Disclaimer: Still own nothing. It's quite sad really.

Chapter 1

I would rather be alone than watch you spinning that wheel for me

Oompf.

"Ugh. Could you help me?"

"No."

"Seriously, Sarah, these things are heavy."

"And? It's your stuff. Carry it out yourself. And, hurry up. I canceled two sessions so you could get this done. I'm not canceling another," Sarah said while running her hands through her long, wavy brown hair.

Having a (now ex) boyfriend of two and a half years move out while she was forced to be in her once shared apartment is not the most ideal way Sarah Williams imagined spend her afternoon, but there she was: passively watching her ex move his boxes out as she sat on her couch, drinking tea, double-checking her lesson plans, and avoiding making eye contact at all cost. Pretending things are not actually happening may not be an effective way to go through life, but right then, Sarah believed this approach to be the best.

Might as well be as comfortable as possible, she thought.

A wise person once said that breaking up is hard to do. While that sentiment may always be true, ending a relationship is a little easier when one catches her once beloved partner tongue wrestling with a woman who is not her. Funny, how Sarah would catch Dylan in such a predicament. Sarah could never be accused as the stalking, untrustworthy girlfriend. But when a girls' night out turns into a discovery of a betrayal of trust and love, the "breaking up" part of the relationship might actually have been easier.

"This would go a lot faster if you would help," Dylan Pearson gritted out as he moved yet another box to the front door.

"First, I just bought these jeans and shirt. I don't want to get them dirty. Second, maybe you should have asked some of your friends to help you since you visited them almost every night. Oh, wait," Sarah said in feigned ignorance while still avoiding eye contact. "There were no friends. It was Rachel. You should have her help move your stuff out while I finish reading," she wryly added, while her green eyes flashed with mirth.

"As if you would allow her to step foot in here," Dylan rasped out, dropping a large box near the front door.

"If it meant getting your crap out of here faster," she said, not even looking up from her piano notebook, "then, yes, I would like her over here. It's been two months, Dylan. The fact that I still kept your things here and didn't throw them in the garbage is a credit to my parents." Finally looking up from her book, she said, "you should send them a thank you card about how you don't have to buy new action figures."

Her remarks caused nothing more than an eye roll from Dylan, and the room returned to its awkward silence that Sarah wished would last until he was gone forever.

Two cups of tea and three tedious hours later, Sarah looked up from her lesson plans to notice that all the boxes that had littered the front of the apartment were now gone, and all that was left was her ex, standing on the outside of the threshold of the apartment, keys in hand, shifting his feet as though trying to delay the inevitable.

You know you brought this on yourself, right?

Letting out a heavy sigh to prevent herself from saying something too terse, she stood up and walked toward Dylan, hand outstretched to receive her house keys.

"So… are you going to give me my keys or am I going to have to call management?" she questioned, looking him straight in the eyes

"Look, Sarah. I'm sorry that it had to end this way. But, I just wanted to say that it was fun, you know, what we had for the past few years," he mostly mumbled toward the ground.

And the walls.

And even the windows.

Everywhere but at Sarah's face, a fact that she found most amusing. She summoned up that bothersome teenager who loved to act out every mundane detail of life in order to keep her face sober rather than convey sheer enjoyment by the weird theatrics that Dylan decided to put himself through.

Sarah thought of what to say in response: I could be all maudlin and tell him "we just weren't meant to be" or "Good luck in your next journey in life." Nope, she thought, no one has time for that nonsense.

She grabbed the keys from Dylan, coolly shrugged her shoulders, and let out a bored, "Eh." She shut the door in his face, engaged the locks, and went to her lesson plan.

Honestly, she just had better things to do. And he was being SO slow. It is amazing how easily a person can get over an ex, even a cheating ex, when you are forced to stare at his crap for two months. But here she was: no tears, no staring blankly at the ceiling, and no thoughts of what could have been. That performance was two months ago and if Dylan wanted to see it, he should have been there. But he wasn't and now he isn't there at all.

"Hmmm…" she thought out loud. "Look at all this space I have. I could buy more yoga gear." And then not use it, her traitorous mind told her. Always a buzzkill.

Living in downtown Seattle was not where Sarah Williams thought her life would go, but that's how it goes when your expectations run up against reality.

