Sal here. This part was not intended to be posted so close to the 24th, that's just kind of how it panned out. In any case, this may be a tough read for some. Please be warned. Rest in peace, Freddie Mercury.

"No monsters here, that I can see- unless the monster is me," Freddie chuckled as he completed the unintentional rhyme.

The woman smiled again. In her eyes, however, he could see the lingering apprehension, even felt it in her grasp which only seemed to clamp his hand tighter by the second.

"Oh, darling, don't be afraid," he tried to reassure her. "If anything jumps out at us, I'll protect you."

All the same, Freddie certainly understood a little better why she had been so reluctant at first. From a distance, this place hadn't seemed nearly so gloomy. But now that they stood a mere five yards from the river bank, well, let's just say he now knew it was no place for a picnic.

In fact, he wasn't even certain anymore that this was a river at all. The black water was smooth as marble, with no waves or choppiness to speak of, and stretched so wide across that the other side could not even be seen through the heavy mist engulfing the bank; the subtle hiss of the current gave the only indication the water was moving. Vaguely it resembled the ocean's voice when the tide starts rolling in, which reminded Freddie of the song he had partially recorded a few months ago, one he had hoped he would still be able to finish.

Perhaps I will, he said to himself. They may have to put me in a wheelchair to do it, but I still want to see that one through.

Yet despite his new, quiet misgivings, Freddie edged even nearer. So peculiar, wasn't it, how the water seemed to swallow up the red miasma that was the sky, yet it shone like liquid obsidian. Closer and closer they drew until their feet were mere inches from the polished inky waters. Now he could detect a faint, unpleasant odor, like that of a stagnant pond on a hot summer day.

The fetid stench, though not particularly strong, was extremely off-putting nonetheless. Freddie wafted his hand in front of his face, pushing air away from his nose. As he did so, a perfect facsimile of his arm moving in the very same manner appeared on the waters below. Curiosity renewed, Freddie bent over the water, peered down at his reflection- and gasped in delight.

"Darling, look!" he crowed.

For the river's murky waters acted as a surprisingly excellent mirror, presenting every facial feature in bright, meticulous detail unto his wondering eyes. But, even more amazing than that, was the face itself. Freddie did not see the face he wore lately, the haggard mask he could hardly bear to look at anymore, even if he could. No, this face was beautiful, chiseled but not gaunt, and free of blemish. He didn't look a day over thirty-five.

God, I love this place, he sighed. To her, then, Freddie urged, "Look for yourself, dear! It's unbelievable!"

But the woman again shrank back. Freddie of course would not take no for an answer, and continued to badger her. But no matter how much he cajoled, she refused to do something as simple as lean over the river and cast her reflection.

"You're as stubborn as anything, I tell you- even in my dreams," he huffed, then when her jaw clenched as further proof of her obstinacy, he added under his breath, "You would look if you loved me."

The woman exhaled very, very slowly through her nose, expressing her frustration more clearly than words ever could. Deep down he couldn't blame her. Freddie knew it was a bratty thing to say, even for him. But hell, he wanted his way- and if acting like a spoiled child meant he would get it, then a spoiled child he would be.

And sure enough, after tossing a sidelong glare at Freddie, she drew a deep breath and bent over the river, eyes wide open. That's my girl.

Eagerly he followed her gaze, then frowned. Where there should have been a mirror image of the woman, he saw nothing but the same inky liquid. Freddie peered in at himself again, just to make sure he was seeing correctly. But even though she still leaned far enough over to cast a reflection, there was only one face staring back: his own.

Maybe it's just me, he wondered, turning to the woman. "Can you see anything down there, dear?"

She nodded.

"You can? Really?" Freddie squinted harder. "Where?"

The woman pointed- and he rolled his eyes. "I don't mean mine, you silly thing. I mean yours!"

At that, she shook her head. How very strange, Freddie noted, confusion stirring inside. I mean, true, dreams aren't really supposed to make sense, but this is a whole new level of odd.

"Do you know why this is happening?" he asked the woman.

With obvious reluctance, she nodded.

"I'd ask you to tell me, but I know you won't," he quipped- then, upon remembering how well it had worked only minutes ago, decided to hit her with that same idiotic strategy: "Would you tell me if you loved me?"

This time, the woman did not respond. Not a sigh, not a look, not one single perceptible change.

"I guess that means you don't love me, then," Freddie taunted softly. "My God, what a way to learn your true feelings. Very well, I'll find some way to go on, I suppose."

