With a slight grimace, the distinguished physicist lifted one hand off the steering wheel and placed it on his stomach.  "I think there was something funny in that pork shank," he mumbled. 

Siang didn't miss a beat.  "It's only the pang of guilt."

"Guilt?"

"It was, after all, the flesh of a murdered animal you were sinking your teeth into."

He scoffed.  "Yeah, well, those mixed greens of yours didn't exactly ask to get picked, tossed, and dressed, either." 

"Plants do not have pain receptors, nor are they sentient organisms," she stated flatly.  "Animals do- and are."

Stuart rolled his eyes.  No wonder she and Brian got along so well back there. 

Now that the two of them were headed back to New Jersey, Stuart tried to relax somewhat.  He could not fully unwind, of course, chiefly because he was still in the presence of Siang Ling.  That woman had eyes like a hawk. Any time a face muscle of his so much as twitched, he could practically hear her taking inventory of the occurrence and filing it away in the vast banks of her memory, before addressing it formally in that mild, condescending voice of hers.

But even if Stuart were driving solo, all alone with his thoughts, it was unlikely he would feel any more at ease.  For a solid week, Stuart had foolishly been so confident in his team's skills, and so secure in his girlfriend's commitment to him and his projects- although not so secure as to keep him from taking a few underhanded precautions, one of which had violently exploded in his face that very afternoon.

Jules threw a paperweight at me, Stuart said to himself incredulously. 

He almost couldn't believe it had even happened, that the wild-eyed woman who had hurled that heavy glass prism directly at his forehead was indeed his meek, obedient little Jules.  Try though he might, however, he  didn't have a choice but to accept it- certainly considering all those minuscule shards of glass he spent ten precious minutes sweeping from the floor, off his desk, and out of his hair. 

And now, because of a single insecure, manipulative move -two unflattering words Stuart would never use to describe himself- he was forced to send out a few team members to wait there outside his girlfriend's house, for he would have been a fool to think she would follow through as planned, considering that afternoon's events.

Damn the timing! Damn that unlucky moment she caught him in the act! It was for her own emotional well-being that he did what he did, couldn't she see?  So many times she had assured him that Bucky meant as much to her as any one of her generic clients at university, so this shouldn't have sparked such a strong reaction, let alone one that could have given him a concussion were her aim just a little better. 

After all, what was a little deception when he had her best interests at heart?

It just goes to show, he's a bad influence. His tantrums rubbed off on her, I'll bet. Even if Jules caught us anyway, she would have taken it so much more calmly before, listened to reason as I explained it to her- instead of just up and trying to kill me! Look what that bastard's turned her into! Christ. All I know is, the team better have gotten their hands on him, K and C better be hard at work wiping that g--d--- brain of his. I can't take this stupid game anymore.

Ling spoke up once more, but Stuart couldn't make out the words.  "Hm?" he grunted, turning his head but keeping his eyes on the road.

"I said, I hope that colleague of theirs is alright," she repeated patiently. 

"Who?  John?"  "Colleague"?  How about, the bass player?  Or former bass player?  Good God, woman, where were you when that movie was released?

"Yes.  The one that they thought was being kidnapped."

Stuart shrugged.  "You know, John might have been kidnapped, for all I know."

"You mean, you don't?"

"No, I don't."

"I thought you recognized that other larger man," Ling frowned.  "You said he was one of yours."

"I did recognize him- but he's not one of ours. That much wasn't true, I admit. I only said that so Brian and Roger wouldn't worry- or get themselves involved in this little mishap of ours, too."

"What you call a little mishap, most people would call a catastrophe-"

"The point is, I did what was best for everyone," he cut her off, patience wearing ever thinner, "and by everyone, I mean 'us.'"

She nodded, unfazed.  "Who was he, then?  The younger man, I mean."

"That was the so-called Mr. Burdon, the man who's been acting as Bucky's driver this entire time.  The man whose license I found in the hall this morning-"

"Oh!  Yes.  You were saying something about that earlier.  That was he?"

"I'm almost one hundred percent positive.  He's pretty slippery too; somehow he's found a way to keep the cameras from recording him- like a cloaking device, or something ridiculous and sci-fi like that.  Beyond that, though, I'm at a loss."

Ling swiped her finger across her phone screen. "No theories thus far?  Motives?  The organization whence he comes?"

