Chapter 29: Alibi
If you're good at telling lies,
You could be my alibi,
And I won't have to atone for my sins…
If you're good at telling lies,
You could be my alibi,
And I won't have to the fall for where I've been…
It's early on a Tuesday morning and my two best friends and I sit in front of Jareth's desk. We sit in a straight line, horizontal to the desk, awaiting his arrival.
The monotonous ticking of the clock, looming up on the wall like a superior power, is the only sound filling an otherwise awkward silence. It's like it's watching us. I feel judged. A clock is judging me. I tell myself to stop thinking.
Tick, tick, tick…
On the right side of me, Jamie lounges across the chair sideways, her legs—fitted in pale pink slacks—sprawled over the armchair. She inspects her nails and wiggles her feet, looking far too put-together for seven o'clock in the morning. Every minute or so, the tip of her ballet flat purposefully taps my upper arm. I glance at her sideways, but the nail-inspecting and feet-wiggling resumes without a notice. She's done this, like, three times now.
Ceylon won't speak to either of us. I'm surprised he even showed up. On my left side, he's stooped in his chair, his massive arms resting on top the armchairs like sacks of boulders. His body's huge. The chair looks too small for him. I eyeball the muscle peeking from beneath Ceylon's sleeves. There are cords in his neck. He grits his jaw and I watch them flex. Geez.
Each of our parents received phone calls last night. Karen had just been wrapping up the conversation when I wandered into the kitchen and rested against the doorframe, doodling circles and squares onto the paint with my finger. She placed the phone back in the receiver, smiling satisfactorily to herself. I asked who she was speaking to.
"Oh, that was Mr. Jones. He would like to see you in his office early tomorrow morning. Seven o'clock." She drummed her long, scarlet nails across the countertop. "He says it's for the musical, just a quick run-through of the script notes. Your friends will be there."
I closed my eyes, just long enough that Karen wouldn't notice. A meeting for the four of us. It's fair to say Jareth assisted in today's chaos, and now he wants to schedule a meeting—to what, apologize? Patch it up? Ceylon isn't happy with the way the fiasco went down. Being threatened by a teacher who's potentially involved with your best friend will do that to you. If anyone has the power in this situation – between Jareth and Ceylon – it's Ceylon. A student's report of assault can say it all.
I wondered if Jareth, who originates from a world where he is the absolute ruler, can see that. I wonder – now that he ought to – if he's willing to step down from the throne and give the power to someone else.
Leaning against the doorframe, I waited for the anger towards Jareth's recklessness to rise and fill me with an intense heat; that day, he had threatened to report a romantic involvement with me if I didn't tell him personal information. He forced me into an immobile state for his own benefit. He's the sole reason I have put my best friends in this very uncomfortable situation, next to risking my friendships with them. I waited for the anger. But nothing happened—I only felt empty. Fatigued.
I then recalled the last snippets of Karen's conversation I heard when ambling downstairs. I frowned.
"That was Mr. Jones? Then why were you talking about sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie?"
"Because he's our guest this Thanksgiving, silly. Next week. I've been driving your father off the walls about coordinating the dinner." She sent me a peculiar look. "You haven't forgotten, have you?"
Oh, shit. Thanksgiving. Definitely forgot about that.
"Right," I stiffly said. "Right. Yeah. That. Nope, didn't forget."
I squished my face against the doorframe and wished I never loitered into the kitchen.
My reverie is interrupted by the sound of a door opening. I don't bother turning in my chair to look. I already know who it is.
Jareth glides across the floor. There's a mug of steaming coffee in his hand and a leather satchel swung over his shoulder. He's dressed in a dark blue coat with a black buttoned-up collar underneath. A tie sits at his neck, the silk the color of midnight sky. He bustles across the room, his shoes – brogue oxfords – rapping against the floor. The coffee somehow stays evenly in the mug. I wait for it to splash over the rim, but it doesn't.
"Good morning."
We watch our teacher slip the satchel over the back of his chair and the mug on top the desk. He settles tidily into the chair, reorganizing papers with one hand and brushing his hair with the other. Then, after a moment, he settles his elbows onto the desk. His gaze lifts to the three of us. It navigates from Ceylon, to me, then Jamie.
He looks sharp. Prepared.
"I will begin by clarifying a minor fallacy alluding to yesterday's events. Yes," He speaks collectedly, "it is true Ms. Williams and I overheard the words transpired between Ms. Madison and Mr. Bridge. Ms. Williams and I had been discussing the situation of her health when the two of you, speaking of utter incongruity, had intruded. I am not impressed with what this intrusion had encompassed. Indeed, I am repulsed."
My foot twitches under the seat. He's bending the truth. I recall Jareth easing towards me in the medical bed. His hand resting on top of mine. The blue, electric eyes.
"The notion of a dalliance between myself and Ms. Williams—a student to which I am to instruct—is despicable, to say the least. And I will not tolerate it."
Ceylon says nothing. He doesn't even move. Jamie studies Jareth's spiel with a curious look. Her shimmery lips, ever-so-slightly, have begun to smile. She ought to be comparing Jareth's words with what I shared with her yesterday in Haven—whether our sides of the story complement each other or not. She's plotting which card he's about to play so that she can plot hers.
