Chapter 5
Somebody had been screaming. Sarah blinked awake, and swallowed with an effort – why is my throat sore –
It had been an eerie and fearful dream. She had heard a voice crying out – cries that continued until the voice had choked on a gag, and another voice had whispered – cat got your tongue? –
And Sarah sat up in bed with a yelp as the clock alarm went off –
cat got your tongue, Sarah?
Sitting up had been a mistake. Sarah turned her head on her neck, slowly, to look at the time – eight o'clock – She clenched her teeth, refusing to acknowledge everything that hurt –
Just make it to the shower.
She clambered out of her bed, and fisted her fingers in the bedclothes, without looking at them. She tore off the sheets, and the blanket, with trembling hands. The first thing she would do on Saturday – tomorrow – the first thing – involved throwing them in the washer with a quart of bleach. No, throwing them in the trash. No – she inhaled – she would find an empty dumpster, and throw all of the bedding in, and burn it.
Sarah grabbed a handful of clothes at random, and walked unsteadily to her bathroom. She bypassed the mirror, and stood beneath the shower, letting hot water pour over her body.
It was too hot – she reached forward, shaking, to adjust the temperature, and steam roiled around her neck – and it felt just as it had after he had fallen forward on her, his hot, ragged breath coasting over her throat, gradually slowing, and – really, Sarah, you'll wake the neighbors – and she had tried to speak, but couldn't, and he had paused, and murmured – poor dear – cat got your tongue, but I've got the rest, haven't I?
haven't I?
Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, and bent forward, to let the water hit the back of her neck.
A mistake – because then she could feel how the tendrils of heat slid over the bumps of her spine, just as his fingers and his voice had when he had said – perhaps something more comfortable for you, then? – and he had reached and twisted the tie, and pulled her hands away from the headboard, and brought them in front of her, still bound, as he shifted to sit behind her, and lifted her up and eased her into his lap, and tugged her hair back away from her face, and kissed behind her ear –
be easy – you have wanted this for so long, haven't you? haven't you Sarah?
All the blood had rushed back into her hands, tingling and painful – and she had felt her own sweat sliding down her temples into her hair –
Her hair. Drenched with sweat, where it had caught between their bodies and tangled when they moved together, and where it had stuck to her mouth with saliva and to her cheeks with tears, her hair had been a mess –
Sarah turned the water over to cold, and grabbed the shampoo. Her hair was still a mess.
She washed, and pulled a comb through her hair – not a mess anymore – and put on her clothes, keeping her eyes determinedly away from the bathroom mirror, even though it was obscured by steam.
Nothing had changed when Sarah went back to her room, even – there. There – the same crystal, and the feather –
Carefully, she looked into the mirror above her vanity.
Sarah felt her skin tingle – oh God there's something there – he's there – She could feel something – it's him – looking back at her.
"I know you're there."
Her voice fell roughly into the silence.
The silence was a waiting one.
"I've changed my mind, Jareth." The tingling turned into a ripple of gooseflesh as the room went cold. "I want you at the hospital tonight, so you can free Aaron while I watch." She gritted out the words. "I don't trust you any further than I can throw you, and I want to see you keep your promise. And then you'll get your precious third night – you understand?"
Glaring at the mirror, Sarah snatched her concealer and smeared it beneath her eyes, trying to cover up the rings of sleeplessness.
She thought she heard him laugh.
Sarah bit her lip, and went to the pile of crumpled bedding, and took the blanket. She threw it over the orb and feather.
A weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. She breathed out in relief.
"So." She felt almost giddy. "You can probably still hear me, so tonight – at the hospital – you had better be there."
Silence.
Then the blanket caught fire.
Sarah screamed in shock. "No – NO!"
The flames crackled in reply.
"STOP!"
The edges of the vanity began to blacken.
"Please, Jareth – STOP it!!"
And then the fire vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Ashes floated down to her carpet.
Dimly she heard the hall smoke detector beep.
"You son of a bitch," she breathed. "You fucking bastard."
Sarah snatched her purse from the vanity, and left. She only looked back once. When she did, she could taste salt on her lips - salt from her own tears.