Again, no reaction. She only stared at the flat, black expanse beneath them. Freddie wasn't even sure if she heard him speak in the first place. He opened his mouth to ask as much, or maybe even repeat himself, but fell into total, shocked silence himself as soon as he saw the tiny glimmer of a teardrop coursing down her cheek. He tried to brush it away, but the tear continued to trail down her face, unfettered, until it finally splashed upon the inexorable dark waters.

Suddenly the river-ocean shuddered to life. The impact of that single, tiny drop seemed to rejuvenate the current, visibly rippling the black glass until there was almost something like a tide washing up gently against the bank while Freddie looked on in wonder. But even now, the woman cast no reflection. It was as though she didn't even exist.

Well, she doesn't, he reasoned. And maybe, you know, she never did.

This was not the first time the thought had crossed his mind. In fact, Freddie had grappled with such a concept ever since this woman walked out of his life in 1977. In those earlier years, when her betrayal was still fairly fresh, he would swing back and forth between anger, anger so strong that he almost believed it when he told himself he hated her- and despair, the sort brought on in those terrible moments when he stopped, looked around, and realized that he was still very much alone. But extremes aside, most of the time he merely ignored her, dismissed her as a mistake, a joke, even a figment of his overblown imagination.

Is that what this means? Is this what I'm trying to tell myself? Again, yes, it's a dream, although a very very lucid one- but I can't touch her, she won't speak, and now this. What else could it mean?

But then again, that teardrop. It had interacted with the environment, even made a plopping sound when it struck the water. So that had to count for something, didn't it?

Of course- unless the river is false too.

The woman turned to him, eyes widening as though she could hear his thoughts. Her horror only doubled as soon as she saw Freddie put his hand dangerously close to the water. Just before his fingertips broke the surface, she yanked him away so hard he nearly lost his balance.

"The fuck was that?" he demanded.

Her lips parted and sealed, her throat constricting as if with words that her tongue refused to release.

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Right, darling, you're taking this a bit too far I think. It's my world, my dream, and I will do as I like with it. Stand aside."

She fell to her knees, her glistening eyes pleading in silent desperation. But this time Freddie was not moved; with a single motion he wrenched out of her grasp. Then before the woman could do anything about it, he plunged his hand in and drew it out again.

Nothing happened.

He didn't so much as feel the temperature of the water, or see any discolored drops hiding in the crevices of his fingers when he pulled his hand back. He watched, he waited. But there was no change whatsoever. The only thing that really changed was that now the grief-stricken woman had covered her face, her body shivering with the force of her tears. Regret tore at Freddie's heart.

"Baby, no, don't cry, I wasn't- I didn't mean it really," he stammered. "I just- I mean, I don't understand the big problem, nothing's happening, but- oh, darling, please don't cry. Everything's all right. Look!"

But she only crumpled up around herself even more. Kneeling at her side, Freddie reached out, tried to enfold his poor, weeping kitten and hold her close against his chest. But to his eternal dismay, his hands passed right through.

Just then a shadow seemed to fall over them. Freddie looked up. The scarlet sky overhead was losing its brilliance, washing out into a faded pinkish hue. But even though the color itself appeared to lend itself to more light, the landscape all around grew dimmer and dimmer until all he could see of the woman was the white of her hair. That heavy fog continued to roll in, drifting much faster now, so that in a matter of seconds it engulfed the bank where they stood. But the glassy river continued to shine. In fact, now it seemed to harbor its own unnatural glow, casting such eerie beams upon the mist that Freddie shivered.

In case his reflection had been affected, he peered in at himself again.

Despite the rushing current, the picture appeared just as crystal clear as before- but this time, he took no joy from what he saw there.

It was his face, of course, but no longer young, no longer rosy with health. A pair of dull, sunken eyes stared back at him, set in a pale countenance spoiled with that horrible red sore on his hollow cheek- the only indication that there was indeed a layer of flesh stretched across his bones.

"What's happening?" he cried, whirling to address the woman. "Darling, why i-"

But she was gone. Pulse shifting into overdrive, he squinted in the fading light, called out her name, insensitive to how his voice trembled or how how tight his throat felt. But no one answered. He stood alone.

Now the sky had grown so dead and cold that it seemed like night had fallen, a night without moon or stars. Only by way of the luminous river- was he able to see anything now. The water seemed to have risen in the last few seconds, lapping up dangerously close to Freddie's toes. With a yelp of surprise he jumped back. But the tide it seemed was coming in, and coming in fast. Not five seconds later the bank where they had been standing was completely submerged.