Shortly after her, what her parents would call, "abrupt about-face" when she was 16, Sarah decided to quit her acting and threw herself into her studies and, for an extra-curricular activity, picked up piano. Surprising herself and all the adults around her, she had been a natural. No one knew why she was able to play the piano with such ease and professionalism with no previous lessons. But as people who say weird things say: Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.

A scholarship from Julliard was the best thing to happen to 18 year old Sarah and also to her 47 year old father. For a financially aware, overly concerned parent, everything was perfect: no need to worry about expensive tuition fees, his only daughter was only an hour and a half away, and was no tuition fees mentioned? At twenty-two, Sarah graduated from Julliard with a Bachelor of Music in Piano (yes, it's a real thing, she would tell her high school friends) and immediately left the Big Apple. It is not as though she hated her time in Manhattan, but some people are not meant to live there forever. Sometimes, people just feel the need to move. Much to the chagrin of her father, she moved clear across the country to the State of Washington. Rain never bothered Sarah much anyway…not, really.

Obtaining a job at a Seattle private high school as a music teacher was surprisingly easy for a Julliard graduate. Things were going well the first day she worked there, or so she thought, especially since she had met Dylan the first day the teachers returned to school before the students. He'd been (and still was) one of the Mathematics teachers. To Sarah, he'd seemed sweet, nice, and considerate. One has to be to teach a subject like Maths high school kids, right? Sarah may have some issues with reading people. Don't worry; she's working on it.

Unfortunately, teaching a few hundred students a day was not peaceful. Shortly after working at the school, she decided to privately tutor a few students after school for extra cash. Nevertheless, normal school course planning and private tutoring were not working out. She felt overwhelmed doing both, and, to be honest, that many kids was irritating. Bailing on her school job a year after being hired, Sarah was able to set up private piano tutoring classes in her spacious apartment. Apparently, her name (and degree recognition) spread quickly, and parent after overambitious parent dragged their electronic loving child to her in hopes that she trained the next Bach.

Speaking of the next Bach, Sarah noticed the clock read 6:21pm. Dammit. Forty-nine minutes until the prized terror and his criminally oblivious mother arrive. I might need a drink.

Walking past her bookshelf to grab her piano books for her upcoming lesson, Sarah's eyes caught the worn red binding that she stowed away in the corner of her shelf. Dylan never appreciated fantasy. Actually, he never really appreciated reading at all. Why was I with him again?

Grabbing the book, she sat on her decorative ottoman against the wall, slowly flipping through the pages. She was not reading the book and did not even want to. Turning page after page caused her to relive her time in the Labyrinth like an old timey motion picture. Sarah never forgot her time in the Underground. How could she? A sixteen year old making a selfish wish that caused her to go up against a powerful king and his kingdom to win back her now beloved brother. That is not something that happens every day.

She also never forgot her friends: the valiant knight and his steed, the orange, loveable, giant beast, and the cowardly, but friend-to-the-end dwarf. Sarah tried for years to contact them through the vanity mirror in her room. She even tried mirrors in cars, dressing rooms, and reflective glass on corporate buildings. Her step-mother and brother had been starting to give her funny looks. Much to her step-mother's incredulity, Sarah insisted her parents keep her vanity in the attic. She even went so far as to look for owls in the daylight and goblin shadows in the corners. Anything to confirm that what she experienced was not a dream, that she was not going crazy. But even as the years of silence from this magical world began to drone on, she decided that regardless of the lack of evidence of its existence, she was convinced that it was real. It was her secret and hers alone.

Sarah also never forgot the bewildering Goblin King, either. Who could, really? The hair alone would be imprinted on anyone who dared laid eyes on it. There was something enigmatic about the king of the goblins. Of course, only thirteen hours to solve a giant maze does not give someone enough time to analyze another person's- erm, magical creature's- personality. But of all the thoughts and feelings that Sarah experienced while running the maze, the feeling of forgetting was the most prominent. Never was it stronger than when she was dropped in the trash heap. Nevertheless, she always felt like something was amiss. Why was she hassled with that thought throughout her trek, and why was it most pronounced when the Goblin King was around? Though she had tried to figure out what caused that feeling, she'd yet to find out what it was, even though that subtle feeling had yet to go away.

