I swallow quietly, trying to keep my eyes closed, and my breathing even and deep.  I wonder, would it be overkill if I make myself snore on occasion?  Maybe.  Both Brian and Roger themselves enjoyed a bit of a catnap a little while ago, and they made nary a sound.  I mustn't push it too far.  God forbid they should suspect that for the last good bit of time I've been, as I have heard Julia say Danny will do on the first day back to school, "playing possum."

We've been on the plane for six hours at least- though it feels more like six years, to be honest.  This has got to be one of the longest and most awkward plane trips I've ever taken in my life.  Six hours peppered generously with autographs, selfies, titters from all around about the band finally getting back together- something I cannot straightaway deny however much I would love to, since I am now nestled a bit too cozily amongst the other two, the very fellows I broke with a long time ago when I retired from the band, and despite my inner feelings I still can't be that rude.

They have me surrounded even now.  Granted, the two of them switched places, so that it is Roger who's sitting beside me while Brian took his seat across the aisle.  That's not so bad as the other way.  While I still don't necessarily consider either of them mates of mine any longer, and as much as Roger tended to poke fun at me a little more than the other two, it's always been a bit easier for me to deal with the drummer than with Brian, especially after it all fell apart in the nineties.

To their credit, though, neither of these chaps have taken to really picking my brain, prodding me with questions as to why I'm really here.  They have respected my space and my privacy, and they seem reasonably content with my explanation, that I'm visiting my godson in New Jersey.  That may change the closer we get to the States, but so far, so good.

I decide I'll take a chance and pry one eye open, take a quick look-about to see if I can get up and stretch my legs, move more freely about the cabin as it were.  Roger's eyes are closed, a good old-fashioned book (with pages, no less) lying open-faced across his lap while Brian roosts comfortably across the way, phone securely clenched in his hand while his fingers swipe all across the screen.  If I had to guess, he's probably live-streaming the entire trip via the plane's Wi-Fi.  Good God.  The man's an addict.

They've really aged rather well, though, those two, I note quietly.  Better than I have, that's for certain.

I sigh quietly and wonder again if he will recognize me.  I've changed quite a lot through the years; while I may have been the youngest in the band, a full five years younger than Freddie, I certainly do look like I could be the oldest of them all now.  According to the latest reports, apparently he didn't recognize Jim Beach at all until he reintroduced himself to him.  It's this that makes me wonder if he really is Freddie, or this all some grandiose hoax in order to paint the three of us as the worst kind of gullible. 

Then again, why would today's tricksters select three old boys from a fifty-six-year-old English band to taunt?  Why not someone younger, more accessible to the modern public?  Sure, Brian  basically turned himself into a meme, and has held onto that status with an iron will- but that doesn't exactly make him hip.

Whatever my doubts, however, I still can't wait to see him- providing I get there before they send him back to 1985 Germany.  God, I hope I make it.  If I don't- no, I'd better not even consider that possibility, all it will do is frustrate me more.

My limbs feel stiff; I've been stuck in this chair almost the entire time.  I ease myself out of my seat, tiptoe over Roger's legs as nimbly as I can manage- which apparently is not nimble enough, because I trip over his foot and nearly fall flat on my face.  Naturally, he stirs, because God forbid I get away with anything anymore.

"Hmph!  Yes?  What?" Roger shakes himself awake.  "Oh! John."

"Mm," I half-hum, half growl in my throat.  "Sorry, was just trying to get past you there."

"It's alright.  I was beginning to wonder when you'd stop pretending, actually."

I'm just about to put my other leg over his feet when I hesitate, his words hitting me.  "What?"

"Pretending to sleep, of course- you old faker."

I blink, then without any effort on my part I feel my mouth curve in a small smile.  "You could tell?  Really?"

"It was plain as the nose on your face," he snickers. 

I roll my eyes.  "Thanks a lot."

A beat.  And then, Roger asks, "Am I still in your way?"

I look up to see two rows of alternating heads and smartphones leaned into the aisle facing me, and swallow hard.  Needless to say, I am not in the mood to walk into that particular nightmare.  So I shake my head, and sit back down.  The lion's share of this trip is already complete, I might as well already be in the clear anyhow.  What's another two hours?

That's when Roger reaches over and pokes Brian's shoulder.  "He's awake."

