King's eyes, narrowed, meet hers in the mirror. "What have I told
you time and again, Sarah mine?"
She sees her thin throat ripple as she swallows. "Mustn't do that."
"Exactly. And what do you say now?"
Her eyes are huge, grey-green in her white face. "I'm sorry."
A laugh. "I forgive you. And here now ..." He trails a finger over her skin. "I
am afraid that will bruise – so do let me cover it for you, my darling girl."
She stares at the red mark on her neck – a mark that disappears beneath a rope
of pearl circling once, twice, three times – but the coils slide down, so he
unlocks a net of silver and sapphires, drapes it around her throat higher up,
and flicks the lock shut. "There. What do you think?"
What do I think?
Sarah feels goosebumps spread down her arms; she trembles.
"Chilly, my dear?" The Goblin King unfolds his legs and tugs her backwards into
the warm line of his body. Sarah only just registers what he is wearing – that
black leather – I remember that – and then he places his hands over hers and
murmurs into her ear. "Is this better?"
She is about to nod, but then she sees herself in the mirror –
Oh my  god  –
Golden strands flickering with diamonds twine around her arms. Pearls on
leather cords drape over her hips. An ornate amber pendant lies between her
breasts.
She is wearing jewelry, and nothing else.
Sarah feels the laugh building in the Goblin King's chest before she hears it.
"Aren't we the staring fawn today … Little pet –" he shakes her, lightly, and
kisses her cheek. "Why the wide eyes?"
Oh no, please, please let him not –
"Are you staring at how beautiful you are, little one?" His voice roughens. "Do
you see what I see?"
Her stomach churns as he bends his head and flicks his tongue through openings
in the net of silver on her neck, as he traces the lines of skin between the
pearls, and as he runs his hands up her arms and cups her breasts –
– no, no no I'm fourteen you bastard –
He digs his fingers into her flesh, and she forgets and yelps in pain.
He jerks his head backwards and hisses into her ear, his breath hot. "What have
I told you, girl? Have you forgotten?"
Sarah pulls her knees up and buries her face between them as she feels tears
threaten. She hears a clock in the room, quietly chiming the hour – eight–
something is important, but the King has asked her a question and she must
answer. Her voice is thick. "No ..."
"No, what?"
"I haven't forgotten …"
"Then why squeal so, pretty?" He slides one hand from her chest and gives one
of her thighs a stinging slap. She cries out. "Why this whimpering?"
"I – I –"
The Goblin King's other hand twists in her hair and in the diadem, and
tightens. "Why, Sarah?"
She gulps. "I don't – I don't –" Tears spill over, running down her face. "It
hurts – why do you make it hurt so much?"
"Ah …"
His hand loosens and both his arms go around her.
"Ah, princess. My princess. Shhh …" He kisses her cheek. "Stop crying and I
will explain. Shhh – hush now. Listen …"
Sarah hiccups as she sobs – so young, god I'm so young – as he moves her so
that she faces him. He frames her face with his hands. "Sweet …" He kisses her
other cheek, lingering on her tears. "My sweet princess. It only hurts because
I have such passion for you … such an overwhelming desire for you …"
The sobs turn into sniffles. "I don't understand."
The Goblin King favors her with a gentle smile. "This is part of passion, pet.
When a lover," he points to his chest, "desires his lady above all things," he
flicks a finger against her cheekbone, "of course he's going to hurt her. The
more he wants her, the more he hurts her. And I want you, sweet … so very, very
much …"
In her thoughts, the older Sarah howls. The younger blinks, starts to scrub her
eyes with the back of one hand, and winces at the diamond bite of the rings on
her fingers. "I still don't –"
"My dear." His smile widens. "Just think of your mother and father. You
remember what happened with them, don't you?"
A blush spreads across her face. She looks away.
"You remember how you heard them, that one night. How your mother was crying
out so loudly that you were afraid. And then the next morning you asked her
what had happened, and she said …"
Sarah drops her chin to avoid his arched eyebrow.
"She said," he murmurs, "that what you heard was … Mommy and Daddy's business.
