Sarah, Bloody Sarah
Chapter Two: I Wish...
Disclaimer: Echo the Insane in no way owns the awesomeness that is Labyrinth. She does (unfortunately) own Travis, Carl, Eli, and Mack. Echo the Insane does not own Sarah, but likes her new nick name. Echo the Insane (unfortunately) does not own the sexiness that is David Bowie, or his Labyrinth alter-ego, Jareth. Basically, I own a gang of imaginary bad guys who are all gonna die painful deaths. Yup. Thass all.
Sarah sat on the chair across from her parents. They were on the couch, a box of Kleenex in Karen's lap, one clutched tightly in her fingers. In the months since Toby's death, her family's home had become silent. Sarah stared at the ever-present box of Kleenex, barely seeing it, barely registering it. Robert's arm was around Karen, holding her tightly against him. Her father looked strained; gray. None of them had slept much in ages.
It wasn't getting easier with time. Truth be told, it seemed to be getting worse. Everywhere they went, they were reminded of their lose. The small town people always looked at them oddly, whispered to each other "That's the family of the murdered child." The funeral had been awful. The curious looks masked as sympathy, the soft voices whispering false condolences. Sarah hated them all, but most of all, she hated herself.
Why hadn't she gone to look for them sooner? Why had she let them go at all? Had it hurt much? Had they suffered? Had her brother cried when the man tore into his back with the knife? Everyday, every minute, every second, she could think of nothing else. She still remembered the dull, lifeless eyes of Jack's head staring through her. The horror of it all was more than she could bare.
"Sarah? Honey?" Karen's broke, too high voice called to her from outside the memories. Sarah looked up from the box of Kleenex, finding Karen's fragile fingers holding a tissue out to her. Sarah took it, stared it at, then realized it was there to dry her wet cheeks. She had been crying without knowing it; something they were all prone to doing. She thanked Karen quietly, and wiped her face.
They didn't blame her, for some reason. They weren't angry with her for letting Toby and Jack go. They were worried about her, since she found them. Since she'd moved back in with them, her parents had been nothing but supportive. The grief was too much for them all to bare; especially Karen. Toby was her miracle baby; the doctors had told her when she was a teenager she would never have children. Sarah still remembered the way she had glowed when she announced she was pregnant.
She looked at Karen, her red hair flat against her scalp, her eyes always puffy. Her skin was sallow and clammy, always sweating, always her clothes sticking to her. She looked small and frail and so lost.
Sarah's father wasn't much better. Robert looked like a wild man, caught in headlights. He wrung his hands constantly, he was ill at least once daily. He couldn't keep food or drink down for very long, he couldn't focus on what others were saying or doing. He was there and yet not there, lost in his grief. Sarah herself looked horrible, and felt worse. She couldn't sleep, and when she did, she had nightmares that sent into her screaming, paranoid fits where even when she was awakened, the bloody faces of her family swam before her.
Jack's family had been so understanding. They had wept with her, had wept for her, had held her and kissed her cheeks, and told her they loved her. They were brokenhearted for the loss of their son, but also for the loss of her brother. They were perfect, and they were forever tormented by the death of their only boy.
Everything was wrong now. The lovely house she and Jack had worked so hard for was a horror now. She couldn't go inside it without seeing him everywhere. The landlord had released her from the lease without complaint. She had packed her few belongs, Jack's sister had packed his, and the house was out of her life within a few days of the...tragedy. She had quit her job, and while she went to school; she felt she was learning nothing. She had nothing to look forward to, nothing to take her from this overwhelming sense of pain and terror.
The police had found nothing at the scene except a few beer and liquor bottles, and a set of tire tracks belonging to a van or SUV. There were no witnesses, no evidence, and no making sense of why.
It was four months later, and it still was too much to believe. The police had come over the day before the funeral, had told them just how Toby died and how he had suffered. Her sweet, innocent little brother... Her face was wet again, tears streaming down her face as she thought over and over of the pain he must have felt; the fear, the look of glee on his murderer's face. Sarah looked down at her hands, wishing with all her might that she could find the man that had taken her brother's innocence, then his life.
I wish I could make him suffer.
She thought of Toby, screaming underneath an unknown man's body, being violated, the knife plunging into his back as the man raped him. The tears overwhelmed her, and she began to sob. Karen's arms were around her, holding her to her chest, whispering into her ear, crying along with her.
I wish I could make him hurt. I wish I knew who he was!
Somewhere, far beyond her fear, far beyond her anger, Sarah heard a bell chime. It was the ringing of a clock; a distant, familiar sound that for some reason, brought her a moment of peace. Her sobs slowed, but did not stop.
She heard the chime again. Karen was holding her, kissing her hair. Robert was bent over his knees, throwing up into the trash can that had been at the end of the couch moments before.
Third chime. The world was growing cooler. Karen wasn't holding her anymore. She was standing beside Sarah, her thin hand on her shoulder, rubbing it.
Fourth chime. Robert was still retching into the can. Karen was wiping Sarah's cheek with a Kleenex
Fifth chime. Sarah could see something dart past the nearby door way. She turned her head slowly towards it.
Sixth chime. Something scurried behind Karen's leg, diving behind the couch.
Seventh chime. Robert was carrying the trash can to the bathroom. Karen was looking at her in concern, speaking to her. Her voice sounded very far away, muffled; like she was underwater.
Eighth chime. Something ran a finger down over her ankle from under the chair. She looked down at her shoes, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Ninth chime. She looked up in time to see an owl fly passed the window behind the couch. Karen was staring at her with an expression of such worry. She was still talking, but Sarah couldn't hear a word of what she was saying.
Tenth chime. The room was getting dimmer. It had taken an almost dreamlike quality to it. There seemed to be a mist around the edges of the room, softening it to her sight.
Eleventh chime. Karen was fading before her. The air around her was growing darker and darker. The room was getting smaller, fading into the dimness.
Twelfth chime. The room was gone. Sarah was sitting in the chair still, in a void of darkness. Things were moving in the dark, but she wasn't scared. This was familiar, but strange. She knew this place. A golden clock was hanging in midair, it's hand about to strike the last number. She somehow knew what would happen when it touched thirteen.
Thirteenth chime. He was standing before her, his cloak billowing towards her, glitter and fairy dust floating from him and onto her. An unnatural wind ruffled his hair, touched her cheek. She stared up at the Goblin King without feeling. He stared back at her with an unreadable expression on his lovely, unchanging face.
"So you want to know who killed your brother and betrothed, Sarah?" Jareth asked, his voice unchanged and just as she remembered.
"Yes," she said, her voice deeper than usual, scratchy with emotion.
"Why?" he asked, slowly coming closer to her.
She met his eyes and said, unflinchingly; "I want revenge."
The Goblin King stopped and smiled, holding his gloved hand out to her.
"Then you shall have it."
She did not hesitate. She took his hand, and the darkness of the room melted into light.
Revenge.