I do not own the Labyrinth - pity really.
Thank you all for your continued support, reviews and suggestions. I had thought this chapter would take us further but we are not quite at the second wish yet. look forward to it next chapter!
OM-NOM-NOM, this chapter was baked until golden grown and then sprinkled with glitter by my awesome Beta nothingnothingtralala!
The car ride back from the restaurant was spent in silence.
Even the Goblin King seemed oddly pensive after the brief interlude with Carl. Thankfully, Carl had not accompanied them; he had simply called for Bruno and given him instructions for Sarah's safe delivery elsewhere. She was an asset now; she needed to be looked after.
When they arrived at the new hotel, Sarah followed Bruno inside automatically. Beyond her self-induced fog she had a vague impression of luxury and abundance as they made their way through a large foyer which, unlike the previous location, was crowded with well-dressed couples and families. She looked through them blankly, failing to register the people or the location, her mind spinning inward as she was directed into an unfamiliar elevator and down a corridor to stand before a new door. When Bruno leaned in front of her to swipe the door open, she did not even attempt to move away from him, barely registering his shoulder as it brushed intimately along the front of her dress. When they stepped into the room she made her way immediately to the bathroom. Her eyes were slightly unfocused as she began to run hot water in the sink, pumping the soap dispenser on the vanity urgently, until she was lathering an overly generous serving between her hands.
"Sarah," called a quiet voice behind her.
She ignored it. It was very easy to do so. This was far more important.
She thrust her hands beneath the hot water from the faucet. A disconnected portion of her brain registered pain; she ignored that too. When her hands were free of soap, she returned to the dispenser, and began to push down on the nozzle again desperately, her wet hands slippery and uncooperative. Her breathing was now a shallow rasp as she rubbed her palms together, the friction massing pure white foam over her fingers as she increased the vigour of her actions until her knuckles were cracking under the pressure. Carl's filth had infected her. She could feel his presence pushing through her veins and corrupting everything it touched. That presence made her hate her father, it made her regret the decision she had made for her brothers sake; she even felt satisfied that Cindy had been punished. Dirty thoughts. They cast a shadow of self-hatred over her and twisted her insides.
"Sarah," warned the voice again, slipping away without an anchor.
Her breath caught for a moment when her hands met the hot water again. Her face had a light sheen of perspiration now and the mirror before her was completely obscured by steam.
Then the water from the faucet simply stopped.
Uncomprehendingly she stared at the tap, her eager hands lost without a purpose. Panting, she looked down at her reddened hands and then up into the fogged mirror, which concealed her reflection.
"Sarah," whispered the Goblin King.
He was behind her, had been behind her the whole time, she realised. The odd comfort of his presence unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth.
"The water ran out," she muttered to him dumbly. Her hands began to shake… and hurt, oh sweet mercy how they hurt.
"No Sarah," he told her quietly. "It did not."
She could feel the prickle of tears catching at her eyelashes and blinked them away. She wasn't weak… her hands just hurt so goddamn much. She turned towards him slowly, her hands held out in front of her, so hot they felt like they were on fire.
"They're not clean yet," she pleaded with him.
The Goblin King's eyes were unreadable in the haze of bathroom steam as he watched her, but his mouth was uncompromisingly firm.
"Precious girl, they are the cleanest pair of hands I have ever seen," he stated in a hushed tone. He bent before her, down on one knee, and, bringing his face close to her stinging palms, blew gently on them. She began to cry in earnest then at the sight of his gentle action, small hiccupping bursts of air escaping from her lungs in a panicked flood.
"It's just that my hands hurt," she explained. She felt utterly ashamed by the weakness she was displaying. She was a mess today.
He nodded in agreement, a faint smile playing over his lips. "Then you should run them under the cold water, Sarah," he suggested helpfully.
Awkwardly, she turned back towards the sink, and then stopped, glancing back over her shoulder at him. "But the water…" she began helplessly.
He shrugged and reached around her, turning the hot tap until it was in the off position, very tightly in the off position. He was always a hairs breadth away from actually touching her. "I suspect you will find that the malfunction is limited to the hot water," he said gently.