I wonder if it shows … Sarah thought wildly as she walked into the hospital. Guess what, everyone: last night, I was tied to a bed by some beautiful nightmare thing that whispered things to me, and did things to me that you wouldn't believe – and I screamed so loudly that he gagged me with my own hair –
Nobody said anything out of the ordinary to her. Same greetings, and farewells. Same stale sandwiches at the cafeteria. Sarah passed through consults, and meetings, in a daze, feeling as though she were on the other side of some barrier between herself and reality …
She was just tired. Just so tired, because she had hardly slept – and Sarah felt her eyes drooping closed as she walked down a hallway, and then rounded a corner –
"Oof!"
A clatter of clipboards and a swish of paper, and Ben's charts were all over the floor –
"Hey Ben," Sarah rasped through her sore throat, and bent to pick up the charts. "Sorry about that."
"Sarah?" His voice was quiet.
She looked up. Her friend's eyes were wide. "You look like absolute hell."
Sarah forced a smile. "Nice to see you, too."
"No –" Ben's lips were pale. "I'm not kidding. What's going on?"
"Ben –"
"The back of your neck, Sarah, has black and blue fingerprints on it." His voice was clinical. "I saw them when you were picking up those papers, just now."
"Are you kidding?" She straightened – it hurts – and yanked her hair to one side. "What the fuck are you on?"
There had been nothing in the mirror – not a mark, not a bruise – she would swear on a stack of Bibles that there had been nothing there …
She felt Ben's breath on her neck; her stomach twisted into a painful coil and she shivered.
"Oh," he mumbled. "Sorry. I guess it was just a trick of the light."
"What a funny trick." Sarah bit down on the inside of her cheek. "Can you let me by, please?"
"But Sarah –" Ben looked at her, doggedly – she recognized the set of his jaw, the same from when he had slogged through essays and problem sets – "You look like you haven't slept in days. What is going on?" His eyes narrowed. "Is it that guy?"
She met his gaze evenly. "It's private, is what it is."
"Private?" he said incredulously. "Private? You're my friend, and if someone's hurting you, I want to know about it so I can kick his ass!"
She forced a laugh. "What a chauvinist. For all you know, I'm getting initiated into the female wing of the Bloods."
Ben looked at her, his face grim. "It is that guy, isn't it? I saw him on the steps after the wedding –"
Sarah felt her smile turn brittle. "Cleans up well, doesn't he?"
"Sarah – you need to get away from him."
She glared. "You're a little possessive for a celibate priest, aren't you, Father?"
"No – I just –" his voice was a stammer. "I can't describe it. That guy is scary – I don't know what it is – but –"
You can see him – Sarah felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
She forced her voice to remain even. "But what?"
Ben looked over her shoulder. "It's stupid … but …" His own shoulders slumped. "You wouldn't believe me."
"Wouldn't believe what?"
"I – I –" He took a deep breath –
His pager went off with a loud clangor.
Sarah's heart was thumping in her ears.
Ben looked back up at her, from the device in his hand. His face was set in unhappy lines. "I have to go."
"What wouldn't I believe, Ben?" she whispered.
He looked away. "I'll tell you about it later. Right now –" he tapped the pager. "NICU mom needs the chaplain."
"O.K." Sarah felt cold.
Ben walked away, then turned back. "Sarah – I'll get you some coffee – come and meet me after Compline. It's right in the chapel, you know? Eight o'clock."
"Fine."
Wait –
Ben was gone. Sarah bit back a sudden laugh that she knew would sound unhinged.
I've just made a double date –
Staggering into the on-call room, Sarah made it to the cot before her legs gave out completely.
If she had to pinpoint the exact date her fever, or sickness, or whatever began, she would have to zero in on two days ago – Tuesday night, when she stayed up to drink scotch, and slept without dreams, but went through the next day feeling as though her head were stuffed full of cotton wool – or maybe it had only been after she had not slept – could not sleep – for two nights – two full nights when she had taken him to her bed – her own bed –
Sarah closed her eyes and fell back onto the pillow. Her bed. She had taken him to her bed. She tried to round up her thoughts; they were scattering, running for cover in the glare of memory – as she opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling through a haze, her head pounding, just as her pulse had beaten in her hands as the blood had flooded back into them, when he had kissed behind her ear – be easy – you have wanted this for so long, haven't you? haven't you Sarah? and then he had kissed the back of her neck and had slid his hands over her body –
Sarah – he had whispered. My Sarah. Princess –
She had been too hoarse to speak loudly, but had managed a croak– no don't call me that – I told you not to call me that –
Ah – Jareth's fingers had stilled, one hand spread over her collarbone, the other at her waist, and then his voice was almost too quiet to be heard – You would not have your dreams, Sarah?
