Sal here.  Just so we understand each other, Freddie's POVs are going to be loaded with unbleeped-out profanity. Don't be surprised to see this chapter, and those which follow, to be littered with F-bombs and other things.  I am giving you fair warning, so that I don't have to list this book as "mature."  Freddie did have such a way of getting his point across... ;)

Freddie

I'm not fucking getting up today.

That was the first thought I had as soon as my eyes opened, my face smashed hard into the pillow.  Of course, knowing myself, I never would have actually stayed in bed all day- but at that moment, it certainly sounded like a nice idea. I was knackered, hung over, fucked up, et cetera.  Call it what you will, but that's what I was.  My head felt weighed down, like it was full of wet sand and nightmares- and I had too many of the latter the night before, to be in a good mood now. 

I couldn't be bothered to look at my nightstand clock; I knew it was time to rise and fucking shine for the world, get to work.  But I felt like just vegging out. I wanted to stay right where I was and hide under the covers, and maybe have Phoebe turn up the fucking heating when he came in with my tea. I didn't understand why it was so cold that morning, it wasn't even fall. Maybe I was coming down with something. Lord knows, I'd been sort of on and off lately as far my health was concerned; if I was, I wouldn't have been surprised. That would have explained a lot of things.

What a night.

Not to say my party wasn't a success.  My God.  If it was any more a success, it would have been a disaster.  It was deliciously dreadful, simply scandalous, the stuff of legends and orgy.  And nearly all of it was caught on camera for my video- and for undeniable proof that one day I will very likely be going straight to Hell. 

No, that wasn't at all the issue.  I just wished that when I thought on the party itself, I could better determine what was real and what was a dream.  For, to be honest, I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.  And since what I saw in that nightmare I had sworn to myself I would never talk about, I chose to once again merely bury the memory and forget about it, if I could.

"Jimmy, dear," I mumbled flatly, reaching to my side, "gimme one reason I should get out of bed today."

But when my hand drifted to where Jim should have been, I only touched the sheets.  I wasn't too startled by being alone in bed. Jim often rose earlier in the morning, getting up sometimes a whole hour before I did some days.  What did surprise me, though, was how different the sheets felt from yesterday. 

Curious, I ran my hand across the bed covers.  Even the duvet seemed to have a different texture.  Perhaps I was imagining things, but it didn't seem as smooth to the touch.  How very strange.  Thoroughly confused, I rolled over, then, feeling ready for a cigarette before Phoebe brought up a little breakfast- which I hoped would be soon. True, I could tell it was still rather early in the morning, judging by how dark the room appeared behind my eyelids, but I was utterly famished.  But the pack I usually kept on the corner of my nightstand I couldn't for the life of me find.  Come to think of it, I wasn't even wearing my ring at the moment- and I hardly ever take those things off.

At last, I opened my eyes a crack- then sprang upright in bed and looked around wildly, breaking into a cold sweat.

"-The fuck?" I managed.  "Wha-?"

This was not my bedroom. 

The bed I lay in was half the size of mine, with a black and white duvet and white sheets.  The walls were a soft shade of gray, instead of the golden yellow I had chosen for my Munich apartment's boudoir, and covered with Andy Warhol prints and album covers, half of which I didn't recognize.  In one corner stood one of those round, plush chairs that look like toadstools or something- I can't remember the name right now, it's really not that important anyway.  At the side by a wide window, a glossy black vanity stood, with two framed pictures of people I was too far away to see clearly.  And directly across from me, a wide, flat black screen on top of a small table with what looked like speakers on either side showed me a faint reflection of myself- the one thing that had remained unchanged.

Outside the shut door, I could hear a few knocks and bumps, people's voices rising and falling, a door shutting; wherever I was, I wasn't alone.  I didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing- but it would serve to know for certain.  I threw back the covers to find I was clothed only in a pair of briefs.  I looked around for last night's clothes, but they were nowhere to be found. 

Right. That was a problem.

