In a Glass, Darkly Chapter 7, part 2, a labyrinth fanfic

People - I lied. This is actually part two, of the three-part Chapter 7.

In a Glass, Darkly

Chapter 7, Part 2

Days passed, one after the other. Before a week had gone by, Lyn came home with her husband, and Sarah planned a dinner for her.

Not Joe, though – reconciliation only goes so far. Her eyes had narrowed as she dropped the invitation in the mail. And I don't even know how far she will go …

But Lyn proved a polite guest, if not as cheerful as Sarah remembered her. When the conversation dragged, they had Ben to fall back on – Ben, with a never-ending supply of anecdotes, and an increasingly strained expression as he provided joke after joke.

Sarah got up to clear the dishes, and Ben grabbed the salt and pepper shakers, the butter dish, the gravy boat, and, somehow, the water jug, before catching up to her by the sink.

He deposited his two handfuls on the counter with a clatter. "Could you warm it up in there?"

She rolled her eyes, irritably, at his whisper.

"Seriously, Sarah – come on –" Ben's voice was growing louder. "She's trying to mend fences – but if you don't try to meet her halfway, nothing's going to get better, you know –" He heaved a sigh. "And I'm sick of doing stand-up!"

"Christ –" Sarah snapped; she didn't see her friend flinch. She closed the dishwasher with a thud. "Fine. Get over to the couch and chat – I'll put the coffee on, and I'll be there in a sec."

When the coffee maker was gurgling and steaming away, Sarah wiped her hands on a towel and turned to look over the bar counter, over the dining table, to the couch – she saw Ben gesturing extravagantly and Lyn smiling, though in a wan way –

– her mouth went dry –

The couch – that was where she had stripped off Jareth's jacket, and his shirt, and had raised her hips and had torn at the waistband of his remaining clothes until she had found him, and moved her body to take him into her – and he had snarled and grasped her upper arms as she had rocked downward –

"Sarah?"

She started. "Just a minute – I'm wiping down the counter –" She heard her own voice – it was hoarse – as hoarse as it had been after

– their mouths had collided, and with a click of teeth she had suddenly tasted blood – but it had such a strange taste, and boiling hot, so it must have been his – and she had jerked backwards to stare at his face as he wove his fingers into her hair – a strange ichor on his lips, iridescent in the lamplight – and he had shifted within her, and moved until she gasped and moaned and coiled herself tighter around his perfect body –

"Sarah?"

She blinked awake, her heart pounding. Looking down, she realized that she was holding the towel clenched between her white-knuckled hands.

"Yeah –" she replied; her throat was parched. She swallowed, and tried again. "Coming."

Oh, shut up – She cursed at the voice cackling inside her head, and retrieved a tin full of cookies from a cabinet before walking to the couch. Sarah sank into the chair and held out the tin to them. Lyn and Ben each took a cookie, with murmured thanks.

"So!" She pasted a smile onto her face. "Let's see the Aruba pictures."

Lyn produced a photograph album, and Sarah leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees, to make the appropriate noises.

She nodded, and oohed and aahed with Ben – until she found herself blinking at the couch, dazedly, remembering how their bodies had twisted together, and how they had caught each other's rhythm – how he had said – princess – Sarah – ah, don't stop, you beautiful – you – ah – you make me – you make me want to – and he had dug his fingers into her back, and kissed her wildly, and thrust within her so deep that she thought she would burst into flames from the heat of him –

"Sarah?!"

She jerked where she sat. "Um –"

"Come on, Sarah," Ben frowned at her behind Lyn's back. "What's up?"

Sarah smiled weakly. "Just jealous – I mean, I wish I could head off to the Caribbean in the middle of March – oh, and the coffee –"

She bustled to her feet, and then looked down – her mind gave a little jolt – directly into Lyn's eyes … for the first time –

The first time in a long time.

Lyn blinked up at her – those eyes, beneath their red lashes, ordinarily a clear gray, looked opaque and tired. Sarah caught her breath … she could almost feel the thoughts swimming behind those eyes – I've missed you – I need you – I wanted to say so for so long but now it's too late until you say something unless you say something please say something –

Narrowing her focus on Lyn, Sarah smiled, and spoke. "Do you want some coffee?"

A hesitant smile appeared on the other's face. "Sure."

Sarah tipped her head, wonder stealing through her mind – she could almost feel her – former friend's? – her friend's love, and trust, settling carefully on her hand like a tiny bird –

She could not say to herself, later, what exactly prompted her to throw the bird to the ground.

"Great." She grinned down at Lyn. "Could you remind me how you take it? I seem to have forgotten."

Lyn's thoughts slipped away; her eyes slammed shut – are those tears? –

When she spoke, her voice was wooden. "Cream and two sugars."

"Coming right up!" Sarah sang. She turned her back on Lyn's face, and on Ben's look of surprised reproach, and strode back to her kitchen.