"None- except that he's clearly protecting Bucky.  For what purpose, and for how long, I have no clue."

"Does Ms. Samuels have any ideas?"

He shook his head.  "She told me she'd never seen him before."

"Do you believe her?"

"I don't have any idea why she would lie about something like that, so yes, I do."

"You must have a great deal of confidence in the woman."

"What does that mean?"

"Exactly what I said.  You must trust her a great deal, to have allowed her son to run free about your laboratory, and to let her talk you into letting B-13 regain consciousness, not to mention live freely in her own house, not even monitored-"

"They are being- I mean- they were, anyway."

"But not anymore?"

"I didn't want Jules to think I didn't trust her.  I didn't want to seem like I was smothering her too much."

"So you risked the secrecy of the entire operation just so you could feel better about yourself?"

Stuart snapped.  With one violent swerve of the wheel he exited the freeway and pulled into the first parking lot he found.  All day, all night, he had been listening to this woman nag him nonstop when he and Jules could have been peacefully celebrating their freedom from that man, that mercurial monstrosity who had been so hell-bent on complicating the process whenever and wherever possible. He could stand it no more.

"All right!  I f---ed up!  I get it!" Stuart snarled.  "How many times are you going to tell me something I already know?  You can stop now, just so you understand, it's really not necessary anymore.  It never was.  Okay?  I understand that you think you and your people over there have it all together all the time, no mistakes, no exceptions, and that's your business, fine- and I know that even after all this is said and done, you and I will likely cross paths again when Dr. Ma and I begin our next collaboration. But off the record, if I'm being perfectly honest, if I never see or speak to you again after tonight, my life will be no less full."

Siang looked injured, but she kept calm.  "Then- why did you ask me to join you for dinner tonight?"

"Because- because Jules was busy and I didn't want to see that reservation go to waste.  That's why."

"Busy?"  Her voice cooled even further.  Siang's eyes drifted down to where her phone rested upon her thigh, then focused again on Preus.  "Busy how?"

"That's none of your business."

The woman's lips curled.  "Do you even know?"

For just a moment, Stuart's mind went totally blank- but he was saved by the foggy memory of half-listening to Jules blather on about Danny's Christmas pageant some time that past week.  "She's probably driving her kid home from rehearsal as we speak."

"What about B-13?"

"As for Bucky, well- if I had to guess, I'd say he's all right.  Last I heard, the house was empty, but I've got some people on basically a stakeout at Jules's house, so they can nab him the minute he comes within vicinity.  To be honest, he's probably already been picked up by-"

"If they have intercepted him, or if he has turned himself in, don't you think the team would contact you?  Or would this be another example of mismanagement on your end?"

"Look, I'll show you!  I'll call them and prove to you that I at least have this much under control!"  So, with the Benz still idling away in the dark, forsaken lot, Stuart dialed the proper number while Siang simply sat back and watched. 

Three rings later, someone answered with a click, filling the car with the sound of road noise and static.  "Y-Yes, sir?"

Preus blinked.  "Where are you?"

"We're, um- on the road," Gabe replied evasively.

"Yeah, I can tell- but where are you going?  I told you to stay put and wait for Bucky!"

"I know you did- but uh... "

The weary scientist rubbed his eyes, drew a heavy sigh and let it out slowly to keep from shouting.  "Okay.  What's... happened now?"

"Well," Gabe coughed, "you remember that yellow sports car you told us about?"

Stuart straightened up.  "Did it come by the house?"

"It did.  And-"

"Did anybody get out of it?"

Someone who sounded like Madelyn answered for Gabe.  "...No?"

"You mean it's still just sitting there?"

"No, uh- see, what happened was, it kinda, like, pulled up to the house, and the window rolled down or something, with this really loud rock music playing, and the guy driving started yelling at us to roll our windows down, or open the door- so I did-"

"I told her not to," Gabe cut in defensively.

"Which was stupid, but I did anyway because, you know, it's important to catch Freddie and all- and so, like, he just goes, he's like, 'I got Freddie right here in the back; if you want him, come and get him!' and he drives off at top speed- and so Gabe decided to follow him-"

"You didn't exactly put up much of a fight against the idea!" Gabe interrupted again. 

