Chapter Sixteen: The Lost and the Lonely
His eyes were kind, and she looked up into them, knowing not what to do... except give herself as a gift, willingly lost to the beautiful strange.
She found herself, without quite being sure how, in a vast room. The ceiling arched high overhead, clear blue as a sky, but too far away to tell if it was real or only cunningly painted. The room was so large, it took her a moment to realize that it was absolutely round; a mathematically perfect sphere. She knew without looking that the floor was rounded too, sloping gently down to the middle, the surface smooth and slick as glass.
She felt a brief flicker of claustrophobia, but it was quickly beaten down, replaced with a sense of awe at the beauty of the creatures that danced in front of her.
There were human faces there, but they were a minority. More often was the sharp nose of a fox, the jutting chin of a wold, the burning circle of a fire sprite, the snout of a fiendish. They danced together, species and species; it didn't seem to matter; male and female was the point, and the dances were wild and pleasurable, the participants whirling about the floor, flushed with exertion, eyes bright with a fierce joy.
She stepped towards them, and watched them dance.
The music was wild as well, a thin high piping providing the main melody; somewhere a thousand unseen voices sang, all perfectly pitched, perfectly matching. She looked about and discovered they all emanated from one woman, a tiny young thing, barely twelve by the look of her; she had a faery's sharp ears and a fiendish's snout, but she sang with the voices of angels, and when she looked at Sarah her eyes were empty.
She sang:
Watch the sun die, we are all dying
We've nowhere to go to, nowhere to run
We hold to each other and hope that by lying
We can keep living, outliving the sun.
All I ask is this, of you
A single request, a simple wish only
Don't take me away; as I will, let me stay
I may die if I leave the lost and the lonely
We only stop dancing when we have died out
Our flame, it still burns, so bright and so well
We know we would never be welcome in heaven
Death dances with us, and so welcome to hell
The faces whirled, a bright jumble of colors and shapes, heartbreakingly beautiful in diversity, each one unique. As Sarah watched, she saw flickers and changes in them, as though seeing light through the seams of reality, and part of her realized that they were all wearing masks.
The other part swore it was a lie, and longed to join them, to dance until she laid down to die.
Looking down at herself, she saw that she wore the same sort of costume that they were attired in: some strange material, softer than silk and smoother than satin, silent so as to not to rustle when she moved, and thin so as to flare out when she danced. The perfect dress for dancing in, yards of fabric in the skirt, covering the rest of her tightly, except for the sleeves, which flared out just above her wrists and ran trailing strips of cloth, like kite tails, for another two feet. Looking down at herself, deeply admiring the spareness of her own body, she began to sway without realizing it.
The face of the singer took on a look of satisfaction, but the empty eyes did not change.
Sarah began to hum with the melody:
Forget the remains of your tattered reality
Empty treasures, rejections, force time and tide
You are here now, and you're free, and she wants you
Lose yourself in the eyes of the one at your side
Dance it away, sing the song of deception
Illness, disease, shattered heart, broken bone
Old age and anger, can't face tomorrow
Lose yourself in the song of the lost and alone
She lost control.
She strode forward into the crowd, stood in the middle with her arms out at her side, and danced and danced and danced. Alone as she was, the creatures laughed; and they all danced with her, choosing her for their partner, choosing her over anyone; the room spun, her head spun, the world spun, and she turned one last time and looked into the eyes of the Goblin King.
That so-familiar face, that cruel mouth, those steel blue eyes...
He wore Erik's mask, and everything about him was strange.
Sarah stood still and looked at him, tilted her head from side to side, unable to pinpoint exactly what it was that was out of the ordinary.
Then she realized what she was seeing.
That same flicker of reality showed in his face, and for a moment she could see the amber eyes staring back at her, wide and oddly frightened.
They clasped each other tight and had to whisper in the other's ear in order to make themselves heard.
"Do you see me for who I am?" asked Erik.
"I think so," said Sarah. She felt ready to cry her bewilderment out on his shoulder, but managed to contain herself, at least for a while. "You are Erik, aren't you?"
His sigh of relief was warm against her earlobe. "Yes, I am Erik. And you are Sarah."
"You look like Jareth," she whispered.
"And you," he whispered back, "look like Christine."
