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Chapter Twenty-Three
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She woke to painful coughing and took a deep, ragged breath to her clear lungs. Alive, she was alive! What happened? She sat up and looked around...an empty parking garage?
"I don't understand," she said aloud. A child's laugh echoed in the concrete maze.
"Lizzie?" she called out. "Is that you?" Sarah stood up from the cold cement, shivering. The temperature hovered near freezing. Geez, New York in the winter...Was she still in New York?
'Sarah.' "Lizzie?" she asked, tentatively. Her daughter never called her by her given name. Of course, it wasn't Lizzie. A strobe flashed once at the far end of the garage, and she blinked at its intensity. Every fiber in her begged to run from the light, but something about it called her like a magnet.
'Sarah!' "Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? Jareth?" She started walking towards the light.
'Sarah!' The light flashed again as the voice shouted, making her jump.
"
Who are you?" she yelled, her voice reverberating between the bare concrete walls. "Enough of this crap!" She ran up the ramp to the light, prepared to confront her tormenter. Lizzie laughed somewhere far away, her lighter footsteps mimicking her mother's. Sarah reached the top of the ramp and sliding to a stop she scanned the area for the light source. It flashed again around the U-turn and she ran another twenty feet smacking into her teenaged her daughter.
"Lizzie!"
"Hi, Mom," Lizzie said cheerfully before stabbing a knife deep into her stomach. Pain lanced through Sarah's viscera, twisting around the blade.
"Lizzie, why?" Sarah said, gasping as she doubled over to her knees, her eyes looking up to her daughter's tranquil orbs.
"I told you I hated you, remember?" the teen stated nonchalantly. "Well, you won't ever forget now, will you?" The bloody knife dropped from Lizzie's hand, clattering on the concrete.
"I
love you, Lizzie," Sarah said, moaning as she collapsed to her side, banging her head on the floor, "I'm sorry."
"It's too late, Mom. You're always too late." Lizzie shrugged, turned away from Sarah, and walked to Jareth now standing a few feet in front of them. He leaned over hugging Lizzie, who stared blankly at her mother, then he met Sarah's agonized gaze. He gave Sarah a wry smile.
"I did warn you," Jareth 'tsked', shaking his head, "such obstinacy. It's quite unbecoming. Really, Sarah, you could've been queen," he gave Lizzie a feral leer, caressing her long, brown hair as he molded her relaxed body to his, "but I must say I find this new opportunity to train my queen...
invigorating." Lizzie closed her eyes and smiled as she leaned into Jareth's arms.
"B-bastard," Sarah said and spat at him, he answered in a full-throated laugh which ricocheted in her ears. "I'll find you...I'll—"
"You'll what?" Jareth stood and clasped Lizzie's hand,"Farewell, Sarah Williams. Say goodbye to your mother, Lizzie." He prompted and Lizzie tilted her head, blinking once as if to focus her thoughts.
"Bye, mom," she said flatly. They turned in one second and vanished the next, leaving Sarah alone, bleeding and crying bitterly face down on the cold concrete.
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How long Jareth ran the second length, he didn't know, but he watched from afar as the second person fell out of the fight and eventually the body materialized in his path. Prepared this time, he avoided tripping over the inert person, also lying face down and dressed all in black. Physically this person was smaller. He repeated his previous actions, gently rolling the obviously feminine body.
"Oh, gods, NO! Lizzie!" her mutilated, brutalized face confronted him. He barely recognized her, but for her long, blood-matted hair. Like Fiana before, her horrified eyes—what remained— stared accusingly into the drab, dark sky. Jareth broke down. He fell upon her torso wailing his grief at his near-daughter's gruesome death. His hands blindly groped and clenched at her frayed clothing as he burrowed his face into her stomach.
"Not her, not Lizzie!" he mumbled. His tears dampened her tattered clothing. His soul died in pieces. His knees dug into the black sands as he worked his way to her face. Wrapping his hands behind her neck and back, he picked her up cradling her limp body to his chest. Rocking his dear girl, Jareth lost himself to his grief for an unknown length of time.
"Why...why..." he repeated his litany hoping the gods might personally answer, "I should've never brought you to the Underground. You would've been safer with your father, you both would've been safe. Selfish, arrogant, short-sighted...I never learn. I'm so sorry, Lizzie, it's my fault, not yours." He sobbed into her drying, crusted hair.