Weren't those her words?" His eyes glint. "But then you were socurious, weren't
you, pet? What was mommy and daddy's business? What could it be? And then your
mother moved to a separate room and all the noise stopped, and then she left
you, didn't she?"
Miserably, Sarah nods.
"Oh, but then ..." The Goblin King leans in close and whispers hot against her
ear. "Then your father married again and you were still so curious – curious if
father and stepmother had the same business as mommy and daddy. You listened at
the door, didn't you? You wanted so much to know, didn't you?"
She nods again, squeezing her eyes shut.
"Then that little brat of a boy was born, and you found your father's
magazines, and you began to get so angry, my fine girl. So angry, and so
confused, because you wanted something – you wanted something and you didn't
know what it was. Until …"
The Goblin King turns her in his lap – she opens her eyes and sees her
tearstained, flushed face in the mirror.
He holds her close. "Until you came to me – and those things that you didn't
even understand … those things you wanted – you wanted themdesperately." He
bites at her ear. "Didn't you?"
"… Yes." Her breath hitches as his hands begin to move again.
"I gave you what you wanted, pet. I gave you what you wished for …" He smiles
at her, a baring of crooked, gleaming teeth in the mirror. "Now you understand,
don't you? Don't you see how much I desire you, since I do these things for
you?"
He rakes sharp nails up her thighs; she flinches, but recovers to give him a
shaky smile. "I think so."
His eyes narrow. "You only think so, Sarah?"
She feels her heart pounding in her chest. Sarah looks through her younger
self's eyes, into the mirror, and sees veins pulsing blue beneath the paper-
white skin at her temples. She sees the dark rings around her eyes – almost as
black as the kohl round his, but from sleeplessness –
"Sarah … Sa-rah …" The Goblin King's mouth is twitching. "Have you forgotten
your name again, my Sarah?"
She feels dizzy. "No."
But he is amused and does not stop. "You forget your name, you forget your poor
parents, you forget how much I adore you and cherish you … now why is that?"
Her lower lip is trembling. "Sometimes …"
She sees him brush a kiss across her temple. "Yes?"
"Sometimes my head just hurts."
"I see." He tilts his head back and runs his tongue across the jagged tips of
his teeth. "Poor princess. My poor little princess … Let me help you. Here."
The Goblin King slowly lifts one hand, palm down. When he turns his palm up,
with a flourish, his fingers are suddenly circled round a jeweled goblet.
"Drink."
Sarah tries to hold back, but she sees her own hands – one thin one, then both
– take the goblet. The worked metal is almost too heavy, and strangely hot to
her touch. She parts her lips and then tastes something rich and spicy – wine –
and strange.
"What –" but she cannot finish, for the Goblin King has curled his fingers
around the base and tilted the drink into her mouth.
The wine is powerfully alcoholic. And with a lower body weight … Sarah tries
not to swallow, but he presses the goblet on her, against her mouth, tipping it
until liquid runs over her chin and down her neck and she has to drink to keep
from choking. She swallows, more and more, until her throat clenches and she
coughs –
"There now." He takes the goblet away; she dimly hears the clink of metal on
the bedside table. "Doesn't that feel better?"
Sarah tries to speak, but the room sloshes from side to side around her, and
she has to slump back against his chest. She catches a glimpse of herself in
the mirror; the dark wine on her skin makes it looks as though her throat has
been cut.
Then she can only lie still in his arms, as he licks the wine from her skin –
as he looks down, eyes half-closed, and bends to trace a red rivulet to where
it drips off one of her breasts. The Goblin King takes a nipple into his mouth
and starts doing things to it with his tongue; she raises one hand –so heavy –
and places it on his hair, to push him away –
– please don't let him do this – don't let him – she shudders – let me wake up,
please god let me wake up –
"Sarah," he rasps, his breath hot against her flesh, and cool where he had
licked her - she shudders. "You see how I worship you, how I desire you – how
I want you … But what I want to know is this: do you want me?" He kisses up to
her neck; she can hardly breathe. "Or have you forgotten that, too?"
The older Sarah is crashing against the walls of her prison, trying to break
out – wake up wake up get out get out – but the younger one only watches her
hand fall from his hair, down to her waist and then onto the bed.
"Sarah?"
"I want you." Her voice is dull.
