How Not To Be A Groupie

Chapter Twelve: Morgan

My face hit pillow and my entire body relaxed. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why nights out had to last until so early in the morning. Me, I'm clocking out at midnight. Stelle went into the living room with a bowl of yogurt and berries and picked up the phone, setting a pad and pen into her lap. The sound of her voice calling whoever almost lured me back to sleep.

Almost.

My mind kept drifting back and forth from thought to thought about the past. Things such as, could I change the past? Would me being here have any serious repercussions in the future? I wouldn't dare kill anyone but...what if I did? What if something I did jeopardized the life of someone in this time that wouldn't have happened normally? What if I saved someone's life? I didn't think I could save Bon's life...it would be a long time before the incident happened and I'd be waiting around here doing God knows what. I couldn't last that long. And was saving Bon's life the right thing to do?

In normal circumstances, of course it would be. If I had been really truly alive in the seventies and eighties, saving Bon's life wouldn't even be a choice. But he died. And life went on. Could future events be tampered with, and was it what I came here for? 

Thinking about Bon's passing kept me from falling back asleep. It was sad before I time traveled and now that I got to know him better it'd be even worse. I couldn't imagine how his family felt, or how the band felt. I couldn't tell anyone. I couldn't let the fact slip. 

The same went for Malcolm. I knew there was probably nothing I could do for him. And I couldn't let anyone know what happens. 

The boys had so much fun yesterday.

Why did any of them have to die? And so young?

It wasn't fair. None of this was fair.

Stelle's voice grew louder as she walked around the living room. "Yeah, yeah, I get it...mhm...." I sat up on the bed and rolled up my pant legs. I felt around on my shins. I couldn't see anything, and I couldn't feel anything. None of that all too familiar scratch of fuzz and bristles. No hair growth after three days.

Impressive.

So my hair wouldn't grow, that answered that question. And my nails appeared to be the same way. I'd have to wait a bit longer for the others. Getting out of bed I went to the bathroom to freshen up. When I came out I saw Stelle had hung up the phone and was scribbling something down. Her left hand was moving wickedly fast, mirroring my right hand when I followed along in interviews. Her handwriting was neat too, and I backed off so I wouldn't accidentally read any of it. 

"My boss wants lots of progress while I'm here," she told her pad of paper. "But he's going to have to wait because I'm on holiday today." Looking over what she wrote she drew a little smiley face in the bottom left corner and set it aside. "Alright, tell me how it went and don't leave anything out."

How what went? The interview? I sat down on a stool and crossed my legs. "It went well," I said. "I felt more prepared this time." 

"Get a lot of dirt?" she asked with a smile.

"I wouldn't say dirt...." Cliff wanting to live somewhere tropical was the closest thing to "dirt" I could think of. 

"He didn't rough up his band mates or anything?"

"No, he didn't," I said. As a matter of fact, he said they were great. Stelle sighed and snapped her fingers.

"I knew he wouldn't," she said. "He's too sweet for that." She looked me over. "You slept in your clothes?" she asked.

"I didn't have anything else," I said. She nodded.

"Right, right, you didn't bring anything...." I felt my palms sweat as she stared at me. "May I ask why?"