A/N: I would like to begin by apologizing to my anonymous reviewers. I have removed your reviews due to the accusation I have been self-reviewing. This accusation is 100% false. I will continue to read unsigned reviews, but will then delete them. I appreciate your support for SBS and I have never had anything against anonymous reviews. I am offended and hurt by this accusation. I will finish posting SBS without fail. The reviewer who accused me of this left no contact information, and as such, I will not respond directly to him or her. As it is, I hope the people reading this story enjoy it. Reviews are nice, and I do enjoy them, but I wrote SBS just to write it.

Yours,

Echo the Insane

Sarah, Bloody Sarah

Chapter Seven: What the Fuck?

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.

She opened her eyes and was greeted by the dim, almost faded twilight of the Dark Labyrinth. They had materialized on the hill just above it; the dark mirror image of the one where she had first entered the Light Labyrinth. Jareth's arms were still around her, holding her loosely to him. She looked up at his face, staring in wonder at the tears in his eyes. He released her slowly, Toby's drawing still in his hand.

"You did care about my brother, didn't you?" she asked needlessly, reaching up and brushing a tear from his cheek.

"He was special," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "Sarah, if I could have saved him or your beloved I -"

"I know," she said, grabbing his free hand and squeezing it. He looked haunted, his eyes downcast. She was certain of it now, no matter what his other motives might have been, he genuinely wanted revenge along side her. "Who will be my companion in slaughter today?" she asked bravely, giving him a smile when he looked at her.

"Boogeyman," Jareth said loudly, summoning the creeping, gray figure to his side. Boogey seemed to ooze out of the atmosphere; his long arms appearing first, following by his glistening head and grinning face. Within a heartbeat, he was crouched at Sarah's feet, grinning happily up at her.

"Hello Boogey," she greeted, smiling a bit at the ghastly figure.

"Hiya Sarah," Boogey said, his tongue lulling out between his teeth. He reached up and took her hand, holding it as he moved to her side. "Hiya Kingy."

"Hello Boogey," Jareth replied, giving him a small smile. "You will lead Sarah to her next victim."

"Carl," Boogey said with relish, licking his thin lips.

"Carl," Sarah repeated, wondering which of the monsters he was.

"Go on then," Jareth dismissed, turning his back to them and towards the looming Dark Labyrinth. "I will be waiting, should you need me." He began to walk towards the iron gate leading into the Labyrinth, opening them with a wave of his hand, Toby's drawing clutched at his side.

Sarah watched him go, wanting to say something but not knowing what. She almost called out to him, but Boogey was tugging her hand and looking at her in expectation. "Let's go then Boogey."

He grinned, squeezing her fingers. She blinked and they were off.


Despite what you may think, Carl loved children. He loved them so much he made his life's work out of helping them. Carl was a nurse in the children's ward at his local hospital in Vermont, and of all the monsters involved in death of that man and that boy, perhaps Carl had the most remorse. He didn't care that the man was dead; he was an adult. But the kid's death and the way it had happened had given Carl a little grief in the past few months. So much grief, in fact, Carl was having a hard time sleeping.

He was dreaming a lot, you see. He had dreams that the kid (he didn't know the boy's name, after all) was begging for help, trying to crawl away from Travis, trying to get Carl to come save him. See, Carl hadn't known what Travis was doing. He'd known Travis since grade school and always known Travis was a bit odd and sick, but had no idea he liked to screw little kids. If he hadn't been having so much fun killing that guy, maybe he'd have noticed his old buddy was raping and killing the little one. He'd thought Travis would just knock the kid out, then come help them finish off the dude.

He'd actually been sick in the lake when he'd seen the kid's body. He'd still been alive; barely. Gasping and on his way out. Carl'd seen some kids go out that way; gasping and twitching. The blood and savagery was new to him though. Seeing a kid raped and bleeding to death gave him nightmares like you wouldn't believe.

Carl's co-workers noticed the change in him. He gave a quick sob story that his nephew had been killed in another state and he was taking it hard. He even described the poor kid Travis had killed. He mourned the little guy. Too bad he'd been on a fishing trip with his brother or whoever that guy was.

To this day, he wasn't sure why Travis had suggested they kill someone together. Travis, Mack, Eli, and himself had always been cruel. They had tortured animals, even burnt down an abandoned house before they were out of grade school, but they'd never killed anyone. Sure, Carl was pretty certain Travis had killed someone in his days living down in Texas, but Travis never said as much and Carl wasn't asking.

But that day they'd had too much to drink, hadn't caught a damn fish, and had nothing better to do.

"Let's kill the next asshole that comes here!" Travis had said, his eyes alight with mischief. "I bet y'all can't do it."

"I can," Mack had grunted. Carl had always wondered if maybe Mack had killed someone, probably while he was in the pen some years back.

Eli had just laughed, drinking another beer and snorting half of it out. "Hells yes, let's do it!" he had proclaimed. Carl went along, sure they were just bullshitting like usual.

