Bride of Labyrinth

[Beauregard]

When Sarah settles down and gets married -- to a patient, family-man in a business suit -- time passes and she finds herself growing ever more frustrated with her comfortable life, while struggling with the unfairness of her brother being taken away from her by the War. Meanwhile, a civil war has broken loose in the Labyrinth and floatsom and jetsom seem to seep through into Sarah's real-world life...and Jarrith is nowhere to be found.

Warning: There is no garentee that I will finish this story, as I have started it on a whim, so please don't be upset if I start it and don't finish...I just have to get these thoughts and things out of my brain. -- Matt

*****

Prologue: Bride of Life

There was no owl at her wedding. No flutter of wings. No beak beating against the closed church doors, or stained glass windows. No white feathers found on windowsills or on gravestones. He had gone, long ago, and she'd never seen him again.

But that was past, all of it, and right now she turned toward her future and smiled, her eyes beyond the filmy white veil reflecting the gold glitter in her hair and heart. The man stood at the alter beside her was smart, intelligent, and everything she'd never wanted in a man...and yet everything she wanted right now, in her life. A security. A rock and anchor. Someone to love who would love her back. He smiled and Sarah returned her eyes to the minister before them.

"And so, by the powers invested in me..."

They were man and wife. He was hers. She was his. They could grow old together and never look back to the past.

Sarah eyes closed lightly as his fingers pulled the veil back from her face. She touched the edge of his jacket as his lips closed on hers and heard, "You may now kiss the bride."

She opened her eyes and kissed him back.

Chapter One: Bride of Anger

"Sarah, did you make their packlunch or not?"

It was a Sunday, late afternoon. The kids, and their father, were obviously packing bags for tomorrow's school day. They'd finished all their homework Friday night, of course, with coaxing and assistence from their dad. Now they were setting out their clothes for the morning so they wouldn't be late for the bus.

"In the kitchen!" Sarah ground her teeth together and stared angrily at the computer document in front of her. Could they really not leave her alone for one minute. Just one! Or a week. "I'm writing! I already did it. Just find it."

Couldn't he make their sandwiches?

"I don't see them..."

"Grrrrr!" She blew her hair out of her eyes and stood up from cross-legged on the living room floor. "For goodness sake! On the side, by the toaster! For goodness sake."

She was an advice columnist. She had better things to do with her time than preparing food. People needed her. They wrote in asking her adivce. They wanted her opinions. She needed time to figure out the answers. "I'm writing," she said again, bitterly as she pushed open the kitchen door where her husband, Graham Ryans, and the children were stood holding a square cake froasted with white icing edged with red roses and topped with the words, "Happy Birthday Mom."

Sarah stopped and stared. "What is this...Honey..."

"It's your birthday, Sarah," Graham told her, stepping around the children to press his lips against her hot forehead. "You like to forget things like that, but you can't forever, so Happy Birthday."

Sarah sighed and smiled and tried to brighten her tired eyes and the scowl that dared to dance over her face. "Thank you." She bit her lip. "I'm sorry...I've just been so busy...and stressed..."

*****

The dreams were getting worse. She was running, but they were after her. She couldn't get to the centre of her dream, and the walls were closing, and then she'd trip and fall and the floor would become the walls and she'd grab on, but too late, and she'd be slipping, sliding down the walls, trying to scrabble to get a grip, and then she'd land and they'd all be there...except him. And she'd wake up.

*****

She woke up. The handle of the black walking-stick jabbed her in the back. "Uuh!" She kicked her feet, twisted in the quilts and struggled out of her side of the bed.

"Grey! What is this?"

Graham turned over, his sleep-eyes waking slowly. "What time is--"

Sarah snatched the round-tipped walking cane off the sheets, marched across the room and tossed it into a cabinet filled with seemily random items of bric-a-brac -- a pipe, a rock, a small sadle, a plastic bracelet and a red striped-red hat. "How do these things get in our bed? What, do the kids play in here?"

Graham was trying to sit up, pulling the covers back over his muscled stomach and chest. He ran his hand through his short-cut black hair. "I'm sorry you're upset," he told her. "We'll talk about it. Not now though." He lay back down, and Sarah rolled her eyes and left the room.

"It's not fair," she muttered, more to herself than the bedroom door that slammed behind her. "Nothing's fair anymore!"

To be continued...(Hopefully!)

 

[BeakerSqueedom]

Alright, Beau, you will have me nagging for more despite your wavering loyalty to your fics *COUGH*Idothattoo*COUGH*.

