Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes

One: Chance

Toby's high school years were drawing to a close, and he could not say he was sorry to see them go. The 17-year-old boy had been the subject of torment from his peers for as long as he could remember. He had a fiery spirit few people ever saw, since his passion for the fine arts- painting, sketching, writing, composing, and the list went on- had earned him the labels of "freak" and "queer" early on. His status as a social pariah hadn't helped much with getting girlfriends, either, despite being very attractive. The soft blonde hair he'd had as a baby had darkened into the Williams black, and it had grown longer over the years- it brushed his shoulders now, but he prided himself on grooming it well, and it added an air of mystery to him. As did his recent choice of wardrobe, which was mainly black: black sleeveless turtlenecks, black boots, black leather jackets, tight black jeans (all in good taste, of course), and, especially lately, dark sunglasses to hide his eyes.

Toby frowned at himself in the mirror self-consciously, scrutinizing his image. "They're doing it again," he muttered. "They're changing colors. Why?" He knew from his birth certificate that he had been born with blue eyes. But ever since he was two, his eyes would shift colors without warning, transforming into one icy blue/gray and one hazel brown flecked with green and gold around the edges. The shifts were always temporary, sometimes only lasting a few minutes, others a few days. Sarah always turned away from him during those times, refusing to acknowledge him as her brother and muttering something about him being cursed for life because of her. However, he noticed the changes were becoming more and more frequent, and the last few times he seemed to hear a familiar voice in his mind from long ago saying, "He's got my eyes." But that was only since he got the crystal, or thereabouts, he estimated. Ah, yes, the crystal. The last (thus far) in a line of mysterious gifts he'd been receiving from a sender who seemed to know his interests very well. There had been a set of paints, a sketchbook, a journal, a very rare David Bowie CD (his favorite artist), a pair of black leather rock-climbing gloves that fit him perfectly, and now this. All had been addressed to a "Tobias J. Williams". Tobias was his formal name, but only Sarah called him that anymore, as a teasing, affectionate reminder of his uniqueness. So that seemed to mean him, all right, but he had no clue whatsoever as to what the 'J' stood for. He had even phoned Sarah about it- this sounded like something out of a scene in one of the movies she was filming, even to him, who had always believed in magic (another thing that set him apart from the skeptic kids at school). Especially the note that had come attached to the crystal: "A sadness so great in one so young, a sense of something lost, and an emptiness that lasts... This crystal does not tell futures, Tobias, nor does it show dreams as once did one very like it- rather, it links to the forgotten past. When you have learned what you desire to know, merely hold it and call. A fair warning, however: this looking glass works both ways." Sarah, however, had seemed decidedly perturbed and distant regarding his questions and her vague warnings about the dangers of becoming involved with things he didn't understand were of no help to him at all. He wondered faintly why she was so angry with him for asking about his middle name, and why she had been so adamant that he get rid of the crystal immediately. There was no way around it, then. Like it or not, he was going to have to use it.

Toby shook his head to clear his thoughts and shoved his dark, expensive designer-label sunglasses back on almost viciously, as if to hide his eyes from himself. "Bad drugs, Toby," he muttered to himself, cupping the thing in his hands. "I wonder how I get answers out of it...hmm. It's under some kind of enchantment, I'll bet. Abracadabra. Hocus pocus," he quipped dryly, joking with seemingly no one. "Say your right words, Toby, and the thing might actually do what it's supposed to. That's what the letter said, anyway. 'Oh magic crystal, I beg of thee, show me the things hidden to me. I seek answers lost in the past, and long for a future within my grasp. Show me these things, tell me more- oh crystal, I implore." He intoned only semi-seriously. Naturally, he got no results. "Maybe I need a pentagram? Or candles?" He deposited the crystal on his bed and went in search of matches.