Gradually his grieving eased and he laid her body back onto the ground, arranging her respectfully, wishing he could clean her face and hair. But no crystal appeared when he tried again to conjure, so he gave up, resigned to the knowledge he must leave her alone in this desolate place, where ever here was. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. The congealing blood left a coppery smear on his lips.
"I love you, Lizzie," he said, softly, stroking the top of her head one last time before standing. He knew now what he must do. The last two people fought and his heart seized at the probability of their identities. Bracing himself, he reluctantly turned from Lizzie's body and resumed his race towards the last two combatants. He must not be too late, not this time.
"I'm coming, Sarah!" he shouted, hoping she heard him and drew strength from the fact.
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Captain Rendor's head snapped backwards sharply; Scarvy's well-placed, gauntleted right hook creating instant welts and bruising to the Fae's left orbital socket. The former police detective smirked at the beautiful black eye already puffing up on the man kneeling below him in iron shackles. Rendor's stoicism did impress Scarvy, however. Several strikes to his face and torso already and the man had yet to discharge a single howl or whimper. Oh, he wanted to—Scarvy's years interrogating criminals taught him exactly how to read people, Fae were no different—and tasked by the Princess to gain information, Scarvy fully intended on helping Rendor express himself as vocally as possible. Scarvy yanked the Captain's head back by his shoulder length, black locks. The man grunted, breathing heavily through his misshapen, bloody nose and mouth— each pant spraying red froth. Scarvy glared down at him.
"Sooner or later you're going to tell me everything you know about the Council's plans. Why not go easy on yourself?" Scarvy asked reasonably.
"Devil take you!" Rendor muttered through his torn lips. Scarvy released the man's head roughly. As Rendor's hands were restrained to his rear, he barely rolled his weight in time to avoid landing on his face; his shoulder taking the brunt of his fall to the stone floor. Frustrated, Scarvy scowled down at the collapsed man, his metal-clad fists clenching, before spinning on his heel and leaving the dungeon cell. Torture gained them nothing when dealing with fanatics: he'd learned that as cop. And Rendor's fortitude ran deep; barely an hour of working the man over and Scarvy realized Rendor would never break. If only Lizzie's magic were stronger, she could pull the information from the pigheaded Captain's brain. At least, that's what she claimed.
Slamming the cell door behind him, Scarvy spared a quick glance at the motionless, recumbent man. Too bad he tried to kidnap their Princess and kill them; otherwise Scarvy thought he might just respect the man's strength. After his physical violence against a defenseless victim, Scarvy didn't even feel satisfied in gaining some small measure of vengeance—he just felt sick. Some Captain of the Guard he made. Nothing to be done for it now, perhaps another in Rendor's group might know something and be willing to share, but he doubted it. He saw the way they looked to Rendor, the adoration in their eyes for their illustrious Captain. For the present, Scarvy returned to Lizzie with haste to give his less than stellar report. He removed his bloodied gauntlets, stashing them in the armory, before locating the Princess sitting in the library with Lady Fena, Alia, and Hoggle.
"Any luck?" Lizzie asked looking up from their heated discussion. The library had been rearranged to accommodate Lady Fena's size while elsewhere her Gryphon companions recuperated in luxury from the skirmish yesterday. This morning, unfortunately, did not go as well.
"Sorry, he's not going to talk," Scarvy replied. He shrugged helplessly, hating to disappoint.
"How can you be sure?"
Joining them, Scarvy sat at the large table next to Alia, across from Hoggle, and met Lizzie's inquisitive gaze, "Over twenty years as a cop, that's how," he said with sigh, his shoulders sagging. "Trust me, Rendor isn't talking and neither are his men. Rendor would rather die than betray his beloved Council."
"That can be arranged," Lady Fena replied, adding a chirpy laugh. Lizzie shot her a narrow-eyed look but said nothing while Hoggle grumbled his discontent.
Alia leaned closer to Scarvy placing a comforting hand on his back, "Are you alright? You look unwell."
"Fine, just a rough morning," he smiled wryly. Alia started to speak, but Scarvy shushed her with subtle shake of his head and frown. He wished to speak to her privately; she relented with a small frown of her own and tensed bodily. Not even a month together and already she knew him better than anyone he had ever known. She may not always agree but she understood. Something for which he was supremely grateful, and as a concession Scarvy grasped her hand with his and gave her a reassuring squeeze. Immediately, Alia relaxed and returned the affection. Yes... gratitude only began to express the span of his emotions on the subject of Alia. Somewhere deep within himself, Scarvy felt a knot gradually unwind as Alia's thumb absently stroked his knuckles. How quickly she mimicked his gestures of love.