Once and only once, she thought about explicitly calling for the Goblin King so he would explain why she no longer had access to her friends, to explain her constant feeling of forgetfulness. She'd been in college, and she may have still had those demanding teenage traits back then. He has to come when called, she thought back then. Right? That's how it must work. But she decided against it. Sarah had quickly analyzed her Labyrinth experience once she returned home. All of it was her fault. It truly was. Well, maybe not the near miss with the Bog of Stench, that hadn't been nice at all. However, she learned her lesson. But that doesn't mean the Goblin King felt the same. She had no idea who he really was. If she summoned him back into her life, what would happen then? Would they come to some sort of an adult understanding or would he haunt her days forever? He did have magic, and she did not. If a fight broke out, it would not be a fair fight. For some unknown reason, he couldn't or wouldn't visit her. There is a thin line between bravery and stupidity, and Sarah didn't want to go anywhere near that line. So, she compartmentalized the Labyrinth in her thoughts and emotions. She would find a way to meet her friends again. Someday, she would see them again. She would never forget them. Even though she always felt like she was forgetting something about her time in the Labyrinth. She could just never remember what…

Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock

"Seriously? Only two knocks will do." Sarah stood up, placed her beloved red book back on the shelf, and gathered her piano books and lesson planner.

She walked to her piano and unceremoniously dropped the books on the piano bench. Gathering all the fake enthusiasm she could muster, Sarah moseyed her way to the door and opened it wide to greet her pupil.

"Landon and Mrs. Casey. How are you? Please come in."

"Good evening, Sarah," Mrs. Casey replied while making a beeline straight for the couch.

Mrs. Casey's son, shoulders slumped, meandered his way over to the piano bench and plopped his body down without as much as a "hi" to Sarah. She'd only had Landon Casey as a piano student for a month, and so far, that was becoming a month too long. He was the most disorderly ten year old she ever met.

Of course. I shouldn't expect any more from these two, Sarah thought.

"So," Sarah said while making her way over to the piano. "Were you able to finish the piece?"

Even though her voice portrayed a type of optimism not normally found in piano teachers overwhelmed with lazy students, she knew the answer to her question before the words left her mouth.

"No," said Landon, who found the floor to be the most amazing thing in the world.

The mega eye roll from Sarah could not be suppressed. Not that it mattered. Landon was too busy staring at the floor and his mother was too busy looking over a Pottery Barn catalogue.

Deep breaths, Sarah. You can do this.

"Landon. Why could you not finish the piece?" Sarah asked evenly.

"It's just too hard," he replied, not even trying to convince his teacher that he wasn't.

Sarah, trying to be as patient as she could be, said, "You've been saying that for the past three weeks. You said it was too hard the first week. So for the past two weeks, we practiced the treble and bass clefs separately. You seemed to be doing fine with them separately. All that was left was putting the two together."

"Oh, Sarah," piped up Mrs. Casey. "He hasn't been able to practice his cords for the past several weeks. With all the trips we've been taking this summer, it has just been terribly difficult for Landon to focus on his piano."

Mrs. Casey, now too busy to look at Sarah because her manicure needed attention tout suite, was never short on excuses to hand over on behalf of her indolent offspring.

Why pay for lessons if you don't ensure that he actually practices something!

Not even five minutes into the lesson, and Landon already had Sarah rubbing her temples, wishing she bought some Excedrin earlier in the week.

Last lesson and then vacation. Just remember that, Sarah.

Piping up again and still refusing to be quiet, Mrs. Casey offered, "Why don't you just play the music for him like all the other times. That method seemed to work well then. Just do that again, Sarah."

"No offense Mrs. Casey, but he's had three weeks to be able to play this music properly… and… Landon, switch me spots," Sarah said. She had an idea of what was going on here.

Landon moved over to her chair next to the piano, and Sarah situated herself on the piano bench. He'd always been able to play the music when she immediately played it for him…. Let's see if I'm right on this.

The music selection for Landon's lesson was one of Sarah's favorites. In fact, most of her students, even the more vexing ones, seemed to like it. She loved the music and words, and most of her students loved that it was simple. Others liked to brag that they were able to play Tchaikovsky, as though they had been turned into concert pianists.

