Chapter Seven: Oubliette

The darkness was complete, exact, vivid, breathing, alive. It caught her in a cold embrace, passing her from hand to hand as she tumbled for what seemed to be forever; end over end, head over heels, hair flying and clothes rippling in the wind.

She was too surprised at first to even scream; and then, as she continued falling, she was too frightened of landing; and then, as she fell further, it became slightly boring.

She reminded herself that, if she had read Jareth correctly, she would not be allowed to die. Cruel and mischievous he might be, but when one is in love, one does not kill off the object of one's affection.

Usually—

Panic rose in her again and choked at her throat. She fell deeper into the bowels of the earth, wondering at the darkness—

She realized suddenly that she had her eyes closed.

With a great effort of will, she forced them open, and now she saw windows. Windows in the wall, leading to she knew not where— there was scant light coming from each of them, but gradually, as she fell past them, she made out shapes that moved on the other sides, and even more gradually, she realized she was looking into people's lives.

Some were fascinating; others, less so. A few were the saddest things she'd ever seen, far sadder than she'd ever dreamt of: a lonely man knelt by his window, praying to the stars for someone to guide him; a young woman clutched a ragged button-up, the scent of her dead father still clinging to it as she wet it with her tears; a grandfather, too old to start over again, receiving news of the death of his entire family in one horrific accident. The pale light from these windows reached out to Sarah, calling on her compassion to make her sympathize, empathize, pity and despair. Such small moments, fleeting and fugitive glimpses that made her feel like an intruder.

She shut her eyes again, not knowing that it was part of the Goblin King's bag of tricks.

She shut her eyes, and shut them tight, and wished for the ground to come up and meet her.

She got her wish.

Beneath her, a rusted, moss-covered grate opened up, the latch undid itself to open for her like a mouth. She fell through and landed in a mushroom cloud of dust and dirt. She'd landed on the ground, and in her shock at the landing and subsequent puzzling over how she'd managed not to be hurt, she missed the grate clanging shut with the sound of finality.

It took her all of five minutes to realize that she was in a room with no way out.

Waves of claustrophobia broke over her and her breath came fast. She hit at the walls, beat them with her fists, and suddenly there was a voice from behind her.

"What are you doing?"

She whirled around and stared with wide eyes at the darkness.

"Who's there?"

"Its only me." The voice was familiar, silky and beautiful; but she remained panicked even as Erik stood forward into the shaft of wan light that came from the grate above.

He tilted his head at her.

"Problem?" he inquired.

"There's no way out," she said, swallowing hard as she said the words; it made her situation no less worrying to have said it aloud.

One eyebrow raised. "Is that so? How do you explain my presence, then, I wonder— surely you don't believe I was fool enough to fall down the hole, as you did."

She shrugged a little. "I didn't think about it."

A dry chuckle escaped him. "Obviously not."

"What is this place?"

"It is an oubliette." He glanced at her. "Do you know what that is?"

She sighed and twisted her mouth wryly. "I know I don't want to be in one—"

"It is a place," said Erik, "where you put people in order to forget about them. Preferably forever."

She didn't want to think about that.

"What— what are you doing here, anyway?"

"Shooting fairies," said Erik, spreading his hands. "What does it look like?"

She took in a deep breath, completely unaware of the fact that he had successfully diverted her fright into annoyance. All she knew was she felt more able to cope now— even though Erik troubled her just as much as the darkness. Perhaps it was because he was of the darkness, a kindred spirit to the clutching hands that caught at her as she fell. A dark spirit.

The words caught her fancy, and made her fear of Erik easier to bear. She shut her mouth tightly and straightened her shoulders.

"How did you get in here?"

"Through," said Erik slowly, deliberately, carefully, and obnoxiously, "—the door."

She threw her arms in the air. "There are no doors! I've looked!"

"I believe we have had a discussion on the fact that you do not know the correct way in which to look. You're never going to get anywhere if you believe what your eyes tell you. Eyes are not intelligent objects at the best of times, and are easily fooled."

Sarah put her hands on her hips. "If you're quite done pontificating—"

There it was again, that chuckle— less ironic now, more amused.

"You show your spirit at the most inopportune of times, young woman."

Impossibly beautiful as the voice was, it grated on her now; she'd always been somewhat allergic to being called 'young woman.' She stood up even straighter.

"Very well," said Erik, tilting his head to one side. "I do know a way out— it will take you to the beginning of the Labyrinth. You're well out of it, you know— it's a confusing place, impossible to navigate, impossible to solve."

She stepped forward involuntarily. "No! I'm not going to quit! I've come so far, to quit now would be— well, it would be wrong, that's all— and make everything seem so pointless—"

His golden eyes were half-covered by heavy lids, his head drooped slightly. "My dear, at a certain age, you come to realize that, depressing as it may seem, everything is pointless."

"No," she repeated. "I refuse to believe that. I came for my brother, and I am not giving up."

"Foolish child—"

"Perhaps I am!" she said. "Well, this foolish child is going to muddle through somehow, with your help or without it. And what about you? You lost something of your own— have you given up?"

His breath caught. The expression in his eyes unnerved her, and she shivered slightly— clearly he was extremely angry. She nearly started to stutter out an apology, but stopped herself. She refused to apologize to him.

"Given up?" he repeated, his voice deceptively soft. "After the years I've spent searching, to give up now—"

"Then you know how I feel," she said; regardless of whether he did or not, she was determined to throw herself on his sympathy if at all possible. She had a feeling that it was the only way she was going to get out of here.

There was a very long pause, and then he nodded.

"Turn around," he said quietly, "and walk straight ahead, ten paces."

"But—"

"Do it."

There was such authority in his voice, the tone of someone used to being obeyed, that she did as she was bidden.

"Now stop."

She halted.

"Turn your back to me— don't look back— and place your hands on the wall in front of you."

Utterly confused now, she obeyed. If it meant she could get out of here, she was willing to do practically anything.

"Close your eyes."

She did.

"Say—" He halted, just slightly. "Say 'ar dae deama Erikk.'"

She wet her lips, then, stumbling slightly, said it.

There was, this time, a deep and amused rumble of a chuckle from behind her.

"You can look now," he said. She turned, and saw light streaming through a door, in front of which Erik stood, a definite smile on those thin lips under the mask. His eyes were narrowed with amusement.

"Hey!"

"You're so wonderfully obedient," he said.

She opened her mouth to speak, then just shook her head and walked forward. "You mean to tell me—"

"Yes."

She sighed, loudly, and paused at the threshold to glance up at him, almost shyly.

"And what exactly did I say?"

"You said," he told her, the smile still there, " 'Erik is my hero.'"

If nothing else, this was evidence of a sense of humor, and it was oddly comforting to her. She stepped through the door, and he followed her.