To my pleasant surprise, John didn't recoil from me, and willingly met my embrace.  "If it isn't Miss Houdini!  Fancy running into you here."

"Fancy running into you!" I exclaimed.

"SHHHH!"  said the Library Nazi.

 In a softer voice I asked, "What are you doing in the library?  You're not playing hooky, I hope?"

"No, no.  I've just stepped out for a bit, I'm going back right after I run this little errand," he told me.  Glancing back down at the catalog card, he began scanning the shelves for the designated decimal. 

"What are you looking for?" I whispered.

"Aha!  This, this, and this," he announced, taking several heavy, heady books. "Oh, and there's one more up there, would you mind holding these a second-"

John laid the books carefully in my arms as he stretched his arm to the very top shelf, pulling down the thickest book yet.  I looked at the titles of what I held.  One called itself The Art of Electronics.  Another, Advancements in Modern Technology: Its Ins and Outs, or something like that, I didn't set them down to memory.  But they were collections of diagrams for pieces of obsolete electrical hardware even for 1977.  

Too bad they don't have one called Finding Cell Phones for Dummies, I thought humorlessly.

"Do you read this stuff for fun?" I asked him. 

"Yeah," he muttered absently.

I wrinkled my nose.  "What for?"

"Hm?  Oh, no.  I read Asimov for fun, but this stuff?  No, no.  I'm just picking these up in case I need them."

"Got a project or something?"

John nodded.  "I've just recently been commissioned, you might say.  It's this funny little thing that-"  He cut himself off and looked at me a little strange. 

"What kind of thing?" I asked.

"Oh, it's nothing, just a, um- a broken, uh, amplifier.  See, I kind of have a knack for electronics, so I tend to be the one they go to for fixing things."

I nodded.  "Yes, you're extremely good with amps, you built one, right?"

John seemed taken aback.  "I did.  How did you know?"

I froze.  "Uh..." I was still tired, and walking around all day under a clear summer sun hadn't helped much.  My spontaneity was nonexistent, and therefore, I couldn't think up even the most basic fib.

But John didn't notice.  "I guess Freddie must have told you."

"Oh... yes.  He did."  Involuntarily my body went rigid. 

That, somehow, caught his eye.  He took the books from me, saying quietly, "And, I know this is none of my business, but is Freddie the reason you're holed up here?" 

"Now, why would you assume that?  I could just be reading for a few minutes before I run off again."

"You've got your shoes off."

"So?"

"So, you've been here a while.  A couple of hours at least."

"I don't see what that has to do with Freddie-"

"Because I got an earful as soon as he stormed into Wessex today."

I paused.  "Oh."

John stood there awkwardly a couple of seconds.  I don't know what my expression was, but it must have been something truly pitiful, because he said gently, "Did something happen?"

"No.  Nothing happened, and I don't want to bore you with it anyway."

He smiled- not the most beautiful smile, but a real one- and said, "Well, you look like you could use a little release.  Come on, let's check these stuffy old things out.  Are you peckish at all?"

I haven't even had breakfast, I said to myself.  But I'd been enough of a problem for one member of Queen, and one was too many.  "No, I'm fine.  Thank you."

He nodded silently and started for the front.  I didn't want to stay in the library any longer, so reluctantly I put my shoes (OW!) back on.  I hobbled behind him to the counter, where he checked out these bricks and I stood in ever-mounting pain.  John is so different from Freddie, I marveled.  He just takes my word for it.  It's good enough.  Freddie pushes, like he knows he knows better.  John is sweet.  But there's no challenge.  Freddie is a challenge.  I love a challenge.

As soon as I started thinking of him, I began getting riled up.  I was past the trauma, the upset.  And I was antsy from sitting around in a place unable to say a word without being reprimanded.  Now, I was in the anger stage.  And Freddie's also really mad at me for no REASON!

Teeth clenched, I walked with John out of the library.  He started humming again that same little song.  This time the tune rang a bell.  "Spread Your Wings," was it?  Indeed!  Now he was mouthing the first lines of the chorus.  But I was stewing too hard on my frustration to care.

John turned and looked at me, saw the dynamite in my eyes.  He didn't say a word, but he knew exactly what to do: he sat me down on a bench close by, put the books in his lap, and seated himself comfortably. 

"Five minutes," he said, like a talk show host.  "Go."

I went.  I ranted and raved, griped and groused.  Half the time, I didn't even realize what I was saying.  I'd never just unloaded on anyone like that before.  Usually I was the one whose ear was being talked off.  But I was on the couch today (or bench, if you want to be technical).  John sat there, said nothing the whole time, and let me.  His expression never changed. 

"He's like a big cat!  I swear!  A big black panther with claws.  He's perfectly angelic one minute, then the next he's going in for the kill!  How am I supposed to deal with that?  I'm allergic to cats, and people who act like them.  And anyway, it wasn't my fault and he blames me for the situation!  I'm sorry I embarrassed him, okay?  Now let's hear his apology.  But none comes!  What, is he going to melt if he says he was wrong?  And I'm stuck here, and I wish I wasn't, because I don't like bothering you guys, I know I'm a pain in the can and I'm not making News of the World move any faster."