Woah, you totally have Sarah in character!
And goodness, the point is, I can see it all happening.
This doesn't usually happen with many of the labyrinth fics I read over at
Fanfiction.net...and even on this forum! (many are well-written, but characterization isn't very well grasped--including in my own fics--it's very difficult at times! But you do it DANDY!).

LOL to the lazy husband. X3
Reminds me of my parents. X/

"It's not FAIR!"

<3 Continue!

 

[The Count]

*Evil voice from underground... Continue... Yes you must. Or my precious will nag you until you are as equally blue-skinned as that creature what eats the babies, brother/sister of yours.
So... Post! More! Now!
Or when you can.

 

[Beauregard]

Chapter One: Bride of Anger (con't)

Her husband always got up first in the mornings. He poured cereals into the kids' bowls for breakfast, then gave them cake and watched them go out the door, pulling back the living-room curtains to see them across the road. As they reached the bus stop, they turned back and waved and their dad smiled and nodded and let the curtains fall closed once more.

Sarah was last awake and dropped two slices of bread into the toaster while softening butter in the microwave. "You shouldn't have given the kids cake for breakfast."

"They wanted it, Sarah. And really must you always call them the kids?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "The children then."

Graham sat down opposite her at the table as she spread butter onto toast. "Please tell me why you are upset. It pains me to see you this way."

Sarah laughed, but not cruely...she was laughing at herself. "I'm supposed to be an analyst of problems, Grey, and I don't even understand myself." She wondered when she had stopped being an inturpriter of the imagination -- ok, a playright and actress -- and had become an analyst of real-life problems. She opened a handful of advice-seeking letters from collumn readers and the corner of her lips turned up in disgust at how petty some of these women readers truely could be. "Her's dog's in love with the neighbour's dog...but she hates her neighbour. Help. Yuck..."

Graham kissed her forehead and left for work, taking a briefcase of account-related papers with him.

Alone again, Sarah scrunched the letters into balls and aimed for the swing-bin, knocking them in with perfect aim. Years of basketball with Toby had taught her that skill. He'd grown so fast, so strong, so old. And the last time she'd seen him, he was old beyond his years.

Sarah gave up on her toast after a few bites, and chucked it into the trash after the letters.

*****

"Hi dad."

He was where she had left him two years ago. A care home.

If Toby was old before his years, her dad was older still. Too much trajody, she supposed, had weighed the world down on his shoulders. "How are you today?"

He looked up from breakfast of scrambled eggs and whole-meal bread. "I'd be better with white bread."

Sarah smiled. "This is better for you."

"They say that, but the nurses all look pale and pouty anyway, what do they know?"

Sarah suppressed a giggle. "That's not nice, dad."

"Neither are they."

Sarah sat down beside him. "Are they truely mean to you?"

"Not very, no. How are you?"

"I'm tired and I don't know why. I'm not sleeping. I'm really frustrated..."

"Did the nurses tell you that I've not been eating?" her dad asked her, interupting. "Because it's not true. I'm just not eating their food. I have secret supplies. Someone leaves me croisonts and treacle tarts, Sarah."

She sighed. She had work to do.

*****

Her editor called her on her mobile as she drove through the sticky traffic back from the care home. "Why are you doing this, Sarah? You are ruining your chances to make it big if I have to publish this from you."

"The aligator thing? That woman asked a stupid question. Don't make me write a real answer." Sarah steered into the middle lane and rounded a slow pickup. Something about the driver caught her attention for a flash of a moment and she glanced back. A sport's car dove into her way and Sarah hit the breaks and ducked back into the slow lane. The pickup overtook her and rushed past.

"She needs your help. These people want your help. That's why they write to you."

"They're mocking me, Jerome. They want me to say something ridiculous so they can laugh at my advice."

"Advice is entertainment, Sarah! I keep telling you that."

Something flashed past her mirror, in the backseat. Sarah spun her head to look.

Nothing. A blanket was bunched on the passenger seat, that was all. Something for the kids to snuggle up in when the weather got cold. Must have been a reflection of sunlight.

"So publish my answer," Sarah told him.

"Aligators? My boss won't let me, as your boss, publish this answer."

Sarah rolled her eyes and caught sight of a manhole cover at the side of the road popping into the air in her periferal vision. Had no one else noticed that? She twisted her head around and a truck behind her hooted as she slowed to try and take a closer look.

Something giggled.

"Did you just say something?" her editor asked.