"Very good," he purrs. "Ah, princess, you remember the important things … You
remember that you want me – you remember what pleases me. And you want to
please me. You want me so very desperately, don't you, my dear?"
She is quiet for a long moment, thin shoulders hunched. Then she nods.
"Well, then." The Goblin King shifts behind her. "Show me, Sarah." He runs a
caressing hand over her hair. "Show me how much you want me."
She mumbles, her chin almost at her chest. "Do I have to?"
"Why, no …" he croons. "You want to. You want to please me – you want to show
me how much you love me, don't you? Don't you?"
From a place somehow removed, Sarah sees how her younger self has curled up in
the King's lap, curled up into a ball.
"Yes …" The reply is indistinct, because she is sucking her thumb.
She hears the smile in his voice. "Right thought, my dear." He plucks her hand
from her mouth. "Wrong place."
He laces his fingers through hers and moves their entwined hands lower, until
she feels smooth leather. "Now – show me."
Sarah awkwardly turns in his lap. She looks up into his eyes and tries a wobbly
smile. Then she takes an uneven breath, bends her head, and kisses his chest.
His hands stroke her hair as she kisses lower, then lower, pausing to draw her
tongue over the lines of muscle in his abdomen.
She hears him groan, and she moves her hand the way she knows he wants her to,
because she wants him to make that sound again – she wants to stop and look at
the way the wine on her lips has left pretty traces on his white skin, but she
can't, because she's trying too hard to remember how to undo his belt and keep
kissing at the same time –
The older Sarah is screaming.
Nobody can hear her. Nobody knows she is there. And only she knows about the
horror and fear, and sickness, roiling up from her gut, even when she flew out
of the younger Sarah and landed on the stone floor, sobbing.
She pushed herself to her feet with both hands, then shook where she stood,
hyperventilating, feeling too numb to cover her ears. And so she heard a scrape
of metal and looked over her shoulder to see – somehow the worst thing of all –
the Goblin King picking up the goblet in a languid hand and bringing it to his
mouth, taking a sip of wine with his eyes closed, with his other hand coiled in
her younger self's hair – and her hair was longer than it had ever been ...
Then he tilted his head back – Sarah saw the stark line of his jaw gleam like
ivory in the candlelight – and he let the goblet fall onto the bed. She heard
him hiss through his teeth, but she couldn't take her eyes off the last of the
wine – spreading, staining the silk, darker even than the purple velvet. Until
she heard him whisper: "Like that. Yes."
She saw him trace the diadem on her younger self's brow and brush a thumb over
the symbol of the Labyrinth. Then the rasp of his voice: "Preciousthing …"
"No …" Sarah mumbled, backing away, averting her eyes from the sight of her
younger self – "No. I want to get out of here – I need to get out, please
please let me out –"
She reached the door, only saying: "Out – out, please," in a voice hoarse from
her protests of before –
The door swung outward so easily that she half fell – half fell and turned –
– and had one last glimpse – the Goblin King's eyes flashing down at her bowed
head as he snarled, clawed through her hair, clawed and yanked –
The door closed.
===============================================================================
Sarah slid to her knees and covered her face with her hands. "Oh, god – I can't
– can't …"
She felt her own tears, trickling down her face. It was too much – she couldn't
go on ... She couldn't believe he would do something like that, to her – to her
when she was so young, a child ... Even knowing about her Gran – even the rest
of this nightmare – that had been nothing compared to –
"Monster."
It took a long moment for Sarah to lift her head. The motion made her stomach
churn. "That bastard – he'll regret this. He'll live to regret this – I'll make
him pay –"
The words seemed to echo, strangely …
She heard a distant scraping sound.
Sarah pulled her coat tighter, then looked to one side. The scraping wasn't
coming from anything she could see, except …
Then she remembered, and raised the crystal. She didn't scream – but did inhale
in a rattle as the massive, twisted face of a False Alarm stared at her, mica
eyes gleaming in the nightmare light.
Then it blinked, and she screamed after all.
