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From Darkness Into Light	By : Jetredgirl Category: G through L > Labyrinth Views: 5084 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from Labyrinth or it's characters in any way.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter 1
The alarm blared to life, waking the man from his sleep. Or rather, his tequila induced unconsciousness.
"Fucking bloody thing!" The man yelled as he grabbed it and threw it ending it's unremarkable existence.
He rolled out off the couch and pushed himself to his feet, swaying as the pain in his head throbbed in time with his heart. Then he stumbled his way through the shabby New York City apartment and practically fell into the bathroom. He hung onto the wall for support as he relieved himself.
Once that was done he went to the small sink and splashed his face with water to try and get himself alert enough to function. He bent back up and looked at himself in the mirror.
He needed a shave, but decided maybe it wasn't the best idea as his hands were shaking slightly.
He pushed closer to the mirror.
Damn his eyes were bloodshot. "Where are those damn eye drops I bought yesterday?" he asked himself. He would need them. If he went into work looking like this, he would get fired for sure.
He wished he knew why one pupil was bigger than the other, but he didn't. Then again he didn't know anything past 9 years ago. Before that his memory doesn't exist.
"Shit." He turned and slowly, but with more grace than he had entered, left the bathroom and hunted down his pack of cigarettes and lit one up. The first drag a gift, relaxing him and infusing his body with blessed, deadly nicotine.
He called himself Tommy Jones, but in reality he had no name. At least one he could recall.
He woke up in a field in rural New York state, wear gray leggings, surrounded by scattered feathers, as if he fallen off a truckload of chickens. He was bloody and beaten, his hair long and ragged. Oddly enough he had been wearing gloves. Well made expensive gloves that fit him like a second skin.
He had wandered though several miles of fields and swaths of trees before finally finding a road.
A kind, albeit suspicious(he didn't blame the guy, he would have been suspicious as well the state he was in) traveler had let him ride in the back of his pickup to the closest available hospital where he had spent several days unconscious.
When he had woken up a second time the local police had bombarded him with questions he could not answer.
Finally the hospital released him. The police could find no reason to hold him, so they generously gave him some clean clothes that had been donated to a local shelter and sent him on his way.
They only clue to his former existence was a garnet ring on a chain around his neck, engraved inside was the message.
For Sarah, Love Mom
A nurse at the hospital had said he looked like a Tommy, so he kept it. It was as good name as any he supposed.
Before left she had slipped $200 in his hands and told him the staff had took up a little collection for him so he would be able to eat, and a bag with some toiletries and some more donated clothes and an old leather jacket.
She had also saw fit to call in her daughter who was a hairdresser at a local salon to cut his hair and style it into some semblance of order. She had cut it into a shaggy bob, and he kept it like that. If it got in the way he would just pull it back into a ponytail.
Someday, he promised himself. Someday I will repay their kindness.
He still had the ring on it's chain. He kept it in a box in his dresser. Now and then he took it out and stared at it, trying to get the memory to come of who exactly Sarah was and what she had meant to him. Sister? Daughter? Lover? Wife? He knew he should know. If he had this, she must have meant something.
Eventually he made his way to New York City. It was easy to be anonymous here. He found odd jobs and eventually found ths shabby apartment.
Most people didn't ask too many questions. Not that it mattered to him. He couldn't answer anyway. People assumed he was from England usually. Maybe he was, since he had an accent. He didn't argue with them in any case.
Once he smoked the cigarette, he noticed the time.
"Hell!" He said as he grabbed some clothes and went to take a quick shower. He was going to be late for work.
He had tried many occupations of the last few years. He had done every menial labor job that was out there to have. Finally he had found a job at a local sports pub, and worked his way up to bartender. He wasn't the best at it, but the clientele weren't exactly asking for anything fancy. He could serve beer, whiskey, and most basic drinks no problem, so whether or not he could make some fancy concoction was really irrelevant.
He liked his job and it was close to his home just a couple of blocks away.
It wasn't ideal, but he got by. He made enough to pay rent, by food and drink and keep clothes on his back.
At this point it was more than he could ask.
Once he was out of the shower he dressed. He folded his dirty clothes neatly in a bag for laundry day.
Early on, he had noticed he was very fastidious about his clothes. He had no idea why. Everything laundered often, neatly pressed and/or folded and put in good order in his small dresser. Even socks and underthings. He had been in a few places where he had to share space with other single males . They often ribbed him for his clothing habits. He couldn't help it though.
Once dressed he made a quick sandwich and washed it down with milk.
One last thing to do. He got the bottle of painkillers and shook 2 out. They were for the blinding headaches that assailed him frequently, with or without the alcohol. Then picked up the bottle of tequila from the night before and poured himself a double shot to wash them down before heading out the door.
He hated tequila really, but the liquor store had been out of his usual whiskey when he had stopped in the day before. So he just grabbed something, paid, and left. As long as it was alcohol in the end it didn't really matter.
He had found alcohol numbed the pain he could not name. It seemed to fill the holes that he felt all to keenly most days. He preferred drinking alone, so he didn't drink at work. He didn't want to have to explain or feel the need to tell someone his troubles. He didn't want to loosen up and give away his secret.
That he had no idea who the hell he was, or where he had come from. Or why he felt everything important to him was forever lost.

_
Sarah Williams walked out of the theater into the evening air.
She had begun to hate New York. She had been there for 6 years starting when she came here for college and barely cracked the theater world at all.