An hour and a half later, he had tried everything he could think of regarding magical spells and superstitions, had burned himself with the matches on more than one occasion, and was slowly going blind from staring alternately at flame and crystal in a darkened room, to no avail. The clear ball remained mysteriously blank, and his slightly warped reflection still gazed up at him from its surface. "The only message I'm getting here is that I'm too pale!" He groaned in frustration. "I give up. Whoever sent this stuff is a quack." Toby sighed, rubbing his forehead, brushing stray strands of hair out of his face as he did so. He picked up the crystal and looked ready to throw it. Possibly out the window, possibly at something breakable in the room. "I wish this damn thing would work- right now!" He yelled, pulling his arm back for the throw- and stopping dead mid-way. The 'damn thing' was flickering like a charged static lightning storm and swirling gray like a tornado. "Yaah! It actually works?" He yelped, almost dropping it in his surprise. "What'd I say? Well, I guess that doesn't matter now, does it? Wh- who sent you to me?" He asked cautiously, his hesitation bordering on fear. The storm inside the crystal cleared in the center- the eye of the tornado- to reveal a face. And such a face! In all their wildest dreams, the great master artists collectively, all who had ever lived, could never come remotely close to depicting the being Toby saw before him. He himself could only attempt to describe the face, to make sense of such a phantasmagoric, haunting countenance. Slightly androgynous, but definitely masculine- in this world he'd do well as a rock star, Toby thought, realizing he'd already ruled out the face belonging to anyone so mundane as to live in the mortal realm. Sharply, delicately chiseled features- regal chin and high, noble cheekbones- Toby sensed their owner was not used to bowing or showing humility of any sort, as he traced a hand along his own features and felt that his face must have been very clumsily carved in comparison. Moon-pale complexion, with its own incandescence radiating a harsh, unearthly luminescence- starlight on lepers' skin. Upswept eyebrows and cruel eyes, devoid, for the moment, of other emotion, although he did not doubt their capabilities to express a barrage. A slightly smirking wicked twist of lips shaped a mesmerizing mouth; raven dark eyelashes. Long, blond will-o-the-wisp hair of varying lengths; in fact, it was longer than his, and done in a style that would have been ridiculed anywhere but L.A., but which somehow suited the image projected by the face. A sense of danger pervading throughout. But, truthfully, what captured Toby the most about the pale, regal face were the eyes- one spoke of frozen icebergs, tundra devoid of life; the other recalled a warm enchanted forest. Two contrasting colors, each seeming to contradict the personality the other reflected... Toby knew those eyes all too well- they were just like his own, when they went through their freakish metamorphosis. For a moment, staring into those pools of depth, he had a disconcerting sensation of vertigo- was he inside the crystal or out of it?- but it quickly passed as he remembered he was only looking at an image, magically conjured and incredibly realistic though it be. Toby recalled the words of the letter- "This looking glass works both ways..." but forced them to the back of his mind, as they were confusing and strange, slightly unsettling words. "Whatever," he muttered, wondering silently: Who are you? Where do you come from? Why do I feel connected to you somehow? He asked none of these questions, however. Instead, he said, rather densely, "What's the David Bowie look-alike got to do with anything?" Then he smacked himself, silently noting that that had to have been one of the most stupid things ever to come from his mouth, and corrected: "Open mouth, insert foot. What I meant to say, before all my brain cells disappeared, was 'How is your master linked to events in the past that I wish to know about?" The crystal showed a black, leather-bound book with golden clasp and a single word title gilt in silver- "Labyrinth".

"Good God, Labyrinth? I grew up on that book! Incredibly fantastic, yet more realistic at times than my so-called life," Toby said out loud, seeing the picture. He had rented it from the library so many times it was practically his anyway, although it hardly looked like the one shown. Sarah, on the other hand, had a habit of turning visibly pale and excusing herself to leave whenever he mentioned it, particularly when he confessed to a deeply repressed yet inexplicably strong empathy for the Goblin King, which seemed to further alienate him from both his sister and her thus-termed "side of good". So in general he refrained from bringing up the subject. He frowned now, wondering how his favorite book related to the stranger, yet not stranger, he had just seen. The crystal was not finished, however. The image melded to a motion picture of himself prying up a floorboard in his- formerly Sarah's- room, and finding an old book identical to the one in the picture, not the one he so frequently borrowed from the public library. A close-up shot of the book showed it was well-worn from use, and had the name "Sarah Williams" inscribed inside the front cover. "No way!" He shook his head in disbelief. "If Sarah used to own a copy, why didn't she tell me? Why keep it hidden and act not only like she's never read 'Labyrinth', but that she hates it?" Finding no answers to satisfy him, only more questions, Toby decided to do what the crystal seemed to be implying, and got down on his hands and knees, searching for loose floorboards.

