Submitted by RosePaint

July 1, 1977

Freddie

It was late at night, around eleven o'clock or so. All four of us, the band called Queen, were clustered together in the living room of my Kensington flat, going over what songs we had so far for our new album. Tomorrow we would finally start up work in the studio, having finally come down from our most recent tour which ended a couple of weeks before.

On one hand, we were in a better place than we had ever been as a group. We were quite a bit wealthier thanks to our last two wonderfully successful albums and a contract with Elektra that did not allow the company executives to reach into our pockets and take any and all money found therein. Simultaneously, what with a new movement in rock and roll happening, we had now found ourselves at the mercy of bigger, even more powerful enemies: the press.

Not that they had ever really been our allies. They hadn't. But since the birth of the punk era- you've seen pictures of those people I'm sure, the poor silly things with the shaved heads and the scratches and tears in their clothes, standing around rebelling against everything because they have nothing better to do on warm afternoons- the press had taken to these people like moths to a flame, calling the rest of us more established acts things like "outdated," "excessive," or "puffed up." "Posturing," I think, is the word I had seen in that last article NME put out about us- or, me, actually. Being the front man, I suppose I was destined to bear the brunt of the criticism. Very well. I could take it- and I did.

All the same, the pressure was indeed on, and all of us felt it. This new album had to take a totally different direction, couldn't just be more of the same. And all of us more or less agreed, we did have to give in a little to one of music press's main criticisms- that is, we had to open ourselves up to the masses a bit.

In a word, audience participation.

And Brian had an idea.

"...I mean, it would just go over so well, I think, if we could, you know, find a way to capture that spirit of oneness between the audience and the band," he was saying. "I've got a song idea I think would work."

"Mm," was all I said. Then I glanced at John, who'd been sitting there quietly and listening the entire time, and tried to bring him into the discussion. "What do you think, dear?"

He nodded with a shrug. "I suppose. I'd have to hear the actual tune first." He stood. "Mind if I use the loo, Freddie?"

"Not at all, darling. You know where it is."

"Thanks," he nodded. "Excuse me a moment, then." With that, he headed up the stairs with Oscar at his heels.

Meanwhile, Brian droned on, "...So I'm still trying to work up some good lyrics for the verses, but I think a strong, very basic chorus that's easy to follow-"

"Yeah, yeah," Roger nodded thoughtfully- not even realizing he'd interrupted Brian. "Sort of a standard- like a sports cheer, perhaps?"

"Exactly," Brian nodded- then hesitated. His brows knit, as he looked up at the ceiling. "Hey. You hear something?"

Roger lit a cigarette. "No. Did you?"

"Thought I did," Bri replied. "Like a thud. Came from upstairs."

"It's just your nerves, dear," I said absently. My eyes drifted to the clock- and my jaw clenched. I was running out of time.

"You were saying?" Roger asked.

"Right, sorry. Anyway, it's going to have to have a definite power behind it- something almost like an anthem." Brian turned to look at me- but I didn't notice. "Like something rather in the vein of your own 'Champions,' perhaps... Freddie?"

As eye-catching as that head of his is, with his mop of wild curly hair and that nose, I still didn't catch him looking my way. I was too deeply entrenched in my own thoughts.

"Freddie, are you listening?"

"Hm?" I blinked, looking up from where Tom, another one of my cats, had curled up against me. "Oh, yes, dear, I heard you. Every word."

"Oh, really?" he said.

"Something in the vein of 'Champions,' you said," I recited confidently. "There, you see? I am listening. Right, keep going."

In all truth, though, Brian had it right. My mind indeed was both here and elsewhere. I was sincerely trying to focus on the discussion, because I knew I needed to- yet other, more personal matters kept slipping through the cracks. Usually I indeed could put things in their places when necessary, keep things clean and separate most all of the time. At the moment, however, I couldn't help but wonder how the fuck I was going to pull this off.

For it was getting quite late, and I had promised "Liza" I'd come to see him as soon as I got these chaps of mine out of the house. It was bad enough that by now I was running out of excuses to throw at David, I didn't need to weaken the trust of Joe as well. He and I were still just starting out after all, and there was no end to what we could be together.

Of course, that's what I said about David, too, in the beginning... but perhaps this time would be different.

I might have stayed distracted, with my thoughts heading into areas that were not helpful at present. But it was here that John came back down- slowly, step by step, hand tightly gripping the railing.

There must have been something terribly off about his expression, because Roger asked, "What gives, John? You look like you've seen the dead."

He looked up, and I could see what Roger was trying to say, though personally I think he appeared much more confused than frightened.

"No, not quite," he answered at last.

"Not quite?" I sat up straighter and smirked. "Well, then, what did you see?"

John shrugged. "Oh, nothing. Just wasn't expecting to see her is all." He rubbed his nose and sniffed. "Just startled me a bit."

"Yeah, Tiff does that," I said apologetically, speaking of my third little darling- who, like Oscar, had gone off to roam the flat on her own. "She'll just jump out of nowhere, sorry. I have cat acrobats."

He shook his head. "No, no, not the cat. The girl."

I was just about to change the subject, as I didn't feel like arguing over this at the moment- when I checked myself. Did he say what I think he said?

"The girl?" I repeated.

"There's a girl upstairs in your closet."

Brian, Roger, and myself were all now staring in utter silence at John. Either he had gone completely mad- or we had.

"What?" I said at last.

"There's a girl up there," he replied calmly. "Didn't you know?"

Silence.

And then Roger leapt out of his seat and bounded for the stairs.

"What the- Roger, where are you going?" Brian asked.

"To see the girl!" he laughed. "Come on!"