Then the guy and the kid had driven up, not ten minutes later. It was like fate or something. So Travis said "Let's do it" and suddenly they were doing it. Carl never had much of a conscience so killing the guy still didn't do him any trouble, but the kid...the kid.

So sometimes Carl drifted off at work, after a day full of terror and bloody dreams. Carl worked the night shift, you see, in that hospital. He liked the little ones, and one of his favorite things to do was to wake up a kid having a nightmare. They always treated him like a hero, "Oh thank you, Mr. Carl! I was so scared!" they would say and he'd pat their hand and walk away feeling a bit better, til he'd remember that little boy all bloody and violated. Then he'd feel like a villain, go back to his desk, and nod off for another short bout with the demons.

It was one of those nights. Carl had been having the worst dreams yet. Someone was chasing him and he couldn't get away. A woman was laughing and he couldn't find from where. The kid was dead and he kept running passed the tree where he was laid out, the woman's laugh right behind him and the chasing feeling getting stronger.

"Carl, honey, you need to see a doctor about these nightmares," Ms. Gay said. Ms. Gay was the head nurse and naturally very worried about him. He had promised her he would, but he just hadn't gotten it yet. After this last bout of dreams, he was ready to see someone about it.

So now he sat, half asleep over his cup of coffee. It was about two in the morning on a Friday night, and Carl really didn't want to fall asleep. He checked the monitors above the nursery, above the maturity ward, above the halls, and all was clear. There were no call signals from any of the rooms. He was fading fast, but man he was trying so hard to keep awake.

He just happened to look back in on the nursery when he noticed something was...off. There was a crib, with an odd shadow over it. All the other cribs were bright and easy to see, but this one looked hazy; like a veil was over it. He counted it, saw that the odd crib was number 15 – he was sure that crib was empty. But the weird veil was not to be ignored, so he rose and made his way towards the nursery.

The halls were quiet, empty. His footsteps were the only sound. He had his hands in his pockets, his shoulders stooped. He wondered if it was just an equipment malfunction. Best to check it, just in case.

Then, he heard the sound. It was like the scrapings of a very large spider, climbing the wall beside him. He stopped, looked around, and saw nothing. He scowled, hunched his shoulders a bit more, and continued.

The sound continued with him. He stopped, spun about, and watched as a medical cart that should have been secured to the wall rolled lazily across the floor. It didn't hold medical supplies; but a tire iron, a machete, and a baseball bat instead.

The sound was suddenly above him, running rapidly over the ceiling. He looked up, caught a glimpse of a shadow out of the corner of his eye, and ran.

It was like the dream, only here in the hospital instead of the lake. The scrapings were hurried now, frantic as the thing chased him. He nearly ran into a gurney, which was rolling lazily like the cart, the boy's body laying on its stomach on the metal surface.

Someone was laughing. It would have been a beautiful sound, any other time than this.

He was running towards the laughter, away from the scurrying thing, which was now on the floor just feet behind him. He looked over his shoulder, caught sight of a gray thing hot on his heels. He screamed, tried to run faster, looked straight ahead and...saw her.

She was beautiful. A woman with long brown hair, wearing a red tank top and black jeans. She was laughing, her hands on her hips, watching him run from whatever that thing was.

"Hello, Carl," she said just as the creature caught him about his ankles. He fell, the creature climbing his back, its gnarled hands grasping his throat. "Ready to die?"

And he woke up, screaming into his arms, his head on the desk.

Carl looked around frantically, seeing that once again, he'd just had a really bad dream. He gulped some air, wiped the sweat from his brow, and tried to steady himself.

"See, you dumbfuck?" he muttered to himself. "Just a bad dream. Nothing's chasing you, no woman laughing, no dead kid." He looked up a the monitor. "No veil-thingy on...number...15."

But there was. That same shadow he had dreamed of was there. Carl's stomach dropped. Perhaps he'd fallen asleep after seeing that shadow. Yeah, that's what it was. There was no way something he dreamed was real. "Equipment, gotta be the equipment."

So unlike in his dream, he turned on the number six monitor, which showed another angle into the nursery. To his growing fright, the shadow was still there, clearly shown from another angle. There was no attending nurse in the nursery for the moment, just him to go see what the hell that shadow was.

He rose in shaking legs, terrible fear welling up in him. What if it wasn't a dream? What if it was a premonition? What if that chasing monster and woman were waiting for him out there?

But what about the babies? What if that shadow was something bad, something that would hurt the babies?

He thought about that little kid, all bloody and wronged. Could have live with himself if a whole room full of babies ended up that way?

So with his legs trembling, his throat knotted, his stomach twisting, Carl went out into the hall and towards the nursery, this time in real life and not in a dream.

The hall was quiet, just like in his dream. There was a medical cart attached to the wall, just as in his dream. He passed it with ease; it did not come unlatched. The empty gurney towards the end of the hall did not roll, didn't even twitch. He jumped at every sound, yet nothing happened. By the time he reached the nursery, his terror had slowed, but still hung in the back of his mind.

