In an earlier version of the film script, the Junkyard was its own town, complete with a bar (where Hoggle is having a drink after he runs off following betraying Sarah). What else the town might've included is left to our imaginations.

POSTING EARLY BECAUSE I'M SICK TODAY AND DON'T KNOW IF I'LL FEEL UP TO BEING ON MY PC LATER TONIGHT.

CHAPTER VI

AN UNEXPECTED PLACE

Ah, trusty old Pavement, just as he remembered, though there was hardly any sincere joviality in the recognition. Brushing away the vines and overgrowth, he stared down at the enormous, curmudgeonly stone face. Beneath the wash of starlight overhead, it blinked up at him and frowned.

"You," it said, its voice deep and low and rough.

In his human façade now he smirked, nodding. "Me. Greetings, Pavement. Long time."

"Never too long for the likes of you," Pavement answered, sounding bored with his presence.

But it was too long. Much, much too long since he'd gone away.

Much too long since he'd had the chance to make good on that which he'd sworn he could accomplish. He's missed his chance last time. All his own fault, really—after so many decades, centuries, he'd become lazy, complacent, flitting about the realms at his leisure, certain after so long that the moment would never come.

He would not be so foolish again.

"She's here, you know," he said, conversationally, testing just how much the nosy bit of masonry might've already gleaned on its own, forgotten here for so very, very long.

"Hmph. She's been here before. It made no difference then." Pavement sounded very much like an old man disturbed from his slumber who simply wanted to be left alone to fall back to sleep. "What difference will it make this time?"

"This time I had the good sense to make a plan. Things have been set in motion."

"Good sense," Pavement echoed with a grudging chuckle. "Not a thing for which you've ever been lauded, boy. A word of caution for you."

Though he didn't interrupt, he couldn't help but think Oh, here we go. It was just as well; this was the direction he'd needed the conversation to go anyway.

"Present him the opportunity and he will rend your flesh from your bones. I suggest you give up your pursuit. Your task was to locate her, you have. Perhaps a few centuries late. Bring her, no more. I caution you, go no further with your immature, selfish whims. A creature such as she is not for the likes of you."

A smirk once more curved his mouth, albeit a cruel one this time. "I did not ask, nor do I want, your advice, you pompous, ugly old fool."

Pavement's demeanor changed instantly. The grumpy, tired old man suddenly replaced by a wounded child. With a gasp, the stone face began weeping, sobbing long and loud until it caved in, leaving a gaping hole in the path, its last cry echoing through the otherwise quiet night.

Smirk fading a little, his eyebrows rose as he peered into the darkness. Down below, into the deep-buried roadways and long-forgotten architecture.

Ebony wings bursting from his back, he pushed off from the ground and glided neatly into the shadowy hollows beneath the Goblin King's Labyrinth.

—

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

—

A sound like a low sob rang in the distance and Sarah turned her head toward it. After a moment of listening, however, nothing else followed. Though noting the noise in case she should hear it again, she chalked it up to her imagination—her sleepy brain telling her she should be dreaming right now.

"Hoggle," she began, just barely staving off a yawn, "I'm a little confused about something."

They had been walking for what felt like a long time, the late hour weighing on all of them and making their strides sluggish. Their path was clearly illuminated by the blanket of stars glinting overhead, saving her yet again from having to retrieve—or rely on—her flashlight. Tired as she was, keeping her own two feet under her over roots and fallen branches and rocky patches was tricky enough without anything extra to compromise her balance.

Belatedly remembering the notebook she'd packed to keep track of their paths, she just as quickly gave up on recording anything just now. She was far too bleary-eyed to even be certain she'd get the information down in any coherent way.

"Huh?" the dwarf asked, the sound tumbling from his lips in sleepy grunt. Giving himself a shake, he prompted, "Wha's 'at?"

She wiped her hands over her face and then stretched her arms over her head, trying to wring out a little extra energy. "Well, it only just occurred to me when I asked you to take us to the Oubliette, but … last time I was here, you said the Labyrinth was 'full of 'em', right? So how come when I told you I think that's where he is, you didn't ask for any more clues to narrow down which one it might be?"

