Chapter Eighteen: The Show Must Go On

"Sarah!" the powerful booming voice completely shattered her enrapt state.

Obediently, and completely shaken from the abrupt disturbance, Sarah glanced
upwards to see the doorknob turning. Her heart sunk, mind froze and her hands very
nearly lost any and all strength they had had. With only primal instincts of survival, she
flung the diary beneath her pillow, and promptly fell on her back, snapping her eyes closed
as the door opened into her room.

There was no other spoken word, but rather brutal hands shaking at her insistently.
Sarah jumped up, startled again and observed whom had been so rude, without any proper
warning either... Peter was her guest, and his frenzied look told her that the news he was
to deliver could be nothing but horrible.

"You are my leading lady," he stated, and grabbed her hand firmly in his own, and
forced her to rise to her feet, perhaps meaning to take her down to rehearsals.

Sarah dug her heels diligently into the carpet, and grasped the bed's frame. She
would not be taken away like this, against her will. She wrenched her hands free and
glared at Peter, unsure of what to say following his sudden proclamation. Of course, such
an opportunity was something only found in her dreams, and she would be ignorant to
pass it up.

"The play is done, Peter. Look at what has happened!" Sarah exclaimed, her mind
drifting to thoughts of Gabrielle, and what had happened to her.

Peter stopped and whirled around, fixing her with his gaze. There was no more of
the spited lover in his thoughts, no more needs of romantic relationships. He wanted the
play to continue, and would die to force the production on. Sarah, however, could not
imagine such callousness, such a shallow attitude, and dismissed any considerations about
taking the part.

"I will not have it die. It's almost done, the script, I have only another two scenes.
We are at the grand climax, and I can feel the rest waiting to be written shortly. My sleep
has been fickle, but the inspiration will return, and I will prevail over the forces that stand
against me. You will star in my masterpiece!" Peter demanded and then turned to storm
out, but hesitated momentarily.

His eyes were wild with fury, rage, and the eccentric nature which Sarah had noted
upon their first meeting. Still, that same inkling she had taken for eccentrics, now had
stepped fully into the realms of insanity. She easily recognized the lost glint, the
disheveled hair, and wild final attempts at a normal existence. All had happened to her,
when she had faced reality alone, with only Jareth's haunting presence.

"You may do this easily, or fight against me. Either way, Sarah, I will prevail,"
Peter replied in deadly tones, and then stormed out, slamming the door behind himself.

"You will not order me!" Sarah yelled through the closed door.

She rushed to it, grappling with the golden knob for a few moments before
realizing that it had been locked, from the outside no less. Peter had made her a prisoner
in her room, in the creepy mansion filled with ghosts that did not rest quietly. She
shivered, and backed away from the door, and from the out-of-control feelings which
threatened to wash over her.

She shook her head, hands instinctively going to her long thick hair and threading
through the strands of chestnut hue. This was not the way it was meant to happen. This
had been her second chance, her hope for the future. Now, she was locked away, the last
hope for a failing play write, and fearing the loss of her own sanity.

"You always were one to cast aside dreams, Sarah," a rich velveteen voice
caressed her from behind.

She spun about, suddenly a sparse yard from the mighty Goblin King. However,
his presence was less imposing, as she recalled the lovestruck youth that had been written
about in Emelia's diary. Surely such a story could add humane qualities to even the most
sinister of creatures.

"I did not wish this," Sarah demanded and brushed past Jareth, heading to the bed
to show what she had discovered in the woods, in the ruins.

"There is no need, Sarah. I know what is in it quite well. Hundreds of years mean
nothing to my memory, nor do I care what is written," he hissed, perhaps holding an
almost fearful quality in the usual emotionless voice.

Sarah turned on him, her eyes dark and her heart completely shattered at the
cruelty present in his attitude. She strode in closer, far too near for comfort, and tilted her
chin defiantly in the air. Jareth merely watched, perhaps half-interested in what she had to
say. He placed his hands in the small of his back, beneath the ivory cloak he wore.

"How could you not care? She loved you with every breath in her...," Sarah was
stopped promptly as Jareth grasped her arms and forced her back to the bed.

"Lies! I demand them ceased!" he stated, though the break in his calm nature
shocked Sarah more than what had been said.

Her hand instinctively slipped beneath the pillow, toying with the velvet cover.
Jareth turned away, his emotions cloaked, but not as they had once been. Everything
threatened to fall, to be forced into the open if he was faced with anything else. Yet, he
could not leave, and Sarah watched with mild interest as he paced about the room,
mentally arguing what should be done.

He finally turned and his cold, mismatched gaze fell on the insignificant book
which now rested in Sarah's lap. She watched, now entirely enthralled with what feelings
were evoked with this part of his past brought into the present. Jareth paled and
physically appeared to falter, stumbling backwards for but a moment as memories crashed
against dams that had long been constructed against painful reveries.