He came in slowly, looking from each bed to the next, finding nothing amiss. He came at last to number 15, which in person looked as normal and empty as many of the other beds around it. Carl heaved a sigh of relief, standing over the crib with shoulders sagged and mouth dry.

The little white baby blanket moved. It was just a twitch, a small shift. But it shouldn't have – it was empty. Carl stared at it, his eyes wide as the blanket shifted again, just below the top of it. His fingers were shaking, and why he was doing this, he would never know, but he grasped the edge of the blanket, paused, the shaking going all the way up and down his body, he yanked it back.

The bed was empty, as he had first thought. Carl gasped a sigh of relief, grabbing his heart. Of course it was empty. Of course.

Then the gray, gnarled arm from his dream shot up from the clean, white sheet. The talloned hand had his throat, yanking him down towards the bed. Carl was screaming, the world went black, and when he opened his eyes, he was still in the nursery.

Yet it wasn't the nursery. Carl was alone, sitting on a rust covered floor, staring at the legs of a derelict and rusted crib. The ceiling tiles were falling in, with wires hanging dangerously near the beds. He was gasping, grabbing his throat, where he could still feel those gray fingers closed around it. He was sure he was bruised. The lights flickered on and off, casting a stark orange glow around him.

He rose on quaking legs, staring in horror at the room around him. The curtains were torn, the sheets stained with what looked like very old blood. He looked from one crib to the next, finding some empty, others occupied with the little skeletal remains of newborns.

Carl clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle a scream, hysteria welling up inside him. This was hell. He had died and gone to hell for killing that man and not saving that kid. He stumbled to the door, out into the hall, which looked just as awful as the nursery. The gurney had a huge, gaping rust hole in it, one of its legs bent and wheel broken off. The cart was covered in scalpels, all rusted and caked with human gore.

The smell was unbelievable. It smelt like burnt flesh, old blood, and excrement. He looked in one room after another, finding them all like the nursery. Some empty, some with the old bones of the long dead.

He was climbing down the stairs (he didn't even try the elevators) when he heard the familiar scraping shuffle from his nightmares. He moaned, shoving his fist into his mouth as he began to run down the steps.

"Please God, please!" he begged, sobbing against his fist. "I'm so damn sorry! I wish I could change it."

"Change what, Carl?" a familiar female voice asked as he rounded the last set of steps, nearly running right into the girl. She was wearing the red tank top, the black jeans. She was waiting for him, her hair lank around her face. Her eyes were wide and a warm hazel, so compelling he froze on the bottom step, almost falling as he stopped.

"I-I'm sorry," he pleaded, praying with all his might that this girl could maybe spare him. "I'm so sorry Miss."

"For what, Carl?" she asked, stepping so close to him her breath tickled his face. She was looking up at him with those beautiful, terrible eyes.

"I killed a man," he whispered, leaning close to her. "My buddy, Travis, he killed a little kid. I didn't know he was killing the boy, I swear it!" he said breathlessly, looking over his shoulder. The creature was nowhere in sight. "I wouldn't kill a kid. I'd'a stopped him if I knew he was doing that."

"He didn't just kill the boy," she said. "What else did he do, Carl?"

Carl shook his head, his eyes wide. "I-I-"

"What else?"

He gulped, his skin wet with perspiration. "He raped him. I didn't know Travis was sick like that, Miss! I swear it!"

"And the man you killed? Are you sorry he's dead?"

"Yes!" Carl said desperately. "Oh yes, I'm so damn sorry!"

The woman chuckled. The sound sent him into silence, chilling him to his toes. She let out a bark of a laugh, which turned into the hysterical peels of his dreams. Carl moaned, sinking onto the step, covering his head with his hands. He heard the scurrying close behind him, didn't move to run away anymore. Wouldn't do any good anyway.

"Don't lie to me, Carl. I see your heart. You should see it too."

His back burned. Carl gasped, his head jerking back, blood gurgling at his lips. He looked down, seeing that gnarled hand covered in blood, sticking out of his chest. His heart was in its hand, impossibly still attached to the veins and arteries. He watched it beating, his lungs filling with blood as he coughed, staring in pain at the organ being squeezed by that awful hand.

He screamed, though it was muted by all the blood in his mouth, as the creature used his other hand to peel a strip of skin from his cheek. The thing stuffed the strip into his mouth.

"Quiet now," the creature growled into his ears. "Screams ugly before Sarah."

Carl looked up at Sarah, her legs splattered with his blood and muscle, her expression cold and eyes full of contempt.

"Bye Carl," she said as the creature squeezed his beating heart into pulp. Carl tried to scream, the strip of skin gagging him. The world pulsed, turning blacker with each second his heart did not beat. He didn't die instantly, but stared up at her beautiful, hateful face until his blood stopped flowing and his brain at last ceased function. The last thing Carl thought was stupid, simple; "She's so damn pretty, what the fuck?"

What the fuck indeed.