With quiet understanding, she twisted the cold tap on and watched as water flowed freely from the spout. Carefully, she held her palms beneath it, half relief and half discomfort from the icy chill which now attempted to soothe her throbbing hands. She stayed like that as numbness swept up her arms, the Goblin King's steady breath buffeting her hair and securing her own breathing rhythm as she returned to herself. After that it became difficult to move; his solid presence grounded her, undoing the devastating panic which had threatened to overwhelm her. She was surprised at herself, both at the terror she had struggled with, and the comfort she felt from having him there.
Even though she knew she couldn't trust him…
"What have you done to Cindy?" she asked impulsively. It was suddenly important for her to know what she had brought about. Glancing up, she could see him now reflected in the mirror as he stood behind her. Sunlight bounced off the small white bathroom tiles and settled in his hair, giving him an almost angelic appearance. His face told another story.
"She won't bother you again," he said.
Sarah fought to swallow the lump in her throat and continued to talk to him through the mirror.
"Did you…" she stopped, losing the courage to finish the question she dreaded, "hurt her?" she substituted.
His mismatched eyes hunted hers in the reflective surface, searching. "No," he replied coldly.
She watched him, trying to ascertain the truth. Will you? She thought.
"She is well, Sarah, I have simply… moved her elsewhere."
Sarah closed her eyes and took a deep breath: "Somewhere dangerous?"
He smiled a knowing smile and turned away from the mirror.
"Compared to here where you feel irrefutably safe?" he mocked. "I'd say safety is proportional to circumstance."
She couldn't argue that.
He made his way to the ensuite door and turned back to her with a curious air; "Why does it bother you?" he asked.
She raised her eyebrows at him as she turned off the cold water. "It only happened because of what I told you."
"So you feel guilty?" he supplied.
Sarah paused and thought about that. "Yes, I suppose I do," she agreed.
"Do you feel sorry for Cindy, or do you feel sorry for me?" he asked dryly.
She bit back a reply and frowned. Why should she feel sorry for him? His lips twisted in a caustic smile at her silence, and he stalked from the bathroom, out into the room beyond. She followed him, puzzled, and realised, for the first time, the luxury of the room she had been given.
It was a high quality apartment.
Delicately stencilled wallpaper in a grey and white whorled pattern adorned the walls. A heavy, deep chocolate carpet cushioned her feet; even the pinching of her heels felt softened by its luxuriousness. The room itself was an open plan bedroom, dining and kitchen structure, divided neatly by countertops and well-arranged furniture. A king sized bed sat snugly against the wall, high quality, pressed sheets glowing under small spotlights, inset into wall pockets by the bedside. Two small love seats and an armchair were arranged around a small glass table, which was somewhere between and dining table and a coffee table, without fully conforming to either. A complimentary fruit basket was sitting on display amongst stylishly folded serviettes.
Marbled countertops divided off the kitchenette with polished black glass splashbacks and tasteful stainless steel appliances at every turn.
Every surface was unblemished and clean and, it appeared, certain privileges had been supplied which had formerly been denied. Sarah eyed the sheets with satisfaction, assured that towels and toiletries were probably also now available if the soap in the bathroom was anything to go by.
"Oh lovely," spat the Goblin King. "Will you be wishing to escape now Sarah?"
His face was tight with fury as he surveyed the apartment; he angrily kicked one of Sarah's sneakers across the room. She looked over to where it had landed; Bruno must have brought them in from the car. She glanced up at him, unnerved by his mercurial nature.
"Are you tired of playing the antihero now Goblin King?" she asked quietly, almost under her breath.
His eyes blazed as he turned on her, pushing her back a little with the force of his presence.
"I never accepted that title," he growled dangerously.
He laughed then, a forced hollow echo which made the hair on the back of her neck rise as he moved towards her. "So you accept splendour from this fellow but I am besmirched because I have punished an immoral woman."
"I never said I had accepted it!" yelled Sarah.
She hadn't wanted to lose her temper, but how could he think that, how could be believe she approved of Carl simply because he'd provided a fancy room?
