Spheres Chapter 2, a labyrinth fanfic

::cough cough:: This is announcement number one, five, eight, zero, zero, zero, two. You have all been informed that I do not own the Labyrinth or any of its characters. This message is programmed to explode unless you notice the fact that I made up some charming characters myself and that the Goblin King is the most beautiful creature to have walked the face of this earth. (Just kidding about that second part guys)(No I wasn't).

Chapter Two.

"Oh crap."

Sarah rapidly opened her eyes as light flooded her field of vision. Where once she had been quietly pondering on the elbow of the chair, she was now draped across with her legs pointing to the sky and her arms stretched out towards the ground.

"Crap. Crap. Crap."

She could faintly hear the alarm clock delicately buzzing in her bedroom as she scrambled to rise from her sleepy throne. In theory, the art of getting out of a chair was easier than untangling oneself from bed sheets, but her and theories were disagreeing once again.

Okay, one foot on the ground. Now two. She was making progress, albeit slower than she wanted to. Finally standing from the purple velvet chair, Sarah began to sprint towards her bedroom in effort to see just how much trouble she was in.

The alarm clock blinked,

11:27

11:28

Cursing her luck, she ran to the bathroom to assess the damage. Surprisingly, her hair had not formed its usual rats nest, but had instead settled into an extra volumized coiffure. With just a few strokes of the brush through her chocolate brown hair, it began to shine enough that it became potential green-faced jealously. Finally nodding to herself in mirror, Sarah snatched up her toothbrush and squirted on toothpaste. As she began her machine-like brushing, she began to think of all the potential scenarios of her almost certain doomed fate.

1.) She could get fired

"Oh, WHY did the auction have to be today?"

2.) She could go on probation

3.) She could jauntily walk into the auction and when questioned, declared that she had been there the entire time

"No, no, no. He would see through that lie a thousand miles away."

4.) She could get fired

5.) How did she possibly forget about this last night?

6.) She could get fired

"Crap! Why today of all days?!"

Sarah quickly sped to her wardrobe as she exited the bathroom now somewhat refreshed. With no time to be picky, she grabbed and donned the first shirt and pair of pants that she could get a hold of. Throwing on her favorite pair of kitten heels, Sarah snatched her coat and her keys as she made her way to her front door. Twisting the knob and sticking her hand in her purse simultaneously, she somehow managed to make it out of her apartment in a single piece. Pulling the key from the now locked door and throwing it back in her purse, she suddenly stopped as she heard a loud and distinctly upset,

"MMMMRRRROWW!"

Jenkins. Oh poor Jenkins! She had forgotten to fill his bowl in her frantic race out the door. Dropping her umbrella and purse to the ground, Sarah now commenced in the mighty quest in searching for her house keys in the purse of despair. Chuckling to herself, she thought,

"At least I know the Goblins haven't taken them." And paused as she considered the possibilities.

"Goblins, Gnomes, Dwarves, I don't care who the hell you are, just give me back my keys!" She exclaimed in exasperation and no sooner had she, than in the corner of her purse two bright silver keys shone back at her.

Grumbling as she forcefully shoved the house key in the lock, Sarah opened the door once again, this time hearing it squeaking in protest. Jenkins sat on the kitchen counter and gave her a puzzled look with his head slightly bent towards the side. His amber eyes shone at Sarah with both a sense of relief and disdain.

"Oh, Jenkies, I'm so sorry. Here, let me give you extra this morning and I promise that I'll bring you that catnip tonight."

He continued to sit on the counter, as if to show her his best impression of a stone cat that he could muster. He was doing a very good job of it too. Sarah stared at him for a few moments before the recollection of her urgency came flooding back to her.

"Crap. Auction. Crap. Late. Crap!"

And she sped out the door for the second time that morning.

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Mr. Rutherford had seemed a nice enough man. In her first two weeks of working in his antique shop she had begun to slowly get to know the man. He had admired her resume and complimented her schooling; he was certainly a better boss than most people could boast about. He was in his late fifties, tall and disguised by a flash of jet-black hair casually streaked with gray. He seemed vital and lean enough to pass for his mid thirties. When Sarah had talked to him over the phone, confirming an interview, she had pictured him as the classic rotund old man with a jolly face and cutting quips. The latter had turned out to be true, but when she walked into his cluttered yet remarkably organized store, she was slightly speechless at his appearance.