There was something very similar to smug satisfaction written across Siang's lips.  In vain, Stuart tried to calm the two down, bring them back to Earth, but they were too busy passing blame back and forth.

"Dr. Preus said, stay put, and so we should've!" Madelyn cried, teeth chattering.

Gabe scoffed, "And risk losing track of Freddie again?  Not that you'd mind, you're so gone for him, you'd do anything to-"

"Oh, yeah?  And you wouldn't?  You're the one who wouldn't stop talking about his gir-"

"The point is, it doesn't matter!  It doesn't matter how bad you wanna f--- the guy, the job comes first.  And our job is to get Freddie back home!"

"Gabe, he probably wasn't even in the car anyway!"

"How would you know?"

"I could just tell!  I could feel it!"

"Seriously?  Even I'm not that-"

"GUYS!" Stuart barked, startling them into silence, before continuing in a softer, shakier voice.  "Look.  All I want to know is if you have him now- or you're still following him.  If you're still following him, tap the rest of the team into your current route, and we'll set up some kind of ambush.  If you have Bucky with you now, get him to Princeton.  Which is it?"

Long pause.  Finally, Madelyn spoke up, much more timidly this time, "Uh- neither."

Now both the middle-aged scientists had forgotten to smile.  Without warning Siang leapt in feet first. "What do you mean, neither?"

"Neither, as in, we don't have Freddie," Gabe replied hesitantly, "and we're not following the yellow car anymore."

"What happened?" Stuart demanded.  "Did you lose him?"

A couple more seconds of radio silence.  "Uh- yeah, I guess you could say that's what happened, more or less."

"Why don't you explain exactly what did happen, then?"

"I'm- not sure if I can, it happened so fast."

"Try us."

Garbled conversation ensued as the small group of underpaid interns quietly asked each other who should be the one to relay such an unbelievable story to their superiors.  Finally, after the tie-breaking round of rock-paper-scissors, Gabe drew a heavy sigh, and took it on.

"We, uh- we followed the car out of the neighborhood, all the way into downtown Monroe, hot on his trail."

I didn't know Monroe had a downtown, Stuart quipped to himself.  They don't even have a city hall, I don't think, how could they have a downtown?

"And then, all of a sudden," Gabe continued, "he slammed on the brakes- it was crazy, he actually tried that on the ice- and so, naturally, we freaked out because we were too close, going too fast- and so we swerved to miss him, even though we knew we wouldn't- we would have had absolutely no choice but to hit that car, we were that close."

Gabe cleared his throat, made himself continue.  "But- we didn't hit him."

"So you avoided hitting him after all.  Well, that's great.  But what-"

"No, Dr. Preus.  We should have hit him.  Like I said, there's no way we could have missed him.  We should have scraped hard against the side of his car, at least rear-ended him pretty bad- but we literally just passed right through that car- and we smashed into a lamp post instead."

"Lamp post?"

"Yup.  And I do mean smashed.  The van's totaled.  We're just sitting here on the curb, waiting for the ambulance to show up."

"Is everyone all right?" Siang exclaimed, eyes widening.

But Preus was not to be deviated.  "What do you mean, you passed right through?"

"Just what he said," Madelyn cut in sharply. "It's like he wasn't even there at all- like it was a mirage or something.  It was pretty scary actually, not gonna lie."

Dr. Preus's face pinched, his cheeks washing of all color.  Without another word, he just hung up the phone.  Not a goodbye, not a promise to clean up this mess personally or in any way at all, not even a courtesy inquiry as to whether Gabe, Madelyn, or anyone else was injured.  He didn't have the strength to deal with much more from them tonight; it would be draining enough to endure the fallout from the woman sitting next to him.

All he wanted was for Freddie to get out of the present, out of Jules's life, and back into the past where he belonged.  Was that really so much to ask?

So, they had to contend with mirages now? Holographic projections perhaps?  Or maybe even some sort of new, even more advanced technology yet to be fully discovered? 

Or were the kids just high off their heads?

I swear, this gets weirder and more complicated every day.  The closer we get to the end, the clearer it becomes how far away we really are. Are they tripping- or am I?

After a moment, Dr. Ling tapped him on the shoulder.  With an exhausted groan, Stuart lifted his head and faced her again. 