Beware –
"Yeah, I got the message." Her mouth tasted like bile; she swallowed once,
twice. "Pass one on for me, this time: he'll be sorry for this –" she spat –
"he'll pay – I'll make that rat bastard of a Goblin King pay –"
We hear …
She turned on her knees to see the other False Alarm. Its eyes glittered at her
– and it had teeth made of mica, too. They looked sharp.
… and witness …
Its voice rumbled – and was that a rock, or a snake with stone scales, darting
out of its mouth as it licked its chops?
"Oh no," Sarah choked and scrambled to her feet, the dry heaves returning with
a vengeance.
Don't go …
"No – no, I have go – I have to keep going –" She heard a rattle – were those
stones? – and then a louder grating, crunching sound as she fumbled for the
handle.
Don't go on …
The door opened with a click that she felt rather than heard. Sarah darted into
the next car and slammed the door behind her – She heard the screech of stone
against metal – the door shuddered at her back, as though rocks had crashed
against it.
It sounded as if the rocks were screaming. But she didn't know why.
===============================================================================
Sarah hunched over where she stood, trying to breathe. "What did they –
what was that?" They didn't just want to stop her, although she felt that,
thedon't go on, their hunger … they had listened …
And now she had the twisted, jagged grey images of the False Alarms between her
thoughts and the memory of Jareth and her younger self – no, not going to think
about that – her mind was careening round and round – she could hardly see when
she opened her eyes.
But then her vision focused, and beige paneling and a dull brown carpet
shimmered into being in front of her. Memory – the carpet, the panels – both
took her back so many years, as did the musty smell of plastic, old bills and
damp waits in line …
Sarah was standing in her childhood bank.
"Why …" she mumbled. "Why this? Why?"
Gazing around the drab waiting area, silver-edged and wavering in the magic's
light, Sarah focused on the glass doors directly opposite. They led to a small
anteroom, and the bank's main door.
"OK." She exhaled, teeth chattering. "How about I try just walking across,
straight across, and not – touching – anything …"
Sarah took a careful step forward, then another, and then quickened her pace –
until she saw a silhouette open the bank door, walk through the anteroom, and
lean against the glass door to enter the lobby –
She tried to turn around, to run. The figure came towards her, closer and
closer, reached her, walked into her –
And then Sarah winds her way through the old velvet cords that guide the
customers in line, and waits her turn near its head. There are orange and black
streamers fluttering from the posts. A dish on a nearby table contains a clump
of candy corn and a few Starbursts. Her legs ache from standing and her arms
twinge from holding the baby, but she has walked all the way here, and she
didn't want to take the stroller out into the early snow …
… the baby?
A strange half-squeak, half-chirp focuses her attention on the infant. Its
eyelashes flutter, but it does not wake. It is dressed in a knit sweater that
lies over a white sleeper; wrapped in a coat of plush red – rather, a coat once
plush, now carefully mended, but still looking warm enough –
Staring, she joggles the baby once. It is plump, but somehow so light …
How is this a nightmare?
The baby yawns.
How?…
Sarah looks ahead, trying to think ... She had never wanted a child, never felt
the need for one that so many of her circle of friends felt, in college – and
then she had left those friends behind, moved to the city, deleted emails about
baby showers and christenings …
She looks down at the infant in her arms. Dark lashes lie on rosy cheeks and a
whorl of auburn hair moves softly with Sarah's own breath.
"Next!" a voice barks.
Carefully, with one thumb, she touches the soft spot on the baby's head.
"Next!"
"Hey, lady, that's you," a gruff voice says.
Sarah glances up into the rheumy eyes of an older man, stooped and with white
hair, in line behind her. "Oh –" She holds the baby closer and says, "Thank
you," as she walks up to the counter.
"Hello!" An older woman, wearing a hat with a feather in it, smiles at her
through thick glasses. "Happy Halloween – arrrrr –" She tips her head and Sarah
sees the black plastic eyepatch she is wearing. "And sorry about Luke –" she
gestures at an overgrown, sullen man stuffed into a uniform. "He's always a
little cranky this late."
This late …
Sarah frowns at the clock on the teller's side of the counter, next to a photo
of the older woman embracing a woolly dog – strange … It is almost eight
fifteen. What kind of bank is open this late? – but the teller is saying
something.
"What can I do for you?"