Ludo uttered a thoughtful growling sound while Sir Didymus choked out a curious hiccup. Sarah didn't like what she was suspecting, and if those noises hadn't just cinched it, the uncomfortable throat clearing that erupted from Hoggle certainly would've.

Loosing a sigh, her shoulders drooped and she halted. Pivoting on her heel, she turned to face him as he and the others halted as well.

"You lied." It wasn't a question.

Hoggle sort of hated that she didn't sound angry. Anger he could understand. It was easy—it burned quick, you dealt with it, then it was over—it was expected when learning a friend deceived you. But then Hoggle wasn't exactly an expert on friendship, and Sarah never did do the things anyone expected. Instead she sounded … resigned. Like the revelation didn't surprise her.

A frown carved his features deep and he nodded, unable to meet her gaze; it was that lack of surprise that hurt.

With a nod of her own, she stepped before him and lowered to her knees so they were eye-level. "I remember you kept trying to get me to go back, turn around. Give up for my own sake. Bet you thought that if I thought the Oubliette I fell into was just one of many, I'd feel so defeated I'd do just that." A somber half-smile played on her lips. "You were trying to protect me, weren't you?"

Shuffling one foot against the ground he shrugged. "Well, yeah."

Her smile widened. "I understand, Hoggle. Now—" She pushed up to stand and immediately swayed on her feet. "Whoa …." With a quiet laugh, she put her fingertips against her temples. "Headrush. Sorry, I'm just so tired. It's been such a long day."

"For all of us, My Lady," Sir Didymus agreed as Ambrosius yawned loudly, as though to emphasize his rider's words. Poor Ludo behind him blinked long and hard, looking as though he was ready to fall asleep standing up. "We should find some place to rest for a few hours; begin fresh in the morning. I fear we shall be no good to anyone in our current state."

Sarah hurriedly dug the map out of her pocket. Double-checking that there were no disturbances or troubling differences since they'd last examined it, she let out a breath and nodded. "All right, a few hours. We should be able to spare that, I hope."

Stuffing the map away again, she glanced around. "So, should we make camp somewhere around—"

"I know somewhere we can go," Hoggle said, finally lifting his head to meet Sarah's gaze and then the others in turn.

—

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

—

The Junkyard didn't smell like what most people probably assumed a garbage dump would. It didn't carry the odor of decaying trash, spoilt food, or any other nasty scents of life that once was—she remembered that well from her last time through, but she hadn't had the mental room to allow it much thought then.

No, it was more … musty. Like damp cardboard and old clothes. Smells like one might find in a basement or an attic. Any place people stored things they would no longer use but couldn't yet part with.

It smelled like memories, she thought, feeling a bit poetic about the matter now that she did have the luxury to give it more consideration.

Now as she looked around, she understood that she hadn't actually been very far into this part of the Labyrinth at all last time. There were, of course, the memory rooms like the one she'd been shown into that night, different people's childhoods hiding behind the tent-flap doors, but there were also—

"It's a town," she breathed the realization in a tone of awe.

—buildings. The mounds of trash she'd glimpsed in the distance back then hid an entire—if small—pocket of civilization. There were even softly glowing streetlamps that looked made of half-recycled tin cans, their illumination hidden by the heaps, offering only enough light for their immediate surroundings.

Despite the disastrous appearance on the surface, everything was sort of organized. Orderly in its own way.

"C'mon, through here," Hoggle said, leading them along to one heap-building in particular.

He pulled back the tent-flap and they all filed through, the other side of the entrance transforming into a typical door upon closing. Sarah had turned to watch the process with amazement—yet another thing she'd not really had the opportunity to appreciate last time. She still remembered the Junklady guiding her into what she'd thought was going to be a tent, only for her bedroom door to take its place, so solidly that when she'd turned the knob to open the door, she'd heard the metal gears moving and sliding and clicking into place.

"How many rooms?" she heard a small but carrying feminine voice call out from behind her.