– no – Sarah touched her fingers to her neck, at the memory of her jerking her head in a painful no – no dreams – no stay out stay out of my dreams –
Your dreams … He raised his hand and tilted her face to the side, and to the back – pain stabbed down her neck – and kissed her slowly, lingering on her mouth as if she were something to be savored – Your dreams are your glory, your dreams are your gift, my jewel, my Sarah – Another kiss. Sarah had not been able to see him in the dark, but had felt his fingers, smooth as silk and burning hot, trace her jaw – My dreamer …
No – Her throat had felt raw. Stay out –
Sarah had felt, rather than heard, his low laugh – breathed out against her lips as he slid his hand back down to join the other at her waist –
Stay out? Jareth's mouth had nudged hers in the dark – I think not.
Bastard – she had hissed, clawing at his interlaced hands with her nails, as far as her fingers could stretch from where her own hands were bound together – Stay out of my dreams, Jareth –
He had rested his chin on her shoulder; Sarah could feel flyaway strands of hair brushing her cheek. Let me in, Sarah.
No – I won't – stay out of my dreams –
Your dreams? Jareth had moved one hand, and she gasped before she could help herself.
Is that what they're calling it, these days?
Sarah had gone breathless – with what she realized later had been rage – and had snarled, and her voice had hurt – fuck you you dirty ugly bastard –
Oh yes, please – and his voice had rippled with laughter, and malice – Let me in, Sarah –
She had taken in a deep breath to curse him again, and then had yelped as he bit her shoulder – she knew her skin had broken – she felt the sting – You have rather proved your mettle, Sarah – now do you want me to silence you again, or do you want to relax – he sucked at the bite and she squeezed her eyes shut, even in the darkness –relax, because you have wanted this for so long, haven't you? haven't you?
And a wash of pleasure had made her spine uncoil, and she had leaned her head back against his shoulder and let her body go limp, feeling her bones turn into liquid as he ran his hands down her thighs and back up again and – there – that's it – just relax – let me do this to you, Sarah – and this – and this – you've always wanted this –
Yes – she had not recognized her own voice – please yes just please – don't stop –
No? And Jareth had whispered, his breath scorching her ear – What do you want me to do, Sarah? What do you want?
The answer had pulsed through her head, and her body, from her own memory – Fuck me, Jareth – just fuck me please oh don't stop oh God –
And she had heard him snarl, and he had clapped a hand over her mouth before thrusting into her from behind and she would have cried out but it felt as though she had swallowed a red-hot coal, one that burned through her throat and rested at the back of her skull, radiating the same fire and pain and want that had swept her away in her kitchen, in her room, in her own bed – her own bed –
Sarah gasped and sat up straight in the cot.
"Just a dream," she croaked, staring into the dim light of the on-call room. "Just a bad dream."
But it hadn't been a dream – it had been a memory – or was it a memory within a dream, or a dream within a memory – she couldn't think – her head was pounding and her mouth was dry –
Sarah lurched to her feet, and stumbled to the sink. She cupped her hands under the faucet, and splashed water over her face. Then she grasped the porcelain and drank directly from the cool stream, feeling it gush into her mouth and send prickles of shock through her teeth.
She turned the water off, and looked into the mirror.
God.
Sarah felt numb as she stared at herself. Her eyes were deeply shadowed, haunted, and her face was as white as paper. Her hair, though combed neatly, and tied back, somehow gave the impression that it would fall out of its coil at any moment – and she lifted her hands to her face, and watched them tremble like dead leaves on a tree –
Aaron had been trembling. Shaking, and jerking back and forth in his sleep, as though he were a puppet and something – someone – you know who it is – was pulling his strings at random.
Dr. Michaels had stared ahead, grimly, his hands clenched on the head of his cane. The staff of the psych ward, having crowded into the room, were avoiding the sight of Aaron twisting on the bed.
"With the patient worsening at this rate, the only option is to look into facilities better equipped to handle his needs – perhaps to induce a standard coma via hypothermia, or to try electroshock therapy, or to have recourse to other methods that we are not able to pursue here. Have his parents been notified?"
Dr. Brown had looked up from her clipboard. "His parents are not available."
"Not available?" Dr. Michaels' voice shot up in outrage; a mutter of disbelief went through the room.