"Then why do you look so pleased with this grandeur?" he sneered. "Why do your eyes sparkle greedily as you perceive his gifts?"
Sarah's fists clenched unconsciously at her sides, and smarted. The pain, which might otherwise have further incensed her, acted to settle her immediately. She took deep breaths as she examined the wildness of the Goblin King's demeanour, and tried to find reason for it. Had she looked overly pleased, had she seemed swayed by a small display of wealth? It took only the memory of Carl's sweaty palm on the back of her hand to knock such ludicrous thoughts from her head.
"If I am looking pleased," she bit out, "it is because I now have a toothbrush to brush my teeth with, and a towel so that I can finally have a goddamn shower and wash this muck off my face." She folded her arms across her chest in a closed manner: "So if you'd be so good as to get the hell out, I'd really like to get on with that before my next life-threatening task is presented to me." Without waiting for a reply, she whirled away from him and went back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her soundly.
It did not make her feel better.
As she pulled toiletries from the cupboard, ignoring the glory of further marbled bathroom perfection, she worried. So far the Goblin King had been her only support through this ordeal, and while they might not be friends, and she might not trust him, she could not deny that she needed him. That did not mean she was willing to face him again quite so soon; she idled beneath the luke-warm shower, delaying the inevitable. It seemed she was unable to handle any degree of temperature against her hands; even the pathetic warmth she had decided on was making her palms sing with pain.
Mentally she chewed on the Goblin King's words.
His accusation had hurt her. She had thought they almost had something of a rapport between them; he had been kind to her and she had thought…
What had she thought?
Perhaps she had almost returned to her girlhood fantasies in which she had romanticised the Goblin King? Unbeknownst to him, the death of many of her relationships had come about by his hand. No matter if it was a memory or a lie, a beautiful man… a king had once sung to her of love. He had offered himself to her, offered her a kingdom and a dream. No sticky fumblings in the backseat of a car could measure up to that, no half-hearted flattery, no lame pick-up line, not even the white picket fence and the 2.5 kids. Truth be told, the Goblin King had ruined her for other men, ruined her with an intense lie; she had been chasing that lie ever since. Now she knew that desperation had forced him to offer her everything, just to prevent the reversal of a wish.
Talk about broken dreams…
She sighed loudly and steeled herself for the confrontation to come as she turned off the water. None of that was his fault; her whimsical romance fantasy was her problem. So what was his problem then? Why exactly should she feel sorry for him? Stepping out of the shower and drying herself off, she looked down forlornly at the dress she had just discarded. It was lovely, no question, but she really didn't want to put it back on again after showering. The problem was she had nothing else to change into. Wrapping the towel around herself, she padded across the bathroom floor and stopped before the wall cupboard, peeking inside. As she had hoped, there were white hotel bathrobes hanging up inside. She briefly debated the joys of being clean against the safety of being clothed in something that wasn't a bathrobe. Being clean won out, but it was a close match.
Slipping the robe on, Sarah finished towelling her hair dry and brushed her teeth. Momentarily, she leaned forward until her head was flat against the mirror and closed her eyes, resting there briefly she gathered her strength.
He was right.
Her pity for Cindy was probably a self-satisfying whim, guilt over an outcome she felt responsible for. Sarah's eyes snapped open as she held onto that train of thought.
She felt guilt.
What of the Goblin King then? He who had punished, he who had taken the winnings of others to grant her wish, wouldn't he also feel guilt?
Do you feel sorry for Cindy or do you feel sorry for me?
Could it really be that simple?
Thoughtfully, Sarah pulled herself away from the mirror and straightened the robe. Building her courage, she marched to the ensuite door, opening it and returning to the bedroom division of the apartment.
The Goblin King was sprawled across one of the two loveseats, his feet kicked over the side comfortably and his chin resting on the palm of his hand. His eyes were closed, but he opened them as she approached, her footsteps steadily losing confidence as she advanced. She had half expected him to have left. He examined her, mismatched eyes lingering on her bathrobe just long enough to make her flush uncomfortably. Although his expression was remote, now at least he seemed to have calmed down.
