A/N: Sorry these first few chapters are short…I've got quite a few long ones for the remainder of the story. Just one or three might slip in now and then. Thanks!
CHAPTER 2
Sarah Williams, twenty-four, had hit mild success with her work. Giving up the aspirations of being a theater actress, she's since become a well-known freelance writer in the city of New York. She'd been passed around several newspapers, and finally decided on her choosing her own work, instead of taking on assignments. This way, she was more apt to write what she held interests in and for her own opinion on the subject matter, rather than write a very apposing side for a very bias newspaper or magazine. It also prevented her from having to stick to a constant schedule of 9-5 whereas her little personal problem of getting of full nights' rest was almost impossible.
Another day tackled with the mingling of some of societies dirties politicians; she was ready to write a lengthy piece on infidelity within the public eye. She'd experienced first hand the many of the Upper class preying on the lower class, and using their titles as leverage. It was sure to be an excellent story, and she'd take as much time on it as needed. She didn't fear the lack of money coming in, as she'd written several useful pieces to keep on deck, just for this type of situation. She'd simply drop them off to the paper the next day and wait for her payment to arrive. Meanwhile, laying out this particular piece that was going to take some time.
She had intended on taking in a relaxing night of hot tea, a cozy blanket and her notes, but tonight it was beginning to feel a bit eerie. As she sat down on the couch, she noticed that the French doors in front of her, with white wooden panes, were not latched. She thought to herself about the last time she actually went out on her balcony, resulting in their being unlocked.
No reason, but she couldn't let it stay that way as she prepared to concentrate on her writings from the day. She pulled off the blanket and stood up from the couch, taking a sip of tea before walking to the door. She walked over and closed it firmly, latching it closed and locked, securing it. As she turned back towards the couch a sudden hit of thunder rolled outside. Sarah cringed at the surprise, but still smiled to herself to know that it was going to be one of those cozy nights.
She returned to the comfort of her couch, making sure her blanket covered her feet. Before her lay her notes scattered over the coffee table and she picked up one of the smaller notebooks to start sifting through. Pushing a couple strands of dark hair behind her ear as it fell in her eyesight, her eyes began to scan over her written words.
A loud crash of thunder hit the midnight sky, making Sarah jump. She wasn't anticipating a sound like that and it caught her off guard. Her eyes strayed outside to the French doors, once again, watching the clouds race across the moon. A full moon. A bright moon for this time of season.
She smiled to herself, thinking that she had lived alone for too long, and should consider getting a cat to keep company. Something that would mill around the apartment with her, so she didn't listen to every little thing. For tonight, every sound was magnified for some reason. Mentally shaking her head, she returned to her notes.
The small thud of something falling off a shelf nearby caught her attention. She looked up towards the sound and then quick over to the French doors, again. There was no wind, so what could have fallen? She scanned the floor and saw a small red book laying on the floor near one of her many mahogany bookcases. Sarah squinted her eyes to see what book it was, trying anything to not have to get up again. Sighing that she couldn't make out which one it was, her curiosity got the better of her and she got up to replace it back in it's proper spot.
She took a few steps towards the book on the floor…and stilled.
Where had this been?
Her breath caught in her throat as she looked down at the fallen book. There before her, laid her childhood copy of Labyrinth. The book she thought she had left behind at her parents' old house, in a box in the attic, underneath many very heavy things. The things she needed to say good-bye to when she admitted she had a problem. Memories flowing through her mind in a matter of twenty seconds, she didn't want to touch the book, thinking that all the progress she had made, putting it behind her and such, the touch from this book would wash up anything she had suppressed. Leaving herself in the same state she had been back in school and further into college. The real reason she didn't graduate within the top ten percent of her class, when she had always had the ability to do so. This book was the problem. This book was the core of it all. This book…ruined her life.
Still, where had it fallen from, she wondered. Sarah scanned the bookshelves looking for an open space it had come from. Everything was neatly pressed against the next book, hugging back to front bindings of the Renaissance, English Lit, journals and photo albums. No empty space for a small, red leather bound book to fall from.
Curiosity won, but always the "neat freak" picked up the book. Knowing the power it had, she didn't want to begin memory lane at that moment. She had real life to tend to, first.
Sarah placed the book, oddly, on a shelf containing "modern art". Letting a finger linger over the spine as if caressing a small trinket of value, she wouldn't open it. But, now that it sat there in her apartment on her bookshelf, again, it held the attraction of Pandora's Box. Therefore, it was to stay there…unopened.
She shook her head and turned back to return to the couch. She let out a light snort at how ridiculous she felt, "If only Dr. Golden knew what I was really thinking right this moment."
Sarah reached the couch and sat down, but not settled. She wondered how that book had gotten there, and why. In about one minute, she'd have her answer.
Her eyes had looked up to check the time on her old grandfather clock her father had given to her as a present when she moved to the city. The same clock she remembered sitting in her living room. The same clock she had always double-checked to see that her parents were, again, not on time coming home. The clock her stepmother always liked to stand by when Sarah was coming in late from another afternoon "daydreaming" in the park with Merlin, her dog. A clock, for whatever reason, had stopped abruptly in mid tick. The pendulum was to an angle, as if it had gotten stuck or frozen.
The book…and now the clock.
