⇾ 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐦

| S E V E N T E E N |

The night was pitch black. John and I were using streetlights to help guide us to the creepy antique store.

"So, look at this," John said as we made it to the store. He pointed to a window above our heads. "He lives here. That means that we need to be quiet as fuck, alright?"

I nodded carefully. "Alright," I said, but I was apprehensive. I wasn't sure what was about to happen. What if the man was expecting us to do this? What if we were about to be caught? The police were waiting inside for us because he had known that we were coming. What if that happened?

John took a bobby-pin and crouched down to wiggle it into the keyhole. I looked around at our surroundings nervously. I hated being out so late. Especially since it was 1967 and cellphones didn't exist? The hell was I supposed to do if someone decided to kidnap us? What if one of us got hurt? I'd always hated having a cellphone. I hated how addicted to it I'd become. I hated how I couldn't leave home without it. Now, however, I'd never wished I had one more in my life.

After a few moments where it felt like the wiggling of the key was the loudest noise in the world, there was a light click! sound and the door was unlocked. John gave me a shocked look as if he hadn't actually expected this to work, then we cracked the door open and stepped inside.

"Where was that room he was asking you about?"

"No idea," I admitted.

We both jumped when the lights turned on. The man was sitting at the counter, tapping his fingers against the mahogany surface. He had a slight smirk on his face that sent chills down my spine. I knew this was going to happen.

"Fancy seeing you again," he said.

"I'm so sorry," I said, turning back towards the door. "We can go."

John grabbed my arm before I could open the door again. "No, you need to explain," he said to the old man. "Tell me what the fuck you know." John crossed his arms.

I was practically cowering behind John. I didn't trust this man at all. I wanted to turn around and leave, but I knew deep down that this was probably my only chance to get home, so I stayed where I was. I still didn't feel very good about it, though.

"Ah, John Henry Bonham," the man hummed as he came out from behind the counter and towards us. I saw John gulp nervously. He obviously hadn't been expecting that. The man turned to me and I found myself grabbing onto John's arm, squeezing it tight as I felt fear flow from my head to my toes. "And Molly Claire Jones."

I hated that. I hated hearing my name coming from this stranger's mouth. I didn't know him. How the hell did he know me?

I wanted to cry. I wanted to just sink down onto the floor and cry. I wanted to feel John's arms around me. I wanted him to tell me that it was going to be okay, but then again, he wasn't going to be there forever. Who was going to tell me everything was gonna be okay when John was gone? Who else was there going to be that I'd actually believe?

Why me? Why, why, why me? I didn't understand. What had I done so badly that I deserved all of this? All of the pain that I was going to experience when John was gone.

"I've been expecting both of you," the man in front of us said. He moved a little closer to us, but John backed us both up, my back settling against the door. "Don't worry, I don't bite." He smiled.

"How do you know who we are?" My voice was high-pitched and squeaky now in the midst of my nerves. I was completely terrified.

"Well, it's funny you ask!" he said. "I'm your great grandfather, Molly," he said. I cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, sure you are," I said dismissively. Was I really supposed to believe that? His knowing my name was suspicious, but there was no way we were related. My family lived in Florida, for God's sake!

"I am," he insisted. "I know where you're from. I know why John was sent to you. I know it all, and if you come and sit down at this counter, I'll tell you everything you want to know. I'll even tell you how to get home."

My grip on John kept tightening with each passing moment until he finally decided it was too much and gently reached to pull my hand away. "Alright," he said, crossing his arms. "Prove who you are first."

"Well, if you wanna get all fussy about it," the man said, his thin lips curling downward into a frown. "I'm Gerry," he said. "Gerry Rodney."

"Well, that was positively unhelpful," I responded with a hard look.

"Oh, come off it, I'm getting there! My daughter, Helena, just moved out to Florida this past winter to marry a man she met on holiday over the summer. His name is Bill Jones. Ring a bell, Miss Molly?" My stomach was churning. Those were my grandparents.

"She even called me just a few days ago," he continued. "She's pregnant." I thought to myself quickly. My Aunt Lauren was born in January of 1968. This was getting weirder and weirder by the minute, and I really didn't like it. I felt ill. "Need I go on?"

John turned around to look at me and his face clouded over in concern. "Are you alright, Molly? You're white as a fuckin' sheet."

I shook my head. "I believe you," I said to the man, but I didn't want to. I didn't want to believe him at all. I wanted this all to be a horrible nightmare. I wanted to wake up. John's hand clasping around my arm brought me back to reality and I stumbled slightly.

"Come sit down," John said to me. "Before you bloody faint on me."

This was insane, and I was just realizing to what extent! I was in 1967, with John Bonham! How the hell does that even happen? I didn't even know! I hoped to God that this man in front of me could answer my questions. I hoped he wasn't lying to us. I hope this wasn't some kind of trap.

"Why am I here?" I asked. I studied his features intensely as I sat down at the counter. He had the same eyes as my mother, the blue ones that I had inherited from her, and that she had inherited from her mother. I saw the same face shape too. It was creepy as hell.

John slid onto the stool next to me and folded his hands in front of him, twiddling his thumbs nervously.

"It's simple," he said with a shrug. "You asked for it."

My hands clenched into fists. "No, I didn't," I replied. "I didn't ask for any of this! I just want to be normal!" I burst out in frustration.

"You love John," Gerry said. "That's what happened."

My face scrunched up in shock. "No," I replied. "No, I don't." It was a blatant lie, of course. I did love John. I'd loved him for years now. He was the reason I had ever picked up a drumstick at all. Even so, I loved so many other musicians too. Why had it been John that had been sent to me? Why not bloody Keith Moon? Or Paul McCartney? George Harrison? Why John Bonham?

"Yeah, you do," he replied. "Don't lie to me."

I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming out in anger. "I'm not lying." Another lie.

John was sitting next to me in complete silence. He was probably shocked. He probably didn't know what to say. I didn't blame him. I wouldn't have known what to say if I were him.

"You're never gonna get home if you keep lying. You have to face the truth."

There were tears in my eyes now, so I looked down at the counter. I didn't want to admit it. It would make it so much fucking harder to get over him if I faced it instead of lie to myself and everyone else. I put my hands to my face.

I felt John reach out for me, but I wasn't having it. I stood up and stormed towards the door. I needed fresh air.

"Molly, wait," John called out helplessly, but I had closed the door to the shop behind me before he could catch up to me.

I trudged down the sidewalk, forgetting about the fact that it was nearly 1 AM and I was completely alone in a completely unfamiliar place. I pulled the jacket I was wearing closer around my shoulders and put one foot in front of the other. I needed to go home. I didn't want to be here. The longer I spent here, the more upset I became at the fact that I had to leave. I needed to leave before I went crazy.