"I have no idea what to do," Lizzie said slumping in her great chair. "We've got no information; no idea what happened to my parents or Labyrinth. I can't feel any of them, or get any response when I call and none of Rendor's people are talking!" she ranted, shades of the petulant teenager peeking through her regal façade. "Eventually the Council's going to send someone to check on their escorts and then what?"
"We's best be hidin' before thems come to claim yous again, Your Majesty," Hoggle suggested, wringing his hands. Both Lizzie and Scarvy scowled at his idea.
"I am surprised they've not already reacted," Fena said, pointing out an obvious fact. "They would expect your arrival yesterday or a message from Captain Rendor explaining his delay." Everyone else perked up at this intelligence. Scarvy faced Lady Fena then Lizzie, Hoggle, and Alia in turn.
"You know, I can't believe it didn't occur to me before; you're absolutely right. Why
haven't we heard from the Council yet?" His adjustment to Underground politics really needed to speed up, and being newly in love was no excuse for bad detective work.
Lady Fena, being the more experienced in Council maneuvering than the others, answered Scarvy. "I suspect the Council's scheme against the King and Queen may have backfired, at least to some degree. Things may not be running normally in Camlann."
"
Really?" Scarvy replied, his eyes gleaming.
"What are you thinking, William?" asked Alia while the others listened intently.
"I'm thinking now might be the perfect time to pay the Council a visit."
"I don't know..." Lizzie said and Hoggle groaned hiding his face, but Scarvy gave them a heartening smile then addressed the Gryphon.
"Lady Fena, are all the Council members corrupt or might you know of a trustworthy one?"
The Gryphon cocked her head thoughtfully and blinked her huge eyes several times before answering, "You are very sneaky, William Scarvy. I like you."
"Thank you," he answered, preening under Fena's approval while Alia and Lizzie observed them both quizzically. Meanwhile, Hoggle slumped lower in his chair, his hand still hiding his face.
"Would either of you like to inform the Crown of your idea or shall I remain painfully uninformed?" Lizzie deadpanned, smiling a bit when Scarvy blushed. Lady Fena, however, appeared nonplussed at her sarcasm.
"With pleasure, Your Majesty," Lady Fena replied, somehow making the honorific sound ironic before launching into a straight forward explanation. Lizzie's eyebrows incrementally rose as Fena unveiled the daring simplicity of the plan.
"You're both insane! I thought my mom was nuts, but you two, seriously..." She shook her head and chewed her lower lip.
"Forgets it! No way I'm helping!" Hoggle exclaimed and slipped from his chair making a break for the door.
Alia slipped a comforting hand over Lizzie's. "Perhaps that is what makes it so brilliant. They would never expect such an act."
"Oh, crap," Lizzie moaned, cradling her head in her hands over the table, "this is giving me a headache." She sat up to three expectant faces, "Fine, let's do it. Hoggle get back here!"
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The pain from her stomach wound failed to compare to the heartbreak from Lizzie's rejection. Sarah cried for an eternity and felt as though she could cry for another span without losing her well of tears. Perhaps she might bleed to death before her heart finished her off; it would be a mercy death. Possessing no desire to move, she continued to lie on the concrete of the deserted parking garage and never wondered at seeking help until the voice of her mother called to her.
"Mom?" she said, her voice raspy and cracking. "Mom?" Sarah tried to sit up, but the pain precluded her ability to twist her torso enough. Instead, she remained lying and craned her head around until she found her mom walking towards her.
"Sarah, honey, what happened?"
"Oh my God, Mom!" she started crying again and reached for her mother's hand as Linda Williams knelt at her daughter's side. Unable to speak, Sarah allowed her mother to pull her into an embrace and rock her.
"It's okay now, Sarah. What ever happened I'll make it all better."
"Why are you teasing her?" a masculine voice said, and Sarah's eyes flicked up to see her father hovering over them.
"Excuse me?" Linda replied, shocked. Sarah watched her mother's abashed face meet her father's stern one as he folded his arms over his chest and scowled.
"You comfort her now, but eventually you'll just abandon her as usual, leaving me with all the work of taking care of her."
"How dare you!"
"Oh, I dare!"
"Mom, Dad, please don't fight," Sarah said between cries of pain, physical and emotional.
"Sarah, let me handle this," Robert Williams said, barely acknowledging his severely wounded daughter.
"Just like you handling everything and everyone, Robert!" Linda snapped back. She released Sarah, laying her back on the ground none too gently before standing up to face her ex-husband.