"So who is he?" he asked, making her jump as she drew near.
Sarah glanced in his direction and raised an eyebrow at him. "Who is who?"
The Goblin King scowled. "This warden character, Carl, who is he exactly?" he demanded.
She paused at his question, wondering how best to answer. She was happy that, although the topic had not necessarily changed, the interrogation was now less hostile. Settling herself into the armchair directly across from the Goblin King, she carefully arranged her robe for propriety.
"I don't really know, to be honest," she reflected; "he's a kingpin I guess."
The Goblin King's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "A king?"
"No, no," Sarah corrected, shaking her head, "a kingpin, it means a crime boss. Basically he's a criminal, but he also has people and resources behind him too." Sarah motioned to the room to convey her point and he nodded in understanding.
"So you are his prisoner until you have paid off your family debt," he suggested.
Sarah shrugged. "That's not quite right, but it's not exactly wrong. He has taken me as collateral for the money we owe; he originally intended to take Toby, but I intervened."
The Goblin King frowned, his upswept brows knitting in confusion.
"But Toby doesn't have this …luck power, how would he have earned back the funds?" he asked, finally realising that the scenario didn't make sense.
Sarah paled. She had tried not to think about that each time she remembered how Carl had looked at Toby, the hungry light in his eyes, the way he had touched her hand. An involuntary shudder of revulsion ran up her spine. "He didn't take me with him because he believed in the luck," she explained, "that was just…" Sarah swallowed the word lucky. That couldn't be right, the luck was gone now. "Just a coincidence," she finished. She swallowed deeply. Her mouth felt dry, but she needed to finish this before she lost the stomach for it. "I think I was going to be sold off," she admitted. "Somewhere where I would be made available for clients to …service them…"
The Goblin King gave her a blank look. Sarah sighed.
"Sexually," she grated.
She watched as his eyes widened with understanding and his face hardened.
"Then Toby…" he snarled.
Sarah turned away from him, her lips pressed tightly together. It was then that she learned that she had never before seen the Goblin King angry. Whatever that pale whisper of discontent had been earlier, it certainly wasn't anger, because now he was angry.
The room was almost undone by it.
Sarah cowered beneath the cold fury which rolled off him. She pulled the robe tighter around her, every hair on her body prickling from his intensity. Her fingers throbbed with pain as she clasped them tightly together, unable to look him in the eye.
She was frightened of what she might see there.
The sound of a commotion at the door was almost a relief. Shivering, she glanced up in time to see Bruno clicking the door closed behind him. His instincts were sharp, his eyes narrowed in her direction and he stopped in his tracks, as if searching for the cause of the hostility he sensed. He did not back down from the threat he could not perceive, but neither did he approach. Frowning at her, he pulled a small paper bag from his pocket and placed it on the countertop which separated the kitchenette area. Patting it as if to reassure himself, he flicked his head towards it meaningfully when he caught her eye, and she nodded to indicate her understanding. He exited quickly, never looking back.
The oppression of the room abated slightly, and when Sarah turned to the Goblin King again, she found him with his back to her, arms crossed, looking out the window. Giving him space, she got to her feet and padded quietly across the room to investigate the bag. Tipping it upwards, she allowed for the contents to spill out onto the marbled countertop. A long slip of paper and a pen tumbled out; the numbered sheet was all too familiar. A lottery selection slip, she realised, as she picked up the pen and clicked the button experimentally to extend the nib.
Carl wanted her to win the lottery.
Kaytori - Have you been reading my mind (or my outline)? Indeed it is the lottery! Unfortunately for Sarah things won't be quite as neat and tidy as you've suggested.
Cindy - gone but not forgotten, she'll be seen again.
Thankyou, the dance between Jareth and Sarah can be quite delicate at times. To be honest sometimes the conversations between them get away from me and take me in a whole different directions from what I've originally plotted out, they're practically writing themselves and just using me as a medium.
FyraBerkaan - Thanks! I'm trying to do them justice in the dark setting, I'm finding Sarah surprisingly easy to write from this perspective. No humour this chapter but I've got a little something for next time to bring the mood up again.