AN: I can hear you all now: What about GSTK? Why are you starting another story? I'm sorry, I'm as upset about it as you are. However, this story has been banging around in my head for weeks and it won't let me get anything else done until I write it. It's short and sweet and I'll be back to GSTK soon. It's a little darker than the stuff I usually write, I hope you don't mind, and I hope you enjoy it. Please read and review.
Disclaimer: Of course I don't own the Labyrinth.
She opened her eyes for what felt like the first time in a thousand years. How could she have been asleep? She wouldn't have thought it possible, but the house had been empty for so long, and there had been no energy, no fire to sharpen her awareness for such a long time, that she had become as dormant as the house itself. But now she was waking up, her mind was drawing together, and though she lacked the energy to see much on the other side of the veil, she knew there was finally activity in her old home once more.
Men, their bodies a blur of orange jumpsuits and wasted lives, flurried about the house pulling sheets off of furniture and sweeping away cobwebs. There were so many of them, yet their sparks were so dim they barely put out enough energy to thin the veil for her, let alone give her any energy she could use. They made her sick; their hearts still beat yet they were nearly as lifeless as she herself. They had given away their dreams, what use were they to anybody? Still, they were a sign, an omen of things to come. The house was coming alive again, and someone was coming, someone with energy to spare. She could sense it already, still far away but coming towards her, a little closer with every second that passed.
She sighed, taking no note when the orange clad men all seemed to shiver at once, and let her mind reach out to touch the warm little flame that danced so far away in the night. Her mind stretched in tendrils of thought until it found its target, and drew her forward in a cold embrace. Even now, with the other so far away, she could almost taste the energy she would bring, feel the spark of it to the depths of her soul. There was already a connection there, the tenuous bindings of time and blood. She smiled. She could wait, she had waited so long already, what was another day? Soon her suffering would end, one way or another, and she would have peace, and it was that little dancing flame out there in the darkness that would bring it to her.
Rose stepped out of the car, her neck craning to take in all of the old Victorian house. It was so big! At least four times the size of the apartment her family had shared in the city. She knew she should be excited about it, but these days she found it hard to be excited about anything. "I don't know, dad." She said, as her father stepped behind her. "It's pretty old."
Rose's father ran a hand through his curly blond hair and stared at his old home while butterflies scrambled frantically in his stomach. He had wanted to make a fresh start for them, to take them away from the city where there seemed to be painful memories everywhere they looked. Coming back to his parent's house had seemed like the perfect solution, except now he was confronted by a brand new set of painful memories. He closed his eyes, fighting back the flood that tried to force its way into his mind. It made no difference, he had long ago been doomed to walk in sadness. At least in this place the sadness was his own, and the seventeen year old daughter that was all he had left in the world would not be forced to share them. He put a hand on her shoulder.
"It'll be great, kiddo, you'll see." He said with a confidence he didn't feel. "Out here in the country, lots of space to run around in. You'll love it, I promise."
"I don't know…" She said again, turning back to look at him. The grey streaks in his blond hair were set alight by the early morning sun, reminding her just how much he had aged in the last year, and his warm blue eyes seemed to be pleading with her to try, just try. She lifted her chin, doggedly determined to do just that. Squaring her shoulders with resolve, she pulled open the car door and hefted her knapsack onto her back. "Okay." She said, smiling bravely. "Which one is my room?"
Her father smiled, and she cheered inwardly that she had managed even that small achievement. "Well." He said, "The big one with the balcony is mine, but you can have your pick of the other six." There was one more caveat he wanted to make, but he couldn't do so without raising suspicion. The chance that she would choose that room over all the others was slim, it certainly wasn't the best in the house. He could only pray that she would walk past it, and not ask questions when he bolted the door and threw away the key.
"Oh sure." She groused playfully. "You get the balcony." She gave her father a quick kiss on the cheek and turned back towards the house. She saw the strange look in his eyes and a sudden sense of foreboding washed over her bringing with it an irrational urge to turn and run. She clenched her fists to her side and took a deep breath to calm herself. "Well, come on feet." She said, readjusting her knapsack as she took her first tentative steps towards her father's childhood home.
She's here! If she had still had a heart it would have been beating wildly in her excitement. Already she could feel the energy seeking her out, giving her strength. The veil was becoming thinner, and she could see clearly the activity around her. She couldn't touch anything yet, she couldn't move anything, but that would come in time. She smiled brightly, feeling almost content for the first time in many years. Moving toward the window she watched the car pull into the driveway, saw the girl get out. Her red hair was like fire in the sunshine, a fitting image for one whose inner flame burned so bright. Familiar green eyes looked over the house, making their way to the window she occupied. For one breathless moment she imagined that she had been discovered, but her gaze moved on and she did not seem overly frightened.