She heard an unfamiliar internal laugh – snide and smug – but only had to listen for a moment before realizing that it was her own.

That night, Sarah dreamed.

– there was the Labyrinth, gleaming in the sun, its intricate coils and turns glittering like an tiled pattern on a marble floor –

it's further than you think – and time is short –

"Goodness. Did I really sound like that?"

Sarah started, and turned around where she stood – to see one image of Jareth, fading away with a clock over his shoulder – and another one, large as life and dressed in full Goblin King regalia – so proud – so beautiful …

"Jareth …"

"Yes?" He shook out his cape, and smiled at her.

"You're in my dream …"

His smile broadened. "Or in your memory." He caught her hand, and brought it to his lips. "You invited me. Lead on!"

Sarah grinned back at him, and then

– she took a step down, and another, down down tumbling down the hill and she had sand in her shoes –

come on, feet –

"How adorable …"

"You never know when to stop, do you?" Sarah flashed him a knowing look. "Now I've got sand in my shoes, and I think that's a rock – ouch –"

"So take them off." Jareth's voice was strangely giddy. His grip on her hand tightened.

It made sense. Sarah shrugged, and kicked off her shoes, and wiggled her toes in the sand. It felt heavenly.

"What next?"

"You know what happens next." Sarah felt her breath coming faster.

"Ah –" Jareth's eyes kindled.

– there was the gate to the Labyrinth, ancient and dour – vines coiling around it, and one of the vines rippled and changed and reached out to her, and wrapped around her arm –

hello – I like you – you feel like spring – you smell like the sun –

"You do, you know."

Sarah blinked, from where she was looking at the snake, and turned back to stare at Jareth, who had both his arms crossed over his chest.

"I do what?"

"Feel like spring. Smell like the sun." Jareth smiled, slowly, and paced towards her. "It is like nothing I have ever experienced."

"No …" she murmured. "You have experienced it …" And she felt the snake slither up her arm, and rest at her neck, as she reached out to take Jareth's hands. "Come closer."

"As my lady desires." His eyes glittered; his teeth looked sharp in the bright light.

"Yes …" Sarah could hardly breathe between words. "I desire you. I want you. I could have you love me in every dream for the rest of my life and it would not be enough –"

Jareth placed one hand over her mouth. "Shh …"

And then he replaced his hand with his lips, and he was kissing her silkily, darkly, his mouth sliding over hers and his tongue darting over her teeth and flicking at her own until the sparks of lust in her body kindled and roared into a flame –

He drew back, and smirked at her sound of protest. "What next, Sarah?"

"The gates turned into a mirror." And they were – shining and rippling into silver, at Jareth's back.

"I see." Jareth tipped his head, considering – and then grinned, and lifted her, wrapping her around his body. He turned, leaned forward, pinning her between himself and the mirror –

She swallowed her giddy anticipation, and looked into his eyes, hungrily.

Jareth spoke, in a low voice: "Well?"

Her breath came even faster. "What are you waiting for?"

He pursed his lips. "Don't you want to see your reflection?"

"No –" Sarah pressed her body against his. "No – I want –"

Her mouth went dry at the look on his face. Jareth bent forward, and whispered into her ear. "What do you want, Sarah? Princess … tell me what you want …"

She gasped against his lips as they moved from her ear to her mouth. "I want you to fuck me – right here – right now –"

He kissed her, and murmured: "Take what you want – take what you want, Sarah …"

Sarah closed her eyes and let her hands rove over him and directed his hands on her –you feel like spring – you smell like the sun – until they were both naked, and his mouth was at her neck, and at her breasts – you taste like the beauty of a rose in bloom, and the ripest fruit from the tree in the middle of the garden – and they were moving together on the mirror – in the mirror – in the glass –

– my beautiful dream weaver –

Jareth's eyes were so close to hers –

– my jewel – my Sarah – heart's desire –

She moaned, and woke up, panting – reluctant to leave the heart-pounding golden rose heart of her dream –

A dream.

Sarah opened her eyes, and stared at the ceiling of her bedroom.

He was in my dream …

"You've got to be more careful –" she said to herself, fiercely, as she shook out the sheets from where they had twisted around her legs, and tried to ignore the racing of her heart.

Sarah pushed back her tangled hair from her face. She yawned, and rubbed her eyes, and looked around the room –

There, on the vanity – was nothing.

She bit her lip, remembering the way the crystal had glimmered, and the soft ornament of the feather lying next to it …

Sarah turned on her bedside light with a click. It chased the night shadows back into the corners of her room; back beneath her bed – and in its warm, golden glow, she smiled a wry smile at her vanity laid bare.

Work, over the next week, and the next, was perfectly normal.

Sarah strolled through her days, with a smile for her consults, and with carefully judged diagnoses for patients new and old. She accepted the thanks of Mrs. Johnston's husband when the old woman was deemed acceptable for the normal dementia unit – "no longer a danger to herself and others" – she kept abreast of Aaron Cohen's medication changes via fax, and she guarded her other patients with the fire of new determination.