Oh, dear God. She's testing him.
"In the moment of, Ms. Williams had hesitated in confessing that we listened to such chatter. She denied ever discerning it. If my sentiments serve me correctly, I believe this was due to her utter discomfiture, yes?" As if on cue, Jareth's eyes flicker to mine. "Such words ought to have humiliated Ms. Williams. Myself, equally so." He's quick to pull his gaze away, either to Ceylon or Jamie. He speaks coldly and with a sort of robotic control. "I intend to put an end to this delusion now. From this day forth, this subject of a dalliance between myself and Ms. Williams is never to be spoken aloud again. Ever. Again. Have I made myself clear?"
Jareth goes to take a sip of his coffee. Jamie swings her legs from across the armrest to the floor, planting them squarely before her.
"Yeah, well, that all sounds very convincing, Mr. Jones, but it's also, for the most part, a lie."
The mug freezes at his lips.
"I beg your pardon?" He takes a small sip, squinting speculatively.
"Sorry, dude, show's over. I know what's going on. Sarah told me everything yesterday."
And the coffee's spraying everywhere. Jareth spits and sputters over his desk, the professional disguise forgotten.
"She what?"
While Jareth chokes and pats his chest with his palm, Ceylon disengages from his fixed pose. Offended, he shifts to Jamie in his chair.
"Are you kidding? She told you?" He scoffs. "What the hell?"
Jamie crosses her arms.
"Well, excuse me, you'd know if you answered your phone—"
My best friends begin to bicker. I sit in between them, glaring at Jareth, who's uncontrollably coughing.
"How was I supposed to know Sarah would talk?"
"She's our best friend, not a vault of secrets, you nob!"
"Don't turn this on me! None of this should've happened in the first place!"
"Do you even know what 'this' is?"
"Do you?"
"Okay, everyone cool it." Like a traffic cop, I stretch my arms out on either side.
"I didn't tell her everything. And I'm not going to. Mr. Jones poses no threat to me in our association. I'm arguing for some privacy."
"Association?" Ceylon, for the first time since yesterday, addresses me.
"I'm going to let Jamie explain."
Jareth, still wheezing for breath, lifts his hand and takes a time-out for a few seconds. Ceylon looks like he's about to grab the nearest object and chuck it at the wall. Or Jareth.
After the room settles down, Jamie gives a summarized speech of what I told her yesterday in Haven. With strained faces, Jareth and Ceylon listen without interrupting. After she's finished, Jamie motions her hand exasperatedly in the air.
"In a perfect world, Mr. Jones and Sarah share an interest in global marketing and go for coffee to discuss—oh, I don't know—financial schemes in the international marketing world." She fixes her focus on to Jareth. "But it could also be an exploitative relationship in which Sarah's taken advantage of. Gee, for all I know, you could be some mystical creature from La La Land she's trying to hide from the Feds, who want to steal his power in favour of world domination. How the fuck would I know?" She shoots me an annoyed look. "She won't tell me anything else."
Jareth and I mutely stare at each other and blink. 'Mystical creature' from 'La La Land' doesn't sound too far off. We quickly turn our gazes away.
The room is silent. My nerves pile with each second the clock gives a strict tick. After a few of them, I can't help but return my gaze to Jareth, anxious to study his reaction to Jamie's—and now Ceylon's—knowledge. Jareth's elbows rest stiffly against the armrests. He stares, baffled, at nothing in particular. His eyes are so blue.
"Very well then," he says quietly.
I notice a crack has appeared along the rim of the coffee mug. It definitely wasn't there before.
Jamie slowly rises from her seat. With her hands tied behind her back, she positions herself in front of Jareth's desk.
"I'll have you know, Mr. Jones, that Sarah Williams is a very smart young woman."
"Yes. I'm aware."
"She is not a toy conveniently available for your…" she pauses to find the right word. Or for dramatic effect – you never know with Jamie. "…amusement."
Jareth's brows lift.
"That is correct."
"And although I have chosen to respect her wishes—her privacy—and leave the fate of this mystery in her hands, you will be in serious trouble with the law if any harm is done to her. And I'm talking about serious. Trouble. Also, Mr. Jones," she smiles sweetly, her lips glistening with gloss, "I will find a way to kill you. You will literally die. That is all."
Jareth considers the student who stands before him, studying her thoughtfully. Then he, as well, rises from his chair, meeting Jamie's challenge confidently. He returns Jamie's intense stare.
"You are one of the few students I admire in this building, Ms. Bridge, and my admiration is not beckoned easily." Although the sternness has returned, he gives Jamie a soft smile. There's something very earnest about the smile. It's too sincere to be part of an act. "Under my account, Ms. Williams would never be put under any form of danger. You have my word."
Jamie isn't content. Her arms crossed, she takes a step closer to his desk and leans forward. I can tell she's having fun.
"Then why won't you go right ahead and tell me what this association is?"
He, too, leans forward. His smile widens.
"I'm afraid I cannot do that."
"And why's that?"