Brian looks over at me, smiling that same smile he gave me before we took off.  "It's about time! I wanted to talk to you, it's been so long since we've had this chance."

I don't like the sound of that.  Immediately I tense up.  If my guard was wavering before, it's more durable now than ever.  For as many years as have passed, I still have not forgotten.  Nonetheless, my expression stays congenial; the last thing he needs to know is what I'm actually thinking.  The flight attendant breaks it up, however, before we can go into any deep discussions, asking me and the others if we'd like another drink- an offer I take her up on without hesitation, as does Roger.  Brian, being the impossibly good egg he is, abstains.

"John, I meant to ask you," Brian puts in after she moves out of earshot.  "I know it's been quite a long time but, you know, I don't think we ever actually heard any feedback from you about the film.  Bohemian Rhapsody."

"What about it?"

"Well, what did you think?"

"It was very nice," I say politely.  "I thought the actors did a lovely job."

"Did you like how Joe portrayed you?"

I nod.  "He was very close, very good indeed, they made a great choice there- and the fellow playing you, Brian- I thought you'd done some kind of age reversal thing or- they'd used T-Rod to drag you back from the seventies or some-"

"What's T-Rod?" The man's brows shoot up in surprise.

I gulp, then hastily change the subject. "Is, uh- your Adam going to meet you in New York?"

Thankfully, Brian is successfully thrown off the trail.  God,I am doing one bloody bang-up job in keeping my mouth shut today.  "He was going to, you know.  But something came up, I suppose, so he won't."

"Ah." I nod. "Shame."

"It really is, yeah," Roger agrees.  "After all, we've got this little interview set up with that same music station, where, you know, Jim Beach went and took a look at that Rick fellow."

"Poor man's gone batty," Brian mutters under his breath. 

With a deep frown, Roger turns toward him.  "There you go again."

The guitarist goes on with a little huff, "I don't even know why we're doing this, personally.  It's all a fake.  It must be.  Freddie's gone- and even if by some crazy conspiracy theory chance he actually wasn't, he wouldn't be so young-"

"Oh, Brian, get off, would you?  You know why we're going!"

"Yeah.  Because you wouldn't stop texting me about joining you in this wild goose chase.  That's why."

I just sit back in my seat, and watch in something close to amusement while these two old women bicker back and forth.  Now, this I recognize.

"It's not that I think it's really Freddie, that's f---ing - that's absurd!" Roger counters.

"Then what do you think, Rog?  Enlighten me."

"I don't know, just- Jim got so keyed up, and he's not usually like that-"

"He's also pushing ninety, so-"

"He's only five bloody years older than you, you twat."

"I know, I'm just saying he's getting up there and- you know, he and I are very different people, and-"

"Look, Jim may not be an egghead like you, but he's no fool.  I just think it's fair that we get a good look at this bloke, since he's getting so much press of late- Maybe it'll turn out he's some relation of Freddie's, like a cousin or maybe even some form of descendant-"

"No way," Brian states flatly.  "I've heard of those people who claim to be his children, they're all the same."

"How's that?"

"They're wrong- or else, lying."

"I don't think he's claimed once to be related to Freddie, though," I chime in. 

Roger turns to me, wide-eyed.  "So you have been paying attention!"

"Well, it is everywhere you look- pretty hard to miss," I reason carefully. 

Brian cocks his head.  "What do you think about it, John?"

"I, uh- I don't really have an opinion.  That's not why I'm making this trip."

He blinks.  "Mm-hm."

"No.  I told you, my godson lives in New Jersey, I'm going to see him."

"Now," Roger rolls with the discussion shift (thank God), "this isn't Mack's kid you're going to see, right?"

I shake my head. "No, no.  Not John Frederick.  This is someone else.  His name is Danny."  The words are scarcely out of my mouth when I regret ever letting them leave.  What a horrible mistake to make- especially now, when all I want is to keep my dear friends' identities hidden!  But it's too late now.

Roger nods his head.  "Danny.  Nice name."

"You must be quite close to him, if you're traveling all this way at this time of year to see him," Brian muses.

"Oh, yes.  His mum and I are very good friends."

The drummer arches his brow.  "Are you?"

My eyes narrow; I can hear in his tone he's mostly joking, but it's not funny.  "Don't even start."

"How old is he?" Brian asks, calming the new storm before it can brew any further.  "Danny, I mean."

I shrug.  "He's nine."

