Moira grunted as she heaved the large crate marked "Hanging of the Greens" down from the shelf in the church attic and shoved it toward Sarah. Sarah set the crate down onto the floor and opened the lid and began pulling out the rumpled greenery.

"Your family seemed really nice, Sarah," she said.

"Thanks, I think they liked you too."

"Your brother was so great with Kevin. Most kids tend to shy away from him."

Sarah laughed, "Toby can be a real ass sometimes," she told her friend, "But he has a caring heart. He gravitates toward people who are a bit on the outside."

Moira joined her at the crate and began fluffing up the wreaths and garlands for the sanctuary.

Sarah's family had joined her for the Sunday morning service before flying back to the States, and Moira's son Kevin had taken a surprising interest in Toby. Toby had been gracious, allowing the older boy to sit next to him at church. He had shown Kevin a new game on his phone and they had taken turns playing. Kevin had been upset when Toby had had to leave, but Toby had promised to visit him the next time he came to see Sarah.

"How's Kevin been, by the way?" Sarah asked.

"This time of year is difficult for him," Moira answered, shaking her head. "I think he feels Kieran's absence all the more around the Holidays."

She held up a mangled piece of garland that had seen better days. "I think this one can go," she said, tossing it into a large bin by the door. She dusted off her hands and sat down cross-legged beside the crate of greenery.

"I've never told you what happened, have I?" she asked Sarah.

"No," Sarah replied. "I mean, I've heard bits and pieces from other people. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to…"

"I'd rather you hear the real story from me," said Moira. "No one around here really knows, since we were living in Birmingham at the time. There was a blurb on the national news because the whole thing was such a mystery..." she paused and seemed to gather herself before continuing.

"Everything seemed ordinary that day," she began. "The boys were seven and were out on holiday. Lily was around two at the time. We went to the park and then got ice cream. The boys played. Kieran teased Lily a bit too much and she cried. I think I got a little cross with him. Then we went home. Nothing unusual happened. We had supper and I put the kids to bed. The next day…"

Moira paused again and drew in a deep breath. "The next day I went in to check on the boys. Kieran was cold in his bed and Kevin was unresponsive. He was breathing and blinking and moving, but it was like his brain had just shut down. He wouldn't speak. I didn't know what to make of it."

"According to the coroner, Kieran's lungs were full of water. Water he said he'd never seen where we lived. Foul, brackish water… It was impossible. And of course, Brant and I fell under suspicion. The cops questioned us mercilessly. They tried to question Kevin, but he was thankfully protected by a Childrens' Advocate Service since he was technically disabled. The whole ordeal was a nightmare. To lose one child and then the mental faculties of another only to be accused of harming one or both of them."

Moirs was crying now and she wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

"We ended up leaving Birmingham and moving here about a year later. We couldn't stay there anymore. There was such suspicion surrounding what happened. Everyone had the same question, 'How does a seven-year-old boy drown in his bed?' But I had no answers, no explanation. To this day I don't know what happened to my boys."

Sarah scooted closer to her friend and put her arms around her. "I'm sorry, Moira. It must be so difficult to be left with so many questions."

"I truly believe Kevin knows what happened," the sobbing woman said. "But he hasn't spoken a word in ten years and I doubt he ever will. Even with the thousands we've spent on therapy. Maybe that part was selfish of me. I've just always felt that if someone could get through to him, he could tell us happened to his brother and give us some closure."

"Of course," soothed Sarah. "It's only natural to feel that way."

Moira wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands and gave a half-hearted laugh. "Look at me sitting here blubbering when we're supposed to be getting things ready for the Most Wonderful Time of the Year. I guess I grieve him more around the Holidays too."

Sarah could understand. Christmas always made her wistful for home, not the home she had with her father and Karen and Toby, but the warm, idealized one in her fantasies. The one where her mother was still living with them and she stayed home and baked gingerbread cookies and made hot cocoa with marshmallows for Sarah. Where Merlin was still alive and barking at the twinkling Christmas lights. Where her father would come from work at a reasonable hour and watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas with her as many times as she wanted. She had never known that home, but her heart ached for it.

"Fernweh," Sarah thought.

"Sorry I've made this afternoon into such a sob-fest," said Moira, noting Sarah's sudden shift in mood.

"Nah," replied her friend. "I was just thinking about my family. They drove me nuts while they were here, but I love them."

"What about Jareth?"

"Jareth," Sarah said with a lopsided grin. "Jareth and I have definitely moved past the 'just friends' thing." She thought about the rather erotic interlude in the kitchen at Thanksgiving and felt her body growing warm. There had to be some bible rule somewhere about being painfully aroused while in the Lord's house.

Moira squealed with delight. "So, when do I finally get to officially meet him?" she asked.

"I don't know," Sarah answered truthfully. "He's pretty tied up with work stuff right now."

"I bet you like him 'tied up', don't you?" laughed Moira and Sarah smacked her arm.

"We haven't slept together, if that's what you're hinting at."

"What are you waiting for, Christmas?"

"No," Sarah answered. "But on that note, this greenery is pathetic. We simply cannot hang this stuff in the sanctuary."

Moira shrugged. "It's what we've always used. Clarkston is quite the skinflint when it comes to what he considers 'frivolous expenses.' He won't give approval to buy new wreaths and garlands."

Sarah thought for a moment. "What if we didn't need to buy greenery?" she asked.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," said her friend.

"Trust me," said Sarah. "This will be brilliant. Do you have a handsaw?"

"No, but Brant does."