"Well, if other people would handle their responsibilities I wouldn't have to!" he shouted. Sarah lie on her back, crying softly, observing another of her parents' innumerable fights.
'
I'm probably dying and they still can't bother to shut up,' Sarah thought, wondering if she should continue crying or start laughing at the absurdity until a third voice intervened.
"Both of you should be ashamed of yourselves!" Karen shouted over her parents and appeared next to Sarah holding her hand.
"Karen, what are you doing?" Robert said.
"How dare you act like you're her mother?" Linda accused.
"What someone needs to," Karen replied, giving both Robert and Linda pointed glares.
"Well, not you!" Linda leaned down and slapped Karen's face. Her step-mother leapt up and returned the slap then pushed Linda causing her to stumble backwards.
"Linda! Karen! Stop it!" Robert yelled, standing between the women. "Enough! Sarah doesn't need either of you pretending to be her mother."
"Dad?" Sarah mumbled, the pain of watching her various parents arguing overwhelmed her. Her head and heart hurt too much. Her father crouched near her and touched her forehead.
"Yes, Princess?"
"Help me, Dad," she pleaded, her voice quaking as she reached out a blood-stained hand.
"I'm sorry, but I can't. Not anymore, not since you pushed me out of your life."
"But Dad!" She lifted her head up.
"You'll do fine, Sarah, you're a fighter." Robert kissed her forehead, stood and grabbed the arms of the two women ushering them away.
"
Dad!" Sarah yelled after him then coughed up blood. "Oh God..." she muttered, laying her head back to the concrete. He left her...alone...to die...
'
Sarah...' The strange white light caught her attention from the top of the next garage level.
"Not again," she mumbled.
"Sarah, I'll never leave you. You know I've only ever wanted to help you," a polite, male voice said from the opposite direction of the light. Chills shot down her spine and she tried to swallow. With an enormous amount of willpower, she rolled her head and faced the voice.
"Garcia," she stated dully, looking up at the large male in the physician's coat standing a few feet away. "Hell, no..." she said and rolled from him, struggling to half-crawl, half drag herself away regardless of the searing pain.
"You can't leave me, Sarah. You need help," Garcia taunted. When she looked over her shoulder she saw that he slowly walked towards to her. She sped up her crawl.
'
Sarah!' The strange voice urgently called her again as the light flashed, and she realized they both originated from the elevator. Maybe...
"Don't run from me, Sarah," Garcia said, his rhythmic footsteps plodding behind her steady, desperate crawl.
Sarah ignored his taunts and her pain, focusing instead on pulling herself along and up the icy ramp to the next level. Twenty feet, ten feet, keep going don't stop, don't listen...the elevator doors opened to an empty shaft and the light blinked again. She dragged her rapidly numbing body leaving a trail of blood as she approached the open elevator shaft. The light flashed with her name being called more urgently and Sarah hung her head over the edge of the open shaft. Somewhere far below the light called her; it's brilliance lighting up the darkness for a second. Such a long fall! She couldn't do it...ohgodohgodohgodohgod!
"You will let me help you won't you, Sarah?" She looked over her shoulder at Garcia who stood a few feet away, his entire demeanor a parody of the Hippocratic oath.
"Oh, God...please..."
"
Sarah! JUMP!"
"Won't you, Sarah?"
Tearing her gaze from Garcia's evil stare, Sarah closed her eyes and pushed herself into the elevator shaft.
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Jareth ran until his legs spasmed, his joints ached, and his lungs burned, but he refused to stop as long as he could see the two shadowy figures fighting in the distance. Impossibly, he seemed to be gaining on them and he felt a bit of hope for the first time since arriving in this forsaken place. If only he reached them in time, before...
Their abrupt appearance several feet in front of him shocked him into complete stillness. He watched the black-clothed figures struggle with each other. One taller, his face distorted while the other was obviously—
"Sarah!" Jareth yelled her name, her long, dark hair streaming about the sword fighting couple. She didn't seem to hear him as she neither glanced in his direction nor paused her defense; her blade flashing in the dim light. Wanting to go to her aid, Jareth moved to intervene but his feet resisted his commands and he lost his balance, falling to his knees.
