Chapter Two
It was a special number, thirteen.
It had been thirteen years, and Jareth watched Sarah's home for thirteen days, gaining the strength he needed for the tasks to come.
He watched them all come and go, oblivious to his presence. Sarah, her parents, the young man Toby had grown into. He watched Sarah weed the flower beds near the front door and smile and wave at her neighbors. As she carried boxes of supplies from her car into the house, kicking the door open as she backed in. He watched as, one day, she took Toby out and brought him back some hours later with a garment bag slung over her shoulder.
Most of all, he watched, with a sharp stab of pain through his chest, as she kissed her paramour good-bye in the morning and another welcome in the evening. He saw how she lingered there, standing on tip-toes, and wondered if she found the comfort she so obviously sought in the arms of that unreservedly plain-looking mortal man.
Her hair had grown, brushing the hem of the jeans she wore slung low on her hips. Yet her eyes were still the same flashing moss-green, looking out at the world with a challenge.
Now, there was a sense of movement from inside the little house she shared with her human male. Quick flashes of shadow across the windows. No one had emerged yet.
Jareth brushed the curtains hiding him from view and waited.
After another hour, the paramour stepped out of the house, a briefcase in one hand and a rolling suitcase in the other. Sarah followed him, her arms crossed against the cold of the morning, clad in a t-shirt and jeans, her feet bare.
The couple embraced next to the man's shiny black sports sedan. There was the murmur of exchanged words, but none Jareth cared hear. He might have been able to with magic, but it would have been a waste when he needed to save his strength for what was to come.
Jareth watched the black car drive out of sight until he caught movement from Sarah's direction. She had turned around and was retreating into the safety of her abode.
A smile curved his lips.
###
Sarah flipped a page in The Art of French Cooking and frowned. Every time she read a new mouth-watering recipe, she realized another trip to the store was in order. Who has a crepe pan these days?
As it was, even with Michael's sizeable kitchen, all the cupboards and the pantry were full to bursting with her culinary purchases. Michael joked she spent her entire paycheck on food, and he was mostly right.
There came a knock on the door, and Sarah glanced at it, frowning for a moment before slipping a colored post-it note into her spot. The book was bristling with similar tabs of paper in varying states of distress. She slung the heavy tome onto the glass coffee table and sprang to her feet.
Halfway to the door, Sarah realized she was grinning, her chest swelling with anticipatory joy, unlike anything she had felt in some time. It reminded her of the feeling right before going on stage. Considering the last year had been full-time work, school, and planning her wedding to Michael, she had been given little time to experience such things.
Still, it gave her pause before her hand landed on the door handle. What is this thing I'm feeling?
A knock sounded again, startling her, and she opened the door, a smile wide on her face.
###
The sight of her so close, close enough to reach out and touch, made the blood in Jareth's veins sing. Her smile was glorious, her eyes sparkling and with a mischievous glint in the corners. She looked, in that moment, like every vision he had ever cherished of her perhaps, one day, returning to him.
A stabbing ache went through his chest at the thought, and he blinked, refocusing on the brilliant woman still smiling up at him.
"Sarah," he breathed.
###
She stared longer than was polite, but the stranger looked damned odd against the backdrop of the newly built suburban community she lived in with Michael.
"I'm sorry," she said, trying to fill the awkward silence as she gazed up at him, captivated. His eyes—there was something about his eyes which struck her as familiar. They were penetrating. As though he saw something far deeper than most. "I," she stammered. "I didn't mean to stare. Are you collecting for a local theater group?" It was the only explanation she could grasp for the strangeness of his clothes.
The man shook his head, a little furrow between his brows.
Sarah opened her mouth to say something else and took a half step back. He said my name.
She almost did not catch it—not only because he had said it so softly, but because the mere sight of him had thrown her completely off her guard. "Do I know you?"
He tilted his head, bird-like. "Don't you remember me?"