For a moment, Sarah feels blank. Then she takes one hand from around the baby
and reaches into one pocket – a hole – and then into the other – an envelope.
She draws it out, and reads "Mortgage," written in an uneven hand.
"Here."
"Oh, a deposit?"
Sarah shakes her head, remembering. "A payment."
The baby sighs in its – another memory wisps through her mind – her sleep.
Keys click at the computer and something beeps. The teller's brow furrows. She
glances from the screen to Sarah and then back again.
"Hm. Miss – Ms. Williams, could I just ask you to hold on here, one second?"
"Sure."
"Good." The teller gives her a bright smile. "I'll be right back." She quickly
walks away.
"Fine …"
And Sarah looks back down at the child – my child, this is my child …
"Look at you," she whispers. "Look at you … Ten fingers, ten pretty fingers …"
She runs her own index finger across the baby's ten – tiny and seashell pink.
"Little girl …"
"Someone will be with you in a moment, if you have the time to talk with her
about your mortgage." The teller, returning, speaks the words so quickly that
Sarah almost doesn't catch her final – "Follow me, please." And the plumed hat
bobs off from behind the counter, through the lobby, and to a row of dingy
plastic chairs. "Just sit here with – oh …"
The baby has waved a fist in her sleep, and stuck it into her mouth.
"Oh," the teller breathes. "What's her name?"
Sarah thinks, remembers. "May."
"Beautiful." The other woman smiles at the baby and rises. "I have to get back,
but someone will be right with you."
Watching her go, Sarah is caught off guard by a sudden weight of fatigue that
settles around her shoulders. Her jaw cracks in a yawn and her stomach growls.
"Wow." She looks down and half-laughs to the baby: "That was a big one, wasn't
it? I'm exhausted …"
Something brushes the back of her mind – something important …
But she is content to sit. To rest. To wait …
Why is this a nightmare?
Sarah must have dozed off, for when she opens her eyes again, a woman her age
is standing in front of her.
"Ms. Williams?"
Another yawn cracks her jaw; she speaks through it. "Yes?"
"I need to speak to you, but our offices are full – will you come with me,
please?"
Obediently, Sarah follows her to a shadowy corner of the lobby. The sounds of
customers and the security guard, the shuffle of feet and clicks of keyboards,
the ring of registers and the clock ticking – everything fades away.
The woman is wearing trousers, a blouse and a vest with embroidered trim. Her
dark hair falls past her shoulders. Her hazel eyes are cool, impersonal.
"Ms. Williams," she says, quietly. "I regret to be the bearer of bad news. But
your payment is insufficient for this month and does not begin to cover what is
past due – so we have no choice but to foreclose on your home."
Sarah gasps. "What?"
"As I said, we have no choice but to foreclose on your home."
"No –" Her voice catches. "Please – you can't!"
"Ms. Williams –" The other tips her head slightly, raises her eyebrows. "This
bank will foreclose on your house within the week, so please make alternate
arrangements for yourself." She turns to leave.
"Wait – wait," Sarah chokes. "Wait – It's my family home – I moved back here to
take care of it after the accident, and I didn't know that my father had
refinanced –" She sucks in a breath and speaks more urgently, desperately.
"I've sold my car, I'm working third shift – I've pared every expense to the
bone and I've made an extra payment every month." Tears spring to her eyes.
"Everything you have wanted, I have done!"
The woman pauses.
Then she turns back, and speaks.
"Not everything."
Her hair is dark, so dark … Sarah cannot look away from her eyes – her eyes,
which glow with triumph.
The woman smiles, and says: "Give me the child."
Sarah gasps, clutches the baby – May – tightly to her body. "No!"
The smile is pitiless. "Yes."
"No!" Sarah cries, and she turns, runs, and shoves the glass lobby door open –
– but there is no other door, only a sandstone wall, and the entryway is
freezing cold, a cold that grasps her limbs and pulls down as she sways on her
feet.
freezing cold – it's only Halloween …
… no, it's May …
"May," she slurs. Sarah holds the baby close and slumps to the floor – and
kicks the door shut, just before the other woman can follow her.
That woman looks down from her height through the glass, smiles, and taps her
watch.