I've got to get out of here.

With that, Freddie made off toward the forest, breaking into a run as his fears multiplied. He sought the higher ground, clambering clumsily up the side of the mountain where he had encountered the woman first. When he felt he had reached a safe enough altitude, he allowed himself to pause, and look back.

The earth below was flooded. All he could see of the forest were the tips of the trees. This was no river, no ocean, no comprehensible being by any definition. This was something else- something vast, malevolent, and unstoppable. And it was coming for him.

Overwhelmed by the horror, Freddie screamed. His hands flew up to heaven in despair, revealing unintentionally that his hands too had changed, and had become those of a skeleton. Dread began to eat him alive as he felt the very strength draining from his body, noted the slowing intervals between each frantic footstep. His lungs ached, his muscles dwindled. But still he forced his brittle frame onward. He had to keep moving. Every second counted. If he stumbled once, the evil sea would overtake him, sweep him out and away, lost in oblivion forever.

Now the only solid ground was that of the mountain he was scaling. All else lay below the sea, which even now was rising up higher and higher. It had become almost impossible to climb any further. The incline was too steep now, and Freddie's body too weak. When he looked down he saw the water lapping at his heels. He felt nothing, of course, but that made it no less terrifying. Unable to move, he watched as the flood consumed his feet, then his ankles, creeping further up his useless legs. He was trapped.

And so, not knowing what else to do, Freddie lifted his face, and shut his eyes.

Suddenly time stood still. The deafening roar of the flood ceased. Gradually he became aware of a pair of arms gently rocking him back and forth. His eyes opened one at a time, afraid of what they would find. But it was only she, the woman, holding him as she would a frightened child. The world remained cold and dark around them, but the great evil flood had vanished.

As always, he reached to put his arms around her. But yet again, there was no response. She held him, she comforted him, and all he could do was take it. There was nothing he could give back, no way to thank her outside of words. In her warm embrace, Freddie shivered.

"Am I dead?" he murmured.

In reply, the woman shook her head, laying her hand against his cheek and stroking it lovingly.

He swallowed hard. "I might as well be," he whispered, "for all the use I am anymore."

For what was there to live for any longer? He had lost everything. All the beautiful things that made life worth enduring were gone. He was a man without agency, without purpose- and now, without refuge. Even the safe haven of his dreams had been invaded, defiled by the cruel, disgusting reality of this disease, this invisible opponent so assured of victory that all it had to do now was await his white flag of surrender.

"My God, why doesn't it end?" he cried thickly. "What am I waiting for? Nothing. There's nothing there- and there's nothing here."

The woman's jaw fell slack- but Freddie only doubled down. "No, not even you," he answered her unspoken question. "You're not really here with me. I can't touch you, you won't speak, you're not real. You're just something I made up, someone I could run to when there was nowhere else, someone I could blame when things didn't go my way. You never existed. Danny never existed. It's all a dream. A beautiful, horrible lie that I told myself for years- just a grown-up version of Rhye. Nothing more."

Tears streamed down Freddie's cheeks as he ranted. The woman could only look on, her eyes full of pain- a look in which he admittedly took some solace, knowing he was not the only one in anguish. At last she shook her head, lips tightening, as though there were words fighting to burst from them.

"Speak," Freddie softly challenged her one last time. "Say something, show me I didn't simply create you out of loneliness- or I will cease to believe in you."

For a long while she sat silently, cradling his frail body in her arms. With each second that passed, the more convinced Freddie became of her nonexistence- and his solitude. All these years, all those memories, were merely the illusions of a man desperate to the point of madness. There was no stray kitten. Those two weeks in '77 never happened. And he was going to die as he had lived.

That is, alone.

And then, no louder than the beat of his own heart, the words drifted into his ears.

"...My prince..."

Freddie balked. Was he hearing things now? His eyes fluttered back to her sorrowful face. "Darling?" he breathed. "Did you- are you-"

"Please," the woman's lips moved, "don't cry."

This was too much. A wave of euphoria sweeping over Freddie, he clung to her- as best as he could without really holding onto anything, that is. But at the moment he didn't care. For the first time in so many years, so many dreams, he had heard her voice- and it was just as warm and low as he remembered.

"You're real," he gasped rapturously. "I knew you were real, I knew it, I knew it all along, oh, my love, my darling, what took you so long?"

But the woman did not seem to share in his joy. In fact, if it was possible, she looked even more miserable- and this time around Freddie knew better than to shrug it off. But before he could ask what was the matter now, a beam of light pierced through the heavens and poured over their huddled shapes.