Something deviant flashes in Jareth's eye—a fragment of the Labyrinth glowing through the mundane mask. A stone room full of chuckling goblins. Winding corridors of trickery and riddles. A gurgling bog that releases an atrocious smell…
"Because no matter how inquisitive you may be, Ms. Madison, there exists secrets in this world that are not meant for you to hear."
She scowls as if she's unimpressed, but the enjoyment is still clear on her face.
"You make this sound like a bunch of supernatural mumbo-jumbo."
Jareth's gaze slips to his desk, where his slender finger begins to trace the edge of it.
"It very well could be, couldn't it?" His head tilts to the side slowly, as if lost in thought. "Now wouldn't that be grand?"
"What makes you think we should trust you?"
Ceylon's abrupt question disturbs the mood. The intensity disintegrates. Jamie returns to her seat with a hmph.
Ceylon eases himself forward, stretching his shoulders deliberately. His muscles bulge from beneath the sleeves. I wonder whether or not he's purposefully flexing.
"We've already seen you're capable of breaking the rules. Who knows what else you could do?"
"Ah, yes. Mr. Bridge. You have raised a good point." Jareth's blue eyes shift from Jamie to Ceylon, centring on him with a fresh air of concentration. "I have behaved inappropriately towards you. I do not wish to pretend otherwise. You are, most fittingly, in such a position to report the matter and request to have me removed from the school property at once." He smooths his silk tie, lifting a brow like a new thought just occurred to him. It's obvious, however, the thought was anything but new. "On the contrary, young man, you have forgotten a rather critical point: you have no proof."
My breath catches.
"You can insist on my aggressive conduct yesterday and my, as it seems apparent, inappropriate associations with Ms. Williams, but you do not have enough evidence to support either claim. You don't even understand the former. Your accusations will count for nothing." He weaves his fingers together and props them neatly before him. His eyes reflect a sort of mocking humour. "You are a football jock with ideas. Nothing more."
I watch the anger boil from within Ceylon; I see it in the way the muscles in his jaw tighten, and how his ears fade into a bright, scorching red.
"Oh, I'm not reporting you."
Jareth lets out a short laugh.
"Little boy, do elaborate."
And Ceylon loses it. His massive build is suddenly looming above the desk, snarling at Jareth.
"I'm not reporting you because I'd rather you stick around long enough for the real proof to show up. I know what kind of man you are. You think you're so full of mystery, but you're just like any other scumbag who'd like to hangout with an under-aged girl." He scowls. "A report. You're not getting off that easily. I want you publically unmasked. Exposed—for the whole school to see. And I want you there, up front-and-center, for when it happens. When this—" He motions wildly to the contents of the desk and the classroom around us, "—all of it—turns to shit!"
Ceylon's arm sweeps overtop the desk and slams into the mug. It flies off the desk, crashing into a bookshelf. Coffee splashes across papers and sticky notes, meeting Jareth's chest and face. Jareth flinches, his features overwrought. In his mere stance, I can see how every inch of the Goblin King's body is restraining from reacting as he normally would, if this world were his kingdom. If he could wield magic, command a crowd of goblins and do as he pleases.
Ceylon storms to the door, thrusting his chair as he passes. It topples onto its side and screeches against the floor. Behind me, his voice is a sneer.
"See you in class, Mr. Jones."
Ceylon slams the door shut behind him.
In the silence that follows, Jamie and I gawk at Jareth. Both hands resting rigidly at his sides, he closes his eyes. He looks agitated, like he's forbidding a wrath of anger from releasing before the two of us. Dark stains tell where the coffee splashed across his attire.
"Ms. Madison," Jareth says, compressed rage leaking from his voice, "you are welcome to dismiss yourself."
Her eyes wide, Jamie turns for the door. Like the discreet shadow, I begin to follow her.
"Sarah."
Jareth opens his eyes, and his gaze falls upon me unapologetically. Although Jamie is in the room, he speaks my name without a trace of guilt.
From the other side of his desk, I return his gaze.
"Yes?"
"I wish to speak to you."
Jamie starts to protest.
"But—"
"In private."
She lifts her arms, looking incredibly annoyed.
"Um, hello? I'm in the loop now? It's rude to exclude?"
"In. Private."
She lets out a frustrated sigh and throws me a look that illustrates her discontent. I give her a look that asks—or maybe begs—for her understanding. The same understanding she granted me in Haven yesterday. It's not that I deserve it, but it's all that can keep her from storming out the room like Ceylon did.
Jareth and I watch Jamie while she collects her coat. It looks like something out of Bowie's Life on Mars music video—the mint green blazer with shoulder pads and all. As she passes me, I reach an outstretched hand to her. She accepts it firmly, her fingers giving mine a quick squeeze. It's all I need to feel the slightest hint of reassurance. She then releases them and heads for the door, offering a peace sign from over her shoulder.
I glance at Jareth to discover he had actually been watching me. This time, we're both too tired to look away. Or maybe it's because nobody's watching. In a room where coffee has sprayed across numerous items and a ceramic mug sits split in two on the floor, our gazes hold resignedly.
The door closes.
Tick, tick, tick…
And there it is again. The ticking clock.