"Perfect. Bring it and a sled and meet me at the shooting grounds in an hour."

"Whatever for, Sarah?"

Sarah gave her friend a wicked smile. "Of a truth," she said in her best Shakespearen voice, "We go to the wood, fair Moira. We shall seek the greenery among the fairies and sprites and bring it hence like the dirty, dirty pagans that we are."

"Clarkston will have a heart attack," laughed the other woman.

"Well then, I'll mark that off my list for Santa," Sarah answered.

The good reverend was decidedly unhappy about the two women decorating the church in what he called a "secular fashion." According to him, plastic wreaths and faux evergreen garlands were far enough removed from paganism to be acceptable. However, their cutting and hanging of actual forest greens had crossed a line, despite how lovely it looked. He would have made Sarah and Moira take them down, but the Ladies' League had arrived and made such a fuss over the beautiful decor that he had relented and even went so far as to let them believe it had all been his idea. Sarah didn't bother fighting it. If it meant that all their hard work could stay up, she was fine with Clarkston taking credit. Moira was more bothered about it.

"What a right arse he is, taking credit for your idea!" she fumed. "Thou shalt not lie, indeed. I've a mind to call him on it."

"Leave it, Moira. It's not worth it," Sarah told her. "Besides, we know the truth and the church looks beautiful."

It did look beautiful. Long garlands of fragrant evergreen hung from wall to wall. Wreaths of holly and ivy adorned the heavy wooden doors at the entrance and the ends of each pew. The old organ had been draped with evergreen boughs braided with red ribbon. Tall white candles sat in the stained-glass windows, surrounded by shiny magnolia leaves and pinecones.

Sarah smiled to herself, happy that her own brand of magic had brought some joy and happiness to the faithful congregation of the little stone church.

Toby Williams was on a mission. He quietly crept down the basement stairs, careful to avoid the creaky center of the third step. He didn't even dare turn on the lights, but flicked on his flashlight and swept it around the room. Dusty boxes and sheet-covered furniture littered the path and he deftly stepped over and around them until he reached the large safe at the far end of the basement.

Holding his flashlight between his teeth, he pulled the crumpled paper he'd found in an unused desk drawer from his pocket and held it under the light. He scanned the numbers again and moved toward the safe.

Slowly, he turned the dial of the safe in accordance with the numbers on the paper and then pulled on the handle. Nothing happened. The safe remained locked.

"Fuck," Toby grumbled.

He decided to try again, just in case he'd been off a bit. He turned the dial methodically. As the last number turned into place, he heard the pins click and the door to the safe popped open.

Elated, Toby swung the door open wide and peered inside. He swept his flashlight over the contents of the safe and groaned. There was no cash. There were no jewels. There didn't seem to be anything of any value in the metal box at all, just stacks of files and notebooks. He picked up a notebook and flipped through it. The handwriting in it was Sarah's. He scanned over the pages some more, sensing something strangely familiar about the written lines. Where had he seen those words before?

The answer hit him like a punch to the gut and he dropped the notebook to the floor.

"No fucking way," he said in disbelief. He retrieved the notebook from the basement floor and then closed the safe.

"Sarah has a lot of explaining to do," Toby muttered as he tucked the notebook under his arm and headed back upstairs.

The young boy was looking at him in utter horror.

"It's my fault, isn't it?" he asked, wide-eyed.

"No," said Jareth. "It's no one's fault. It was an accident."

"But I told him the story," argued the boy. "He wouldn't have done it if I hadn't told him the story."

"You mustn't think that way. I've told you, it was an accident."

The boy grew hysterical. "It's my fault," he mumbled over and over.

Jareth knelt before the boy and looked him squarely in the eye. "Stop this," he commanded, but the boy continued muttering the words.

"I can't allow you to do this," Jareth said, angrily rising to his feet. "I- I'll make you forget."

"My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault…"

Jareth put his hands over his ears as the boy chanted. The words became a teasing sing-song.

"Stop!" screamed Jareth. The chant grew louder and louder. Then the boy's words changed.

"Your fault. Your fault, Your fault. Your fault…"

Jareth jolted upright in his chair, spilling his tea and dropping his papers onto the floor. On the sofa, Sarah stared at him, startled.

"Are you okay?" she asked, moving toward him and laying a hand on his shoulder. He was trembling and agitated. It unnerved her to see him so shaken.

"I'm fine," he muttered, out of breath. He bent down to retrieve his papers while Sarah mopped up the spilled tea with a cloth.

"That must have been some nightmare," she said.

"Yes," Jareth answered with a shudder. He wanted to shake the images away, push them back into the depths of his psyche. Forget them.

Sarah looked at her watch and frowned. "It's late," she told him. "I should go. Are you sure you're ok?"

Jareth was silent. Afraid to speak. Afraid to ask.

"Jareth?"

"Stay," he whispered at last. "Stay, Sarah. Please."

A/N:

Sorry for the delay getting this chapter posted. Zeta blew through my state last night and I am still without power. I had to charge my Mifi jetpack in my car just to get this chapter posted *grr!*

I'm glad you guys enjoyed Toby in last week's chapter. He's overlooked in a lot of stories, so I wanted to give the lil' rascal something to do. You'll see quite a bit more of him as we go along!

Please let me know what you think about the chapters. I want to know your likes, dislikes, what made you laugh, what made you cringe, etc. Remember, comments and reviews are the only compensation we fanfic writers ever receive for our hard work, so please leave a contribution in the little box. Thank you!

Next week this story earns its M-rating, so stick around!

~Fanny~