"All right, just say it," he mumbled in defeat.  "Tell me I'm a moron.  Tell me I'm an impotent leader, that this is all my fault because I'm such a g--d--- idiot.  Lay it on me, Siang.  I'm begging you."

She just blinked at him.  "I just wanted to know when you planned on getting us back to Princeton- or if you just wanted to spend the night here."

The complete lack of passive-aggressiveness caught him off guard.  "Oh.  Oh, yeah, sorry, here, need to get you back to your hotel."

Sweeping the thin layer of snow off the windshield, they rolled back onto the road and continued their drive.  Ling pulled out her phone, and for a few moments, there was silence in the car, which offered an odd, unsettling contrast to the pandemonium raging within the echoes of Preus's own haggard mind. 

But the hits just kept on coming.

For then, Siang spoke up very quietly, almost in a whisper.  "So- you don't believe for a minute that Ms. Samuels would lie to you?"

"No, I don't," he replied.  "Not about Mr. Burdon, certainly- and not about Bucky."

"I see."  Dr. Preus thought for sure that she would continue, but Siang's lips sealed, and she spoke not another word all through the remainder of the trip, allowing him to contemplate how  his sanity, his reputation, and worst of all, his research funding, were drifting ever so steadily beyond his control.

At last, they reached her hotel.  But instead of stepping right out and heading inside, Siang picked up her purse and turned to him one more time.

"Stuart," she said, "Have you ever wondered if Ms. Samuels is not the woman you believe her to be?"

Preus squinted.  Talk about non sequitur.  "Why?"

She didn't answer.  "Has it ever crossed your mind that perhaps she has been using you all these years?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Did it ever occur to you that she has simply been biding her time all these years, waiting for the opportunity to bring him back?"

"Who?  Bucky?"

"Indeed."

Preus eyed her suspiciously.  "Why do you ask?"

"It is my opinion that she and this mysterious Charles Burdon are very possibly working together, protecting him-"

"I don't see why she would, keeping him here won't save him.  His consciousness-"

"Have you explained it to her yet?  Does she know?"

"No, she doesn't."

"Well, I am surprised.  That's the one thing you chose to keep confidential."

You just couldn't help yourself, could you.  So thinking, Stuart huffed, "Siang, what are you driving at here?"

"I am merely suggesting," she explained, "that she might have spent the last three years watching and waiting, playing the part of your sweetheart yet all the while looking for the opportunity when she could return to him- or else, bring him here."

"Why would she do that?"

"You said that she met the subject when she accidentally traveled to the year 1977.  How close did they become?"

Stuart rolled his eyes.  "Come on, Siang. Where could it possibly have gone?  He's gay.  Have you ever read that book his boyfriend wrote?  I mean, I know they were friends, he and Jules- and she was even attracted to him for a bit- but she swears that it basically went nowhere. And I believe her."

Dr. Ling sighed.  "Then I submit to you, Stuart, that your Julia Samuels has been lying to you from the very start."

"What gives you the right to talk that way about my girlfriend?"

"I'll show you."

Preus opened his mouth to protest, but the certainty in her voice gave him considerable pause.  What did she know?  What had she seen?  He watched in troubled confusion as his colleague moved her phone's screen into view.  It was an article from a major online news site- MSNBC or CBS, if he had to guess- whose big, bold title read, "Freddie Mercury Clone Stuns Crowd at Iconic Central Park Restaurant."

"Clone?" Stuart's eyes widened.  "How do they know he's a clone?"

"They likely don't, that is merely what they call him," she said.  "Journalists have no imagination."

"You can say that ag- wait.  Stuns crowd?  What did he do?  Scroll down, would you?"

As Siang complied, Stuart read on, his face pinching and paling further with every line.  As flamboyant and unbroken as Freddie was rumored to be, he still could not believe his eyes- especially at the line where the Tavern's manager was quoted as saying, "All I know is, Stuart Preus is getting a repair bill from me.  It's cool Rick broke the window just by singing too loud and all, but it's a little too cool in here for my taste, you know what I'm saying?"

First the Facebook post, then the radio interview, then the interview- and now, this.  All those cameras, all those people- he basically outed me to them all! What's George going to do?  What are Brian and Roger going to think?  They have my phone number now, it's only a matter of time before they come around with questions of their own.  Jules, how could you do this to me?