Turning back around to face the room, she found before them what looked every inch an antiquated, shabby-chic motel lobby. Worn carpets and threadbare but comfortable-looking sofas, antique standing lamps—the kind with the stained-glass covers, like in that charming old diner her grandparents used to take her and Toby to—and lightly rusted brass coat hooks sticking out of the wall. Down a short hallway, she even glimpsed an in-house bar.

When she looked for the speaker, she didn't see anyone. She expected a Junkperson, but at the front desk, all she saw was the guest book and a ….

She arched a brow at the feline settled on its haunches beside the book. It looked like October, but in negative—where October was silky grey with white patches on her mouth, neck and paws, this cat was sleek white with grey patches in those same places.

Ludo and Hoggle sidled up to the desk, but the cat eyed Ambrosius warily. The faithful canine steed kept his distance, forcing Sir Didymus to dismount and approach himself.

Sarah shook her head, blinking about a second time. "Who—?"

"I said," the cat repeated, her tone patient, if sounding like she'd been roused from a nap, "how many rooms?"

"Uh …." Sarah's eyes shot wide and she forced herself to step forward, joining her friends before the desk. The cat hadn't … really said the words. Oh, the words had come from her, that was certain, Sarah had heard them with her own ears, but it was more … the cat had meowed but instead of hearing a typical feline cry, she understood what the sound was meant to convey.

She tried not to be confused; things weren't always what they seemed in the Labyrinth, after all.

Giving herself a shake, the young woman cleared her throat and said, "Um, two? Two's fine, I think." She didn't want to be separate from her friends, but she did think she wanted the freedom to wash up without rushing and perhaps wander around her room in her towel at her leisure. Who knew when they'd have the luxury again?

She looked to the others. "That all right?"

Ludo, Didymus, and Hoggle each nodded.

"How will you be paying?"

"Oh!" Sarah puzzled over what qualified as currency here, but Hoggle was already detaching his stash from his belt to rifle through it. She knew how attached he was to his things and she placed a delicate hand over the collection of baubles. Turning back to … other-October, she asked, "What do you accept?"

The cat made a funny motion, almost like a shrug, before her head tipped to one side and then settled straight again. "Shinnies, food stuffs, unique-thingies."

"Okay, then." Turning to Ludo, Sarah motioned for him to hand over her duffle. "I have some food-stuffs here!"

Giving a long stretch as she uttered a satisfied sound, the cat laughed. "Now you're my kinda customer, lady! Wha'cha got?"

One can of soup, half a cereal bar, and one jell-o cup later—the cat wasn't even sure what jell-o was, never mind if she liked it or not, but she was very sure she found the way it jiggled and reflected the light amusing—they were being shown to their rooms.

The boys had gone first, and now as the cat guided Sarah to a door across the hall from theirs, the creature made a chirpy sound. "You know," she said, her thought-words punctuated by the jingle of the room key dangling from the end of her curled tail, "far be it from me to assume, but I can't shake this feeling like I know you."

Folding her lips on a smile, Sarah nodded. "You feel familiar to me, too."

"Well," her host said, showing a remarkable agility as she balanced on her front legs, giving herself added height, and used her tail to unlock the door before holding up the key for Sarah to take, "the name's March. You need anything during the night, you be sure to let me know!"

March … That made sense, Sarah thought. October was third to last month of the year, her opposite should be third from the start. Sarah didn't return the introduction; March had already seen her name when she'd written it down in the guest book.

"Thank you, March." Sarah took the keys, her fingers itching to scratch the cat between her ears, but she had no idea the protocols involved here. Did speaking Labyrinth-cats even enjoy being pet? Or was it some special privilege and March would be insulted by the presumptiveness?

Holding out a hand toward the cat as March set her hind paws on the floor, Sarah asked, "May I?"

March let out a delighted gasp. "Oh, by all means!" She bowed her head, purring loudly as she accepted a series of scratches.

After several moments, however, March backpedaled a step and collected herself. "Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight."

Sarah disappeared into her room, locking the door behind her.

