Hi, everyone. There's no excuse for the length of time that has passed since my last chapter, so I'll offer none. Only know that for the next few weeks, I'll have quite a bit of free time, and hopefully I can assuage some of the frustration roiling in your hearts (and loins) for some satisfaction in regards to a passionate affair between our star-crossed companions, Jareth and Sarah. Chapter 4 is heavy on internal character struggles on Sarah's part, but fear not - a long awaited tete-a-tete is on its way ;)

-Love.

For the rest of the day, Sarah worked grudgingly through her mental fog, forcing herself to stay on task. She knew the owl was still somewhere outside, even if she couldn't see it. If it was Jareth, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of watching her squirm as she frantically searched the sky for his silhouette. So she cranked up the radio, pushed all thoughts of goblins and kings as far from her mind as possible, and set to work.

Determined not to let her thoughts of Jareth draw her off course, Sarah accomplished much more than she usually did in a day's work. After finishing up some commissions that were nearing their due date, she gave the entire studio a deep clean, sweeping out corners and disposing of paper scraps, left over nibs of pencil and charcoal, and wiped down her desk and easel space.

Afterward, feeling refreshed, Sarah locked up the studio and the gallery and head for home. There was a bottle of wine in her cabinet that she was planning on guzzling, a feeble attempt to drown out the desperate din that was mounting in her head.

On the drive home, Sarah finally allowed herself to seriously consider her situation, letting her thoughts tumble raucously over one another in their panic to hold her attention. Was Jareth going to appear and confront her after all these years? After all this time of torture and longing? Was Sarah finally losing her mind, an eventuality she had expected from the beginning? If he did show up, what would happen? Would they fight? A sumptuous voice in Sarah's head interrupted – would they wind up making passionate love on the floor of her apartment? Sarah shook her head, driving that though away immediately.

Pulling into her driveway, Sarah took a moment to silence to the cacophony in her head. Gathering her things and getting out of the car, she scanned the dimming horizon, searching for any sign of that infernal owl. It was no where to be seen. Sarah wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed. Feeling frustrated, she stomped into the house, slamming her bags down and heading straight for the kitchen.

Oh, how she wished she had someone to talk to about this! If only she could share her aggravations with someone... someone who would listen and not think she was crazy. In her mind, she skimmed the short and unlikely list of candidates: her brother Toby was first. But that was completely out of the question. Toby was too young to understand, and might not even remember their Underground romp seven years ago... even if it had been real.

Next, as she got down the wine bottle and a glass, Sarah considered her father, Robert. He certainly would remember that fateful night, but Sarah knew he would never understand either. Though he loved her dearly, Sarah's father believed she took too much after her mother, giving her a wild imagination and a tendency to overreact. If Sarah opened up to him, he would disregard her worries as the result of the brooding artist in her, thereby completely negating the years spent dithering over this dilemma. It wasn't that he didn't care – he just didn't understand...

Fleetingly, Sarah thought of her mother, Linda, too busy with her own life as an actress and an artist in her own right to slow down long enough to listen to Sarah. They'd fallen out of touch within the last few years, and just the thought of making contact again made Sarah feel weary. Her mother might be better equipped to understand the predicament Sarah was in, but would she stick around long enough to offer any kind of advice? More often than not, Linda was called away to an exclusive theater premier or a fabulous art exhibition long before any meaningful mother-daughter relationship could be established.

Just as quickly and with about the same amount of dismissal, Sarah though of Irene, her stepmother. Irene always had good intentions, but she could not, and would not, indulge in Sarah's fantasies and her flights of fancy, rejecting them as figments of her overactive imagination, much in the same way as her father.

Glumly, Sarah set the wine bottle on the counter with a disheartened thunk. She had no one. Of course she had friends, people outside her family that might be willing to lend an ear. But no one she felt close enough to, or trusted enough, to very literally lay open her heart and mind, the ultimate act of helplessness and defeat. By nature, Sarah was a strong headed woman, and often refused to ask for help, even to the her own detriment. But as much as it hurt her, it also helped her, made her resilient and self reliant, impervious to the short comings and misgivings of others.

The one person she had no power to resist was him.

With a disgruntled sigh, and fighting the hot prickle of tears behind her eyes, Sarah sloshed some wine into her glass and trudged upstairs to her bedroom, leaving the wine bottle open and abandoned in the kitchen. FIN