There was a moment of silence in the empty gallery.
And then, something stepped out of the portrait. It had golden hair, a t-shirt, ripped jeans, and a slowly purpling bruised cut over one grey-blue eye. But it was not Kathy Williams. The mouth was harder, and the posture was more relaxed and seductive. When it spoke, the voice was lower and faintly accented.
"Fi-nally! Damn, it's good to be out of there!"
It twirled around experimentally.
"Not too bad, all things considered. The body could stand to lose five pounds, of course, and the hairstyle isn't exactly flattering, but I can deal with it. I just hope this damn cut doesn't leave a scar."
The thing smiled, its eyes narrowing, as it looked into the nearby portrait. The subject was the same, but now the girl in the painting had dropped her crowbar, and stared out with a stunned-calf expression of startlement.
"Well, well, well. So you were Kathy Williams, huh? I must say I prefer Katherine… so much more elegant and graceful. I think I'll go with that."
The thing from the painting grinned (or at least showed its teeth). "I do hope you enjoy millenia stuck in two dimensions more than I did. Rummaging through your memories, I think you might. By the breath of the Nuckelavee, you were dull. Things are definitely going to change."
Cocking its head, the creature scrutinized the painting. "Now don't look at me that way. I'll still go and rescue Eric. I've got a bone to pick with Jareth, anyway. And you've got a good chance of getting out one of these days. Few enough of his bleeding majesty's guests ever came through here, and none of them, until you, was stupid enough to touch their portrait, but lightning does strike twice. And I doubt he'll try to hide the chamber so hard."
She snorted. "After all, it's not as if you're any kind of threat to anyone. Not like I am." She… it… laughed, then. "Rather a one-sided conversation, isn't it? Anyway, I'll be a much better Katherine than you ever were. I'll dress better. I'll make friends easier. I'll cut a swathe through the male population of America with this body. I'll learn how to drive a stick-shift. Hell, I might be President one day. Just you wait and see."
The thing tightened the straps of its backpack. "Ah well, ex-Kathy. 'Some little talk awhile of me and thee; There seemed--and then no more of thee and me.' I must be going. There's so much to do. Ta-ta, dahling. Have a nice time!"
~*~
Screwtape and Gutbucket lived in a garrison in one of the goblin villages scattered here and there in the Labyrinth. They passed through the vine-hung alleyways that surrounded their hometown in unaccustomed quietude.
"Awright, then, Gutbucket, me boy," said Screwtape, "Why so bleedin' quiet? I was right thrilled when I came back from my first trip to the outside."
"It don't seem right, is all," Gutbucket replied, "Neither of 'em meant it. I thought 'is bleedin lordship din't really take anyone who was wanted in the known fields."
"Well… I oughtn't ta be tellin' this to you, being as you're such a callow youf, but the fact is, it ain't always been so. He's the king, and as such, 'e's got sartain rights and risponsabilitees. Back in the day, 'e'd take anyone 'e fancied wot wandered off. All the Seelies did."
"Cor… I ain't never 'eard about that before."
"T'was afore your time. Afore mine, really."
"Why'd 'e quit, then?"
"People stopped believin' in fairies. Out there, they believe in iron, and compooters, and big bastard gods who sit in the sky and toss thunderbolts. They don't 'ave the old fear and respeck that people used to 'ave for the twilight people. They're too strong. So ever'one 'as to keep their 'eads down, coz the day they start believin' in us again, they can wipe us out. We take only wot they doesn't want, and they leave us in peace."
"Bugger me with a piano leg if that don't take the porridge."
"Swear on me mum's grave."
"Your mum ain't dead yet."
"Well, yez can just wait, then, can't you?"
They rounded a corner, and stood before a rosewood door, which hung ajar.
"Never known that door to be opened, boss."
"Oh, bleedin' 'ell. 'At's the prison of the Brollachan, 'at is! Oo'd be daft enough to go in there?" Screwtape drew the short sword which hung at his side. "Come on, then."
"Why?"
"We're soldiers, ain't we? It's our job to keep the peace!"
"Oh. Yeah. Right." The idea sunk in, Gutbucket drew his sword, and the two goblins cautiously entered the portrait gallery. Screwtape immediately heaved a sigh of relief, for the only living thing in the room was the girl who he had recently helped take to the underground, walking in his direction. He scurried forward.
"Oy! Miss! Wot's all this, then? Ye can't be in 'ere! Come along and don't touch anything!"