Sarah played the song as asked, but a bit slower than the music styling dictated. Sarah had a habit of singing along with the songs that had lyrics, and why not? It gave life to music and usually made her pupils more interested in song.

I know you. I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you. The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a-gleam

Yet I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem

But if I know you, I know what you do

You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream

While Sarah was playing, she noticed Landon staring at her hands. When she finished, she had him switch seats with her.

"Okay, Landon. Try playing now."

"Um… okay."

Landon proceeded to play the piece. And he played it perfectly. Well, that might have been a bit hyperbolic, but he played it well. A few blips but nothing atrocious. It's almost as though he….

"Do you memorize my hand movements when I play and just copy what you see?" Sarah asked.

"Umm…maybe, possibly." Landon said who now had the decency and self-awareness to be embarrassed by his actions.

"Oh, Sarah." Mrs. Casey really should stop talking, Sarah thought. "Landon was having trouble memorizing the notes and symbols and such. So, I old him to just memorize your hand movements." Oh, look. Mrs. Casey was actually looking at Sarah with a smile so artificially sweet, Sarah could have sworn the woman could give people cavities.

The headache developing at the back of Sarah's head became a full-blown migraine with bright lights and all.

"Excuse me?" Sarah now did not care whether her frustration was becoming blatantly apparent. She turned in her chair to fully eye the overly indulgent woman on her couch.

Mrs. Casey seemed taken aback by the shift in Sarah's tone. "Well, I don't understand the problem. All that matters is that he can play the music piece, right? And he just showed you that he can play it. So move on with the next piece already."

"No. That's not the point of these lessons at all or any lessons. The point is that he learns how to read music, which is basically another language, and be able to apply that to any piece of music he reads." Sarah's temper was starting to rise to a boil. "If he just memorizes my hand motions, he will never learn to play independent of anyone else. If all you care about is that he memorizes hand motions, then have him look at videos on the computer. At least you will save yourself some money and my time!"

The laughing snort next to Sarah was not lost on her. Granted, if this was happening to someone else, she would find this quite comical as well. But it wasn't. This woman was allowing her son to slouch off week after week and just get by and, most importantly, waste Sarah's time. She could fill this time slot with someone who would actually apply him or herself and wanted to be here. Enough is enough.

Deep breaths. Don't kill the woman.

"Mrs. Casey, I think it's time you find a new piano tutor for Landon. I don't believe I'm the best fit for how you think he should be taught." Wow, thought Sarah, I sound like a real adult who doesn't want to strangle the person in front of me. Personal victory for me.

"Well", Mrs. Casey scoffed. "If you feel that way, I believe there is not much else we can do about that, now can we?"

Sarah noticed her reaching for her purse. "No, no. That won't be necessary. It hasn't even been twenty minutes, let alone an hour. No payment required," Sarah stated in her most business-like tone, one that she surely stole from her father. She leveled her gaze with Mrs. Casey, letting her know that she and her money could just go now.

As Sarah got up to open her door, Landon scrambled together his barely opened piano books and met his mother at the door. As the Caseys left through the threshold, Landon turned to say "sorry" in a quiet and sheepish manner that caused mild shock to register on Sarah's face.

"It's okay, Landon. Have a good night." With that, the Casey's walked down the hall and out of Sarah's life. Thank goodness. Leaning against her door, she tried her best to rub out her migraine.

Sarah looked toward on the adjacent wall to her right to check the time. Eight o'clock. "Damn it. I haven't even finished packing…or started for that matter." Since Spring Break was next week, she thought it would be a good time to visit her family in New York. It had been nearly a year and half since she'd made the trek over to the opposite coast. And if Sarah had to hear her step-mother complain one more time about how they always had to travel and Sarah never did, she would probably smash her phone against the nearest wall. And thanks to two cancellations the next day, Sarah had an extra day off. A few phone calls with the airline later and Sarah was able to change her flight plans and leave a day early. Not only was she flying over to stay with her family for the week, but she was also going to surprise them a day early.

There.

Karen should be thrilled. With all that in mind, Sarah moseyed her way to her bedroom to pack for her trip…with the distinct feeling that she was forgetting something.

Always forgetting something…