Disclaimer: see the prologue.
Author's note: Please review me! Oh, and did
I mention that this was an Evil Jareth story? =).
Chapter One: Curiosity Killed the
Cat
Beth speaks:
It
was just a play-a trilogy of plays, actually. No more than an old, thick,
leather bound book with a simple golden inscription on the cover:
Apeiros
I
hadn't learned any Greek at the time, and considered asking my professor
of Latin. The absent knowledge of a title was inconsequential; the contents
were in English. Considering that I was right in the middle of a busy work
shift and twenty minutes behind when I found it, the smart thing to do
would have involved returning it to the manager and finishing my current
task, which was daunting if not incredibly tedious.
Of
course, I did otherwise. I actually had the stupidity to read them.
I
never should have opened that book.
Can
you hear me mentally bashing myself? It occurs quite often now ('Stupid
idiot,' 'deserving moron' and 'delusional inquisitive head-case' all spring
to mind). The price was far too high, but tell me, how was I to know? Books
are the stuff of dreams, and we are all dreamers on occasion (or else we
are very dull). Perhaps more important than even the book itself, however,
was the building I found it in, the place where the dance of an interlude
begins and ends...
The
Present.
Most
visitors and tourists thought it was the focal point of the university.
Standing like an Ozymandian temple of stone amidst the crowded buildings
of the city, the ancient monument of marble and glass sat regally on one
side of the courtyard, opposite Memorial Church, whose foundations were
probably even older.
It was
the shrine to the most avid scholars of the times, the biggest of its sort
in the world, with the smallest number of patrons admitted. A repository
for the genius of ages, silent landmark to the immortal scholars among
the elite who had long since passed on beyond this brief existence, so
vast a collection of literature it would take a lifetime to read.
The
girl, however, did not work at Widener Library for the prestige. She worked
there to read.
She
also craved the darkness as much as she loved the light.
Beth
L'Esperance was another freshman, a wide-eyed sort of girl who surprised
everyone with random bursts of sarcastic wit. It didn't help that she was
dreamer as well as a perfectionist. The atmosphere of the university alone—the
dim lights, long night hours—emphasized her makeup, pale skin, and brown-black
hair. She was a china doll, walking around in an environment where the
slightest emotional jarring would cause her to break and shatter into a
thousand pieces. So people tread carefully.
"Hi,
Johnny." She swept by her supervisor, signing in, careful to mark the numbers
of minutes over that she was late—seven—and threw her bag down to rush
into the stacks, the rickety eighty-six year-old elevator creaking shut
behind her.
It was
Thursday, one of the long evening shifts she always signed up for. No one
came to the library then, there was barely ever any real work to do, and
Beth could take as much time re-shelving books as she wanted. Simon always
let her pick her job.
Simon
was a senior, working as a supervisor in the stacks division. He was Sherlock
Holmes, only blond and with glasses. If Beth ever had the time to sit around
with him, he concocted the funniest conversations. The best were with Alice,
an ex-supervisor with chestnut hair, a full figure and a big smile that
was notoriously contagious. Noise complaints from the sixth floor reading
carrels were frequent in conjunction with her appearances.
Neither
was on duty yet. Beth looked at the quarter-full grouping shelves and the
lone cart standing next to the clipboard, waiting for the next stacks employee
to push it. Beth sighed. Wow, this is going to be a long night.
8:45.
It was pitch black outside. Most of the lights were turned off in the stacks,
except for the fifth floor, where Beth had been for almost an hour. She
felt alone without any lights on.
Platforms
of metal bookracks connected the walkways, row upon row, spanning ten floors
in metal braces. Because of all the gaps of air space, she could hear people
walking above or below her for several floors, footsteps thundering or
beating quietly like the sound of a slow drum, increasing and then slowly
fading away into nothingness.
She
shuddered involuntarily.
Reaching
up to place a copy of Poe's Collected Works on a top shelf, Beth
noticed something stuck between the metal racks. Walking around to the
other side, she managed to wrench it free, and brought the object up to
her face for inspection.
A small
red leather book, thick but surprisingly light, sat neatly between her
two hands. The inscription on the front was indecipherable, but Beth turned
opened the cover and easily translated the ancient words.
"Uni
qui velit infinitas tenere ut vigiliam eorum sit." Her voice was a
bemused murmur. "For the one who wishes to hold infinity in order that
he might be the keeper of it."
"Your
remarkable skill with the Latin tongue does not pass unnoticed."
Beth
nearly screamed; the voice was so sudden. She spun around in the direction
of the voice. Her eyes fixed upon the figure casually reclined across the
windowsill.