Very slowly, with the woman's assistance, he rose to his feet. The cozy yellow light shifted a little away from them as they stood. Once it found a place to rest, the beam spread and solidified, becoming like a path of shimmering gold bricks stretching so high into the sky that the other end was invisible. There was music in the air again, melancholy notes being carried softly on the wind rustling the woman's white tresses.

"It's time," she murmured, lifting her chin.

"Time for what?" Freddie asked.

The woman looked at him. "Time to go."

"Yes, I thought that's what you meant." He gestured at the magnificent golden bridge. "Up and away with us, is it?"

To his surprise, she shook her head. So he replied, somewhat foolishly assuming the best, "Very well. I'll go wherever you go- as long as we're together."

She shook her head again.

"Darling, I don't know what that means, please explain," he said, then added with a hopeful, tear-stained smile, "Speak again, bright angel."

But the woman's silence and despondency remained- which frightened him all the more. "I mean," Freddie stammered, "this isn't sort of- some parting thing, is it? We're still together, aren't we?"

She hung her head. "I must go, Freddie."

"Where?" he demanded. "Where are you going?"

But she wouldn't say. "I have to leave now-"

"Then I'm going with you!"

"You can't!" she cried sharply.

Freddie scoffed, waving his hands. "Fine, then, go. Leave me here like always. See you next time I fall asleep- which will probably be in a few hours, so-"

"Freddie, listen to me." She took hold of his shoulders, partly for emphasis and partly because he looked like he was about to fall over. "Once you wake up from this, once you open your eyes- there won't be a 'next time'."

The finality in her voice drove through his heart like a dagger. "What are you saying?"

She drew a heavy sigh, and with great effort answered him. "These little rendezvous of ours, these brief moments we've spent together, were only possible as long as I could keep from speaking to you. The idea was of course to be with you, but after how badly that first one went, I was forbidden to communicate with words."

"Forbidden by whom? What are you talking ab-"

"If I were to break that silence, then so also would the connection be fractured," she went on over him. "We shall not see each other like this ever again, Freddie."

"But that doesn't make any fucking sense! There must be a way! You can't just leave me like this!"

"I have no choice," she whispered, slowly pulling away from him.

She took one step toward the bridge- and he flipped. With a panicked shout, Freddie clawed at her, falling clumsily to his knees when his hands slid through her ghostly form. But he kept trying, driven by the mad idea that if he just kept putting out his hands to her he would eventually feel something there. Finally he grabbed her around the waist and pressed his face into her middle, pretending he could feel her flesh give a little under her shirt.

"Please!" he begged through torrents of tears. "Don't leave me! You're all I have- you're all I'm living for anymore, I have nothing else! Darling, I love you, please... don't leave me alone..."

The woman knelt beside him, holding him so tightly Freddie found it difficult to breathe for a second. Nevertheless, even Freddie could tell this was not the embrace of one who would be around to give more of them. This was goodbye. And no amount of tears or tantrums could make it anything else.

"I didn't want it to be this way, my prince," she whispered at last, her voice just as choked as his. "I wanted to be with you till the very end."

"This is the very end, if we can't be together," he sniffed. "Will I never see you again?"

She dabbed at her eyes. "Not for a very long time, I'm afraid."

"Not even if I try to- you know, sort of speed things up a bit?"

"Not even," she shook her head. "It's going to be hard for a long, long while. How long, I don't know- months, years, maybe even decades-"

"But it will happen?" he interrupted, desperate for something, anything to look forward to. "We will be together?"

She smiled weakly. "If we are patient- if we can wait-"

"I will wait forever, if I must." He let out a soft half-sob, half-chuckle. "I mean, I don't really want to have to wait that long, but- if that's how long it takes, then that's how long I'll wait."

Out of the corner of his eye Freddie saw the bridge shine even brighter, as if to say that time was of the essence, but the woman stayed where she was. She leaned forward and nuzzled the tip of his nose, eyes fluttering closed when he kissed her airy cheek in return.

"I love you, too, my prince," the woman whispered.

And Freddie, unable to help himself, remarked as she pulled back, "No Eskimo sex?"

The woman burst out laughing. "Oh, Freddie, really-"

"Come on, darling," he teased tremulously. "Just one quickie for the road, pretty please?"

She opened her mouth, at first probably to make some long-suffering comment about his incorrigibility, as was her habit. But one look into his pleading dark eyes removed that flimsy veneer of control. He watched hers shut as she leaned in one more time, bending softly toward his lips-

"Freddie?"

