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The Thickening of the Plot
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I'm staring at him, the man hanging by my conjured chains on the wall of my throne room, his bloodshot eyes glare back at me and the contest continues for an indeterminate amount of time. I suspect his silence is due to fear since I've already half pulped him. Seeing the skittishness in his eyes-his ice blue irises pin on me as I pace, his teeth pinch his lower lip stained with blood rivuleting down from his scalp, and his hands blanch from clenching-I know his fear of me is absolute. My heart speeds, my breath quickens, I revel in his fear, want to bathe in it, but...
David Tobias Williams ... his name is David Tobias Williams... Something thick and hard and impossible to swallow forms in my upper throat, forces me to rip my stinging eyes from his wary ones. Then I comprehend why I feel –
feel – this...emotion. While his eyes are Jareth's, his nose and jaw are faintly my brother's –
Tobias Christian Williams. But my brother is dead
, I remind myself, eyes on the wall farthest from my disturbing prisoner. Both of us so still, I don't hear the faintest jangle from his chains. I watched my brother's body go six–feet–underground long ago...so long ago. Then a thought bolts through me, a question with an answer finally in my grasp. In my rage, I had nearly forgotten my first and simplest desire. Pivoting on my boot heel, I face him abruptly, causing him to cringe and the metal to clatter against the stone wall.
"What year is it?" I ask him; his expression leaps from alarmed to baffled, his pale brows furrowed bristles to arches.
"What?"
"What...year...is...it?" I emphasize each word with a heel strike upon the flagstone; every step brings me closer to his flinching body. For the first time in forever, I feel something internal trying to restrain my violent urges; like a belt squeezing my torso, my craving to lash out is forced back and down. Yet I don't understand why. There's so much I don't understand right now that my head pounds with the weight of it.
"Um...2176," he says, hesitantly as if I'm simple–minded. Half of me recoils, the rest reacts. My hand jerks upward intending to slash his face; he balks, eyes slamming shut, mouth grimacing and that internal
something stays my brutal hand.
What is wrong with me? And I honestly don't know which half I'm questioning: my unconscious need to strike or why I stopped. Lids slowly cracking open, he peeks at me, his cringe relaxing slightly.
"You going to hit me or not?"
"I..."
I don't know. I want to say it aloud, but the words glue themselves to my tongue. In less than probably an hour, this man has turned my staid little world upset down, and I bark out a harsh laugh at the irony.
Obviously feeling bolder now that he's escaped one beating, he asks, "Are you insane?"
Oh, what an excellent question. I have often wondered this very thing, inquired my twisted gray matter and received varying replies. Smiling, arms limp at my skin–tight, leather-clad flanks, I finally meet his piercing eyes, and they make me shiver- which I hide.
"Undoubtedly, David Tobias Williams, today I'm most definitely insane."
"Riii-ght." Drawing the word out suspiciously, he nods once. "Okay, um, well if you're not going to beat me anymore, think you can unshackle me?" His tone is polite, cautious, but there is an edging of authority, a quiet command used to being obeyed seeping through. It draws forth equally conflicting responses of defiance then obedience, cause and effect, a twisted post hoc ergo prompter hoc. I feel as though Jareth's essence taunts me by the very lack of his physical presence.
"Unshackle you?" I say, crossing my arms and thrusting one leg out rakishly. "And why, pray tell, should I do that?"
"Because my arms are going numb and I'd like to have our conversation in relative comfort."
"Our
conversation?" Well isn't he just the little Goblin King taking over my castle!
"Whoever you are–and you still haven't told me your name–I have a funny feeling we have a lot to talk about and I'd like to start before my nerves are permanently damaged." To emphasize, he shakes the cuffs encircling his wrists causing the chains to rattle. I consider his request...why not release him? Not like he can go anywhere. I yanked his gullible, compliant ass through the Veil, and until I push him back through he's mine. Unless...hmmm...now there's an idea...
"Alright." With an easy shrug and a twist of my right hand and wrist, I manifest a crystal and toss it at him. It hits him dead center sternum; he yelps then groans after crumpling onto the floor in a tangled, bloody heap. And unfortunately for David, the wounds I dealt were mainly without magic. I would've offered to heal him, but since my magic is illusionary it wouldn't really heal him, so I didn't bother to say anything. (My reticence did nothing to assuage the strange nagging lingering in the center of my chest, a heaviness I vaguely remember experiencing many years ago before Jareth's betrayal which eased at the thought of fixing him-still, it seemed silly to offer a thing non–existent).