The
man's age would have been possible to tell if it weren't for the childlike
features that adorned a wizened, mischievous face. His clothes reminded
her of a pastoral shepherd; the loose olive tunic fell carelessly over
his russet breeches, partially covering slender arms that stretched lazily
behind his head. Emerald eyes shone from beneath strands of dangling auburn
curls, threatening to escape the cage that held them and dance around the
air in mirth, as if he could mock the very essence of time if the occasion
arose.
White
teeth flashed against the tan of his skin as he tossed her a grin. "I wouldn't
read that, if I were you."
The
color slowly returned to Beth's face. She started to utter something, looked
at his leather boots, and stopped. Several moments of silence passed between
them.
"Ignoring
the fact that your attire is going to get you arrested by the campus police
for popping a few too many," Beth enunciated slowly, "and that you just
scared the living daylights out of me in an otherwise dead silent building…"
she paused, lowering her voice, "Who are you, anyway? And what do
you want?"
At this,
he merely laughed, an echo like thousands of children gently assaulting
her ears. "You may call me Peter," he finished, smiling enigmatically.
"And I, Beth, am here to see you."
She
started. "What for? Can I help you find anything?" She eyed him suspiciously
when he didn't reply. "And how do you know my name? Are you even supposed
to be in here? I need to see your ID." Her instincts rushed out in a burst
of short sentences.
"I don't
have one."
Beth
began to get annoyed. "Please, don't make me call security. I don't want
to bother. Frankly," she explained, "I'm tired, behind on my work, and
you're creeping the hell out of me."
He smiled.
"So why not relax? Why this job? Why a mundane existence, searching for
meaning among the yellowing pages of the past when the present is passing
you by?"
She
threw her hands up in frustration. "Fine. Don't go. That's just fine."
She shook her head and turned back to the book cart. "Just don't distract
me."
"Distraction
is only a point of view that we choose to make an amusement of. In your
case," Peter jumped down and leaped —for that was the only word Beth could
use to describe it— to the opposite end of the aisle, facing her again
and leaning against the wall with a casual air of indifference, "I'd say
that almost anything else would be more stimulating than this."
"A comedian."
Beth rolled her eyes. "Terrific."
"Or
perhaps memories are more to your taste," he said, retrieving a square
black box from somewhere in the folds of his shirt, tossing it to and fro
between his palms."
Beth
leaned her head slowly forward until it touched cold metal, squeezing her
eyes shut. "I can't believe this," she groaned. "Why me?"
He ignored
her. "You know, I like you, Beth." Peter smirked, his eyes twinkling merrily.
"You're funny."
She
put a hand to her head. It's always the ones with tights and long hair…
"That's
why I'm giving you a gift." He lay the box down in front of her feet.
She
stared at it warily. "You open it."
He laughed.
"I'm not the Unabomber, you know." Beth sighed and reached for the package,
lifting off the black velvet top and reaching inside.
It was
a puzzle box, with panels on the front of it. A slide puzzle. She turned
to check behind her, listening to see if anyone was nearby. The library
was as silent as a tomb. Beth relaxed, her dark hair falling slightly in
her face, a smile creeping at the corners of her mouth as she pushed the
first piece into place.
He stood
there, quietly watching as she slowly moved the tiles into their rightful
places. This is the last one. The headaches and the searching are over.
One more, and I'm giving up, no matter what Jareth says. He let his
gaze travel from her peasant shirt and jeans, to the Arthurian novels set
aside on the bottom of the cart and back to resting on her face, the eyes
wide and swimming with thoughts. They never understand, thank the heavens
for that. They'll all stay safe, and I'll go home…
The
little wooden box clicked. She opened it. And gasped.
"What?"
Peter asked disinterestedly.
"Where
did you find this? It looks exactly like— no, it is!" Beth let out
a little cry, and fit the object onto her thumb.
It was
a toy ring. Nothing fancy, simply a green ring made of hard, iridescent
plastic, molded into the shape of a heart. Yet the reaction of both parties
was nothing short of alarming. "I know this! It's the one I've had since
I was little kid," she said, still astonished. "I know I left it at home,
in a basket on my shelf. So how the heck did YOU end up with it?" Beth
asked with an inquisitive stare.
Peter
took a step back, trembling. In those few moments, his entire countenance
had changed. His face was ashen, his eyes flickered nervously, and there
was an expression on his face, a curious mixture of astonishment, confusion,
and…fear. It can't be true… He finally found his voice. "You're
not supposed to—" He tried again. "Where... where did you first see it?"