"Got any pictures?" Roger asks.  "That goes for your family too, not just- you know."

"A few.  Here, I'll show you."

"Great."  The drummer whips out his own phone. "Want to see mine?  They're getting so big already, check it out.  An inside look: what you don't see on Instagram!"

A far cry from Brian's approach: what don't you see on Instagram? I quip to myself dryly.

"Very nice," I hum, peering at the various shots he swipes before my eyes.  "That's one handsome lot you have."

So I show them a few shots of my own family, and before long Brian can't help himself and joins in the photo sharing.  It's a typical grandpa moment; we're not sparring over Rick's origins now, and for a second, the atmosphere almost relaxes. 

Finally, I get around to looking for a current picture of Danny- one that doesn't include the doppelganger.  Luckily, I'm able to find a photo taken last summer, of the two of them sitting together in the parlor.  Danny's facing the camera and smiling, while Julia relaxes in the comfy chair, her nose stuck in a book- if I had to guess, either something by Ray Bradbury or Isaac Asimov.  Now, there, she's like me; a sucker for old science fiction stories.

I pass the phone first to Roger.  Once again, I remember too late that he met Julia too, long ago- we all did- but I'm eased shortly after when he smiles approvingly, no obvious signs of recognition on his face.  Fifty years is apparently too many- and that's fine with me.

"Uh-huh," Roger nods.  "I understand now."

"What?" I ask.

He points at Julia.  "I'd make the trip too, if that's what was waiting on the other side."

I roll my eyes.  Ah, Roger.  Some things never change.

Brian takes the phone out of the drummer's hands.  "Just out of curiosity, how do you know his mum?"

"Why?"

He shrugs.  "Like I said, I was just wondering."

"Uh... Through his father."  Brian doesn't react save with a nod, perhaps wanting me to go on- so I end that desire with a blunt "Who is dead."

He draws back in surprise.  "Oh, I'm sorry."

Again, I shrug.  "He's been gone a long time, we were rather quite good friends, and uh, you know- I suppose I just ended up taking his family under my wing, and I still sort of look after them, as much as I can with them being on the other side of the world and all."

"That's very generous of you and Veronica."

"Well- they needed a hand, especially in the beginning," I murmur.  "They still don't really have it easy, and his mum is still somewhat fragile- but I think it's better than it was.  Much better."

Roger frowns.  "Fragile?"

I nod, but I do not explain.  It's none of their business anyway, and they don't know anything about me anymore; I can say whatever I choose, and they would really have no choice but expect I'm telling the truth- similar to how Freddie's legend was and still is often treated today.

Not to say I am making things up, understand, because not once thus far have I lied.  It's true, Julia and Danny have not had an easy time of it; only in the last three years have they really been in anything close to a stable situation, and I don't simply mean in the sense of finances either. 

I'm fairly certain Danny doesn't remember what life was like before the Pact- at least, not well enough to know the difference.  Thankfully.  But I do. 

I remember those early days well.  Granted, all I know is what I saw while they visited us every summer in London, but even in the span of a mere week, the things she showed Danny, the words she spoke to him, the songs she sang to him, the places she took him- all of this had a single thing in common: Freddie.  She was so desperate to see to it that Danny knew as much about his father as possible- and quick, before the rest of the world could shape the boy's view of him.

But I also remember what I walked in on one Thursday evening, when Danny was almost four years old.  It was a lucky thing I found her when I did, or else Danny might have ended up with two phantom parents instead of one. I warned her, I warned Julia not to go see her again, I almost got down on my knees and begged her not to, for I knew, I knew Julia wasn't steady-headed or steel-hearted.  Not in those days, anyway.

Even now I'm not so sure.  For at her core, she still blames herself for everything that happened to Freddie, so much so that all it took was a single confirmation from a single jealous woman to push her over the edge, and bring her to such a level of self-hatred that she would - 

Never mind.  This is getting a bit too personal, and really isn't for me to tell.  Not like this. 

But once again, I have to wonder what she's thinking.  If this man really is Freddie, as I pray to God he is, I would expect her to buck that five-year Pact at least enough to tell him that Danny is his little boy, to let him know it doesn't end with him- and to point out just how much he is still loved by the world, we the band, and of course, the Samuels family.  She's just like Freddie in that respect: so headstrong, and so committed to an idea, or a goal, it's practically impossible to shake her from it.