"I know –" The elder woman had blinked, hard; Sarah had felt her own heart contract in a painful twist. "After their divorce, his father resigned all custody to his mother, and his mother –" Dr. Brown flipped through papers – "was last contacted in the south of France –"
"Child Protective Services?" Dr. Michaels had bitten out, through clenched teeth.
"They have alerted the authorities – standard, in such a case of obvious neglect. A judge can issue a stay on any change of treatment, if the main social worker in the case is not consulted first –"
"Well, then." The blind doctor's face had frozen in an angry mask. "Dr. Brown, you will consult this social worker. We will all meet here, tomorrow," he pressed a button on his watch and tipped his head as it chirped – Three – thirty-two – P – M – "Tomorrow, at three thirty, doctors."
The stare from behind his dark glasses had encompassed them all. "And if any of you has any sudden brainstorms regarding young Mr. Cohen's treatment, you will contact me immediately."
With a dispirited murmur, the staff had left the room – except for one nurse, who remained to check the monitor, and who had rested a hand on Aaron's forehead –
– and he had cried out, and twisted away from it –
He cried out, and twisted away from the hand, and opened his eyes to stare at Sarah from the mirror – No – I'm not crazy - help me, Dr. Williams - help me – help me help me HELP –
But his eyes – his eyes were wrong – they were mismatched, and sparkling with gold, and silver, and a strange unholy glee –
– no –
Before she could think twice, Sarah grabbed at Aaron in the mirror – and she screamed as a snake made of fire shot from the glass and twisted up her arm, coiling around her and licking at her skin, burning her – I'm on fire –
Through mist, or smoke, or glass, and at the edge of her own screams, she heard a voice shrieking – mad and horrible – shrieking in a language she could not understand …
And the entire mirror shattered – the glass flew around her as she was enveloped in a sheet of flame – I'm on fire – I'm burning – I'm going to die –
Sarah gasped and sat up straight in the cot
"Just a dream," she croaked, staring into the dim light of the on-call room. "Just a bad dream."
There had been memories in it, though – she had met about Aaron's treatment with the others just that afternoon – a dream? Or memory?
"No." Sarah made her voice firm. "That was just a bad dream. Nothing more." She breathed in, deeply, and turned her head to one side.
The mirror glinted at her, pristine and unbroken.
Shivering, she maneuvered her feet to the floor and stood up, ignoring a rush of dizziness. Sarah pushed open the door to the on-call room, straightened her coat, and set off towards the closest nursing station. Once there, she took a thermometer and placed it beneath her tongue.
Sarah fought not to sway on her feet as the minutes ticked by. A beep – she pulled the thermometer out of her mouth and stared at the digital screen.
103 degrees. A high fever, but not high to the point of delirium, or of hallucinations …
Bad dreams –
She let her mouth fall open in a silent cry, and spread both palms against a cabinet, and let her forehead rest on its cool metal. Aaron was caught in his dreams, like a minnow in a trawler's net – she had turned down her dreams – look what I'm offering you –
Sarah flinched at the memory of his voice. Jareth. Her dream – her nightmare – and he was coming here – coming – she straightened and looked at her watch. Tonight, she had said. It was almost eight o'clock. Sarah squinted out the window, at the setting sun. He would be here soon … he would not want to waste too much time with Aaron, when he could be – her stomach knotted.
She held a hand to her mouth and breathed in. In and out. Slowly – stay calm. She needed to be calm – to calm down …
A memory flitted across her mind. Come and meet me after Compline. It's right in the chapel, you know? Eight o'clock.
The chapel. Fatigue dragging at her like a ball and chain, Sarah made her way to the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor.
She walked to the chapel, carefully, past the gift shop, long since closed. The wan bunches of potpourri and vacant-eyed bears were shadows in the dim light. Sarah kept walking, until she heard a melody from around a corner.
Clutching her lab coat closer to herself, she followed the music to the chapel, and sat down in a pew. Thankfully, there was a cushion there.
Sarah leaned back into the soft material, and sighed to herself. She looked around – there were a few gray heads, listening to the service, and there was one family huddled together, woebegone. Somebody had left a sheet of paper on the pew next to her. She picked it up, and read: Order of Services: Evening Prayer – Rev. Susan Hoyt. Compline – Fr. Benedict Romani. Ma'ariv – Rabbi Josef Loran.
Ben had been the one singing. Sarah watched, her eyes falling half-closed, as he lit candles on the altar while reciting a prayer. Then he raised his hands, and switched from Latin to English. She glanced at the program again as the chant floated through the chapel – Ben's pleasant tenor as warm as the honey-colored wood of the pew. Her eyes slid shut.