Stuff like that.  On and on until finally I ran out of steam, and I quieted down.  Slowly, I took a deep breath.  I felt renewed.  I was still anxious, but at least I'd purged myself of the negative energy, the deeper feelings even the Macarena could not quell.

John looked at his watch.  "Three and forty two seconds," he informed me in nasal accents.  "Not bad.  He only beat you by six."

"Nice," I murmured.  "I can die a happy girl."  I rubbed my weeping heels and winced.  "Geez.  I did not wear very practical shoes today.  I didn't know I was gonna fly the Freddie coop."

"Where will you go now?"

I sighed.  "I don't know, John."

"Where were you, before you were in Freddie's closet?"

A shrug.  "I was at school."

"Where was that?"

"Ten thousand miles across the ocean, that's where, with the Relic in my hands and this thing glowing.  That's the only way I can leave here.  You wouldn't understand.  But that Relic.  I need it so."

At the mention of the Relic, John's face seemed to pinch.  But in a comforting voice, he still said, "I don't know much of what you're talking about, to be sure, but if anything, never lose hope.  It will come back to you one way or another."

I nodded, deciding I'd taken up enough of the bassist's time.  "What makes you so certain?"

He only smiled again.  He lifted the books off his lap.  "I just know.  Now, I really must be going, but will you at least give me the honor of taking you home?"

Aw, John!  I thought you were smart earlier!  If you can set a timer by Freddie, don't you know how the rest of this works? 

I said, "I've embarrassed him, not to mention I basically left.  I wouldn't be welcome."

"That's not the impression I got," John muttered.

"What?"

'Nothing.  But I do think you should give him another chance."

"I'd love to.  But he-"

"Look, Miss- I'm so sorry, what's your name again?"

I half answered him, and gave him the wrong name.  I was so out of it today.  "Sam..."

"Sam?"

"No, sorry!  Eve.  I'm Eve.  Eve Samuels.  I mean, Dubroc.  I mean..."

John laughed.  "I think I'd better get you home before you hurt yourself." 

He put his hand on my back and guided me toward a dark blue car parked along the sidewalk.  Unlike Freddie, who preferred being escorted everywhere, John apparently enjoyed driving his own car.  I didn't protest.  I couldn't come up with any better ideas, other than wandering around some more.  And in those shoes?  Never again.

In no time, we'd pulled up to Freddie's apartment.  Suddenly I remembered I didn't have a key, and he was at the studio even now.  But John didn't need to know that.

I reached for the door, but John stopped me once again.  "What I was going to say, Miss Sam Eve Du-Whatever-You-Said, is, don't worry about him."

"He's still mad at me."

John shook his head. "He sorts himself out in the end.  Always does."

I nodded.  "Thank you for being a sounding board for me today.  I needed that."

He smiled.  "Any time." 

"One last thing I ask of you.  Please don't tell him I'm back."

"I can do that." Then he drew himself up in his seat and tried to mimic Freddie's brash bombast.  "Now pull yourself together.  Don't ever think of yourself as trapped.  It's a big adventure."

I laughed out loud.  "You only say that because you're a free man.  I'm at his mercy!"

John opened his mouth, about to say something, when a light switched on behind his eyes.  "Hey," he said to himself.  "That's good.  That's very good."

"What did I say?"

He shook his head, but I could see the creative wheels turning.  "Nothing, nothing.  I've got to be heading back toward Wessex, now, Eve.  Good luck to you!"

"And you!" I called back.  Waving, John sped off down the road.  And I was left by the front stoop.

Just for fun, I tried the door.  Locked, as expected.  I rolled my eyes in frustration.  I glanced up at the rod iron balcony, where Freddie's room was placed.  I bit my finger and inspected the wall. 

"I sure hope I don't make a scene, but I have no other choice," I told myself.  And started climbing.

For those of you rolling your eyes and saying "Yeah, right," I had had a lot of practice climbing up onto the metal roof of my house on warm, clear nights.  I'd been living in the country a couple years prior to this, and as anyone can tell you, there's nothing prettier than the night sky minus light pollution. 

But the sun was still blaring fairly fierce; I scooted up the wall and clambered over the railing, ducking right under the the roof's shade. Despite all John's nice words, I didn't know what to expect when Freddie finally came home, but I was indeed home.  I didn't mind.  Sometimes you have to run away from it all before you realize what you are leaving. 

I was bushed already, and hungry.  I threw off my wedges and stretched out across the balcony, the sun washing over me, looking like a house cat lying on the patio waiting for someone to let her in for the night.  From the ground, no one could see me.  The sun beamed directly against my eyelids; I draped the journal over my face.  This felt so good. 

"Be gentle with me, Freddie," I whispered.  "Us kitty cats only go around nine times, you know."  And fell asleep.