So I did the next best thing: I slid my bare feet to the shag rug and attacked the vanity, ransacking the drawers for something I could squeeze into.  I didn't care what that meant, as long as I didn't look overly ridiculous.  As luck would have it, I found a maroon pullover and jeans that actually fit me (trust me, that's rare, considering my, um, build). 

After dressing, I glanced into the vanity mirror and smoothed my hair, which still stuck up here and there where it had rubbed against the pillow, then ran a hand over my face, frowning.  For my cheeks were rough with two mornings' worth of stubble.  Was that how long I'd been asleep?

What the fuck was going on?

I glanced at the clock upon the wall, but the thing must have run out of power, for the hands weren't moving.

"What fucking time is it anyway?" I mumbled.

And I jumped when a little black ball on top of the vanity lit up and answered me, in an American, feminine sort of voice, "The current time is: eight forty-seven A.M., Eastern time."

"Oh," I swallowed.  "Right.  Thank you."

It lit up and spoke again. "You're welcome."

I took a step back.  I didn't like this.  I didn't like this at all.  I needed to find a phone-

Wait.  Eastern time?

I would get to the bottom of this, if it killed me.

So deciding, I marched to the first door I saw and savagely flung it open- only for a precariously balanced, locked metal box to fall from a high shelf, and come within a breath of hitting me on the head before crashing to the floor.  I didn't bother putting it back, instead left it where it lay on its side and slammed the closet closed. 

By now, I was too pissed off to be frightened anymore. I was lost, confused, starved, and dying for a cigarette. And to top it off, the floor was freezing.

My eyes narrowed with purpose. I didn't know where I was, or who had had brought me here, but ooh, were they in for a treat once I had gathered my bearings. All I needed to do was find a phone, and in moments I would have the whole fucking world raining down on top of them.

I ran to the other door and threw it open, ran down the short hall I found there.  There were pictures in this hall, but I paid no attention to the people smiling in them.  I didn't care.  I wanted to get out.  So I kept going, hands clenching as my temper grew shorter and shorter until I found myself in a modern-looking kitchen where someone seemed to be in the middle of cooking something.  The scents of coffee, cinnamon, and peppermint hung in the air.  Were I in a clearer, more pleasant state of mind, I might have thought it smelled rather nice. 

A little ways off stood a staircase leading down.  I started to trip on downstairs, hoping for some trace of a telephone, or the front door, or some person that I could comfortably focus my mounting fear and anger upon for a few minutes.  Call me crazy, but from my angle I thought I saw the end of a pine tree branch- and festive garland was wound all around the banister.  Rather early for Christmastime, I think, I said to myself, momentarily sidetracked- but not for long. 

Before I went all the way down, however, I heard a door open and a cold gust of air blow inside before it shut again.  I heard someone whistling softly to themselves- what song, I hadn't the faintest.  I backed up the stairs a few steps, waited to see whether I could take this person on myself, or if I needed reinforcements.

The whistle became an actual voice- a low woman's voice, humming the opening line of that Band Aids Christmas song to herself; and I heard the tinkling of something that sounded like keys.  A second later, I heard a pop, an hiss, and that very song started to play in the room.  I drummed my fingers against the banister, unsure of what to do.  Whoever she was, she didn't sound threatening, certainly not once she started laughingly mimicking Boy George's voice while he sang his line- and it didn't appear as though someone was with her.  I could handle that, easy; in fact, one-on-one with a woman, I knew I could seem quite a convincing terror.  I drew a deep breath, swallowed, and came all the way down.

That's when the jingling sound came closer, this time accompanied by a low, animal growl.  A second later, a small brown dachshund appeared near the foot of the stairs, wagging its tail so hard the tags round its neck clattered together (which accounted for the jingling noise).

Suddenly he turned his long nose toward me.  His tail wagged harder. 

I lifted my finger to my lips and whispered as quietly as I could, "Sh."

And so, of course, he proceeded to go totally berserk.  His loud yips rang about the room, bounced off the walls a little too well.  I took one instinctive step back, but missed, almost tripping and falling, but I caught myself and stumbled as quick as I could back toward the stairs.  The dog bounded after me, barking all the way.