The baby is crying.
"Oh," Sarah says, "oh honey, oh May, I'm sorry –" for she knows that cry – "I
know you're hungry, I know – but I don't have anything …"
Digging in her pockets, she pulls out a baby bottle. It falls with a
hollow clank and rolls away. Then another, and another – all empty …
"May," she croaks. "There's nothing left …"
A crack makes her look up. The woman is running one long fingernail across the
glass – leaving a fracture in its wake –
Sarah sobs, and then looks back at May. The child's face is white, eyes sunken,
eyelids and lips blue –
"No, baby girl –" Sarah opens her coat and shirt, hugs the child inside next to
her skin, trying to warm her – trying to get her to nurse – but something is
wrong and she stares down –
– and sees blood, pulsing from a gaping wound between her breasts.
"Ah." Her jaw sags. "My heart …"
Splintering glass makes her loll her head and look – the woman is clawing her
way through, and there is blood on her hands as she says – give me the child –
Then Sarah remembers.
She licks her lips, tries to breathe. "Goblin King –"
The glass door has shattered completely and the woman is on the far side of the
entryway, bloodied hands outstretched.
"Goblin King," Sarah whispers, "Goblin King …" – forgetting the line –
damn I always forget that line –
"Goblin King," she sobs. The other woman is moving slowly, so slowly in the
cold, but coming closer. "Wherever you – ah –" Blood is everywhere and the baby
shudders against her and stills. "Oh, my heart – Jareth – Jareth –"
And she sees his image, silvered, insubstantial, coalesce before her – he
kneels to look into her eyes and his face has a terrible emotion written on it
as clear as day –
The other door, Sarah –
She can hardly see past her tears. "Jareth, please –"
The other door, the last door – behind you, Sarah – his face is so close to
hers – behind you –
Sarah holds out the baby. "Take – from me –"
Jareth stares – but only for a split second. Then his features are lost in a
sweep of silver light as he picks up the child and whirls onto his feet in one
motion –
The  door , Sarah!
The tattered cloak swirls with his movement, the other woman recoils as it
sweeps over her – its silvered edge catches Sarah's face as the Goblin King
vanishes – she falls backwards – back, and the woman grabs at the ankle of the
other Sarah – the other Sarah, who dissolved into thin air with a flurry of
rags and dust, as she herself fell back –
– back through the open door –
– which she could only kick shut, as the other screamed in rage, with what felt
like the last of her strength.
===============================================================================
Sarah lay in darkness.
She felt sand, and stones, cool and rough on the side of her face, as she
brought her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.
It was so quiet, so dark, and when she closed her eyes, she could not tell any
difference from when they were wide open and staring.
She exhaled, then coughed, raggedly and heard the words slip from her, almost
beyond her control.
"I can't do this."
Dust and sand turned her teeth gritty as she clenched them together, and sat
up. "I can't – I can't do this –"
I'm in the oubliette …
"The oubliette," Sarah mumbled. "I can't go on – I can't – I want to forget.
God, I want to forget it all …" A tear ran down her cheek; she wiped it away,
even knowing her face would be muddy – and then she buried her head in her
hands and sobbed. "I want to forget – I don't want to remember – I wish …"
… wish …
"What?" She scrubbed at her eyes. "… Hello?"
No response. Maybe it was an echo …
But then Sarah saw an image blossom out of the darkness: herself – there she
was, in her linen dress at the museum; no, in a blue dress onstage – no, in a
black dress, on a swing … and there was Jareth –
… wish …
The back of her neck prickled. "Wish?"Her voice was a croak. "Wish for what?"
A handsome figure stood in her memory, in jeans and scuffed shoes and a jacket,
head tilted to one side – he was saying something, his lips were moving, and
the words were like honey: Sarah – Sarah – kiss me and all of your dreams and
your wishes will come true – But there was another voice, rough and halting, as
if wrenched in pain from the Goblin King's heart: I hate you – I love you – my
love –
She shuddered in the cold dark. "No – I don't want to remember." She choked, "I
wish –"
Make a wish …
And into her mind flashes once upon a time fee fie foe fum three sisters twelve
princesses Goblin King Goblin King glass slippers let down your hair nibble
nibble like a mouse give me your voice give me your child give me your word
your love your hand happily ever after –
Sarah covered her ears. "Stop."