"I found it!" Toby shouted triumphantly, when at last his hand touched something dusty and leathery under a floorboard that had been no more loose from the floor than his teeth from his mouth, and without the aid of a crowbar he doubted he would have tried lifting it. That was probably no accident, he thought now, a bit sourly, as he got a firm grip on the thing and tugged. The book slid free with one last almighty jerk, knocking Toby onto his back with it. He lost his grip on the crowbar, and the wooden board slammed decisively back into place with a loud crack. "Geez, Sarah, do ya think you could hide your stuff any harder next time?" He groaned sarcastically, rubbing a sore neck with one hand. "Honestly," he remarked, picking up the book a bit roughly and undoing its gold clasp, "I hardly think this was worth the troub-" the words were cut off abruptly. A piece of paper that didn't look like part of the book had fallen from inside its back cover. "What's this? Some kind of journal paper?" He wondered, turning it over in his hands as he unfolded it. The ink was old, faded, and a bit smudged in places where drops of water had hit the paper- or had they been tears, he mused silently. Yet he definitely recognized the tight, stylized cross between cursive and print as being distinctively his sister's. Intrigued, he sat back on his heels and began to read: "Even as I write this, it all sounds so surreal, and it would surely seem madness to any who only heard it from me without experiencing it, but the memories burn still- all my friends and all the struggles I faced to gain back that which I so carelessly wished away, but most of all, him. His voice, his gaze, his touch, his smile, his cruelty, his cold laughter, his mockery, his seduction and his mind games- all were more real than the nightmare 'reality' I now face. How could I have been so blind? But before reason and emotion desert me entirely, I will make my confession: The Labyrinth is real. I fought my way through it to the castle beyond the Goblin City, just like the book, but the ending was so drastically different! Unlike the book's triumphant heroine, in winning back what was stolen, I lost to it's King, and my soul has been the price. Yet I fear that I will lose the only thing now dear to me- Toby- if he ever finds out. For, if Toby somehow remembers, he might not forgive me for my actions, or worse yet... I might lose him again to J. -forever..." Toby closed his eyes, the paper fluttering to the ground from his fingers as he struggled to make sense of all his sibling had written. "More secrets, Sarah?" He sighed, shaking his head in bewilderment. "Labyrinth? Real? It would explain so much, but... I guess it's back to crystal gazing." He turned yet again to the flickering orb, about to pose his question, when he saw there was no need. Now images and accompanying dialogue were appearing- images of a teenage Sarah, and if he had to venture a guess he'd say she looked somewhere around 15. Which would place me at- what, one? Two? So then, the babe with her must be me. But- wait! What is she saying? And that looks like- it's him! It's the master of the crystal! So, it's all true, then- he must be the Goblin King, and Sarah- wished me away... Recognizing in himself the shock and numbness that preceded a downward spiral into despair and depression, Toby knew he should turn away before he found himself caught again in the drowning whirlpool of emotions that had very nearly killed him during high school, yet found he could not bring himself to look away from the events unfolding before him: Sarah- with all her heart wishing he be taken by the goblins. Sarah- dancing, in the Goblin King's embrace, all thought of her baby half-brother erased. Sarah- being offered her dreams by the King, and only at the last, internally conflicted, remembering her duty to reclaim him. The Sarah who had been his anchor throughout his tormented social ostracism and familial isolation... that same had rejected him, after all. So, her kindness toward me all these years has been the effect of a guilt-ridden conscience, and the once person I cared for- truly loved- in my life does not care any more for me than her deep-seated self-blame allows...

The images now before him seemed more real, since, he reasoned, they had directly involved him. He was in the King's throne room, being sung to and played with- the Goblins' ruler seemed to have a genuine affection for him. More than I can say for my sister, he thought, past bitterness, tumbling down through pain, finally crashing and burning in a sense of overwhelming loss and hopelessness. "Sarah- oh, God... why did you toy with me like this?" He was gripped by a desire to find a place where betrayal couldn't touch him and he wouldn't have to ever think or feel again. Toby stumbled toward the bathroom, praying to whatever powers took pity on his mockery of an existence that his search would not be in vain.