"You asked... you.... Your dream was bestowed upon you, Sarah, and now you
deny the man whom offers you the lead," Jareth countered, trying in vain to ignore the
familiar book which Emelia had occasionally written in while he had been by her side.

Sarah cocked her head slightly, running a single palm over the cover of the diary.
Jareth tore his gaze away and focused on her instead. His eyes bore into hers, searching
or pleading for the memories to be destroyed before they completely ruined him. She was
not about to put it aside.

"Where is Gabrielle?" Sarah demanded as she rose from the bed and opened the
diary to the first page.

Jareth held his ground, yet appeared drained as she stepped ever nearer. The
antique book held out at arm's length, like a shield against his tricks and incantations. The
great Goblin King had once again underestimated her, and now would pay the price.

"You have the lead, and sufferings have been forced on them, as they had forced
pain upon you. Sarah, I have offered you your dreams, and they are shattered like crystals
at your feet, while you dissipate into the realms of dark oblivion," Jareth's voice leaked
out emotions, the mask of indifference having finally fallen away completely.

Sarah paused at this, the familiar phrasing brought back a memory cloaked in the
mist of forgetfulness. She had spoken during her fall, emotional pain shredding her heart
in two, while her hopes and dreams were dashed on the floor. It had been but a slip of the
tongue, something stated more to vent anger than truly wish such a curse on any living
thing.

Her surety faltered, and she promptly dropped the delicate diary to the ground. It
shut, as if of its own free will. Sarah turned her gaze downwards and looked at the book.
Jareth had silenced, but still his presence loomed around the room, magical auras
encompassing her entire array of sensations.

"I take it all back, a thousand times over. Take me instead, Jareth... I'll sacrifice
myself," she moaned, now rushing towards the silent king and grasping his silken shirt in
her trembling hands.

He allowed a slanted grin to trace across his thin lips, and ran a single gentle finger
over the subtle curve of her cheek. So similar it sent shivers along his spine. However,
Sarah was different than Emily, something about this woman who now offered her entire
life for those whom had cast her aside as garbage, shone more brilliantly than even the
most magical creation. Her soul itself was a golden light of fantastic powers, holding true
innate magic in its very depths. If only she knew, life would have been strikingly different.

Jareth forced her hands to disentangle from his shirt and turned away. He could
hear her sobs begin to overcome and tried in desperation to block them. He was the
Goblin King, one who did not obey the emotional outbursts of simple mortal women.

"Jareth please. I give you my freedom, my body, anything," she moaned as she fell
to her knees behind him.

Jareth turned at that, the proposal generally interesting. Yet, there was no Sarah
kneeling on the ground, openly weeping into her hands. She had gone, flown quickly into
the dark corner which served as her safety from the world. The golden soul was tarnished
and emanated only the scantiest amount of residual magic.

"I once would have longed for such an offer, Sarah, but the part of you that caught
my eye is too far gone. Even my greatest powers cannot alter your deterioration, but only
yourself," Jareth whispered, eyes cold and emotionless as he spoke.

Sarah hitched in a deep breath, her confusion evident but she would not question
what he had said. Jareth stared at her a moment longer and then turned with a graceful
sweep of his ivory cloak, and took flight as the snow-white barn owl.

Sarah watched, jaw slack in shock and perhaps a touch of revelation. She reached
out, her hand shaking as it fully extended towards the still open window. Tears just
recently spent were suddenly dried, and her eyes shone with the remnants of the moisture.
Large chocolate spheres, windows to the soul, overwhelmed by reality, and now tantalized
by prospects of fantasy.

"Jareth!" she screamed and leapt to her feet, trying to catch the mighty king before
he left completely.

She knew already that she was, by far, too late. There was not a single trace of the
white owl soaring through the crystalline, clear blue sky. Jareth had already returned to
the Underground, to see to his new prisoners, which she sentenced through her own
thoughtless words.

Sarah turned after a short sigh and looked at the locked door. She too was a
prisoner in her own room. Fontridge's promise of a new future had collapsed beneath her,
and had instead drawn her into the past, one that had warped horridly. With the general
depressed mood lingering over her lowered head, Sarah made her way back to the door
and laid a limp hand atop the golden knob.

"Peter?! Please, let me out," she begged, but her voice cracked and she knew
already that no one would hear her. They would be by at their own time, and only then
could she tell them of her change of heart.

Sarah slid her hand across the smooth metal, allowing it to cool her fingertips.
Under the scant pressure the knob turned, and an overwhelmingly final click echoed
through her mind, magnified tenfold as her freedom was allowed. Sarah watched, eyes
wide, as the door swung open and revealed the dimly lit passageway.