The sound pounded at them, chipping away their tight hold on reality. Even as Sarah stepped back from him and looked up, the golden eyes were replaced once more by the steel blue ones, and the only vestige of Erik left was the mask, which didn't seem to change. She could tell from the expression of naked longing on his face that she now appeared to be Christine... his Christine. She wondered what she looked like, and felt a little jealous. It must be wonderful to have a man look at you in that way, and want you for you, and not because you resembled someone else.
Jareth... no, Erik! Erik! pulled her close again, and she shook the fog out of her head and clutched her arms around him.
"Why is he doing this?"
There was no need to ask who she referred to; they both knew that Jareth was responsible for all that had happened.
"I don't know," said Erik, and shook his head. For a brief moment, the feel of her body against him had been so indescribably wonderful and so wonderfully familiar; but it was not Christine. No. It was not Christine.
The next second he had forgotten again as a new verse of the song was started, and his mouth traced a path down her neck, coming to rest for a brief second on her collarbone.
Sarah closed her eyes and shoved him violently away.
He stepped back with a gasp of protest, and the amber eyes were back again for a split second; then she grabbed his wrist and pulled him close again, Jareth the Goblin King, her lord and master and her eternal slave.
Far away in the castle, Jareth watched them through a window into oblivion, his eyes amused and harshly sad. He saw how they danced, longing in their movements, and reveled in what mischief he had caused, and cursed himself for what he had done, as well, for jealousy dies hard. He glanced up.
"Christine," he said, gently.
She came to him; she had learned to obey what he asked of her, and to do so promptly. He put an arm about her waist and pulled her into his lap, bidding her to look through the window.
"Tell me what you see, hmm?" he breathed in her ear.
Christine frowned, looking at the spectacle of the dance, momentarily confused by the shifting patterns, the whirling colors.
Then she cried, "I see you! I see you and your Sarah-girl, dancing like mad."
Jareth nodded, laughed to himself, pulled her close in an almost-hug. It hadn't been long, but he had become rather fond of Christine, her unthinking obedience, her absence of self-will; it was refreshing, he thought darkly, after dealing with Sarah. He cast a brief glance over to the child where he was being rocked; Tybalt, the unlucky goblin who had been abruptly promoted to Chief of Babysitting, was covered in spit up and did not look happy.
All this for a child.
And for Toby, as well.
He turned his attention back to the window. The dancers had whirled between them and the ones they watched; as they went on their way, Christine gave another cry of recognition.
"Erik!"
Jareth nodded slowly.
"Yes, it is your long-suffering Opera Ghost. And who do you see dancing with him, hm?"
She squinted.
"Its me," she said, softly.
Jareth laughed aloud.
"And now that you are sufficiently confused," he said, "allow me to let you see with eyes of truth."
He set her aside, and ran a hand over his face. When his fingers came away, his palm held a pair of steel blue orbs, and he looked up at Christine with empty sockets.
"Give it a try," he said. "Its quite entertaining."
Its only me now, and I sing a lament
There was no such thing as my one and only
Days draw to a close, my breathing is spent
This beautiful hell of the lost and the lonely
The music was possession, Sarah and Erik helpless in the force of it, caught in a trap from which they couldn't escape.
They danced.
As they circled around each other, their eyes met and the masks were complete; all they could see was the object of their desire, looking back at them with eyes of love.
Erik's fingers curled around Sarah's hand, his touch deceptively light; when his other hand pressed at her waist, he left bruises.
Deep within him he knew the truth of this deception, but truth was not the strongest force in him then; it could not keep him from pulling her close and kissing her slowly, his lips and tongue moved as in a silent prayer; ecstasy in his false belief, combined with a hidden need for forgiveness.
She was too young, and she couldn't respond, no matter who she believed him to be. That this opportunity came a year too soon was both her tragedy and her saving, for as Jareth- Erik- the man pressed insistent lips upon her, his hands moving over her back, holding her close, she freed her mouth and spoke into his ear.
"I can't! I can't!"
Erik stopped dead still, let go of her quite calmly; then turned, roaring in a deep and pained rage, to pick up a chair and hurl it at the wall.
The room shattered, and a cold wind blew.
Erik howled out grief and rage at his lot, at life, at everything, and his voice was louder than the tempest itself.