Beth
turned the trinket over and over again in her fingers, thinking hard. "I
was four. It was a summer birthday party… I was at someone else's house,
near the woods. We were dancing in a circle in the garden." She shook her
head with a laugh. "It seems so silly, so trivial…
"I never
won any party games that I played. Ever. Everyone else always won something."
Beth spoke quietly, lost in her thoughts, traveling back. "So I wished
as we danced, harder than ever before, that I would win. Win a prize at
the next game we played. The group went indoors to play "Duck, Duck, Goose,"
or "Musical Chairs," or something else like that. And I won. I won my ring."
She
turned back to Peter. "I remember, if only because it was one of the few
times that I ever impressed my friends as a kid. I didn't win much at anything."
Beth paused. "Why are you asking me this?"
He was
visibly shaking now. "Do you remember anything else about that day?" he
asked urgently. "About people in particular. Did you meet anyone that day?"
Beth just looked at him, confused. She doesn't understand! He suddenly
reached out, grabbing her shoulders forcefully.
"Ouch!
You're hurting me!"
"Listen
to me!" Peter cried. "This is important, Beth! Tell me if you met someone
strange, someone different that day!"
"Please
let go—"
"Tell
me!"
"I don't
know! No one! Nobody! The clown who did tricks for us!" she spat out, desperately
supplying an answer.
"And?"
Peter urged her. "What did he look like? Did he say anything to you?"
"I don't
remember!" she wailed, tugging at his vice-like grip. Her shoulders were
beginning to ache. "I have no idea what he said. I…I liked his hair. It
was long and blond and puffy, with glitter in it. I think he wore some
makeup, but mostly on his eyes, and gloves. I do recall that he wore black
gloves. But honest to God," she pleaded with him, "that's all I remember!"
His
heart plummeted. "Oh, no," he whispered.
"What?
What is it? Could you please let me go?"
Peter
released her, staggering backwards, sitting down heavily on the windowsill,
his head in his hands, groaning softly. "Oh, no."
She
rushed over to him. "What's wrong? What did I say?"
He lifted
his face and gazed at her. She was bright, innocent, and upset.
And
now he had doomed her to fate.
He rubbed
at his temples. Suddenly that old headache wasn't so far away after all.
If
only I had quit early, I never would have returned here, he thought
miserably. She never would have had to suffer. She is wonderful, and
I've destroyed her. And Jareth never would have known…
Peter
cleared his. Throat. "Only," he whispered, "that I wish it didn't have
to be you."
"I don't
understand."
He rubbed
at his temples. "Never mind." He ran a hand through his hair distractedly.
"What time is it?"
"About
nine. Ack! I have to get back to work!' Beth scrambled to her feet, picking
up the discarded book.
"No!"
Peter reached out, knocking the book to the floor. "You shouldn't read
that book. You have to burn it."
"Are
you crazy?" Beth protested. "I'm not going to burn this! It must be at
least a hundred years old. Besides," she admonished, "it's a library book,
for crying out loud!"
"Please
Beth." he entreated. "You have no idea what you're already in for. Don't
add insult to injury."
Beth
folded her arms. "I'm NOT burning any books. Especially ones that are worth
a fortune and belong to someone else."
"So
be it." Peter sighed, clenching his fists in frustration. "Then there are
things I must explain. Tell me, Beth, are you familiar with the story of
Persephone?"
Just
then the bells began to ring outside, slowly echoing over the courtyard.
"I have to go," he realized out loud. "Now." Fumbling in his pocket, he
drew out a long chain, with a single metal skeleton key on it. He extended
his arm towards Beth, holding out the second mysterious object. "Take it.
Wear it around your neck."
Looking
at him like he was absolutely insane, she obeyed, slipping the cool material
over her hair. "What does this do?"
He smiled
wanly. "Opens doors." He clasped Beth's hand holding it tightly, and simply
looked at her without speaking. There was an immense feeling of sadness
and regret in the gesture; it emanated from his eyes. Beth started to speak.
The
sound of another cart rolling down the hall startled her, and the girl
whipped around to straighten up her mess. When she looked up again, Peter
was gone. "What…"
She
shook her head, not wanting to think about it. Sitting down on the floor
after the cart passed by, Beth opened the red leather book once more. The
pages in the first third of the book were a play of some sort, but the
rest were…
Blank.
Empty. Except for a single page after the end of the play. It was a picture,
an etching of a tall, regal building, with columns… She squinted to see
what the words below the picture said. As the bells rang out their last
hollow chord, the lights seemed to darken, and if one were to listen carefully
in the silence that followed, a person could almost make out the sound
of distant laughter.