Sarah held the phone with her chin and steered into the middle lane again, a sudden, unexpected fear creeping up her spine into the roots of her hair. She had to get home.

"I'll call you back."

*****

Sarah ran into the kitchen, dropping her carkeys on the table and yanking the fridge open. Her cake was gone. Eaten in great, greedy mouthfulls. Crumbs and icing spatters decorated the inside of her fridge. She shut the door, fast, with a clink of milkbottles bumping together on the shelf.

There simply was no way that...there could be muddy footprints up her wall, or over her ceiling. But there was.

Sarah spun on the spot, searching the kitchen for hiding places or dark corners. This was why she'd bought a high-rise house in a nice neighbourhood, far from shadows and darkness. Everyroom was painted white, with bright furnishings.

"Yeehee!"

Sarah looked up and saw the lightbulb swinging as if someone had just grabbed it and let go.

Upstairs, bed mattress springs sqeaked and footsteps banged across the bathroom floor.

Sarah raced up, taking tow steps at a time. When she opened the door to her room, nothing was there, just an untidy bed and water all over her ensuite bathroom floor. A pair of eyes flashed from the toilet bowl and then were gone with a gulp of water.

A rat...she reasoned. "Get out!" she screamed.

Silence fell.

Sarah backed up to her bed and sat down.

"Oh I wish my brother was here." She burried her face in her hands. "Right now."

(End of Chapter. To be continued...hopefully...)

 

[RedPiggy]

Eek! I love it!

"Did the nurses tell you that I've not been eating?" her dad asked her, interupting. "Because it's not true. I'm just not eating their food. I have secret supplies. Someone leaves me croisonts and treacle tarts, Sarah."

Ugh. When I worked in a nursing home, we despised "secret stashes", particularly for the diabetics. I would love for pureed meat to look and taste more appetizing, but until a better solution is invented (and I think about these things) ... "helping" might make things worse. Doctors and nutritionists should be consulted before "helping" those who might have special diets.

This is the public service announcement for today.

 

[Beauregard]

Eek! I love it!

Ugh. When I worked in a nursing home, we despised "secret stashes", particularly for the diabetics. I would love for pureed meat to look and taste more appetizing, but until a better solution is invented (and I think about these things) ... "helping" might make things worse. Doctors and nutritionists should be consulted before "helping" those who might have special diets.

This is the public service announcement for today.

Yay, thanks RedPiggy! I'm suddenly nervious and excited to have a Big Laby fan reading. Oh, and as for secret stashes...the main point is more who is leaving them for the father than the sugary stashes they are leavinging

Will post more before nightfall.

 

[Beauregard]

Chapter Two: Bride of Reality

The doorbell rang.

Sarah stared at her hands, then looked up, her head moving slowly as if she had woken from a pleasent dream. The covers of her bed were flattened and straight. Her bathroom was spotless.

Sarah moved down the stairs, her eyebrows moulding into a confused frown. She knew she'd run up there for a reason, just couldn't think...what it was...Maybe even she was getting old, that feeling of going into a room and forgetting what you went to get.

The doorbell rang again.

Sarah lifted the latch to hold the door partly closed as she unlocked and opened it a crack. "Yes?"

"Can I come in?"

"Who are you?"

The man smiled and stepped back from the door, showing his identity. He wore blue overalls which fitted his young form smuggly. His face was angular and chin jutted forward with either pride or malice. For an electric meter reader, he had the physique of a body-builder. His hair was long, cut at the shoulders and covered his ears. A red cap hid his eyes. "Here to check you don't pay too much on the bills, Miss."

Sarah unlatched the door. "Mrs, actually."

"Of course."

She led him into the kitchen where he stood on a chair and checked the numbers on the fusebox.

Sarah opened the fridge, which smelt freshly cleaned, and wondered what Graham had done with her cake as it appeared to be missing. "Can I get you some coffee?"

The man looked down at her from the chair and grinned. "I'm not allowed," he said and returned to reading the meter. "It won't work, you know." He jumped onto the floor, landing easily.

"What won't? The electricity--"

"Wishing."

Sarah started, stepping backwards. "What?"

"Or whineing."

"Who are you?"

Sudden storm clouds captured the sky outside the suburben terraced houses, throwing summer rain and unexpected thunder overhead and bringing with it a loud darkness. Lightning forked towards the white house with the perfect drive.