After a quick shower in the surprisingly quaint and cozy bathroom and a fresh change of clothes, she rolled out her sleeping bag atop the bed. She liked March very much and the place looked clean enough considering it was in a town that existed within the Junkyard, but she knew even in her own world motel beds weren't typically the most … hygienic of surfaces.

The room itself was also best described as quaint, she considered as she munched on the second half of that cereal bar just so she wouldn't be going to sleep on an empty stomach. A single armchair and a coffee table, a bureau that had seen better days, and a single queen-size bed with a surprisingly cheery floral comforter. Everything she might expect if she pulled into a random motel for a night on a roadside, somewhere.

Not that she ever had—her family had always stayed in more expensive venues when vacationing—but she'd seen it plenty of times on tv and in films.

Crawling into her sleeping bag and snuggling down, she was asleep before she even got it zipped closed.

—

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

—

Sarah knew there was something wrong in the ballroom. As she turned her head to take in the opulent, if a little overwhelmingly, terrifyingly archaic surroundings, she understood what it was.

This place looked nothing like the ballroom in the Goblin King's castle. It never had—she recognized that now after having stumbled across it during their search of Jareth's home for possible clues earlier that day.

Laughing sadly to herself, she shook her head. It really had been her own fantasy after all, hadn't it?

"I should think you would be pleased I've gone missing."

Hearing his voice behind her, she turned to face him while ignoring the sudden wild thumping of her heart beneath her breast. Tall and lean as she remembered, he stood gracefully propped against an artfully carved window frame, staring out into a starry night, the moon and a few other astral bodies she didn't quite recognize yet that seemed right somehow hanging in the black-velvet sky.

Well, that was different. Last time the ballroom hadn't had any windows, and gone was the ephemeral mirror that had encircled the room then. No reflective boundary for her to smash through this time.

But then … no realization or sense that she was trapped now, either.

She didn't need her recognition of that voice, nor the gleam of that familiar deep sapphire Victorian tailcoat, bejeweled and glittering with black adornments, to let her know who that was, even with his face turned away. This was definitely different from last time. She was perfectly aware of who she was, of what she'd been doing before appearing here, of the fact that this was a dream. And the other attendees didn't seem to notice her this time.

Last time she'd been swarmed and pushed and on an occasion or two even buoyed by the crowd of masked and leering ballroom guests.

Frowning, Sarah dared a step closer. "Well, this isn't about me, is it?"

A snicker sounded from him and she knew even without being able to see the expression that he was smirking. "Isn't it?"

With another shake of her head, she looked down, smoothing her hands over her silver ballgown. "No, of course not. My friends may be in danger. That's the only reason I'm here—I have no stake in this other than that."

"You are just filled with self-deception tonight, aren't you?"

Sighing, she lifted her gaze. "It's not …." Sarah's voice trailed off as she found him gone.

Whirling around, she scanned the crowd for him. Was he deliberately making her repeat what had happened last time? Well, didn't that just throw her 'it was all my own dream' theory into question all over again?

Not recognizing anyone else outside of the vague memories of the other attendees, she started through the ballroom, her gaze combing through the crowded space. She was no longer intimidated by them, but now she noticed some … activities taking place that had gone over her young, immature head last time.

Fingers caressing costumed bodies over delicate areas, lips brushing along collars and necklines dipped way too low, masks pushed out of the way for hungry kisses. In the cushioned pit at the center of the dancefloor, yet more costumed bodies moved and writhed against each other. Well, she could fairly say that although she'd glimpsed it and understood what these sights had meant ten years ago, she'd glossed over all the overt debauchery.

Feeling her cheeks warm, Sarah ignored them to continue her search. It was a dream, of course it was, but when dreaming in a land of dreams, wasn't it possible there might be some clue here to whatever was causing Jareth's mysterious and troubling weakness?

Or that he might genuinely be attempting to send her some message?

By the time she reached the far end of the ballroom, she was feeling a bit beaten. Her shoulders drooped and she exhaled a sigh. He didn't seem to be anywhere.

"You look so lonely." The voice behind her now was entirely unfamiliar.