She could leave, easily make her way out as the others still prepared for the
insignificant play. There was her home, her old life, and even her parents to return to.
Yet, there were those who would never be given the opportunity because she had cast a
horrid fate upon them. Her decision was made before she had a chance to actually truly
contemplate her options.

"I understand, Jareth, and now I must fight back," she uttered in a low monotone.

Quickly she reentered the room and took the diary gently into her arms. She
placed it safely beneath her pillows, away from prying eyes. Then, taking the script that
she had wrapped again with the ribbon, made her way from the room. The show would
go on!

* * * * * * * *

Peter slammed his hands down upon the piano, producing a horrible wrenching
sound of clashing tones. The other actors jumped, their nerves still never recovered from
the shock they had sustained the night prior. All still feared what had taken the three
whom were found missing.

"The song will not come!" he practically yelled, barely containing the urge to strike
at the instrument once again.

He began playing, allowing a calm breath to pass through his lungs and control the
fury of emotions which attacked his every thought. Such conditions were not optimal for
the creation of literary and musical masterpieces. He needed silence, reassurance, a
leading woman to aid in the harmony.

The young blonde man stepped forward as the song began once more. He cleared
his throat and then held out the paper which had several sprawling lines written upon it, in
Peter's quick script.

He began, but was promptly cut off by the abrupt slam of the far door. All eyes
turned, and Peter's accompaniment came to a garbled halt. He nearly threw the script to
the ground, as well as the music that he had spent ages trying to perfect. The songs, all
that remained along with the final act, had proven to be so very tedious.

Sarah hurried in, her eyes intent and suddenly determination set her jaw. She
stood beside Peter, dropped the script to the ground and then found her place beside the
tall blonde actor, whom had treated her so poorly before. She then looked at Peter, to
await the start of the song.

Sarah knew precisely what the play was about and, although she couldn't recite
word for word, she could nearly perform it without rehearsing. For, it had finally clicked
into place, and things had begun to make sense. The play was about Emelia, about the
myth, which most certainly was nothing short of the truth, surrounding Fontridge. With
the diary, Sarah now understood that she could not turn down the lead roll, and the
chance to play the lovely Emelia, alongside a fake Goblin King. She looked at the blonde
actor nearby and remained silent.

Peter said nothing, but rather sat in utter shock. The door had been locked, he had
been sure of it, but now she stood here as if she belonged like everyone else. Of course,
he had offered her the lead role, and now it appeared as if she had decided to take it. One
problem solved.

He turned and found the keys, then looking at the sheet music, began to play.
Sarah faltered noticeably as the familiar melody drifted through the theatre, but she
composed herself and found a strange reminiscent sensation steal through her mind and
take control. She was unable to stop herself.

"There's no living in my life anymore
The seas have gone dry and the rain stopped falling.
Please don't you cry anymore.
Can't you see?
Listen to the breeze, whisper to me please...," Sarah hindered a moment as Peter's
music stopped, for this was as far as he had gotten in his writing.

Then, as if driven by instinct alone, she began again, much to everyone's shock.
Peter himself sat still, as if a statue, head in hands and listening as the song, that had been
just beyond his grasps, took form through her lovely voice.

"..don't send me to the path of nevermore.
Even the valleys below.
Where the rays of the sun were so warm and tender,
Now haven't anything to grow.
Can't you see?
Why did you have to leave me?
Why did you deceive me?" Sarah stopped again, tears streaming down her face
and her last line became more accusatory than ever.

In her mind's eye she could see Jareth. His sly face, always grinning as if he knew
what no one else could even guess at. She swallowed deeply, sobbing now, but
determined to finish. She turned to look at Peter, who had at last turned his wary eyes
towards her. He was actually smiling.

"You send me to the path of nevermore,
When you say you...you didn't l-love me anymore," at this she completely stopped
and turned from everyone, trying to find some form of escape.

She slunk to one of the leather couches, and curled up against the far arm. Her
arms wrapped about her knees, drawing them to her chest, and her bare feet rested upon
the leather furniture. No one uttered a word to break the unnerving silence, which hung...
or rather loomed from every side.

All the while Sarah could hear the song's title echo through her mind, in a voice
that was not hers. His rich voice continued again and again, as if a broken record taunting
her to no end.

"Nevermore...," Jareth's voice continued and she placed her trembling hands over
her ears, but the hidden meaning behind the song's words bombarded her, despite fighting
against it.

Somewhere a crystal laid balanced atop ivory gloves, reflections of mismatched
eyes cast upon its smooth surface. And somewhere that same magical being allowed a
wan smile to play over his pale features, and cast a ghost of happiness upon a usually
somber mask. Then the crystal faded, as did the reflection, as did the smile...