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"So, I think the picture is worth the risk, but we really need to jump on the offer if-" Sarah Williams trailed off at her booking agent, publicity representative and friend's response- or, rather, lack thereof. Her elder by many years, Tara McKenzie was in one of her trances again. Of pureblood Irish stock, she had the Sight- it had been in her family for generations, and by now Sarah was used to seeing her eyes glaze over, body stiff as it was when Tara Saw something of import. Sarah kept her silence as Tara passed her hand in front of her face, seemingly warding off a disturbing vision. She paused, waiting for Tara to break the silence. The elder's gaze fixed on Sarah, and there was a concern lining her eyes that unnerved the actress.

"It's your brother, child."

"Toby?" Sarah questioned, not understanding the look that clouded Tara's normally sunny features. "Has he gotten himself into trouble at school again?" She sighed and pursed her lips, silently reprimanding herself for neglecting the boy as of late. Tara shook her head.

"I know not this 'Labyrinth' of yours, but it has injured him gravely, and e'en now he is in peril of his life because of the past... in which you are deeply involved, are you not?" Sarah nodded minutely, forced to acknowledge a piece of her past she had hoped to put permanently behind her, as she struggled to keep a mask of calm while listening.

"If you leave not at once, you arrive too late to save him. Yet, your part is not to deflect physical harm, but to prevent far worse."

"I'll- get my Ferrari! But what about-" Tara held up a finger, pointing to herself.
"I'll deal with the publicity hounds. You, go." The woman smiled wanly, watching Sarah race to her car. Sarah had never questioned Tara's insight or visions before- they had always been chillingly accurate, and she did not question now. Instead, she was filled with dread and fear for Toby's well-being, and a white-hot, all-consuming rage toward the one who still ruined her life, as the pieces of Toby's recent unusual behavior fell into place. Oh, my priceless Toby, you must forgive me for my hostility- I can see now how distant I must have seemed, but believe me, I only meant to prevent this from happening- again... The memories seeped back to her through time, and she recalled someone telling her once that your mind was not your friend. Though I highly doubt this was what they meant, she thought cynically. Tearing up asphalt, Sarah reached for words once spoken by Hoggle after he had given her Jareth's drugged peach, yet still so fitting to the situation at hand: "Damn you, Jareth- and damn me, too..."

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Toby sank onto his knees, hands on the floor in front of him, feeling weak, as he waited for oblivion to claim him. The metal razor's deadly kiss had done its work, and already the edges of his vision were beginning to blur. Yet in his mind he heard a voice as his life slowly dripped onto the carpet, a song: "Your eyes can be so cruel/Just as I can be so cruel/But I believe in you/Yes, I do." Believe in me? Toby thought ironically through the haze that was encroaching upon him. Who's ever done that? All my teachers felt I could be summed up in a few phrases: "antisocial, unhealthily introverted, maladjusted, attitude problem." No one ever got close enough to understand me at all... The voice again, so familiar- "I think I'll name him Jareth. He's got my eyes." JARETH! Everything came together in a sledgehammer of an epiphany that hit Toby on the head almost too late. The Goblin King- his own elusive middle name- his past- his eyes... His knees gave out, then, and his head hit the floor with force. He groped for the only thing capable of saving him now as another of Jareth's songs echoed in his mind: "As the pain sweeps through/Makes no sense for you/Every thrill has gone/Wasn't too much fun at all/But I'll be there for you/As the world falls down..." Well, my world certainly is- falling down. I can only hope he'll- really be there. He recalled the words of the letter he had received- was it really that same day?- "When you have learned what you desire- call- works both ways..." Then, it stood to reason, if he could see and hear things the King wished to send him, could He not see and hear Toby as well? Toby's fingers stretched farther- farther, until they brushed against a smooth, cold, round object. "Jareth..." he whispered, the name dying on his lips as, mercifully, darkness came.