To Thee before the close of day
Creator of the World we pray
That with thy wonted favor thou
Wouldst be our guard and keeper now.
From all ill dreams defend our eyes
From nightly fears and fantasies
Tread underfoot our ghostly foe
That no pollution we may know.
Ben coughed. Sarah blinked awake.
The candles at the front were guttering. One went out, and Ben moved, still chanting, to relight it.
But something else had moved – Sarah caught a flicker in the corner of her eye –
Oh God …
Slowly, painfully, she turned to look.
It was Jareth. Jareth, standing just beyond the chapel threshold. Jareth – looking somehow vital – his skin shining like the wax of a candle burning from within. He was wearing a dark suit jacket and trousers, and a red shirt that seemed to ripple, or writhe, when Sarah moved her eyes away from it. His hair was lambent, his profile sharp and beautiful as he gazed into the chapel from where he was leaning against the doorway – And his eyes – Jareth's eyes were glittering, from beneath half-closed lids – shining with interest, and glowing with – magic? or fire? – so beautiful –
So beautiful –
It was unbelievable that he should be so beautiful. Sarah knew that her mouth had opened, slightly, but she could not do anything but watch his image shimmer in the light, in a wave of heat – or was it her fever?
Jareth turned, and met her eyes. Then he smiled, tilting his head in Ben's direction.
"Very pretty music."
His voice was almost inaudible, but it somehow seemed to slice through the air to her ears without any effort at all.
"Do you come here often?"
Sarah licked her dry lips. "Not that often."
"Ah." Jareth's smile widened. He pushed up from the doorway and held up his hand. "I believe we have an appointment."
Am I really going to do this?
Sarah reached out, and took his hand, half expecting to burn – but –
She frowned to herself. His fingers should have been hot, but they were cool.
"I think I have a fever." Sarah felt her voice rasp in her throat.
Jareth raised one eyebrow. "And you seem to think I care." He twined his fingers through hers. "How sweet."
He turned them around and began to walk away. Sarah looked back, over her shoulder, at Ben, and listened as hard as she could, until the sound of the chant faded into silence.
They were both silent as they made their way to the psychiatric ward. Once there, Sarah swiped her hospital I.D., shot the bolt, and unlocked the door. She went in, quietly, hearing only her own footsteps as Jareth walked through the hall at her side.
Soon the soft pad of her feet was joined by the sounds of moaning, crying – even some audible words –
"Our ghostly foe," Sarah murmured.
She felt his gaze prickle on the back of her neck, but resisted looking at him, only saying: "Do you haunt all of these, Jareth?"
A pause, then: "Hardly. Many are trapped in cages of their own making, others, as you know, are tripped and snared by their own misfiring neurons and misaligned chemistry." At his calm tone, Sarah turned to stare at him, despite herself. He was looking down the hall, his profile serene. "I really do not trouble myself with most of this sort – and those I do, well, I hardly have to make an effort."
"Why Aaron, then?"
Jareth flicked his eyes to her. "As you know, Aaron is special."
They stopped outside the boy's room. Jareth leaned against the wall, the black and red of his clothing vivid against the clinical beige of the ward. "He reminded me of you, Sarah, at one time. Full of life, full of vigor – his dreams as beautiful as his life was miserable. Or, at least, as miserable as he painted it – he was self-absorbed, you understand."
Sarah clenched her jaw.
He continued. "Those who fail the Labyrinth quickly come to realize that their life was nowhere near as horrible as they thought." He smiled lazily. "Nowhere near as horrible before, compared to their life afterwards."
"You need to stop doing this, Jareth – they're only children –"
"Not all who run the Labyrinth are children, Sarah – but those who are …" His face smoothed out into an expressionless mask. "All children eventually grow to be adults, but some young ones grow more quickly than others. Those children who call on me are precocious enough to wish a perceived enemy dead. You must admit that that is an adult trait."
"Still," Sarah gulped. "Still, Jareth – you need –"
He stepped towards her, and placed his hands at her sides, effectively caging her in his arms.