Make a  wish  …
And there is ballroom full of whirling dancers, men and women dazzling in their
finery, moving to music she cannot hear – but all their masks have eyes, and
those eyes stare at her at her from every side, glittering – where have you
gone, why are you gone? And they dance faster, into a whirl of color and light
that spins her away – where she does not have to think, or do, or say … only
dance …
"No dancing," she gritted out between her teeth. "I don't want –"
Wish.
And there are her friends – Ludo and Sir Didymus and Hoggle, and everyone else,
playing in her room – and there are her parents, and, and Gran – smiling at the
raucous party in her room, but Toby is there too and crowing victory in a duel,
taking a spangled sword from a vanquished and chortling Sir Didymus – and she
is happy, they are all laughing and nothing … nothing can ever take that
happiness from her …
"Oh." Sarah stared into the darkness. The oubliette was so cold, but her tears
were warm; she gasped and coughed. "Please – please make it –"
Stop, she thought, weeping. Let me forget, but –
Wish, she heard a gentle voice whisper. Except there was another voice – lower
and rougher, whispering: My love …
"No, Jareth, please," she choked against the oubliette's dust, "I –"
Sarah, she hears – and his voice is dark with secrets – except there are no
secrets, because she knows him, and there is no darkness, because he looks at
her with all the light of the all the worlds in his eyes, and he says, My love
– Sarah, my only love … The wings of his feathered cloak wrap around her; he
holds her to his heart. And then Jareth kisses her and it's like
everything, everything she's ever wanted, and desired, and wished for … She
takes him in her arms – she feels the wild bird struggling of his heart against
her breast and he whispers against her lips: My precious thing – my only love –
how I love you, Sarah, forever …
"Please, god, Jareth, just let me be – let me," Sarah twisted her hands into
her hair and bent double where she sat, dragging in a breath. "I want to forget
– and – I'll say the words –"
Make a wish … the gentle voice hissed.
"I wish …" She leaned backwards against one rough wall, and coughed, "I wish –"
but then winced as something dug into her back. Sarah reached behind her, still
crying, and grabbed whatever it was –
what is it?
But she felt carefully, and knew almost immediately. Three smooth spirals,
which she felt as bumps. It would be white and pink and gold – a seashell,
which she had found at the beach. Her father had taken her there, that day. He
had told her that her mother was leaving, but that they both loved her very
much.
And although she had been a child, something had broken in her, then – or in
the days, months, years after. Perhaps it had been her child's faith in the
rightness of the world; perhaps her belief that happiness could never
disappear. Or perhaps, though she had been a child … perhaps it had been her
heart.
"My heart …" She held the seashell to one cheek, against her tears. "I want to
forget …" She had found the shell and had run back with it to her father. He
had tried to smile, but then had said I have something to tell you –
I have something to tell you –
Sarah's skin prickled. She heard a whisper, close to her ear – something to
tell you – ladies and gentlemen –
"What?" she croaked. She squinted into the darkness – nothing – and turned her
head –
– which brought her ear right against the seashell, and she heard a distant
voice say
Briarwood, last stop –
Sarah blinked, and remembered.
Briarwood, last stop –
She remembered everything.
Briarwood, last stop, all for Briarwood. Please check for all your bags before
leaving the train.
"The train," she whispered. "My bags …"
Sarah could see nothing but darkness, but she remembered …
She heard a gibbering, howling scream of rage, somewhere far away. Or the
brakes – it's the train, she thought. Has it stopped?
Sarah got to her feet and took a careful step forward. "I have to get off the
train, with my bags –" meet me at your grandmother's house before the stroke of
thirteen – "Ow –"
She had barked her shin, and she bit her lip hard as her eyes watered with pain
– but I'm not crying anymore …
"I need light." She heard the words bounce off the oubliette's walls. "Where
can I get some light – ah –" Remembering, she pulled her cell phone from her
pocket with the hand that did not hold the shell. She flicked the phone open.