She saw the man get out of the car behind her, saw him and ached for him.Oh yes, she knew him. She knew exactly who he was, and mournfully acknowledged the sadness that radiated ahead of his every movement. His sorrow seemed to wrap around him like a force field. He was as dull as the others, his dreams gone as well. But unlike most, he had not thrown his dreams away, they had been torn from him, bit by bit. She grieved for him, and for whatever part she had played in his dreadful sadness. Regret, cold and empty, washed over her, making her feel tired, but she pushed it away, reaching out once more for the bright little flame that even now was making its way up the stairs.
Rose climbed up the stairs slowly, a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't dread, exactly, but a strong sense of something coming. It was as though her entire life had led her to this point, and she stood on the threshold of something big. She tried to push those thoughts out of her mind, and concentrate on her surroundings. Her grandparents' house had been empty for a long time. Her grandmother had died in a car accident when she was a baby, and they say her grandfather had gone mad after that. She barely remembered him; he had died when she was six. What she did remember was that he always seemed very sad.
She supposed it was a Williams family condition.
She remembered very clearly Robert's last visit, shortly before he died. The memory had always haunted her. She was playing Rapunzel in her first grade play, and her mother had made her costume herself, a long flowing blue dress with a pointed blue hat. When it was finished, Rose had put the costume on and come running out to the living room to show it off. She had run in front of the couch where both her father and grandfather were sitting and spun around in a circle. "Look, Daddy, I'm a princess!" She had cried.
With agility that she would never have thought he possessed, her grandfather had leapt to his feet, grabbing her by her arms and pulling the little hat from her head. Alarmed, her father had pushed his way between them, stopping Robert from pulling the dress from her completely, and Rose had crumpled to the ground, confused tears streaking her face. She had watched her father drag Robert away from her, but even from the next room she could hear him screaming.
"She's just like Sarah, Toby! You can't let it happen again! Put a stop to it now!" It was the last time she ever saw her grandfather. Afterwards, she had asked her mother who Sarah was, and Christine had told her that there was no Sarah, her grandfather had made the name up. But she had seen something in her mother's eyes that even at six she had recognized as half truth.
It was all part of the Big Family Mystery. Her mother had always pretended it didn't exist, and her father still did, but she knew it was there. As she reached the top of the stairs the thought suddenly occurred to her that if she was ever going to get to the bottom of the Big Family Mystery, this was the place to do it. After all, what ever it was had probably happened right here.
She stood at the landing for a second, looking over the entrance hall. It really was a beautiful house; her mother would have loved it here. Damn. Thinking of her mother was dangerous territory and she was in no mood to traverse it today. She pushed the thought away and wiped absently at a treacherous tear that escaped its prison, turning back towards winding hallways, wondering which one would lead to her new room. She felt compelled to go down the center hallway, as though something were calling to her. Following her intuition, she made her way down the hall, gasping when it opened up to another landing and another set of stairs. To the left of the stairs was a door, and without hesitation she opened it. She stared at the room beyond in astonishment.
The first thing that crossed her mind was the irrational thought that time had stopped in this room. A canopy bed took up the center of the room, its ruffled covering coated in plastic, as was the bed below it. A dressing table sat to one side of the room, a sheet pulled over the mirror. There were book cases everywhere, and as she absently made her way into the room she ran her fingers over the book bindings. They were mostly fantasy books, a few nonfiction, a book of "Best Loved Fairy Tales." Many of them were books Rose had read several times herself, both classics and less well known stories. She noted with some satisfaction the well worn bindings, as though whomever these books had belonged to had read them several times themselves. Who could have lived in this room? She inspected it a little closer. There were stuffed animals everywhere, posters of eighties rock bands and Escher mazes, barrettes, ribbons, and lipsticks lined the dressing table. A lovely music box sat forgotten on a nightstand, and a strange ceramic figurine of some kind of wild haired wizard sat watching her from a pedestal beside the window. Whoever had lived here was certainly been a teenaged girl. But why leave everything so untouched? Wouldn't she have taken all of this with her when she left?
A strange thought occurred to her then, its origin as much a mystery as the room itself. This was not a place where time had stopped, this was a place where life had stopped. A frozen memorial to a life cut short.
Intrigued, Rose pulled the sheet from the mirror. There were pictures here, stuffed into the wood around the mirror. One or two she recognized as her grandparents, much younger. The rest were just new pieces to the puzzle. One stood out, though, and she pulled it from its place. A pretty dark haired young woman in a long white dress sat in a rocking chair, a rosy cheeked child of perhaps three perched on her knee. Rose felt a pang of sadness at the look on the girl's face, as though she had lost everything she had ever loved. Turning the picture over she gasped. Written in scrawling pen was a phrase that was terrifying in its simplicity: Toby and Sarah, Christmas 1988.
"Sarah…" She breathed. So, here it was already, the first piece to unraveling the Big Family Mystery.