But Siang wasn't through annihilating Stuart's trust in his woman.  At the very bottom of the article, the writer had provided links to videos some Twitter users had captured at the Tavern.  Biting her lip, Dr. Ling clicked the Play icon. 

It was hard to make anything out in the first few seconds, as the camera shook around and the noise level surrounding the camera swallowed up any and all specifics.  But soon enough, the scope focused in on the large black piano, and the two people sitting behind it together.  A man and a woman, dressed sumptuously, singing "Baby, It's Cold Outside."

Needless to say, he identified the man in a split second; the woman took more time.  Preus squinted, looked and listened closely.  As refined and sophisticated phone camera technology had become these days, the picture was still terribly grainy- but he recognized her voice, noted her wavy hair's light shade of brown, remembered the red gown itself from the gala he and Jules had attended some months back.

Suddenly the song ended, causing the user and the rest of the restaurant to cheer and applaud.  But the camera stayed on the couple, who seemed to banter with one another for a moment, before he leaned in to her face.  But she did not pull away, as Stuart had weakly hoped.  Instead, she very willingly met the man's lips with her own. 

And not just once.  Twice.  Jules kissed him twice.  Bucky 13, Freddie Mercury, the man for whom she insisted she harbored no amorous feelings, she sat there and kissed for everyone to see.

"I did not show this to hurt you, or embarrass you," Siang whispered.  "I simply think you ought to know."

Dr. Preus was speechless.  But oh, how the thoughts seared in his quick, raging mind.  Jules, you lying, unfaithful bitch... after all I've done for you...

"I'm calling her right now," he hissed, scrambling to hit the Bluetooth button on the steering wheel when Siang stopped him, placing a hand over the button.

"That's not wise," she said.

Stuart snorted.  "Look, we're here now, and this is my personal life, so why don't you please run along now and let me make her explain-"

"Not like this, Stuart," she cooed.  "Not so quickly.  It's so much more satisfying to wait- and do it right."

Even as blurry as his vision seemed, he made himself pause.  "Do what right?"

Dr. Ling smiled sweetly.  "Revenge."

That almost scared Dr. Preus straight.  This was a side of Siang he hadn't seen yet- but for some reason, he wouldn't go so far as to say he didn't like it.  In fact, he was intrigued.

She continued, "After all, no woman has the right to make a fool of you- someone as intelligent as you are, someone as learned and renowned as yourself- it's a crime to even consider wronging the likes of you."

"But you think I'm stupid."

"Not at all.  I admire you, Dr. Preus.  I always have.  Now," she conceded, "perhaps in matters concerning Ms. Samuels, you show poor judgment and naivete, but it's nothing that can't be corrected."

"Corrected?" he repeated.

"Indeed."  She opened the door.  "By the way, I suggest you get in touch with your Dr. Christopher.  I hear he has a much better idea of how far she has pulled the wool over your face."

"Eyes, not face," he said numbly.  "It goes, 'pulled the wool over my eyes'- and what do you mean by that anyway?"

"Call him and find out- and once you have, contact me- and we can discuss this a bit more in-depth.  I believe I can help you, shall we say- take care of this properly."

He swallowed.  "Yes, I'd like that.  But- what about Mr. Burdon?"

"One thing at a time, Stuart," she murmured.  "Good night, now."

As she walked toward the hotel entrance, Stuart pulled away.  He made a mental note to call Tim the moment he walked in the door of his house.  Somehow he could already tell this would not be a conversation best suited to reverberate all around him via Bluetooth speakers. 

What have I got to lose at this point? he asked himself.  George already probably wants my head on a platter- and this is all her doing anyway.  Hers and the kid's.  If I'm going down, she's going down first. 

Oh, Jules, how could you?

***********************************************************************************************

Taking one more swig from his nightcap, Roger picked up his phone again to watch that video one more time.  He'd only watched it fourteen times in a row, enough to make Brian ask him to please give it a rest, on the way back to the hotel where they were staying overnight.  

It had been a long, tiring day, made even more so once Brian decided to at least put in an appearance at the Tavern.  All the media brouhaha Rick had caused there was too powerful a lure for the astrophysicist, so they went to "investigate"- although Roger made no secret of his reluctance.  All the while, only one central sentiment was shooting through his mind: What the f--- are we even doing here? We just let that guy abduct John- and this is what we're doing about it? A g--d--- interview? Really?