She walked up to the NICU after a particularly long Thursday – only to find Ben, his posture tense, talking to a harassed-looking woman who held two young children by the hand, and balanced a baby in a sling across her stomach.

"Ma'am, unfortunately, I cannot disclose details of a patient's treatment to anyone not cleared by the release of information –"

"Patient?" The woman snapped. "Patient? This isn't some run-of-the-mill broken leg, or appendicitis case – this is a baby – a dying baby, and you're telling me that I can't even ask about his medication without my sister's permission?"

Ben heaved a sigh. "Yes, ma'am. That's exactly what I'm telling you. Ms. Duvall has not authorized you on the release. You'll have to take it up with her."

"That sister of mine – I ask you –" the woman huffed, her doughy face tightening. Sarah walked up to them, and touched her gently on the shoulder.

"Hello – my name is Dr. Williams, and I've been consulting on your sister's case for quite some time now –"

"My sister's case – it's the child we should be concerned about, not her!" The woman's eyes began to water. Sarah looked at her, sympathetically – a detached part of her noticed that those eyes were really very beautiful – wide, dark, and fringed with darker lashes –

She focused her own voice to cut through the older woman's increasingly loud words. "I am concerned for both of them – Ms. – Mrs. –"

"Leah." A sharp nod. "I'm Rachel's older sister –" she grimaced – "and I'm the responsible one."

Not responsible enough to find some decent birth control –

Sarah batted away the snide, uncharitable inner voice, and kept her tones soothing, holding the woman's eyes with hers. "If you could perhaps contact your sister, ma'am, and urge her to follow up with us again – I am greatly concerned for her welfare, and for that of her child …"

Her words were having some effect. Leah blinked, calming down, and tried to smile. "I'll do that." She nodded, more decisive. "Yes – I'll call her. I'll call her right now –" she freed one hand from a child's grasp, and pulled a battered cell phone from her pocket.

"Ah – ma'am, I have to tell you that cell calls aren't allowed in this unit." Sarah smiled, gently. "There's a waiting room outside, if you wish to make a call there."

"Oh." Leah looked at the phone. "Well, I have an optometrist appointment to get to, so I'll call on the way." She looked at Sarah. "Thank you – doctor – doctor –"

"Dr. Williams." Sarah raised her eyebrows, and reached in her pocket for the last two lollipops that she had – she had recently decided to carry treats with her for patients who could be bribed into better behavior. She held the lollipops out to the two children clinging to their mother's legs. "Here you go, guys – that is –" she glanced up at the woman – "if they can have candy at this time of day."

Leah visibly softened, her eyes beaming. "Yes." She shook her children by the hand, bending down, careful to avoid jostling the baby curled against her breast. "What do you say to Dr. Williams, boys?"

They spoke separately. "Thank you" – "Fank oo." Sarah grinned as she saw how one of the boys was missing two front teeth.

"We'll be going, then." Leah headed for the door – and Ben gave Sarah an admiring look.

"Way to go, Doctor." He clapped his hand to his forehead, and let it fall as he smiled.

Sarah drummed her fingers on his clerical collar. "Let's hear it for yours truly!" She spun in a half circle. "I rock!"

"I guess so." Ben's smile slipped away, and he yawned. "I thought she would have my guts for garters –"

"You were fine," she said, dismissively. "All I did was get to her through her kids."

"Evil genius."

"You know it."

Ben rubbed his eyes – but then let his hands fall, as his eyebrows shot up – "And she left just in time, too – because look who's here."

Sarah turned to look. And she felt rage shoot up in her, like a firework, as she saw Rachel Duvall walking down the unit towards them. I've been punished enough, she had said – Well, I disagree – what kind of mother abandons a premature baby – Sarah thought, fiercely. Rachel's long hair fell in beautiful waves and her clothes were finely pressed. She held a boy's hand in hers – a well-fed, dark-haired child dressed in a brightly and elaborately colored sweater that looked hand-knit – and she looked at them both with a nervous expression, as she drew closer.

Half of Sarah was surprised at her own anger. The other half watched Rachel Duvall approach, and kept a narrow gaze on her as she talked to Ben, as she bent to her son and urged him closer to the incubator –

"Say hi to your little brother, Joey –"

And Sarah felt something within her press her forward, to take Rachel by the elbow, and say to her, softly –

"Ms. Duvall – I'm so glad to see you here. I have to say that I've been concerned for you."

The young woman stared back at her, her eyes wide beneath their makeup. "I don't need no more psychiatric help, Doctor –"

"No?" Sarah gave a tight smile. "Even when you decide to leave your sick child alone for almost three weeks?"