Then I decided this was embarrassingly stupid, me a grown man running away from a dog with three-inch legs, so I stopped.  Then the loud, furry nuisance jumped up on my legs and actually stopped barking for a moment while he gave me a good sniff.  While I was, and shall forever be, a cat fancier, I reached down and tentatively patted him on the head and he licked my hand in return.  In spite of myself, I started chuckling, forgetting to be upset for a bit.

That changed in the very next second.

"Oh, Fry, would you get off him?" the woman sighed.  Then she raced over and scooped the dog up around his middle, speaking more softly, "Good grief.  Cool it, will you?  Not everyone's your biggest fan, you know."

Then she stood back up, throwing her long brown hair back over her shoulders, smiling down at the jittery dog in her arms.  She turned around quickly and went back around the corner, perhaps to put him out or something.  

And I stood there, frozen, her voice still ringing in my head.

I closed my eyes.  I had to be lost in another dream.  Soon I would wake up in my apartment and sit there in bed, safe and sound, with a cup of tea in my hands and a video to finish in a few hours.  In fact, it was very likely this ghost of my past wouldn't even come back.  My dreams were like that sometimes- the more tolerable, less painful ones, anyway- where she would just float in very sort of briefly, look at me, then float out, rather the way she actually did in real life. 

But to my surprise, I heard those same soft bare footsteps, and there she was again, flashing me an apologetic smile as she lifted the needle on the turntable.  A woman I hadn't seen in eight years. 

Out of sight, out of mind, the old saying goes.  Ha.  What a fucking joke.

"Sorry about that," she murmured, "he's a little over-friendly sometimes."

I didn't answer. 

I wanted to speak, I wanted so much to say something really nasty like "Well, if it isn't the World-Class Bitch herself here to fuck me over again."  So many times over the years, when I had the bad luck enough to think about her, I had fantasized about all the mean, clever things I would spout off at her if she ever passed my way again. But no words came, save for a single stupid line that wouldn't have done anything useful should I have chosen to say it.  Instead I just kept staring at her, swallowing in my dry throat.

As casually as you please, she strolled closer to me, hands in her coat pockets- and I almost took a step back, but I remembered myself, and stood my ground. 

After a minute of mutual awkward staring, she cleared her throat and spoke again, her tone so fucking correct she almost sounded rehearsed.  "Good morning. I see you found the clothes in the vanity, that's perfect."

She paused, then kept going when I didn't say anything, "I imagine you're probably wondering where the heck you are, and quite rightly.  Unfortunately, uh, that's not something I can explain in a few sentences, what with the hows and the whys and whatnot, and you probably have quite a few side questions as well.  Suffice it to say, that..."

She went on from there, of course, but I barely heard a word she was saying.  I was too busy watching her lips move and her eyes blink.  Funny, she looked older- not a lot older, but she wasn't a child of twenty anymore.  I would have put her at twenty-seven or so, give or take a year.  I didn't recall her ever wearing this much makeup; and she was dressed in a very fastidious manner, everything completely put together even as early in the day as it was.  And her hair was different.  It wasn't as long, and it seemed a little darker than what I remembered.  Not that I'd been really pondering the color of her hair much over the years, that's just the way it seemed to me.

"Is that okay?" she asked then, looking at my face expectantly. 

I snapped back to the real world.  I had no idea what she meant, as I hadn't been listening at all to what she said before, so I kept my expression the same and nodded with a shrug.

"Okay," she nodded.  "Um, great.  Good talk."

And she turned toward the stairs to go back up when without warning I found my voice again.

"Julia."

She stopped in her tracks, turned around to face me.  "Yes?" was all she said in that same demure voice. 

I walked closer to her, peering into her face as I had the night before.  I looked her up and down very slowly, trying to decide if I was really so clever as to make all this up in my own head, while she focused her eyes directly on mine.

At last I asked, "Where am I?"