Granted, Brian's new friends didn't seem to be that surprised to see the chap. If anything, Dr. Preus had only appeared mildly irritated. But Roger could not help but worry, even just a little.Relations between Deacy and Queen were no less strained than before- but Roger didn't want John to get hurt. 

Roger sighed, shook his head. "I can't believe you, Brian."

As much of a rock star the seventy-nine year-old drummer still envisioned himself to be, he was not nearly the attention seeker that Brian had become.  He wasn't always this way, granted- but social media had certainly helped him reach this point. 

For now, however, Roger chose to stare at the video one last time before dropping off.  That plane ride tomorrow would be enough of a drain by itself- but he was simply mesmerized by this one clip in particular.

Obviously the guy sounded like Freddie, that went without saying- and he'd seen enough of the radio station clips and heard enough soundbites from that short-lived "interview" to know he looked and talked like him too.  A disturbing likeness, for sure- but he still had his doubts.  Wouldn't anyone?  Freddie was gone, period.  And even if he wasn't, and those crazy UFO-Elvis conspiracy people were really onto something after all, Freddie certainly would not be in pristine, powerful, Live Aid condition in 2027.

But there was more going on here, more than in all those other things together.  Something about the voices, and the way they blended, and that smooth jazz sound backing them. He just couldn't help but find it familiar. It set his mind to backtrack all of thirty, forty, fifty years maybe.  Why that long ago, he couldn't quite say.  What did something as jazzy as "Baby, it's Cold Outside" trigger memories of Freddie?  Everything did, in some form or another, really- but why that exactly?

Well, after all, we did that album called Jazz, fifty years ago or so, he reminded himself sleepily.  And that silly jazz song from the album before it- that "My Melancholy Blues" thing he was so very fond of.   I wonder what happened with her.

Roger's brows furrowed.  For as his thoughts drifted steadily toward the past, he found himself touching upon "her".  That girl.  The one that Freddie got so excited about, until he basically forbade anyone from speaking her very name in a matter of, what, just two weeks?

And then he realized why it struck so familiar a chord.

She sounds like that girl, he gasped.  What's her name again?  Brian called her Yoko Revisited, I called her, basically Yoko backw- Okoy!  Yes, that's it.  God, that was a stupid name to give someone.  Okoy.  What was I smoking in those days?

He didn't keep chortling over his poor nicknaming skills for long, however.  What a queer coincidence, wasn't it, that the woman should seem so like that girl that just randomly appeared in his flat all those years ago- then vanishing again just as abruptly, like some sort of real-life Mary Poppins.  Freddie was certainly convinced she was something supernatural.  Granted, Roger didn't believe in magic, of course- or God Himself, for that matter- but Freddie was just full of mad theories, some of which somehow only made more sense the longer she stuck around. 

He thought again of John's photograph of his godson's family- and how similar the woman's face seemed to Okoy's.  Uncanny, really, now that he thought about it.  And Rick's to Freddie's?  Double vision practically.

John knows something, Roger told himself. I know he knows something- just like he apparently knows that Preus bloke.  There's some sort of connection to all this.  But what?  How?

And that's when the wild idea struck him. On reflex Roger tried to brush it aside, but it wouldn't go.

"Don't be ridiculous," he murmured aloud.  "It's impossible."

Explain Rick, then, he challenged himself.

"Coincidence!"

No such thing as another Freddie.  Not in a million years.

"Maybe there is!"

Do you really believe that?

He left the mental question willfully unanswered.  With a sigh, he took one last gulp to settle his nerves, set the flask on his nightstand, and shut out the light.  But the darkness and the silence only made the concept more conceivable. 

"It's impossible," he whispered one last time.

Nothing is.

Two minutes later Roger fumbled around for his phone and dialed.  Soon enough, he was met on the other end with a little put-out sigh and a "What do you want, Rog?"

"Brian, do you have a minute?"

"I'm trying to sleep over here-"

"Don't give me that, you're probably taking a stereo picture of the skyline right now, aren't you?"

A pause.  "You're terribly rude when you're tired, did you know that?"

"Whatever.  Listen, we can't go home tomorrow."

"Why not?"

Roger swallowed, breathed in and out slowly.  "Right.  Uh- you're going to think this sounds utterly mad, but..."