She turned to find a darkhaired man leaning against one of the gilt-detailed columns that ringed the dancefloor. He lounged gracefully but didn't quite manage the effortlessly regal posture Jareth seemed to affect even when slumped in defeat. Shiny black fabrics draped him like folded wings and he smiled at her, his teeth a perfect pearly white, making his fair skin seem darker in contrast.

"Have you perhaps lost something?" he asked, lids sweeping down over his large dark eyes in a lazy blink as he pushed off from the column and stepped toward her. He moved lithely, like something sleek and stalking, the movement strange on his tall, broad-shouldered form. "Or … someone?"

Rather against her will, Sarah found herself gaping unblinking up into his eyes. There was something mesmerizing about him—the features of his face were perfect in a way that was somehow almost frightening. Inhuman. "Y—yes," she stammered, nodding. The gulp that went down her throat felt like a reaction occurring of its own volition.

"Well …." He drew to a halt barely half a step before her, his gaze flicking over her features, settling on the hint of cleavage revealed by the deep neckline of her dress and then gliding back up to meet her eyes once more. "Perhaps I may be of some assistance?"

Too close. He was standing far too close for a total stranger. Something in his nearness alarmed her, breaking his inexplicable, hypnotic hold on her—and it was more than the ravenous glimmer she'd spotted when he'd looked her over just now. She could feel an uncomfortable, icy coiling in the pit of her stomach as she stared up at him.

"Tell me," he said, pausing to rake his teeth over his lower lip as he unabashedly dropped his gaze to her mouth. "Where is he?"

Forcing a smile, Sarah kept a veneer of calm in place. As tempting as it might be to reach out and touch him, there was something not right about this man. "Where is who?"

"Jareth?"

Now, however, she couldn't help herself from recoiling. Dream or no dream, she did not trust the person before her.

Her smile faded and she backpedaled a step. "I thought you didn't know what I was looking for?"

He grinned brightly at her and held out a long-fingered hand. "Come now, Princess. Let's not play pretend any longer."

She had no idea who he was nor how he knew her, but she would not ignore the sudden sense of danger crowding her thoughts. The need to get far away from him was as sudden as it was overwhelming.

Slapping his hand away, she turned on her heel and bolted.

Blindly across the ballroom she ran. Through the crowd, across the floor, not bothering to check if he followed. She ran until her breath burned in her lungs—how big was this ballroom, anyway?—surprised her heeled feet hadn't slid out from under her once.

Sarah ran until she collided with someone, the impact forcing her to halt and very nearly propelling her backward.

Someone who caught her securely around the waist.

Someone who held her pinned against him as she scrambled for breath and righted herself in his embrace.

Someone whose pale gold hair fell into crystalline blue eyes. Blue eyes that typically twinkled with mischief, but now held concern.

Still breathing a bit heavily, she glanced back over her shoulder. The jet-haired man was there, in the midst of the crowd.

Lingering.

Watching them.

Returning her attention to Jareth—somehow ignoring that he had yet to relinquish his hold on her, just as she was ignoring how her own hands had come up almost automatically to grip at his shoulders—she shook her head. "Who is—?"

"You should not have come back," he said, just as his eyes no longer held their usual mischief, his cultured, faintly gravelly voice no longer carried that undertone of mirth she'd always associated with him.

Her brow furrowed, her gaze searching his features. "What? Why not?"

Lifting one hand from her waist, he gently grasped her chin between thumb and crooked forefinger. He smiled, but it was a soft, dark expression, entirely devoid of humor. "Because now we are both in danger."

—

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

—

Sarah started awake, gasping for air as though she'd been drowning.

Because now we are both in danger.

Bracing one arm against the bed, she pushed herself up, her free hand pressed to her spinning head. She couldn't shake the sense that what she'd seen just now hadn't been a dream, but a message.

Whoever that man was, he was real, somehow.

He was real. He was here.

And he was a threat to Jareth.

A threat to herself.

And though she had no idea how or where, she was overwhelmed by the sense that she had met him someplace before.