"Like I said earlier, I haven't had my coffee yet, so you'll have to wait before we g-"

"Tell me," I demanded.

Julia blinked, and sighed.  "Very well.  You are in my house-"

"Your house?"

"My house," she repeated, "in Monroe, New Jersey, U.S. of A., North America, Western Hemisphere, on the twelfth day of the twelfth month, in the year 2027.  Anything else you have to know right now?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"Am I, you know, hallucinating, or is this all, um-?"

"Sadly," Julia sighed, "I'm afraid it's real.  Might as well face it now as opposed to later.  It's all quite real.  Everything last night, too, was real."

"Including you?"

"Including me."  Her lips twitched, as though she had the idea of saying more, but she bit it back. 

"Do you promise?" I asked, arching my brow.

"On my word."

I rolled my eyes.  "Oh, well, now I know it's a dream."

Julia just looked at me; then, with that same cool expression, she said, "I'm not going to tell you what to believe.  That's not my job.  I can only tell you the truth."

"Oh, really?  Since when?" 

My voice was more bitter than I expected.  And still her face didn't fucking move. 

"I understand you are likely disoriented and angry- that's a perfectly normal response," she said calmly. "All the same, in the interest of keeping things uncluttered, any and all snarky remarks I would respectfully ask you to save, until after I have told you everything I need to.  Now, would you like some tea?"

"Whatever," I muttered.  "Fine.  Yes.  Where might I freshen up first?"

"There's a bathroom just across from where you slept last night," she said.  "You should have everything you need there."

"Thank you," I nodded. 

Overhead, some high-pitched beeping noise started up.  She clapped her hands together.  "That'll be the coffee cake.  It's a kind of apple cinnamon thing, hopefully that's all right?"

Though I've never been one to eat a lot, I admittedly would have settled for just about anything in that moment- except for McDonald's.  Ugh. I could never be that desperate. 

I nodded again, and started following her back up the stairs.  Then she paused about halfway up.  "Here, do me a favor, would you, turn off the timer on the oven-"

"How do I do that?"

"There's a button."

I blinked.  "On the oven?"

"Yes, on the oven," she explained way too patiently for my liking.  "It says 'timer.'  You can't miss it.  Push it, if you would, I'll be right back.  I need to let Fry in, I think he's calmed down enough."

"Right.  Do you, um, want me to take it out or anything?" 

"No, I got it.  Thanks though."

Just before she brushed past me, though, I caught her arm and held her there.

After a moment, she looked up, expression as blank as before.  "Can I help you?"

I didn't answer.  Instead I laid two fingers against her throat.  Julia stood and waited while I felt her blood pulse steadily and quietly in her neck.

With a satisfied sigh, I took my fingers away and shrugged.  "Mm," I mused thoughtfully.  "Certainly had me fooled."

I almost thought I saw her teeth grind, but she said nothing.  All she did was smile and chuckle in a patronizing sort of way.  Then she kept walking, shrugging my hands away. 

So far, this wasn't working.

I had one last impulse to see if I could coax some sign of life out of her, besides a heartbeat.  But this final idea reeked of sheer desperation, and I wasn't there yet.  Far from it.  At this rate, at this stage, I wasn't going to crack her shell that way.  I chose to slide out of attack mode and cooperate- for now.  I walked upstairs, heading for the still-beeping oven, while she turned the "Feed the World" song back on. 

I shot her one more glance before I ran all the way to the second floor, watched her move to the back door.  In spite of myself, I sighed quietly. 

Just barely I turned away before she had a chance to see me looking at her, and that first stupid line I thought of earlier flew back into my head.  It wasn't even very original.  I'd thought it before many years ago.  More than that.  I had said it.

And here I was, thinking it again- words that weren't mine conveying feelings that hadn't been mine in ages:

But soft.  What light through yonder window breaks...

How utterly fucking ridiculous.

Sal here again.  Trust me.  I know this doesn't look good at the moment, but you have to trust me.  It will all work out.  Remember that. ;)