The word seemed to come to him as if through a tunnel. Someone was shaking him ever so gently, like an Etch-a-Sketch, erasing the bridge and the woman. In their place appeared a bland, lifeless haze that took him a moment to realize was his bedroom ceiling. His joints were stiff, his bones felt fragile, his lungs were working at half capacity. Everything hurt.

I must be awake then.

Joe called his name again, and this time Freddie turned his head toward the sound. "There you are," he sighed in relief. "I was starting to worry for a minute there."

"Is he responding yet?" Jim poked his head through the door.

"He's here, I think, just drifted off for a little while there- just a man and his thoughts, right?" Joe smiled as he took hold of Freddie's outstretched, waiting hand.

"Sorry," Freddie murmured blearily. "Guess I ...fell asleep."

"With your eyes open?" Jim asked.

The black brows furrowed. "Open?"

"Wide open. You gave all of us such a scare. If you'd stayed like that much longer, Phoebe would've rung Atkinson."

Freddie just blinked in Jim's general direction. His face seemed to wipe of expression, except for that lingering trace of sadness flickering behind his eyes. The rest of the men tried not to let it get to them, and fought down the urge to ask what was wrong. Only a great fool would dare pose such a stupid question to Freddie now.

But something else had changed. Joe certainly could tell as much as he gave Freddie his dinner- if a shallow bowl of chicken broth could even qualify for a title as grand as "dinner." His friend took every spoonful cooperatively without one complaint. In fact, Freddie made nary a sound at all, aside of that subtle, labored noise he made whenever he would inhale. All Joe could think of was that some time between now and when he had gone to the kitchen to prepare the meal fifteen minutes ago, Freddie's cheese had slipped just that much further off the cracker. God, it killed Joe to see him like this- to watch this firework of a man become trapped inside his fading, emaciated shell till even his mind could no longer be considered his own.

When the bowl was about half-empty, Freddie motioned that he had had enough. So Joe set the bowl aside, and began to measure out his nightly dose of medication.

Suddenly a bony hand clamped down on Joe's wrist. Startled, he turned around and saw Freddie's lips move ever so slightly.

"What was that?"Joe asked.

Freddie swallowed and repeated what he said. "No."

"No? No what?"

The hand waved flimsily at the table where Joe had laid out his various medicines. "None of that."

A pit formed in Joe's stomach. Did he even realize what he was saying? "But Freddie, you need it-"

"No!" Freddie snarled with a ferocity that Joe hadn't seen him show in weeks. "No more. I won't do, won't have... Just take it away."

"Not even the painkillers?"

Freddie hesitated, then nodded. "Gimme that please, but nothing else. Do you-" he paused to cough once or twice- "you understand?"

Joe understood, all right. His throat began to constrict against his will, hands shaking as he gave Freddie the potion which would deaden the pain in his limbs. He knew that this was bound to happen at some point; there was a limit a human being could endure before they decided that enough was enough. But that didn't make this moment any easier.

Once finished, he did allow himself one mild threat. "You do realize I'm going to have to tell the doctor about this, don't you?"

"I don't give a damn," was all Freddie yawned, adjusting his position just a little. "Turn the music on, would you? It's like a tomb in here."

Joe nodded. "Anything in particular?"

"Just something nice."

So he went over to the stereo in the corner of the room and switched it on. Immediately the soft strains of the Supremes began floating from the speakers. A lovely song, one of their more underrated Motown hits, but still, a bit on the sad side. Assuming Freddie would not want any part of something so emotional right now, he moved to change the station.

"Leave it there, Liza," Freddie murmured quietly, as if he could read his mind. "It's perfect."

Once Joe had determined that Freddie was set for a while, he collected up the dishes and medicinal accoutrements. Just before he walked out of the room, he caught the sound of Freddie humming along to the song. Glancing over his shoulder, Joe saw him laying almost flat on his back, eyes closed, an open catalog sprawled across his lap, Romeo lounging near his feet. But what he noticed the most was the way Freddie was moving his hand. It was in the form of a relaxed fist, ticking back and forth like a metronome, as though he was conducting an imaginary orchestra, or waving a flag.

Suddenly a dreamy smile crossed poor Freddie's face as he mouthed along to the chorus. "Some-day, we'll be together... oh, yes, we will, yes, we will..."

Forcing the water back under his eyes, then, Joe went downstairs to tell Phoebe the news. It seemed a phone call was in order.