"That
really hurt," he says, pushes up to all fours and rocks back to sit on his heels. "Thanks for padding the floor."
"You're welcome." I deadpan. He glares up, sweeping his blood–matted hair out of his face. Drying blood stains his expensive looking shirt; I don't remember ever seeing such a streamlined style before.
"You going to offer me a sonic wash?" My silence and blank expression must clue him in that I have no idea what the hell he's talking about.
"A hot, reconstituted meal?" My brows arch.
"An auto–flight home?" Now my mouth drops open a teensy bit.
What the hell is an auto flight? "Fuck." Head drooping, hands braced on his upper thighs, he looks back up with defeated eyes. "How about giving me a hand up?" Now
that I understand, and I suppose I owe him at least help to his feet for kidnapping him, beating and nearly killing him.
"I can do that," I say, stretching my right arm down to him, allowing his sweaty, bloody hand to wrap around my gloved one in a secure grip before I yank him upright to his feet until he regains his balance.
"You got a wash closet in this," his head swivels around, "castle?"
"After a fashion, follow me." I lead him from the throne room, down the hall, and point out a single door. You're probably thinking the same thing I did when I first figured out the castle had bathrooms (to my relief). Apparently Jareth had similar needs, and since my magic isn't real, I can make myself look
clean and refreshed, but I'm really not. It's an illusion, hence the need for actual bathrooms and food which replenishes with some other type of magic (which I've yet to figure out).
"Five minutes," I tell him and conjure a hovering antique clock. His huff and scowl reminds me of Toby's boyish pout, and a fluttering pang grips my heart.
"Generous aren't you?"
I slam my palm to the door as he opens it causing it to jam shut; startled, he looks over his shoulder at me. Barely keeping my temper in check, I say, "You cannot fathom the depth of my generosity...five minutes. Find your way back to my throne room or suffer the consequences."
His Adam's apple bobs conspicuously as he swallows and his lips tightened; I suspect he wants to retort but only nods wordlessly. Without waiting for further understanding from him, I pivot and storm off, certain my command will be obeyed. And I'm correct. David arrives in my throne room, hovering clock trailing him, as the last of his time expires. Lounging on my throne, I watch him through half-closed eyes, purposely attempting to unnerve him. I can't quite tell if it's working since he appears to be wary but not without backbone. Overall his appearance is improved yet not pristine.
"Tell me, David Tobias Williams," I say and he straightens, faces me, "do you know of a Tobias Christian Williams?" He blinks, looking astounded.
"Of course, he's my namesake."
"Your namesake?" I shift, sit upright until my boot soles hit the floor.
"My middle name came from my great-great-great grandfather, Tobias Christian Williams. My father always told me my uncle Jareth suggested it."
"Uncle
Jareth?" I say, practically spitting his name. How is this possible? "Is he your father's brother?"
"Yes." David nods. "Half-brother really, my father said they didn't grow up together, said he found out he had a brother during college."
"The bastard!" The leather impact of my glove echoes in the room after I smack the arm of my throne. My outburst made David jump slightly, though I can tell he's trying to hide his reaction.
"Who
are you?" he asks, wavering between stepping closer and backing away. I solve his dilemma when I stand and slink from my dais, sleek leathers and flowing silks.
"Me?" I grin, placing myself before him and tilt my head. The brave boy stands his ground as I reach up and cup his cheek. "Why, David, I'm you're great-great-great Aunt Sarah."
"Wh-?" Face blanching, he stumbles back and raises his hands in warding.
"Don't be afraid, my boy, I would never hurt family."
I think. I hold out my hands to him, beseeching.
"My God...your disappearance..."
"Yes?"
"It's been a family mystery for almost two hundred years!"
"Well here I am." My hands flutter up my sides, caressing my flanks while my long hair drapes forward to brush my bare cleavage. The shiver of it sparks through me. "And you're going to help me, nephew."
"I am?" he asks, frowning and looking at me askew. His eyes dart from me to the room and back.
"Oh
yes!" I leap forward and trap his lithe physique between me and the stone wall, my arms barring either side of his head. Leaning in close, I whisper harshly, "You're going to help me or else you'll be my permanent guest in this nowhere castle."
David's pupils dilate and I can hear his gulp, feel his warm breath as his exhales through his nose, nostrils flaring.
"Understood?" I ask. Shaky, he nods.
"What do you want?" he whispers, his voice trickling off at the end.
"I want what all good girls want." Patting his cheek, I smile. "I want my freedom."