Rachel embarked on a rambling excuse. Sarah did not listen; instead, she watched the pink lips move, and looked deep within the muddy brown eyes –

– her eyes –

Looking back at her, from behind those eyes, were flashes of fearful thought – jostling for space – oh no I didn't mean to leave him oh no but I was so tired and so afraid – I couldn't sleep – I needed to sleep – I need to sleep – I didn't mean to leave him I didn't mean to give him up I didn't mean it I didn't mean it –

Narrowing her focus on Rachel, Sarah smiled again, and spoke. "Will you be returning to see your child any time soon?"

A hesitant look crept across the other's face. "I have to say ... that I'm not sure."

Sarah tipped her head, a strange glee stealing through her mind – she could almost feel Rachel Duvall's fear, and guilt, settling carefully on her hand like a little butterfly –

She carefully cupped her fingers around its fragile wings, and placed it, safe, deep within her pocket.

Then Sarah nodded, and acquiesced, and watch Rachel walk away as fast as she could, dragging her son with her.

"Weird." Ben's voice was confused, and tired. "I don't know what to do about her."

"Hm." Sarah smiled a secret smile – feeling the butterfly flit inside her hand, her hand inside her pocket, the pocket inside her mind. "I think I do."

That night, Sarah dreamed.

– there was the Labyrinth, gleaming in the sun, its intricate coils and turns glittering like an tiled pattern on a marble floor –

it's further than you think – and time is short –

"Goodness. Did I really sound like that?"

Her heart thudded wildly. "Jareth …"

"Yes?" He shook out his cape, and smiled at her.

"You're in my dream …"

His smile broadened. "Or in your memory." He caught her hand, and brought it to his lips. "You invited me. Lead on!"

Sarah grabbed his other hand, and pulled him to her, and kissed him hard – she took a step down, and another, and then they were falling down down tumbling down the hill together and she had sand in her shoes –

come on, feet –

Jareth laughed. "You're not in a position to run anywhere, are you?" He nuzzled her neck, and scraped his teeth over her skin; she shivered at the feeling of his weight pressing her into the sand before the gates of the Labyrinth –

"Jareth …" she murmured. "I've got sand in my shoes, and I think that's a rock – ouch –"

"So take them off." Jareth's voice was strangely giddy. His grip on her tightened, and his eyes flared. "Take everything off."

It made sense. Sarah grinned, and kicked off her shoes, and unbuttoned her shirt so he could slip it off her body, along with her jeans – she rubbed her bare back against the sand. It felt heavenly.

"What next?" His breath was hot against her ear.

"What next?" Sarah arched her body against him; he hissed. "I'm naked as the day I was born and he's pinned me to the ground, and he asks 'what next'… Well …" and she drew out the words as she traced his ear with her tongue, listening to the quickening rasp of his breathing. "I'll give you what next, Jareth –"

"Princess –" he whispered, and

– there was the gate to the Labyrinth, ancient and dour – vines coiling around it, and one of the vines rippled and changed and reached out to her –

Jareth swatted it away.

"I don't think so –" he ground out. "She's mine. Mine. She feels like spring – she smells like the sun –" he buried his face in her neck and inhaled –

"Kiss me –" she ordered, and he did, and she lost track of time, and she barely saw the gates turning into a mirror, shining, and rippling into silver, for Jareth was holding her legs around his hips as he eased his way into her and whispered above her, and through her, and into her mind – you taste like the beauty of a rose in bloom, and the ripest fruit from the tree in the middle of the garden –

– heart's desire –

"Yes, Jareth – don't stop, just tell me –"

– I will set you upon the moon – I will give you a crown of stars – heart's desire – heart's desire –

She gasped against his mouth as he bit her lower lip – Sarah felt the back of her head hit the sand with a thump as she stared up at Jareth, trying to speak – trying for words – when all she could do was feel –

She cried out, and squeezed her eyes shut – the light was far too bright –

When she opened her eyes again, Jareth was lying at her side, holding her hands in one of his, and letting her head rest on his other arm. He saw her stir, and smiled.

"Haven't you forgotten something?"

"What?" Her head pounded. "What have I forgotten?"

Jareth raised his chin, and indicated the mirror with one arched eyebrow.

Sarah stood up, unsteadily, and walked over the hot sand to look into the giant silver mirror that was the gate to the Labyrinth –

"Oh, for the love of – Jareth!"

"Yes?" He sounded amused.

"Throw me my clothes!"

Laughing, he did so. Sarah quickly buttoned her shirt, and wrestled with her jeans until they slid over her legs –

– she reached into her pocket, and felt something tickle – and there –

A smile spread across her face. She drew the tickle out of her pocket. There was the butterfly – Rachel Duvall's butterfly – holding tight to her finger and carefully fanning out its wings.