His overalls were replaced with a blue suit of sparkling sequins. The shoulder length hair floated around his face as if underwater, and the cap was gone, replaced with a silver crown which jutted with tall spikes from the top of his head. "The king, of course. King of the Labyrinth."

The kitchen became a a dungeon. The chairs were chains, the table a stone slab racked with metal rings. The windows were bared and wind whipped past them, slashing rain and hail against the double-glazed glass. Sarah ran to the door, but it slammed shut as the King continued towards her.

"It's not true!" Sarah shouted. "You can't be."

"Why not? Surely you haven't fooled yourself the Labyrinth isn't real?"

Sarah's shoulder pressed against the door as she tried to stay away from the intimidating figure of the Goblin King before her now. "I never stopped believing," she told him through gritted teeth. "But you are not the Goblin King." And I am not going to go through this again, she added, silently but determinedly.

"Shh." The Goblin King touched a slender finger to his mouth. "A lot has changed since you were last inside the Labyrinth, Sarah. Look at me, I'm not the same. You expected someone else, but he no longer exists. It's my Labyrinth now and you are not the most important person in it."

He clicked his fingers and she was back in her kitchen, alone. "I'm not in any Labyrinth," Sarah shouted at him as he dissapeared, a jealous rebelion of rage propelling her to leap at the figure of the Golbin King, lingering like a spark of a shadow in her kitchen, but she ran into a chair propped beneith her fusebox instead. "******."

She shuddered and raised herself back to standing. "I'm not in any Labyrinth. I won't be."

*****

Her husband knew without asking that it had happened again. Sarah could read that he knew the moment he stepped through the door and found her scrubbing the kitchen door.

Soap suds smeared the floor with white. Sarah was trying to fight away any traces of a vision. It had happened before, when they were first married. It used to happen freaquently, but since the children were born the visions seemed to have been replaced by an agitated silence that buzzed in her brain all the time.

She'd tried to describe it to him once, but they'd been interupted by their daughter crying in her bed. He'd gone to see to her, and Sarah had burried her face in a goose-feather pillow.

Now she was scrubbing and he knew the visions were back.

He said nothing as he held the door open to let the kids past him. He'd picked them up from school, of course, as he always did. They enjoyed to ride home with him rather than take the bus. The kids and he would listen to the kind of music that hurt her head. "Go on upstairs and read your books, my lovlies. Leave mummy alone now."

'Mummy' scrubbed harder without looking up.

*****

"Was it bad?"

It was late. She'd finished scrubbing the floor, and he'd scrubbed the kids in the bath, made them supper and sent them to bed. Now he poured Sarah tea in white cups without handles and dared to ask the questions she knew must have been stinging the inside of his head since he'd first come in.

"I saw the Goblin King."

Graham's face twitched. The edge of one eye lid crinkling. "I thought you made him dissapear. A long time ago."

Sarah studied the table. She knew it couldn't have become stone or sprouted metal rings to tie creatures down. That had all been part of the vision. "I did. It wasn't him."

Graham's eyebrows moved, inching together. "Who was it?"

Sarah shook her head and wrapped her fingers around the cup of tea. Steam twirled. "He was different. Angry. He resented me."

Graham lent back in his chair and tapped his fingernails together. "Was it something you did?"

"It doesn't matter." She looked away.

"You need to talk about it."

"No."

"But what does it mean. They always mean something." His eyes glinted and Sarah remembered how much he had always hated her talking about her visions. No...not always. When they met, she had told him everything. And he had listened, seeming hurt that she had felt so much pain on her journey through a Labyrinth of her making. Then he had asked what it meant, as if he had the degree in psychology and not her. When she had the visions, she always told him and he grew more and more protective of their relationship, afraid the true dreams would drive her away from him and back into her world. He hadn't told her this, but she knew. Now he looked into her eyes and asked her again, "What does it mean?"

"If the king has become someone else...then everything's changed."

Graham flinched again. "Have you changed, Sarah? Has this changed?" His hands swept outwards, indicating their home, their relationship, and their lives. "What's botheirng you?"

Sarah pressed her lips together into a thin line. She was thinking, or refusing to admit the answer. "I don't know."

(To be continued...of course)

 

[The Count]

Hexcellent. Must have more to read. Post please!

 

[RedPiggy]

GASP! The blasphemy! Jareth REPLACED! It's not Toby, is it? ARGH! (*Jumps up and down*)

 

[Beauregard]

*hugs* Don't worry RedPiggy...Jareth WILL be in this fic and he knoooooows he's the rightful king...hehe...Stay Tuned