She had always wanted to be an actress, like her mother. But she wasn't anywhere near as talented. So she ended up doing community theater at night and working at a library. Thank goodness she had followed her father's advice and had gotten a degree in library science in college.
Truth was, she wasn't happy. She had thought being an actress would make her happy, and it really hadn't been what she thought it would be. Certainly being an assistant librarian wasn't making her happy. But for the life of her she did not know what would. Nothing sounded right. No path the right path.
You should have said yes. That little voice told her.
"Oh please, it was a stupid dream. Said yes to what? Insanity?" She said out loud. Chastising herself.
She shook her head and continued on her way.
"Hey Sarah! Wait up!" came a voice from behind her. A familiar one.
Mike was one of the sound guys at the theater. He was nice enough. They had dated a few times. Sarah had felt nothing for him though so she broke it off. He was very persistent in his pursuit regardless.
Rolling her eyes, she turned and plastered on a fake smile. "Hey Mike. What's up?" She asked.
"Oh I just thought you might like some company." He smiled as he spoke.
"Well...I guess. Just as friends though right? We keep having this discussion. You're really sweet but I'm just not interested." She answered hesitatingly.
A small flash of disappointment went through his eyes before he cheerily answered. " Oh yeah..of course. I know."
The two walked the few blocks to Sarah's apartment, chitchatting about the theater.
Sarah was glad when they finally reached her building. "Well..thanks for walking me home. Wendy is probably waiting for me so see ya in a couple of days."
Wendy was Sarah's roommate of 3 years. She was a dancer with the local ballet company. Just an ensemble dancer, but like Sarah said, at least she was on her way to achieving her dream.
Mike went in to give her a hug but Sarah stuck her hand out, making for an awkward handshake.
"Alright..uh..see ya Sarah." He said, walking away. He kept turning to watch her until she went inside her building.
Sarah zipped up up the 3 flights of stairs to her apartment quickly to get away. The guy couldn't seem to take the hint.
She unlocked the door to find her roommate doing yoga in the middle of the living room.
"Hi Wen. Good day?"
The other woman stood up out of her pose and frowned. "No. Once again, Madame "Jerkova" felt it was necessary to say something nasty about me. This time my thighs were too short and thick."
Wendy was referring to the assistant director of the ballet company, Madame Cherkova. Wendy was convinced she was the spawn of the devil and out to get her.
Sarah had to point out, to be fair, she treated all the ensemble dancers like shit. so it probably wasn't personal.
She had even said to Sarah the first time had went to meet Wendy after rehearsals to go grocery shopping, that she had sincerely hoped Sarah was not any sort of ballet dancer as she was way too short and chunky and would apparently be a detriment to any dance company she may have belonged to.
Sarah had told her that no, she was not a dancer, so all the men dancing ballet were safe from breaking their backs trying to lift her.
That night Sarah stared at herself in them mirror for 20 minutes looking over herself trying to figure out exactly why the woman had called her chunky. Curvy yes, but chunky? Wendy chastised her for even listening to the woman.
Then again compared to most ballet dancers, including her willowy, tall roommate, she probably was.
"Yeah if your thighs are too thick mine must be enormous." Sarah answered.
"Oh please. You have the perfect body. Men fall all over themselves just to ask you out." Wendy told her wagging a finger.
"None of them ones I actually want asking me out." Sarah replied. She made her way to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water, then put some leftover soup in the microwave to heat up for dinner.
As she waited, she thought about her roommate's words. Yes, guys seemed to be attracted to her curves. She had what her stepmother called an "hourglass figure." Somehow the guys she chose turned out to be scum or guys like Mike who just didn't do anything for her.
Well, very few guys did, if she had to be completely honest. She liked slender lanky blondes with long hair and blue eyes who could see into her soul. She like a man who could move the very stars for her...
No..don't go there Sarah. You worked long and hard to get that out of your head. He wasn't real. He couldn't have been real.
The timer dinged on the microwave and brought her out of her thoughts. She shook her head and rolled her eyes to herself. "Stupid. Just stupid."
"What?" Wendy said as she walked into the room.
"Oh nothing. Just my brain trying to drive me crazy." Sarah said as she poured two bowls of soup and handed one to her friend.
Wendy giggled. "My brain does that too.I think it's they craziness of the city. Over stimulated brain cells."
Sarah laughed with her as they went into the living room and each took a chair to eat their meal. They each added a small packet of crackers to their tomato soup and got comfortable.
Sarah turned on the tv and turned it to the local news.
Some local sports team was playing in some big game,and they had a "roving reporter" out talking to patrons of a local pub about their chances. Asking people questions about who they were rooting for or what player was their favorite.
The over enthusiastic man with the microphone walked over to the bar and asked the shaggy haired man behind the bar. "So, you work here, what do you think of all the excitement? Are you a fan too?"
The bartender turn to face the camera. "I don't really follow sports teams much, but it is good for business." The bartender said in a clipped accent into the microphone. He looked up into the camera.
Sarah's mouth fell open and she dropped the spoon she was holding. It fell unnoticed to the floor.
There on her tv, was a man who looked very much like the man she had worked to forget.
From his odd eyes to his British-yet-not-really accent, He was a dead ringer for The Goblin King.
Forewarning, this story moves fairly quickly. Much happens in each chapter.
- 1
- 2
- 3
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From Darkness Into Light