A cold, blue light showed her dark rocks, dark shapes that might have been
bones on the floor, and a long rectangle in front of her, edged in silver …
Sarah held up the phone, and saw a closed coffin.
She felt frozen to the spot – I can't go on – but then she saw the phone's
digital display – 8:26 –
Briarwood, last stop. End of the line – the voice from the shell whispered.
Sarah remembered his eyes, and his voice – prove yourself stronger than your
nightmares –
"Yes," she said, voice low, and she walked forward and laid one hand on the
coffin's lid.
It dissolved – she felt fear seize her heart – but then it turned into
something else – sorrow – as she saw her grandmother's face, smooth and
peaceful in death.
"Oh, Gran …"
Her grandmother's hair, white, edged with the silver of magic, but tinged with
blue in the light of the phone – Sarah laid one hand against that hair, and
bent to kiss her cheek.
It was soft, and warm.
Sarah jerked back, eyes wide. She remembered - I will save your grandmother,
Sarah –
"Yes, yes," she breathed. "Hold on, Gran. I'm coming. I haven't forgotten …"
It was hard, so hard, to wrest her eyes away from her grandmother's face, but
she did. Sarah ran to the corner of the oubliette – there it is, there –
stuffed the shell into her coat pocket, and grasped the handle of her suitcase.
"Where's my purse? Where –"
She held the phone up and looked around, wildly, and saw her purse, hanging
with some coats and a scarf on a hook, on the door.
"Yes!"
Sarah dashed to the door, grabbed the purse's strap, and began to untangle it
from the mass of dark hair as quickly as she could –
dark hair …
She gasped, and yanked her hands away.
What she thought a scarf was hair; what she thought were coats was one coat –
her coat.
It was her body – dead – hanging from the hook on the door. Oh god oh god, if I
touch her – me – I'll be dead – I'll die –
Sarah did not have to listen to the shell to hear – end of the line – end of
the line.
your mortal track comes to its end, precious thing …
She looked at the time. 8:29.
And then Sarah gazed at herself, at the closed eyes deep in their sockets, at
the white and dead features, framed by black hair.
She squared her shoulders.
"I'm stronger than my nightmares. I've come this far, and this is not the end.
I remember …"
The words came to her mind so easily that she sighed, half in sorrow for what
had been her own pain, half in hope for herself – for Gran ...
"They worked on him; they'll work on you."
Sarah looked her worst nightmare in the face.
"You have no power over me."
Then she stepped forward, took her purse and held her suitcase close, opened
the door, walked out of the oubliette –
– and stepped down from the train, onto the solid stone of the station
platform.
===============================================================================
It felt surreal to watch the train pull out of the station, trundling to its
resting track – but Sarah did so, sitting on her suitcase with her back against
a metal beam. Then she closed her eyes. She felt too tired to stand.
"I did it," she whispered to herself. "Everything he said, everything …"
Fetch me that crystal, precious thing …
Sarah's eyes opened. The crystal. She had forgotten the crystal.
Before, she would have screamed, sobbed, cursed. But she had seen her worst
nightmare and walked away … so Sarah waited, resting, trusting. Then she fell
into a doze.
"Hey, lady –"
Sarah jerked awake. She saw the blonde girl from the train standing in front of
her, holding out the red umbrella.
"You left this on the train."
Sarah smiled and took it from her. "Thanks, kid."
"No prob." And the girl jogged off to her grandmother, picked up the older
woman's suitcase – a voice, scolding, floated across the platform to Sarah –
"you do not just say "lady" – use "ma'am," or "miss," young lady –"
"Young lady!" The girl laughed and took her grandmother's hand.
Sarah watched them walk away. She turned her head back and looked up at the
stars, clear and bright in the dark sky.
She held up the umbrella and shook it. "At least it's not raining."
The umbrella turned into a crystal in her hand.
She looked at it for a long minute. I'm not afraid … "To think that I forgot –
and I thought I remembered everything." She quirked her mouth in a wry smile.
"Some fairy tale heroine I make …"
Then she put the crystal in her pocket, stood, and gave her suitcase handle an
experimental tug.
"Well … come on, feet."
Sarah looked down the station platform, to the dark line of road disappearing
in the distant woods.
"To grandmother's house we go."
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