July 14, 1977

He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, fiddled with his keys, huffed and puffed with so much pent-up energy, letting that frustrated adrenaline build higher and higher as he waited for those three damn words to fall from the lips of his boss. Were they really so much effort? Did they really take so much time to get around to? Why was he even waiting around for them? Of course he knew he couldn't take too much initiative. Already he was treading on frightfully thin ice after that stunt he pulled on Solsbury Hill, but this was important, even more so than-

"Go now, Rudy!"

Finally!

Like a bullet from the barrel of a gun, Rudy burst out of Wessex and headed straight for the Rolls, leaving Freddie where he stood, cradling Julia's thick, halting voice against his ear.

There wasn't much time. There wasn't even much hope, Rudy knew. After all, if there was one thing he had learned in his training, it was the inevitability of Destiny and the illusion of Chance. The organization had made absolutely no bones about that. Nevertheless, Rudy was an eternal optimist, raised on miracles and the reality of happy endings. All he could do was try.

It took approximately thirty-one minutes to travel from Wessex Studios, all the way back to Stafford Terrace. Sometimes more, occasionally less. It all depended on the traffic- and the timing of the lights. Last week, however, he had finally obtained enough data from the numerous test drives he had made during his downtime in the past seven months to construct a seemingly fail-safe route to Freddie's flat- one that dodged every red light, avoided every jam, and anticipated every detour. If all went as planned, and he kept a lead foot planted on the accelerator, he would reach the flat in a mere twenty-three minutes. It was just a matter of leaving at precisely the right moment. One split second too late, and the entire mission was sunk.

I can do this, he told himself. They've come this far, I can't fail them now.

Slamming the driver's door shut, he turned the ignition, setting the Rolls to purr like one of Freddie's cats. He touched his temple, snapping to the timer he had set the night before, counting down to this one pivotal moment. He backed the car up, and edged it forward so that the tires lined up exactly with the blacklight markings he had made on the pavement, invisible to everyone but him. Ten seconds to go.

Nine. Eight. Seven.

His hands gripped the steering wheel even tighter.

Six. Five.

I can do this.

Four.

Three.

T-

"WAIT!"

The scream knocked him smack out of his concentration. In his haste he had forgotten to mute the surroundings- but even if he had, Freddie would have been impossible to overlook as he, too, burst through the studio doors, waving his arms all around and babbling some ridiculous, panicky gibberish. A second later, he grabbed the passenger side door handle and yanked it open.

Just barely Rudy managed to splutter, "S-Sir, what are-"

"GO! GO NOW! HURRY!" Freddie hollered, hopping in.

One door slam and painful screech of rubber tires later, they were zooming down the road. Rudy touched his temple again, hiding the timer; at the moment it was not the most encouraging thing to keep seeing three red, flashing zeros in his peripheral vision. They were now a full four seconds behind schedule- no thanks to Freddie.

Perhaps four seconds seems somewhat inconsequential to most people, as that's hardly enough time to accomplish anything, let alone make much difference in one's estimated time of arrival. However, Rudy knew from experience, from training, from even the stories his parents told him so often as a child, that every millisecond mattered. Had he not been so intently focused on navigating the roads, Rudy might have thoroughly chewed out his boss for placing everything he had worked for, everything he cared about, at risk.

Speaking of whom, the stalwart driver couldn't help but notice the way Freddie was quietly hyperventilating, his heart beating so fast it was almost worrisome. He would have asked right that instant if something was wrong, if the stoplight about five hundred feet ahead had not suddenly turned to yellow. Fortunately, there was no one immediately in front of the car. Slamming hard on the gas, Rudy sped into the intersection a single instant before the traffic heading his direction halted- then slowed down once more, after reminding himself he had almost been pulled over on this very street only three weeks ago.

"Are you all right?" Rudy asked at last.

But Freddie didn't seem to hear. At the moment he seemed much too busy thinking up his next caustic remark. Every other minute, it seemed, he came up with some new, shivering criticism about how slowly the f---ing car was going, how he'd seen funeral processions that moved faster than this, and for God's sake, change the music, Rudy, it's making him f---ing suicidal.

You're lucky I care as much as I do, you wheezing, pompous ass, Rudy told him silently as he popped out the soundtrack from The Graduate and switched on the radio. I would turn around now and let her just slip through your fingers if I didn't.

Finally they reached the Kensington borough. In spite of himself, Rudy relaxed; for even with Freddie's unintentional delay, they were making great time. Seven minutes until noon, and only a five-minute drive until they would reach Stafford Terrace.

By this point, Freddie had fallen utterly silent, having run out of things to pick at his driver for. Out of the corner of his eye, Rudy briefly studied the man behind him. He watched Freddie slowly rub his big, smooth hands back and forth across his thighs, his eyes trained on the outside world as it slid past the window.

"Are you all right?" the driver asked again.

Freddie swallowed, glancing at his lap. "I don't know."