"Look, Jareth –"

"Ah." His voice sounded in her ear; startled, she looked at the mirror again, and he was there at her side. It isn't fair – she was almost tempted to sigh – he was back in the garb of the Goblin King, looking cool, and immaculate – looking as though he had done nothing close to rolling around in the sand of the Labyrinth for the last half hour –

Jareth gazed at the butterfly, his look assessing. Then he glanced up at her. "Do you know what to do?"

Sarah thought. "I think so."

"Well, my dear …" His voice was honey sweet. "Do you want to do this?"

A chill ran down her spine; she shivered in pleasure. "I think I do …"

Jareth spread his hands wide. "Then, please – don't let me stop you."

Sarah smiled down at the butterfly, and carefully pinched one wing between her thumb and forefinger –

– and, just as carefully, she yanked the wing off –

She heard a woman cry out – Sarah's eyes flew back to the mirror, her heart pounding, and she saw Rachel Duvall kneeling before her, weeping in fear and pain – and she could hear her – no – no – please please please not again –

Jareth moved his hands to her shoulders, and laid a hot, slick open-mouthed kiss on her neck. "My dream weaver …"

She closed her eyes and let her mouth fall open at the sensation of his lips on her skin; she pulled another wing off and heard Rachel scream –

– and Sarah gasped, and woke up.

A dream. It was just a dream …

Sarah drew the sheets up to her neck, and stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, trembling as she did so.

He was in my dream … and Rachel Duvall – she was in my dream …

She swallowed. It had only been a dream. Nothing would come of it – would it?

She stared at the ceiling for a long time, without turning on the light. And she only fell asleep again after reciting her patients' birthdays, diagnoses, and medications, three times each.

The next morning, work was normal.

Sarah went on her rounds, warily. Nothing extraordinary happened – the same words, the same smiles, the same stale sandwiches in the cafeteria figured largely in the tedium of her day. Finally, towards its close, she made her way to the NICU and swiped her I.D., and donned a pair of sterile gloves, and saw –

– Ben, standing by the main desk, his hands white-knuckled on its edge, talking urgently to the secretary.

Sarah walked toward him. "Hey, Father." She watched him, nervously, for a reaction.

He hardly looked at her. "Hey, Doctor – thank God you're here – listen." Then he turned to her, and grasped her elbow in one hand, ushering her away from the desk. "Sarah – go and call Brown, or Michaels, or someone who can get me a priority one referral double-quick – because –"

She could hardly speak. "Because what?"

Ben hissed between his teeth. "Look at her!"

Sarah looked. And she felt her skin crawl, as she saw Rachel, hanging over the incubator, crooning tonelessly and picking at the scabbed slashes on her forearms.

Go to sleep you little baby
Go to sleep you little baby
Come and lay your bones on the alabaster stones
And be my ever lovin' baby.

Sarah jerked a nod at Ben, and ran for the door – not daring to stay still, to listen for any laugh, or to watch for any smile in her own mind.

The next week progressed as the others had.

After Friday's shock, Sarah had written herself a prescription for a low-grade sleeping pill, and had faithfully taken it – and had not remembered her dreams. Rachel Duvall had been sent to Briarwood; Sarah winced at the thought of her there, but consoled herself by the knowledge that she had done the right thing –

She carefully avoided thinking of – those dreams …

Ben grew increasingly haggard as the week went on – Sarah had flipped her calendar over to April, and had realized that he had to oversee a church service every day that week until Easter Sunday. She sent him a fruit basket. He sent her a thank-you note. She heard from the NICU staff that the baby was failing, even as she heard from the rest home that Mrs. Johnston was "doing just fine, sweetheart – and such things she knits, too – you wouldn't believe 'em –"

The weather grew cold, for early April, and wet – and such were the doldrums in the department that Dr. Michaels conspired with the secretaries and ordered in a slew of pizza on Thursday, to raise morale.

It was after she had finished her rounds that Sarah let herself relax with her colleagues, joking and teasing Nurse Joe about the amount of pizza he could put away.

She was laughing at a particularly inane pun when she almost felt silence spread through the room, starting at the door.

Glancing over her shoulder, Sarah almost choked on her bite of pizza when she saw Aaron standing at the threshold to the room.

His eyes were fixed on her.

Someone gave a nervous laugh, but silence fell again almost immediately. Then Nurse Joe lumbered over to the boy, and knelt before him with surprising ease. "Hey, man. What's up? What are you doing here?" He looked over at the cardboard boxes. "Want some pizza?"

Aaron appeared to give the question careful thought. Then – "No …" he mumbled.

"O.K. – that's cool, that's cool. How have you been?"

The boy thought again. Stepping closer to him, swallowing her last bite of pizza, Sarah could almost see the gears in his brain grinding away – his eyes were dull, and his face was blank.

"O.K. I'm getting better – I promise."

"Good – good." Nurse Joe threw an anxious look over the boy's shoulder. Footsteps were approaching. "Oh hey – here's Dr. Brown." His voice rang out, cheerful.