"Sarah!" He strained, reaching for her, but unable to gain purchase he made no further distance. He saw that she tired, her sword dipped, and her defense opened. The man lunged forward, the tip of his blade slicing cleanly through Sarah's torso to her back. Sarah cried out sharply in pain, her arms drooped, and her sword fell to the black sand. Jareth continued to try and drag himself over the sand, his fingers clawing deeply in the grains, as he watched the man jerk his blade from Sarah. Her blood surged from her fatal wound, soaking her black dress.
"
NO!" Jareth shouted, his feet suddenly freed, he sprung up and caught Sarah as she crumpled to the ground. Her head lolled backwards at an awkward angle over his arm, her hair curtaining to the ground. Jareth's hand hovered over her face—not touching—her green eyes were already empty as they stared into his.
"Sarah..." he whispered in a raspy voice. Refusing to touch her skin kept reality at bay for a few more seconds. Not his Sarah; after everything they survived, not like this. Hot tears filled his eyes; he felt them course down his cheeks. His Love—his felt his Heart Song shrivel within soul.
"How sweet this is," a mocking voice cut through Jareth's grief, a voice he could never forget should he live a thousand-thousand years. Refusing to look away from Sarah, Jareth spoke in flat tone.
"Cashel," he said, his thumb lingering over her lips, still not touching. So many thoughts and emotions coiled in his mind and heart; he sat frozen with the weight. Cashel's vengeance knew no limits. His enemy would burn him and all he loved 'til only ashes and char remained. He should have killed Cashel at his first opportunity-rules be damned! Contemptuous laughter interrupted his thoughts causing Jareth to snap his head up to Cashel, but he saw only a head of shifting colors and shapes. The longer he searched the morass of the face, the more Jareth's eyes watered.
"Poor lost boy, have I hurt your precious Sarah?"
Hugging Sarah's limp body tighter to his chest, Jareth growled. "How dare you, Cashel!"
"Oh, Jareth, always so blind."
"Damn you!" Jareth gently slipped Sarah to the ground and leapt over her body, his arms outstretched to attack. Not bothering to step aside, or even raise his weapon in defense, Jareth's faceless opponent laughed again as Jareth's hands grasped his shirt and shook violently.
"Show yourself, Cashel!" Jareth shouted, "Face me!" The person before Jareth coalesced and shifted before settling—
"Not Cashel," the man said, calmly. And Jareth's twin stared at him with an ominous smirk stretching his mouth and exposing pointed teeth, relaxed in Jareth's grip.
"Wha—who?" Jareth stuttered his words as he stared at the impossible view of himself.
"I am what you have made me," his twin stated. The simple sincerity pierced Jareth's shock cleaner than a razor, and his fingers dropped nerveless away from his doppelganger's shirt to hang at his side.
"No...No, it cannot be..." Jareth muttered as stumbled back from the apparition with his face.
"Behold," his twin flung his arms out wide, the sword flying from his hand to spiral into the barren landscape, "the culmination of your endeavors!"
In the distance in all directions, objects manifested and moved closer. A foul stench and wind whipped, and sands slowly lifted up and spiraled forming numerous dust devils.
"Look upon the fruition of your immortal life!"
Jareth spun in place trying to focus on the myriad shadowed things pacing towards them, and in one far direction a great black spire erupted from the ground reaching for the gray sky. Practically tripping over Sarah in his panic, Jareth fell to his knees to avoid such degradation of her body. He glared at his mirror image stalking towards him, who still held his arms outstretched to either side.
"What dark sorcery is this?" Jareth said, viciously, his kneeling position next to Sarah becoming a crouch to attack.
His twin laughed, "No sorcery, Jareth. Only truth, look around and see what you have created."
The thousands of loping figures drew close enough for Jareth to see in detail: Fae, goblins, Mortal children and the various residents of his kingdom, but deformed, damaged, and severely injured, their moans floating to his ears. The spire now becoming a nightmare vision of his castle: dark, twisted, and grotesque. Death and devastation for everything and every being touched by him, and Sarah...he looked down at his beloved Sarah once again.
"See what you have wrought upon those you claim to love," he taunted behind Jareth, his deep voice a smooth mockery of his own.
"Sarah," Jareth whispered, anguished, as his eyes met the horror lying at his knees. Her solid green eyes accused him. Her frayed lips moved and her malformed, rotting hands reached out. Blood poured from her mouth as she spoke.
"Why, Jareth?" she asked, "Why did you forsake me?"
He screamed; when her decaying flesh touched him he screamed in pain, grief and she pulled him down—unresisting—to be buried under the shuffling residents of his kingdom. Soon Jareth's screaming mixed with his twin's maniacal laughter now echoing in the seething land.