"John, who's this?"

"Who?"  I snap back to life.  Something in Brian's tone hits me as slightly off. 

I soon learn why.

Slowly, he then turns the phone around so I can see, to show the picture I have saved to my gallery.  The photo I received on Tuesday, a photo of three people- a man, a woman, and a little boy, all of them wearing sweet smiles and standing pleasantly together in front of a sparkling Christmas tree.

"This chap here."  Brain points at the man. "Who is he?"

And I freak.

"GIVE ME THAT!" I shout.  Without batting an eyelash I simply yank my phone right out of Bri's hands.

Roger's jaw goes slack, while Brian just looks at me.  But I hardly even notice, I'm so provoked.  "I don't remember telling you you could scroll through my f---ing photos!"

"It was just a little sort of family picture, is all," he protests softly. "It was nothing too damning."

Then I blink, realizing how badly I may have just blown my cover. 

Brian looks me over.  "Or was it?"

"I -wouldn't know," I mumble, sinking wearily back into my seat.  "I just- don't like when people take advantage that way, is all, and- never mind.  It's not important."

His voice is calm.  Too calm.  "I probably shouldn't have done that, John, I'm sorry."

"Mm."  I feel myself shutting down again, and I'm in no mood to fight it.  I turn toward the window, and I don't say another word for the next two hours we spend in the air, remaining silent as a statue till the airplane touches down on the runway. 

And even then, it's not until Brian and Roger, once more flanked by security, actually come up to me in the baggage claim while I'm sending an "I'm at JFK, safe and sound" text to my wife.

"Hey, John," Roger says cheerfully.  "Look, um- why don't you join us?"

"Where are you going again?" I murmur.

"To the station, for that interview."

"Oh, I, uh," I stammer.  "I've got to head for Jersey."

"Can't you do that after?" Roger presses.

"Roger, if he doesn't want to go, let him be," Brian says firmly.  To me, he explains, "We just wanted you to know you were welcome to come along.  I'm sure people would love to hear from you, too."

"Thank you, but I really should be on my way."

He gives me an understanding nod.  "Will you at least let us accompany you to the rental car pickup?"

"Uh- okay," I shrug, thinking his intentions are pure.

So I let them walk outside with me, one on either side much the way their security guards are flanking each of them, so that it looks like some kind of parade formation with me at the very front.  There, a sleek black Cadillac limousine awaits us.  Brian walks around to the driver's window and speaks to him quietly.  While that's happening, I take the seat at the front near the chauffeur, and shortly afterward the other two clamber into the back.  The doors close, and the wheels under us begin to turn. 

And only after I realize how small the airport is beginning to look in the rear view mirror, do I begin to suspect.  With a frown, I lean over to the chauffeur.  "Um, excuse me," I say, "but the rental car place was back there."

The driver squints at me.  "Rental car?" he repeats.  "I thought we were going to Manhattan."

"Afterward.  Didn't Brian say?"  When the driver keeps looking at me like I have three heads, I turn around.  "Hey, didn't you tell him?'

Brian blinks, then covers his eyes in would-be shame.  "John, I'm so sorry, I thought you were going to tell him yourself- but we got so held up in customs and all, we're a bit overdue as it is.  Could you possibly sit the interview out with us? You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

"Fine," I growl through gritted teeth.  I'm too tired to make an issue of this now anyway.  I just fold my arms and settle in, watching as we wind down a road leading us further and further away from New Jersey.  In the back seat the other two talk quietly between themselves, their hushed tones sounding insistent even though I can make out none of their words.  But I have no illusions about what's going on.

There's no question now.  They don't just suspect.  They know.  They know I know something. 

Suddenly I feel quite naked, my plans and thoughts thoroughly exposed, put on display because I reacted a bit too strongly over a bloody photograph that just might have been overlooked as a mere coincidence had I played it cool.  Gone are my hopes of simply slipping into my rental car, set on beating the clock by heading straight for Monroe for a private little tete-a-tete with the Samuels' and their guest.  They know Danny is connected with Rick somehow- and I'm connected with Danny.  Therefore, if they can keep a constant eye on me, I could possibly, one way or another, lead them straight to Rick.

There's no way those two will let me out of their sight now.  No, not if they can help it.

I'm trapped, I realize.  I'm trapped by my own bloody band.

And the clock is ticking.