"Come on, Aaron." Dr. Brown spoke softly. "Let's go say hi to Miss Lola." Catching their eyes, she murmured in an undertone. "Social worker – he's interviewing for foster care today and tomorrow."

Aaron moved stiffly. He walked away – only darting one surprisingly intent glance over his shoulder at Sarah, as he did.

Sarah let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. What did you expect? Not a miracle cure, no – rather, this gradual improvement was a good sign … a good sign …

The residents and nurses were all rather hushed. To break the mood, Sarah smiled at them, grabbed the last stick of garlic bread, and dipped it in the sauce.

"Hey!" Nurse Joe protested. "I called it!"

"Too late." She grinned. "And I'm not sure if I'd share with God himself."

"Not funny," Nurse Joe groused as she bit down onto the bread and smirked at his frown.

Friday dawned even uglier than Thursday – black with clouds, soaked with rain, and punctuated by the occasional rumble of thunder. Sarah broke with her usual habit of walking to work and took the bus, cursing when her umbrella refused to fold up as she boarded.

A short drive, and a short walk up the pavement to the hospital – but then a long day, and an even longer wait outside the NICU while the cardiologists consulted on Benjamin Duvall – she finally gave him a name, Ben had said, sadly, late on Thursday night.

At five, though, the cardiologist on call had left, shaking his head, and Sarah was allowed into the unit – only to find her friend staring down into the incubator.

Sarah kept her voice low, even though the distant clatter of rain on the roof echoed down through the ceiling. "Father …" She touched his sleeve, gently. "Why are you taking it so hard?"

"Dunno." Ben's voice was low, and rough. "Maybe it's because I'll never have kids – maybe I just like this little guy – we share a name."

"That's right …" She bit her lip. "His mom finally named him. You told me, just yesterday."

Ben continued as though she had not spoken. "Not quite, though. He's Benjamin. I'm Benedict. So it goes."

Sarah said nothing – just looked at her friend, worriedly.

In one sudden movement, he propped his elbows on the incubator, and shoved both hands into his curly dark hair. "Sarah …" He raised his eyes to her, and his mouth twisted. "Tell me, Doctor – what sort of God does this to a child?"

Uh-oh. Biting the inside of her cheek, she held his gaze, and tried to speak gently. "That's your department, not mine."

He looked at her for a long moment; then he blinked, his shoulders sagged, and he looked away. "I knew I should have paid more attention in Previl."

Sarah frowned, confused. "Previl?"

Ben rubbed at his eyes with both hands. "Short for 'The Problem of Evil.' Rhymes with "weevil." My friends and I at seminary – I guess we thought it was funny –"

"Ben –" Sarah laid her hand on his shoulder. "You're exhausted. You need a nap – hell –" he glanced at her – "sorry – heck – you need a good night's sleep. Go call your supervisor, and he'll put somebody on for you …"

"I can't." He looked at her, his eyes tired. "I have to sing the service for Good Friday tonight - and I promised Rachel that I'd stay up through the night with the baby –"

"Rachel?" She felt a sliver of dislike worm its way into her voice. "She's one to talk, about staying with a baby –"

"Sarah, that's unkind – the last thing she asked me to do, besides baptizing the kid and naming him Benjamin, was to make sure he wouldn't die alone. And to give him these." Ben gestured with one hand – a pair of tiny, crocheted baby socks fell to the floor. He bent to pick them up, and stumbled when he straightened. "Surely I can do that for her, however horrible a monster she is?" His voice turned acidic. "May I, doctor? Or would you diagnose me with an acute excess of sentimentality?"

"I wouldn't –" Sarah fumbled for words. "Ben – you're really tired – you need to get some sleep –"

"I need to sing the service for Good Friday." His voice was unyielding.

"O.K. But after that, will you promise me you'll take a nap?"

He tipped his head. "Will you stay with the baby, for a little while?"

Sarah paused.

"Will you? Just one hour? Even one hour would help me out."

"I'll see," she hedged. "I have some consults."

Ben looked at her, evenly. Then he shrugged. "If you can't find an hour, you can't find an hour."

He turned, and began to walk away.

Sarah stared after him, dumbfounded – "Hey! Hey – Father –" She moistened her lips, and took a deeper breath. "Father – Ben – I'll do it – wait –"

The door to the NICU swished shut.

Sarah looked around, and then looked down at the floor, fighting a sudden surge of tears. Wait –

She saw a small, yellow baby sock.

Ben had gotten the one, but missed the other. I'll do it – Sarah resolved. She tucked the sock inside her coat pocket. She would return it to Ben at the Good Friday service in the chapel – and then she would stay up the whole night, for her friend, and for the child.

Her resolve gave her the energy to run down the stairs, to the chapel, later that evening. Sarah could hear Ben's pure voice, chanting, even from down the hallway; she walked as quickly as she could, without making too much noise – but yelped despite herself, when she raised her eyes at the threshold and saw –

"Hi, Aaron."