"Hello, you must be Ms. Williams. I'm Peter, Peter Rutherford."

He smiled at her down a perfectly chiseled nose and tilted his head slightly to the side. Sarah stuck out her hand and chanced a smile back up at man molded like Apollo.

"Hi, I'm Sarah," she responded and immediately began to mentally kick herself for the silly, love-struck girl look that was now plastered to her face. He chuckled and proceeded to lead her to his office, commenting on how he was really looking forward to make her acquaintance. He was charismatic and captivating, and Sarah immediately knew that she could get used to working with him.

"So Sarah, it was lovely meeting you. I hope I have the pleasure of seeing you next Monday at eight."

"What?"

"I am offering you the job. Is this suitable to you?" He said as a smile crept to his mouth and he laughed quietly to himself.

"Oh! Yes! That would be wonderful!" Sarah had to clasp her hands together to avoid reaching across the table and hugging him.

"Good. If you want to stop by tomorrow afternoon, I can give you some forms to fill out and some literature to let you know the details of what pieces the shop owns and so on." He was now smiling completely at her and his blue eyes sparkled in the store's dim afternoon light.

Sarah had left the store and kept her emotions in check until she had driven three and a half blocks away from the building. Passing the first steel sky-rise to her right, she threw out a fist and whooped. Her first real job out of college! Majoring in Art History had been a gamble, but she was willing to take the risk despite the numerous warnings of how drafty cardboard boxes were in the winter.

The next few weeks working with Mr. Rutherford flew by in a whirlwind. The antique store was full to the brim of everything from modern memorabilia to artwork from the 18th Century. To sum it tall up, Sarah was existing in a dreamland. She catalogued, hobnobbed with the wealthy art buyers, ran the front of the store and did millions of miscellaneous tasks for Mr. Rutherford. There were five other people that worked with Sarah, but only one, Rachel, had a similar schedule and job as she did. Mr. Rutherford didn't believe in hiring people for one single job,

"People get bored. And when they are not intrigued by what they are doing, my store suffers. Also, bored people do not provide the best experience for my customers. And I hate to see my employees looking like their pet goldfish has just died."

Sarah was kept on her toes and constantly found herself back at home, on her computer, researching a new piece that had just come in. Her job began to happily consume her life and it showed.

"Sarah," he said as she came in one morning with an over-sized bag swung about her shoulders, "what would you think of helping me at the auction next weekend?"

Peter had hired Sarah on the spot because he had seen the passion just hidden behind her hooded eyes and straight brown hair. She was a lovely girl and seemed to posses something he was unable to precisely pin down. He had noticed how she seemed to walk in every morning with an energy that rivaled his own. He was curious to see just how much zeal she had when it came to selling the precious objects and keeping a watchful eye out for potential buyers and sellers. She agreed to help him most readily, and walked with a bounce in her step for the rest of the day.

Sarah turned into the parking lot of the auction after heartily cursing every red light that she got stuck behind. After shaking an imaginary stick at the minivan ahead of her, she pulled into a spot that she calculated to be about one dozen light years from the actual building. As fast as her feet could carry her, she sprinted to the glass doors and glanced down at her watch.

12:13

Smoothing down her hair and catching her breath, Sarah prepared her last words.

"I am sooooo sorry! I know how late I am! It's just, my cat. He-….no. That's stupid. Maybe I can talk about insomnia? Yeah! Yeah! I should throw in a counselor in there too for good measure. Perhaps I should also-"

"Sarah?"

"What? I mean, yes?"

"You are late. Very late, to be exact."

Sarah stood just inside of the revolving doors staring straight at a certain Mr. Rutherford's sea crest eyes. Silent, she could barely make out more than a stumbled grunt and a fearfully apologetic look that led Mr. Rutherford to sigh.

"Sarah."

"Yes?"

"Get inside."

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Message number one, five, eight, zero, zero, zero, two has been recommenced in order to perhaps sway you into reviewing me. This message does not care if you say it is horrible. This message is (regrettably) a little desperate now. This message will now destroy itself in Ten….nine….eight….seven….six…five…four…three…two…one-and-a-half…………………………..