Through the rear view mirror, Rudy watched as he reached to the side for Julia's smartphone- or the "Magic Mirror," as Freddie liked to call it- and began tapping and swiping across the screen. From this angle, it was impossible to determine what exactly he was perusing, but not many seconds passed before Freddie set the phone down face-up on the cushion, allowing Rudy a brief glimpse of Julia's smiling face nestled sweetly against that of Freddie. Rudy guessed it to be a picture they had taken together while on the plane home from America; he remembered how eagerly Freddie had insisted she show him how that "clever little camera thing" operated.

"She wouldn't," the singer muttered suddenly.

Rudy blinked. "Hm?"

"She wouldn't do that," Freddie said again, staring blankly out the window. "She wouldn't. She promised she wouldn't."

Now he knew what he meant. One look at Freddie's pinched profile, and Rudy relented his harsh feelings. No matter how hard he seemed to be hiding it, the man was visibly terrified- and truth be told, so was the driver. Three minutes remained on a route that only needed one and a half till they hit their destination, but that didn't erase the dread, churning steadily there in Rudy's chest.

Don't worry so much, he assured himself. It's so close. So close I can taste it. We'll be there in plenty of time.

At 11:58 A.M., the Silver-Shadow was careening down the street of Stafford Terrace. Number Twelve lay eleven doors beyond. Rudy grinned. They were going to make it. Against all odds, they were really going to make it. Julia would come to Wessex with them, Freddie would explain the Minns meet-up along the way, and they all would live happily ever after, case closed, mission accomplished-

When suddenly a small brown blur darted into the street.

Taken by complete surprise, Rudy hit the brakes, throwing a carelessly unbuckled Freddie face-first into the back of his seat. He wasn't sure what it was, exactly- a cat, maybe, or a dog, maybe even some stupid little red squirrel- but it was enough to make him stop so the critter could cross over safely. As soon as the furball was in the clear, Rudy resumed the drive, speeding along as fast as was legally permissible and maybe even a little more.

But it was already too late. He knew now, as he parked the car against the curb, that simply by accidentally letting that expendable four-legged animal take precedence over this most critical moment, he had gone and literally thrown it all away.

For Rudy could hear her words, spoken as though through gritted teeth. Only five words, five monosyllables that ripped his hopes from top to bottom:

"Get me out of here."

Freddie didn't wait for Rudy to open the door for him. Pushing it wide open, he poured himself out of the back seat and tore up the steps, murmuring and fumbling wildly with his keys as he went.

An earsplitting scream cut into Rudy's receivers- a sound which told him all he needed to know, and revealed exactly what he would find on the other side of the door. Somber with defeat, Rudy followed, moving much slower than his frantic employer.

At last Freddie found the key to the front, pushed it into the lock, and barreled inside. "JULIA?" he shouted- before realizing perhaps how panicked he sounded, then cleared his throat and tried it again, his tone much more suave, "Julia, darling, you there?"

The flat was silent.

"Julia?" he called again, walking further inside while Rudy watched, tongue between his teeth. "Angel? Are you ready to go?"

But the only answer that came was a meow from one of his cats, the little orange tabby called Oscar. Aside of that, the living room was empty.

"Perhaps," Freddie suggested quietly after a moment, "perhaps she forgot, and has- gone on some errand. That must be it. She's silly like that. She'd- she'd likely forget her head if it wasn't sewn to her shoulders. Silly thing." He forced a chuckle.

Rudy said nothing.

Freddie opened his mouth again, but no sound came out. For his eyes had now alighted upon the piano. He drew closer, his face blanching of color. And Rudy had to force himself, once again, not to speak, or react in any way.

On the sheet music rest, an envelope with the words "For Freddie" scrawled across the back sat waiting. Just beside it lay the Polaroid photo, taken just last night at the Deacons' house when John caught them in a kiss. And there, an arm's length away, dozed the small jade cats Julia had given to Freddie; Yin and Yang, they called them.

Freddie's hands clenched, his back stiffening. For he knew damn well that this was no accident. This was no joke. This was a goodbye- as clear a goodbye as the one she had whispered on the phone half an hour before.

She's gone, Rudy knew. She's - just gone.

Very slowly, Freddie sat down at the piano bench. He plucked the envelope from the rest, turned it over in his hands a couple of times. Oscar padded closer to Freddie, touched his shin with his pink nose, then slunk off to some other nook for a nap.

Freddie stared at that envelope a long time, before he let out a soft, deep sigh through his nose. "Well," he said. "I suppose that's that." He shrugged. "So much for promises."

He looked up at Rudy. "I didn't think she meant it anyway," he said casually. "I never believed her for a minute. I'm no fool. I knew what she was about. I could see it in her eyes- those big cat's eyes, yes, it was all over them. I knew she was leaving, it was only a matter of time. So she's gone. Very well. Good riddance. She was nothing but trouble anyway- a huge f---ing pain in the ass. Wouldn't you say?"

Again, Rudy was silent.

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Fine. Just stand there. That's all you're good for, after all."

The big man put his hands behind his back, refusing as always to voice any of the snarky comebacks he was so tempted to fire. At least, until Freddie turned back toward the keys, facing the photo again. Setting down the unopened letter, he picked up the picture- which indeed was a sweet thing to behold. How intimately they stood together, how tenderly he held her in his arms, how gently she caressed his face. Although it was hard to pick out their features, as it had been somewhat dark in the room at the time, it didn't interfere with the photo's magic, or their palpable affection.