The boy was leaning against the carved wood of the open door. He kept his face turned away from her.

"Do you like the music?"

A pause. Then Aaron shrugged one shoulder.

"That guy," Sarah pointed. "There – see that guy? His name's Ben. He's my friend. He can come talk to you whenever you want, if you have any more bad dreams -"

"I don't." The boy's voice was flat.

Sarah felt caught. "Don't what?"

His shoulders hunched. "Have bad dreams."

"Oh." She tried to keep her voice bright. "Well, that's good, isn't it? So if you ever need a friend, then, you can call Ben, or call me –"

"You're not my friend."

His voice was flat, and cold.

"Oh, Aaron ..." Sarah sighed. "That's O.K. – but if you need a friend, you can definitely call Ben."

"I have lots of friends. I don't need him."

Sarah blinked. "Lots of friends?"

A nod.

"Can you tell me about them?"

Aaron turned toward her. He had grown in the past month – he seemed almost less of a child, teetering on the edge of a growth spurt – he looked more solid than pudgy, now – his face like a block, his eyes sullen chips of stone.

"My friends are a secret."

Here we go again. Sarah bit her lip. "Well, that's O.K. too. I know I can't be your friend –" she will lie she'll never say that she can see me she will never admit it because if she did they'd think she was crazy as as you –Sarah batted away the voice from inside her mind, gritting her teeth.

She looked down into the boy's dull face, and felt remorse twist her stomach. She glanced into the chapel at Ben. Sarah, that's unkind – The memory cut at her – I can be kind … I have time to be kind. The service won't be over for another half hour. "Can I buy you something from the café? Some soda, or some ice cream?"

Aaron stared up at her. She could not read his expression.

For a moment, his eyes turned distant, and he tipped his head – then he darted another look up at her. "O.K."

Sarah shivered; she could not say why. Then she tugged her coat closer to herself. "Great – let's go."

She took his clammy hand in hers, and they walked away from the chapel.

Ben's voice floated after her - a white dove - a golden thread -

Sóbrii estóte, et vigiláte: quia adversárius vester diábolus tamquam leo rúgiens círcuit, quærens quem dévoret –

Sarah bought ice cream for Aaron, and iced tea and salad for herself. She walked briskly with their dishes to a wrought-iron table, beneath the gorgeous, sparkling glass dome of the atrium, Aaron tagging along behind her. "O.K., kiddo –" she flopped into a chair, and pushed out another for Aaron, with her foot. "Sit down, and eat up. I'll buy you all the ice cream you want." She crunched on her salad with an exaggerated smack; a tiny smile flitted across the boy's face.

Rain drummed on the glass. Sarah looked up at the pitch-black, roiling sky. A faint flash of lightning lit the edge of the dome; she jumped in her seat and raised her eyebrows at Aaron. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Aaron craned his neck. "Yeah …"

They sat quietly for a few minutes; Aaron toying with his ice cream, Sarah working her way through her salad.

"Can I ask a question?" The boy's voice was low.

She chewed, and swallowed. "Sure – go ahead."

Aaron spooned up some of the melted ice cream in his spoon, and let it plop back down into the bowl. Then he let the spoon balance on the remaining scoop, tipping at it with his fingers so that it hit the ceramic with a clink. Sarah gave him time to himself.

When he spoke, his voice was quieter than it had ever been, in her hearing.

"Was it real?"

Sarah took a deep breath. "Was what real, honey?"

He peered up at her. "The Labyrinth," he whispered. "The Goblin King."

Oh, damn it all to hell. Shit. What do I do now?

"Aaron …" she began. Then she put down her knife, and her fork, and laid her hand over his. "Aaron – can you promise me something?"

His brow furrowed. "Yeah."

Sarah muttered to herself, and to him. "I should have made you promise this a long time ago – then they wouldn't have put you – damn it – O.K. Listen. You have to promise –" she gripped his hand. "Aaron – you have to promise me that you won't tell anyone what we talk about. Understand?" She widened her eyes, willing him to meet them. "The Labyrinth – the Goblin King – this will be our secret. All right?"

Aaron's face was pale, his eyes round. "All right."

Sarah shook his hand. "Good. Done, and done." She picked up her fork, and speared another leaf of lettuce.

The boy waited. Then he mumbled, again: "Was it real?"

She let her fork fall, with a clank. "You promise?"

"Yes!" The child was near tears. "Yes – I promise!"

"Fine." Sarah stared at his bowed head. "It was real. It was all real. The Goblin King has the power to make dreams –" look what I'm offering you – "to make dreams, and to trick people into his Labyrinth, and into thinking that he's a nice guy."

"He's not a nice guy?"

"No." She shook her head, emphatically. "He is not. Really –" Sarah looked at the boy, feeling exasperated despite herself. "Don't you remember what he did to you?"