She heard her father calling, and scrambled to cover the mirror back up, tucking the picture in her back pocket just as he came through the door. She spun around, feeling as though she had been caught rifling through his things. The look on his face only made her feel worse, as though his worst fears had been realized. She had only seen that look once before.
I'm sorry, Mr. Williams. Your wife lost too much blood. Despite our best efforts, we couldn't save her.
And the baby?
I'm sorry. It's just a matter of time.
"They were supposed to move all of this to the attic." Toby said lamely, his face blank. "It wasn't supposed to be here."
Rose closed the distance between herself and her father, looking at him as though he might break. "Whose room was this, dad?"
He shook his head, his eyes coming back into focus as he looked at his daughter. "No one's." he said "Come along out of here, now. We'll get this stuff cleared out tomorrow." He reached to take her hand, but she pulled away.
"No." She said, her eyes sparking with irrational defiance, "I want this room."
Toby looked at her strangely. "You can't have this room, Rose. There are other rooms, better ones. You can have the room with the balcony if you like, but not this one."
"Why not?" She asked. She had no idea why it was suddenly so important that she stay here.
"Because I said so!" Toby said. "That is a good enough reason."
"No, it isn't." Rose insisted. "You said I could have any room I wanted. I want this room. It's mine! Sarah saved it for me!" If Toby was shocked by what she had just said, Rose was even more so. She had no idea why she had said it, or what it even meant, but for some reason she felt the truth in the words all the same. Whoever Sarah was, she felt almost certain that she meant for Rose to be there.
Toby took a step back, as though he had been physically attacked. "How do you know about Sarah?" he asked weakly.
Rose felt sorry for her father, but she couldn't back down now. "I don't know about her, Dad." She said, pulling the photo from her pocket and holding it out to him. "Why don't you tell me."
Toby took the picture from his daughter's hand, clutching the door frame for support. He had not seen her, not even a picture, in nearly thirty years. He closed his eyes and wave after wave of pain washed over him. He had only been four, he shouldn't even remember, yet he remembered everything. The bedtime stories, piggyback rides in the park, the way the sadness in her eyes would almost disappear when she talked about owls and goblins.
And blood. More than anything else he remembered the blood.
"Please." He whispered. "Please, just leave this room and shut the door and forget you ever saw it."
Rose shook her head. "I can't." she said faintly, but still with the edge of defiance. "Don't you understand that I can't? I need to know, dad. I feel like she's been haunting me all my life." It was true, she had felt that way, though she had not understood the feeling until this very moment.
Toby sighed. "She was my sister, Rose. She died when I was four." He hadn't used the word suicide, but somehow she knew, just as somehow she knew that when he winced with his eyes closed he was seeing the blood again.
"You weren't meant to find her." Rose spoke absently, staring at her own hands as she spoke. "She thought you were at daycare, she thought Karen would find her. She never meant for you to see the blood. She loved you." She didn't even realize she had slipped into a trance until Toby's roughly shook her out of it.
"How do you know that?" He demanded, and her tear filled eyes met his.
"I don't know!" she answered truthfully. "Why did she do it, dad? Why did she kill herself."
Toby regarded her for a moment before answering. "Maybe you can tell me." He said, and then cursed himself when he saw her wince. "I don't know, Rose. No one does. She always seemed sad, but no one really knew why."
"But she left a note." Rose said, and though it wasn't a question, Toby nodded as if it had been.
"Yes, she left a note." He confirmed. "But it didn't make any sense."
Rose shook her head, turning away to walk toward the window. She seemed to feel icy fingers on her wrist as she lifted the ceramic statuette in her hands, but the feeling didn't frighten her the way she knew it should. "The Goblin King." She said, almost reverently. "Of everything in this room, this was her favorite."
"Yes." Toby said, his fear giving way to curiosity. "Yes it was."
"Some choices you don't have to live with." Rose whispered, and in a heartbeat the fear was back.
Toby took the figure from her hands, tossing it roughly onto the bed, and began pulling his daughter towards the door, but she struggled back with more strength than he would have given her credit for. "I want you out of this room!" Toby shouted.
"No!" Rose pulled her hand away. "That's what the note said, isn't it? Sarah thought it made perfect sense."
"Stop talking like that!" Toby demanded. "You didn't know her; you can't know what she thought." He was trying to convince himself more than Rose.
"I'm sorry, dad. Please, I need to be here. Sarah needs me to be here."
"Absolutely not. This was a bad idea. Get your sack, Rose, we're going back to the city."
She had been watching, content to see the scene unfold. The girl, her own lovely niece, was so full of energy she had nearly recharged her completely in a few short minutes. Sarah could feel her strength returning. She hadn't meant to cause an argument. If anything the bits of information she had given Rose were meant to comfort Toby. But perhaps there was too much of Karen in him, or maybe he had forgotten how to be comforted. Either way, she couldn't let him take Rose away, not when she was so close. It pained her to do it, but now that she had the strength it was time to take matters into her own hands.