Sarah regarded him, trying to focus on his face. Men in tight pants were a bit more revealing than what she was comfortable with. I mean, she thought, where do I even look?
"I'm sorry, I..." she trailed off. There was something familiar about him, but it felt like a word she could not remember. The more she thought about it, the faster it slipped away. "I don't know."
Her mind flashed to the little sketchbook she kept in her purse, the one she doodled in sometimes when she whiled away the hours between classes. She frowned. Why am I thinking of those sketches now? That has nothing to do with this.
###
Being so near to her, speaking and close enough to touch, Jareth felt as though he were drowning. Anger, frustration, longing, and something deeper—something he did not want to admit to himself. He was not sure if he wanted to snap at her or cup her cheek, to sweep her up into his arms and finish the dance they had started thirteen years ago.
There were more pressing matters. She does not remember me. I had hoped the Labyrinth's magic would not work on her. She had seemed so different than the others, stronger, more resilient to the effects of the Underground. This could be a problem.
He reached out, his reflexes quicker than her human ones, and gently pushed her back, so he could cross the threshold into her living room. He ignored the electric current which surged through him when he touched her, shocking through the linen of his gloves.
Her home was larger than the house across the street he had temporarily inhabited, but that was about as far as he could study it before she let out a soft cry of alarm. "You can't come in here!" she said and though her tone was chiding, it was also steady, calm.
Hope came like a silver thread through his heart. Her voice was not raised. She did not move to push him from her domicile.
Her eyes appraised him, a slight frown creasing her full lips.
You have to remember me, he thought with savage intensity. I cannot take you back if you don't remember. The Labyrinth would throw her right back into her own world or, worse yet, to the between places. It was only through sheer luck and centuries of study that he had retained his own sense of self in that realm, and he had wasted precious time in the process. If she were to be lost there, so too would all his hopes of regaining his kingdom.
"Sarah," he said, gentling his voice though he wanted to shout, or plead, or beg. "You must remember me."
She took another half step away from him, her bare feet silent on the carpet. He moved closer so the distance between them narrowed. She did not continue to retreat but held up a hand, palm out to signal him to stop. "I don't—I do, I mean I... there's something familiar about you, but I can't seem to place it."
Jareth breathed out a harsh sigh, wracking his mind. She was on the verge of something. He only had to find the key which would unlock her memories. The idea came to him like a spark, and he used his illusion magic to fashion a crystal from midair. It was not the real thing, but he was certain she would not be able to tell the difference.
He prayed to all the gods that ever were, ever had been, or ever would be that she would remember.
The effect on Sarah was immediate.
###
Her eyes widened, and she yelped, stumbling back. He pursued her.
Not him, not—
Jareth, the Goblin King. It was him. She tripped, and the crystal in his hand disappeared as he reached out to stop her from falling.
He grasped her in both hands, holding her by the shoulders, the momentum of taking her out of her fall bringing her close to his chest. Her hands settled there, fingers slipping over the leather armor he wore.
Visions of him mocking her, taunting her, filled her mind, and then—
Her stomach twisted, and something else, something so difficult to understand she could not name it, boiled up inside of her.
"No," she said, the word barely audible to her own ears.
His mismatched eyes bore into hers, the intensity so great her heart began to pound. "Yes. You remember me, don't you?"
She did. She remembered him most of all. The memory of her friends, of Toby, paled in comparison to the moments she had been in his presence. "Jareth," she said on a breath. "It's you."
His smile was triumphant, and her heart skipped a beat. She had the feeling she had done something quite stupid. "I need your help."
She blinked, and her living room disappeared.
Author's Note:
Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to everyone who commented on that small teaser of a Chapter One. As the story progresses the chapters get longer. There will be 23 in total.
We received green light for chapter two. If possible, I'll be uploading on a Sunday/Thursday schedule. We should know by sure within a week.
I hope you enjoyed and, as always, please leave a contribution in the little box.
Xoxo,
CrimsonSympathy