"I thought – they told me that wasn't real …" Aaron's voice slurred as he scrubbed at his face with his hands.

"Well, it was." She spoke shortly, then grasped the fork and worked on finishing her salad, her conscience pricked by the child's tears.

"But he told me a nice story, when you visited with him –"

Sarah could hardly hear around the crunching of a crouton.

" – and then he –"

"What?" She swallowed her mouthful.

Aaron's eyes flickered. "Nothing."

Sarah focused on fishing out the last tomato wedge from beneath the remaining leaves of lettuce, giving the boy time to finish his sniffles.

When Aaron spoke again, his voice was clogged with tears; she hardly understood him.

"Why does the King talk to me?"

She took a long sip of iced tea; it was sweet, but, thankfully, not too sweet. "Why did he talk to you? Well, Aaron …" Sarah looked into her glass. "It's hard to say – but I think the Goblin King represents a choice you have to make. A decision." She smiled at the boy, trying to keep her voice kind. "Even though he's not nice at all, he shows us what is important to us. He helps us decide what to do with our lives ... What we really want – and what will really make us happy."

"What will really make us happy?" Aaron repeated.

"Yep." Sarah twisted the last bits of lettuce around her fork; then paused, and offered Aaron the bite.

"No, thank you," the boy said.

She looked – vinaigrette was dripping off a leaf onto the glass of the table. "Well, that was polite of you, kiddo. Major brownie points." Smiling, Sarah put the fork back down into the salad bowl.

"So." Aaron's forehead creased; Sarah controlled another twinge of exasperation, and tipped her head, listening to him. "The Goblin King helps us to decide our decisions."

"To make decisions, yes."

"An' we have to figure out what we really want."

"Mm-hm."

"An' he helps us do that."

Sarah took another drink of tea. "I think so – this is a bit of guesswork, you understand." She tried a small smile at the boy. "I don't know of anyone else alive who has seen the Goblin King –" her mind flashed to Rachel Duvall, and she shivered – "well, hardly anyone …"

Lost in thought, she did not see Aaron's expression change.

But then he spoke once more –

And his voice was strangely cold.

"I didn't know anyone who knew the Goblin King either."

Sarah swirled her tea in its glass.

"Until I met you."

He stared into his bowl of melted ice cream, his face taut.

"It was true. It was all true – and I wasn't crazy. I was never crazy. It all happened to me, and they tell me that it didn't, and they give me pills, and they say I'm bad and a liar for telling the truth."

The flow of words was unsettling, from his lips, when Sarah had been used to hearing him use only monosyllables –

She leaned closer to him. "Honey …"

"No!"

Aaron banged the spoon against the dish; Sarah jumped, startled.

"I'm not your honey!"

His voice was thick, and his brow knotted with anger, from where she could see it – she sat, frozen in place –

"I'm not your honey! I'm not your friend! You lied to them – you knew I wasn't crazy, and you lied and let them take me away – you're the liar. You're the bad one! You're bad, and you lie, and I hate you!"

A boom of thunder sounded.

Sarah took an unsteady breath. "Aaron –" Her voice was feeble.

The boy looked up, and met her eyes –

– and she gasped, as a veil over his own eyes seemed to be torn in two – and she saw behind it hatred and rage as thick and dark and boiling as the clouds overhead –

Lightning flashed.

"I hate you –"

The words were a choked gargle in his throat – he wheezed for breath, and then coughed, hacking, and glared up at her again.

"I hate you!!"

Sarah caught a whiff of ozone in the air, and felt every hair on her body stand on end –

Then Aaron spoke, and voice was crystal clear.

"And I wish the goblins would come and take you away –"

The glass dropped from her hand to shatter on the floor.

– no –

"Right. Now."

Lightning flashed down the metal struts of the dome with a hideous cracking tearing sound – the people in the atrium screamed in fear and began to run – and, with a noise that broke the ear, every single glass pane shattered –

"AARON!" Sarah screamed at the top of her lungs and caught the boy in a tackle, rolling with him across the floor and shielding him with her body as the glass and metal and lamps and live wires came thundering down from the sky upon all gathered beneath them –

Sarah could hear nothing above the roar of concrete and glass being crushed into powder, and the screech of metal being pulled apart –

– but only then did she realize that the screeching was laughter – wild, screaming laughter –

She felt a splitting pain smash her legs, and she threw back her head, instinctively, only to see – oh God no no – Jareth – shrieking out of the sky like a falling star blazing through a vortex of black clouds and glass and metal and lightning –

– the white wings of his owl cloak unfurled wide as he unsheathed his white hands like talons while plunging down, down down through the rain of glass –

– and the only thing Sarah heard over the thunder of the sky falling and the howl of the darkness closing in was Jareth's hideous, appalling laugh of triumph as he seized her.

Yeah. So. -coughs-

To be concluded, very soon, in: In a Glass, Darkly - chapter 7, part 3

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