"I need do nothing. You, my dear, need to persuade me … although …" his eyes lingered on her lips. "Last night you were so very obliging, Sarah, that I find myself eager to have done with this child and have more of you – such persuasion being very much to my taste …"
The last words were husky, and she inhaled, closing her eyes, as he pressed her into the wall with his body. Was it the fever that made the air around him shimmer? Or the feeling that swept through her of want as he – of burning, coruscating want that ate away fear and battered at other walls within her – at the only resistance that kept her from pushing him to the ground and covering him with her body right now – right now – I want I want – but what about Aaron –
– Aaron –
"Jareth," she pushed at him and lurched away, feeling drunk. "There are security cameras here."
"Who would notice me, Sarah?" He smiled in contempt, and raised his eyebrows. Sarah heard an electric whine, and then a few beeps and clicks of unhappy machinery. Then he took her by the elbow, and stood with her at the door.
"But no need to worry – since now they won't see whatever you plan to do with your Aaron."
"Whatever I plan to do?" Sarah snapped. "It's your turn, Jareth – you're the one who has to work with him, here. You promised me!"
"And I hold to my promises, Sarah." His voice was quiet. "However, as you may have noticed, our little Aaron does not particularly care for me. You would do well to soothe him - his caterwauling does tend to attract attention, doesn't it?"
Sarah felt the angry words shrivel in her throat, as she saw Jareth gaze at her from beneath his half-lowered eyelids. Smug? No … Predatory? Yes, but there was something else … Some hint of: I know something you don't know …
She had a sudden flash of her dream that afternoon – something screamed in a language she could not understand – her finding out the meaning too late –
"No tricks." She glared.
Jareth inclined his head. "No tricks."
Sarah bit her lip, looking at him. Then she eased open the door, and led him inside.
Sarah shook Aaron, whispering his name. "Aaron …" He hasn't woken up in days, idiot – what do you expect? Stuck inside this room; stuck inside his own head ... Blinking back tears, she shook him harder. "Aaron!"
"Let me." Jareth touched the boy's shoulder. "Aaron. Light bringer – awake."
The boy shuddered. His dull eyes flew open. He took in one rattling breath – then another – and then he screamed.
"Aaron!" Sarah hugged him. "It's all right! It's O.K.! I'm here – you don't need to be scared."
"B-but – but –" The boy was hyperventilating. He pointed at Jareth, and his eyes rolled backwards; he gnawed at his lip, and whimpered –
"No, Aaron – listen to me." Sarah held his shoulders, and clambered onto the bed to block his view of Jareth. "It will be all right – he won't hurt you any more!"
"Wh-what?" The boy gaped at her, gasping for breath. She caught a glimpse of his fillings.
Sarah eased her grip, and spoke slowly. "He won't hurt you anymore. I promise …" She thought briefly of her professional vocabulary, then decided to throw it to the winds. "I've come to rescue you."
Behind her, Jareth snorted.
Sarah elbowed him, hard. He laughed under his breath, and placed his hand on her back.
The touch ignited a wave of heat in her stomach, pooling there and rocketing up to join the scalding fever in her head; she clenched her teeth, ignoring both, and looked into Aaron's eyes.
Those eyes were brown and dull – but dull with a spark returning to them. A spark that focused on her. "You can –"
Yes. I can save you. I will save you.
"Yes, honey?" She kept her voice low.
Aaron's eyes widened.
"You can really see him?"
Sarah felt a sudden qualm. Jareth had spread his hand wide, and his fingers had tensed.
"Yes," she said, slowly. "I can see him."
"Then – then …" Aaron stuttered.
His eyes filled with tears.
"Then I'm not crazy?"
Sarah felt her throat practically close. "No," she croaked. "No, sweetheart – you're not crazy. You were never crazy. The Labyrinth was real."
"The maze?" Aaron was crying. "What about my sister?"
"Your sister –"
"Your sister is with me." Jareth's voice cut across hers, low and soothing. "You don't need to worry about her any more."
Aaron sobbed. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry – bring her back!"
Glancing at Jareth, Sarah opened her mouth –
Don't you weep pretty baby
Don't you weep pretty baby
A cracked voice reached her ears. Sarah turned around, shaking off Jareth's hand, and scanned the room for the singer – there –
"Go shut her up –" Jareth hissed, his voice vibrating strangely as he glared at the woman. "I'll take care of the boy."
She jumped to her feet and ran to the doorway, where a woman stood. Sarah squinted, then recognized her. It was Rachel Duvall, swaying from side to side, and crooning, her voice thick with sedative.
She's long gone with the red shoes on
Gonna meet another lovin baby.
"Shhh …" Sarah took her arm, gently. "What are you doing out of bed?"