"Beautiful," Rudy heard himself mumble.

Freddie whirled around, his eyes glittering very strangely. "Rudy," he said, voice suddenly strained, "I need you to go back to the car and, um- wait for me there, all right?"

Rudy blinked. "Uh- all right."

When he hesitated for a second, Freddie snapped, "As in, now."

"Yes, yes, Freddie, I'm going." Quickly, then, the driver lumbered to the exit, which they had both left slightly ajar, and slipped back into the half-hearted sunshine.

Over the next several minutes, the world was still, inside and out. Rudy could hear no screams, no shatter of glass or porcelain, no symptoms of a typical Freddie tantrum. And it scared him.

What's he doing? Rudy asked himself. Is he just sitting there? What's going on?

And so, curiosity (and concern for his boss) getting the better of him, Rudy reentered the flat. To his surprise, he found the living room empty. The unearthly silence continued, the only motion coming from the flame flickering there in the ashtray.

Then Rudy did a double take. He hustled toward the ashtray, peered closer- and gasped to see that the lovely Polaroid photo and the letter, whose envelope was still sealed, were on fire. Not only that, but the photo itself had been ripped in half, each of the two halves separately set ablaze for faster, more effective damage.

Without thinking, Rudy slapped at the fire, senseless to his singed fingertips. Freddie's half of the photograph had inexplicably burned up faster than that of the girl, turning so black and so brittle that it was completely unsalvageable. Rudy would take what he could get; he plucked up the girl's luckier image and the letter, though both still quite burnt around the edges, and tucked it into his pocket.

"BITCH!"

The scream pierced the air, making Rudy jump.

Seconds later, he heard the smash of some unfortunate trinket, followed by a sickening crunch as the broken remains were ground into the floor with a heavy, purposeful heel. Taking his life into his hands, Rudy entered the kitchen, following the source of the scream.

There he found Freddie, completely blind and deaf to the insubordinate chauffeur. He was too busy smashing her smartphone to bits, and too involved with shrieking incoherent things like "YOU G--D--- F---ING BITCH HOW COULD YOU?! DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU AND ALL YOUR F---ING GINGERBREAD PEOPLE TO HELL YOU LYING G--D--- BITCH!"

Rudy swallowed. Sometimes I really do hate this job.

When the smartphone had been destroyed to Freddie's satisfaction, the red-black eyes moved to the jade cats sitting on the counter, innocently awaiting their own destruction. Before Rudy's very eyes, Freddie seized the figurine and threw it down to the tile.

Somehow, however, all this did was leave a jagged white crack right down their middle. But Freddie was not to be discouraged. He was on a rampage, after all, and therefore, havoc would be wreaked if he had to kill himself doing it. So he bent down, reached to grab them up- when Rudy darted in even faster, and scooped them away.

Freddie turned on him, then, jaw clenching. The chiseled face was splotchy with rage, Rudy saw, and shining with a couple of streaks made by a few tears that had disobeyed their master and escaped without permission. And Rudy literally feared for his life.

The full lips parted. "I thought I told you to wait outside," Freddie hissed.

Rudy nodded. "You did."

The blazing eyes narrowed. "Give them to me. Now."

But Rudy shook his head. "I can't do that."

Freddie gritted his teeth, drew himself up to his full five-foot-ten height. "All right, then, Rudy," he stated. "Keep the cats, or keep your job. Your choice."

No one said anything for a moment. Rudy looked at the cats in his palms, then back at Freddie. Then, very sadly, Rudy gathered the cats closer to him, and sighed, "I'm sorry."

He picked up a couple of choice pieces from the electronic rubble at his feet, walked out of the kitchen, and exited the flat, never to return again.

I better get going.

It took him a few minutes to situate himself, prepare himself for departure. He stored away the items in their proper safe compartments, ensured that he had everything programmed and ready to go. Just as he was about to commence the process, though, he paused.

Freddie wasn't screaming anymore. The tantrum had seemingly come to an abrupt end shortly after Rudy walked out. All was calm again, all was peaceful- except for the soft, helpless little sobs, so quiet Rudy almost couldn't catch them, and so unimposing if not for the telltale sniff interspersed here and there, along with an occasional, weakening "Damn you... Damn you..."

Rudy took one step back toward Stafford Terrace, then stopped. He knew that he was the last person Freddie wanted to see- and even now, it would do neither he nor Freddie any good for him to just keep standing here and listening to him cry. As much as he still wanted to stick around, be the agent of change, he knew that this was not his role to play. His work here was done, for the time being. It would be a while before he could take this assignment up where he left off- assuming they would even give him another go, assuming they even considered this worth the attention.

If nothing else, there's still one thing left to do, he remembered.

Commencing the sequence, Rudy allowed himself a hopeful little smile. There's always a plan, he told himself- before remembering all of a sudden that he had not yet given poor Clarence his breakfast.

Sal here, giving a great big "thank you" to the lovely and uber-talented slightly_mad for the artwork in this chapter.