The girl looked at him, and Screwtape came to a halt. He'd never seen such a contemptuous gaze before, and he'd been in the service of the Goblin King (who was a master of contemptuous gazes) for most of his life. He walked forward, but more cautiously this time.
"Miz Williams?"
~*~
In the stone house on Long Island, Sarah sat, staring at her hands, willing herself not to lose control. Her face was pale, and black rings around her eyes told a story of too many miles traveled on too little sleep. There was a pack of reporters encamped on the lawn, police and security guards at each door, and taps on all the phones. In California, Jared was undergoing much the same.
Lines played back from the hectic hours behind her.
We found the car, Miss Williams. It was in a snowbank about a mile from the house. It looks as though it ran off the road, but there's no damage, and no evidence of a struggle. Has anyone ever sent kidnapping threats to you?
About ten years ago, there was a man… but he's still in prison. And he never directed anything against the children.
How about your husband?
Ex-husband. He tends to get more of that sort of thing… but his people still keep my people apprised. There's been nothing recently.
Is there any chance that your daughter could have run off with your son?
No, no… she wouldn't do anything like that. She loves Eric.
I understand how you feel… but… were the relations between your daughter and yourself completely happy?And the answer to that would have been no. It hadn't always been that way, of course. When Kathy had been younger, they'd been as close as any diaper-commercial mother and child. But then Jared was born, and then the move to England, and the slow collapse of her marriage, and, well someone had to teach Kathy the dangers of living in dreams, who better than her mother… At some point, they'd become cordial strangers to one another
The news was playing in the background. Sarah heard her own name and glanced dully at the screen. It was the first reports. They were showing film of some awards ceremony last year. Sarah didn't recall why she'd dragged the children along to that. Perhaps she'd wanted to seem maternal.
But there were all three of the kids, the boys in tuxedos with matching Mickey Mouse cummerbunds, and Kathy, looking vaguely poleaxed in navy silk. Sarah watched as the screen self kissed the air next to her daughter's cheek, and then waved, smiling professionally, at the crowds. The ceremony was replaced with a newscaster, who looked solemn for a moment, read off the police tip line phone number that flashed on the screen, and then grinned as she chatted with the weather guy.
There was a clamor outside at the same time as the VCR made the soft "click click click… whirr" that indicated automatic rewind. Sarah rose and walked over to the entertainment center, where she pressed the "Eject" button. A thick cockney accent rose over the din outdoors, yelling, "Will all of you bleedin' bastards SOD OFF!"
She stared at the tape in her hand as the front door opened, and a tall man in his forties, with a close-cropped bleached-blond hairstyle, black jeans and a t-shirt strode in, flanked by two policemen. "Look, push off, the lot of you, I've got to talk to Sarah."
Sarah tore her eyes away from the video and looked up at her ex-husband. "Oh… Chris… it's you. I thought you were in England," she managed to get out.
He stepped over and they hugged, with the awkward grace of a couple who had embraced a thousand times before they learned to detest one another. "Hey, love," he said, softly. "I was on a plane out anyway… we're the musical guest on Saturday Night Live this week. I came as soon as Jared called. Is there any news?"
"What? No… nothing's happened."
"I rang up my cousin John… I know you don't like him much, but he's dead good at this sort of thing."
Sarah's eyes narrowed briefly. "No… no… that's fine. Will you excuse me for a moment?"
And leaving her bewildered ex behind, she tossed the tape onto the couch and raced up the stairs to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. The room was all pale cream and beige, and elegantly underdecorated. It could have been a hotel suite for all the personality it had. But there was a vanity with a mirror against the wall, and it would do.
Sarah Williams sat down on the short stool before the vanity, and took a deep breath. She had never done this, although there had been plenty of times when she'd been tempted. You had to keep fantasy and reality in their proper places, didn't you?
Her voice sounded loud in the empty room.
"Hoggle? Ludo? Sir Didymus? Is there anyone there? Please… I need you."
~*~
Notes: A Brollachan is a malevolent spirit from the western highlands of Scotland, usually found in swamps. Traditionally it can speak only two words: "Myself" and "Thyself". It is also said to be shapeless save for a mouth and eyes, but with the ability to take the shape of whatever it is it sits upon. My brollachan is substantially different from the classical one (It lives in a portrait gallery and can evidently quote from the Fitzgerald translation of "The Rubiayat of Omar Khayyam of Naishapur"), but what the hell, it's mine. The nuckelavee is an extremely nasty Scottish demon who lives in the sea, emerging from time to time to feast on humans.