I would have simply rolled my eyes, stayed right where I was, had I not remembered something that had happened to me a couple of years before. During our tour of America, I had come back to my hotel room in Seattle to find, yes, a young woman had broken in and was in the middle of stealing me blind.

Supposing there was indeed some other little tramp that found her way into my own fucking flat, bent on making off with some of my priceless antiques?

And so, for the moment I forgot about the time crunch, rows about songs, and my crowded love life, and followed my friend with John close behind, the three of us leaving a very annoyed Brian in the living room.

We let John move to the front so he could show us exactly where he saw the "girl". He led us into the guest bedroom, where Oscar greeted me by briefly sliding against my legs then slinking past me toward the bed. He pointed at the ajar closet door. Arching my brow like the skeptic I was, I flung it open-

And found an empty closet. Well, not exactly empty- there were clothes in there and things, but no people.

"There's no one here, Deacy," I murmured, pushing some clothes aside. John came closer, and looked for himself.

"Oh," was all he said.

"What was that all about?" Brian demanded as he finally tripped his way upstairs.

I shut the door. "John here saw a mirage, I think."

"I dunno, maybe I did," John shrugged mildly. "But no mirage I've ever seen looked up at me and said 'Do you mind?' before."

"There's a first time for everything," Roger laughed as we walked back down.

Brian's brows rose, and his tone almost seemed teasing. "She spoke too? Now that is wild."

"Seeing things and hearing voices, doesn't seem too sound," Roger mused. "Do you remember what she looked like?"

"I dunno," he mumbled again, withdrawing rather like a turtle into his shell. "Long hair, black shirt- that's all I saw- or thought I saw." I could see on his face, the poor thing was obviously regretting having said anything at all.

So, to not only make up an excuse to get the boys out the door but also to steer Brian and Roger away from further embarrassing John, I said, "Right, well, whether she's here or she isn't, I say we all need to save the rest for the studio. If John of all people is seeing things, it's time for everyone to call it a night."

Fortunately, no one had any sort of quarrel with the idea. Over the next five minutes the boys began drifting out of my flat, with Brian promising he'd show us tomorrow all what he meant about that audience participation song he was planning.

John was last to leave. He hung back while the other two went their separate ways, and then he spoke up. "Hey Freddie, um-"

"Hm? Yes, John?" Make it quick, darling, I told him silently. I've got a very sweet American chef on the hook and I don't want to make him wait too long.

"Sorry about that back there," he sighed at last. "I just know I saw somebody. Heard someone talking. I dunno."

I patted his arm. "Don't worry about it, dear. Sometimes our heads play tricks. My God, that happens to me all the time. You're not crazy, don't worry. Now, me? That's another story."

John let himself smile at that. That was the sign, he was already feeling better. Odd, but sometimes I felt rather responsible- wait, no, that's the wrong word, let me rephrase that. Sometimes I felt a bit protective of Deacy, for whatever reason. He seemed to appreciate it, though; and that was good enough for me.

I winked at him. "Say hi to Veronica for me."

"I will. See you tomorrow," he said.

"Goodnight, John."

He went down the front steps towards his car, waving behind him. Finally I shut the door, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

At last, they were gone!

Still, for the sake of looking again, I went back upstairs into the guest bedroom. Just like before, the closet was empty, the air still and silent.

I wonder what made John look in here in the first place, I mused lightly. He must have thought he heard something. Perhaps she's hiding- or- or perhaps she's actually a ghost! That's it. My flat's haunted!

With a light chuckle, I called out, "Come on out, darling, I know you're here. John saw you himself, you think you can hide from me?"

I actually heard some rustling come from under the bed after that- but once I heard the soft "meow" which followed, I relaxed again.

"I'll find you, I will," I warned no one. "Might as well turn yourself over now!"

More rustling under the bed- then right before my very eyes, Oscar's orange head lifted the bed skirt. Bit by bit he inched back into full view.

"Not you, Oscar!" I shook my head, laughing. "The phantom! My God. A year I've lived here, I didn't know this flat was haunted- Hello."

That last I said with a frown. For I had just now noticed the dark gray rucksack leaning against the wall. It wasn't mine- and I had never seen any of the other three toting anything like this either. Perhaps Mary had left it here, and never came back for it- or David? Or someone? Maybe if I looked inside it, I might be able to determine its owner.

So I reached for it. "Let's have a lo-"

"DON'T TOUCH THAT!" a voice screamed.

I almost died right there, I was so startled. Clutching at my heart, I whirled on my heel- for the voice had come from behind me. "What the fuck?"

A pause. Then, much more timidly: "Sorry. Don't touch that, please."

It came from under the bed.

Brushing Oscar aside, I ducked down and lifted up the bedskirt, peered against the darkness underneath, just barely caught a flash of a girl's face there before two hands flew up and hid it from view.

"Okay, you got me, you got me, you win," she mumbled through her hands. "Just please don't shout at me or call the cops, all right? Because I really couldn't handle that right now."

For a long time I didn't say a word. I was too surprised to really react properly just yet. All I could do was keep telling myself there was really, truly some strange girl (and an American one at that- I could hear it in her accent) underneath my bed this very moment- and asking myself what on Earth she was doing there.

Eventually, though, I did find my voice again. "Why," I said blandly, "don't you come out from under there?"

She hesitated a moment, sniffed, then began sliding her way out, feet first. I stood up, waited for her to rear her trespassing head, so I could get a good look at her before turning her over to the police.

Quickly, dear, I thought impatiently, tapping my foot even harder. I don't have time for this. With one more sniff, the girl sneezed, brushed a few dust bunnies off her black polo neck, then looked me square in the eyes. Now I could see her.