The woman blinked, her eyes vacant. "I heard a baby crying."
"Let me take you back to bed," Sarah whispered. "I know you're only here for a little while – where are you sleeping?"
Swaying on her feet, Rachel slumped against the doorframe. "Poor baby …"
"It's all right – you're tired –"
The woman opened her mouth, and half-whispered, half-sang –
You're a sweet little baby
You're a sweet little baby …
"Sshhhh!" Sarah urged, glancing back at Jareth.
"The baby …" Her voice had grown thready. "Forget about the baby …"
"Wait –" Sarah blinked. "What did you say?"
The woman did not reply. She looked into the room, her eyes wide, and glassy, and her whisper of song almost too soft to hear:
Go to sleep you little baby
Go to sleep you little baby
You and me and the devil makes three
Don't need no other lovin' baby …
Sarah shuddered. She spoke through stiff lips: "Let's get you back to bed."
Rachel Duvall allowed herself to be guided down the hall, still mumbling under her breath. Sarah found her room, mechanically held out the sheets and blanket for her, and made sure she was secure, and then left her, turning out the light.
She made her way back up the hall. Stopped in the doorway, to look at Aaron. Now he was laying back, his head on the pillow.
Lights were sparkling around his bed – sparkling, and shimmering in the darkness.
Sarah walked, carefully, across the room. First one foot, then the other.
She sat on the bed opposite Aaron's, and listened to that voice – Jareth's voice – as if for the first time. Its strange harmonics, its echo …
… She remembered her dream. Something important, in a language she could not understand. And then she was lost.
"… And when the stars found each other in the Underground, they all rejoiced –"
"Did they have a party?" the boy whispered, sleepy.
"A big party – an immense party," Jareth whispered back. "A party that lasted for seven days and seven nights. For they thought they were lost, and then they found each other at the King's castle. And then …"
"Then what?"
Jareth smiled. "They all lived happily ever after."
Aaron blinked. "They weren't lost anymore." He yawned.
"No …" Jareth unfolded himself from the bed. "They found what was lost, in the Underground … and nothing ever hurt again." He tucked the blankets around the boy's chin. "The end."
Sarah held her elbows tightly, with her hands. One small part of her wanted the voice to continue, forever … its lilt like singing …
Singing – something about a song. A song she had heard – wait – she had just heard it –
Sarah froze.
She felt every hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
It all made sense. Everything she had seen and heard – it all fit together –
"Thank you …" Aaron whispered.
Jareth's fingers brushed hers; she recoiled. "Don't thank me," he murmured. Taking one of her elbows in one hand – no, no don't touch me – he drew her to her feet. "You had better thank Dr. Williams, here."
The boy spoke, half asleep. "But I'm not crazy …"
Jareth shook his head, half smiling. He bent to whisper in Aaron's ear. "Be sure to find her and say, 'Thank you.' Some time soon, Aaron. Light bringer. Sleep now."
The boy's face relaxed, as he fell completely asleep.
Sarah heard the near-silent sip of her own breathing. In and out. In and out. She stared at the sleeping child, and swallowed sudden nausea as her vision shimmered at the edges.
"Sarah …"
Jareth's low voice slid across her ears. He tightened his grip on her elbow, and brushed the fingers of his other hand over her neck.
The nausea intensified.
"Jareth –" she said, thickly.
He stepped closer, and folded her into his arms. She shut her eyes, and focused on not feeling the way his shirt seemed to undulate beneath her cheek –
"Well, Sarah – shall we continue here, or in the comfort of your own home? Or –" and she heard his voice clot with malice – "you could always let me have you as my guest. I feel it only polite to host at leastonce –"
She interrupted. "I know –" Then Sarah stopped to breathe, feeling suffocated.
"Yes, my dear?" His voice was dulcet, in her ear. "What do you know?"
Just breathe. "I know who you are."
Jareth was silent.
"I know what you are."
"Do you?" he mused. His grip on her tightened. "Then perhaps there are some things we must discuss."
Sarah felt the air around them ripple, and crackle with something like electricity –
"Wait, Jareth –" she gasped. "Take me home. Nowhere else. Take me –"
.
Another cliffie. Sheez – I thrive on 'em.
I stole one of Jareth's lines ("Cat got your tongue, but I've got the rest") from The Talismans of Shannara, by Terry Brooks.
The text Ben chants is actually from the Compline service of the Catholic / High Episcopal Church.
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