Time Passages (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

58. Twenty-Twenty Hindsight

Julia

The garage door was moving much slower than usual. Over the course of around seven grueling seconds I sat there waiting for the damn thing to drag all the way up so I could pull the car in, teetering dangerously on the brink of complete and utter panic, of the sort that the cheery Christmas music playing through the radio only seemed to accentuate further.

No one had answered the house phone. Danny was not responding to my texts. I had absolutely no clue who, if anyone, was home. All I could do was the very thing I had been doing since I hit the road home (aside of cursing Stuart's name, of course): pray. Pray that I would have beaten the lab rats, by even a single minute or so, just so that I could beg Freddie's forgiveness for turning him away so coldly that morning.

Perhaps there had been a certain level of truth to Antonio's story- but I knew now there also existed a lie. As many times as I had come to realize that half the information available about my prince was fabricated, I should have assumed this far-fetched sexual escapade of theirs would be no different. How could I have fallen into old habits so quickly? Why was disbelief my knee-jerk reaction?

And why was the garage door taking so frickin' long to open?

"Come on!" I screamed. "COME ON, DAMMIT! OPEN UP!"

Finally the sluggish, frozen-over machinery pulled the door far enough up to clear the Jetta's roof. I tapped the accelerator with such careless power I almost rammed right into the wall, but fortunately my foot hit the brakes a split second before I could.

I undid the belt, shut off the engine, popped open the car door, ran to the garage entrance and yanked on the knob a couple of times before the neurons in my brain started firing intelligently again and told me I left the house keys in my purse, which I had in turn left in the car. So with a little scream of frustration, I tripped over myself running back to collect my things, kicking the door closed once more while the keys jangled loudly in my shaking hand as I pushed the proper one into the lock and turned the knob so hard I nearly wrenched the thing out of the slab. At last, with a cold sweat beading along my forehead, I burst into the house.

Fry hopped off the couch and padded over, tail wagging- which told me that Danny apparently was home at least. As upset with my son as I still felt (for I had since discovered just why I hadn't seen those emails before Ms. Rydinger called me that afternoon), I took some comfort from that- but it wasn't enough.

"Freddie!" I called out, keeping my tone as calm as I could manage, even though every word shook violently. "Freddie, are you here?"

No answer, except for a single hoarse beep from Farnsworth.

I tried one more time, louder, voice cracking with fear, "FREDDIE!"

My panicked, wild cry pierced the hollow silence, but once more received no reply. Heart aching, I drifted quietly into the "office" and hung my purse around the back of the swivel chair.

I might have hurried upstairs in search of the man, but I didn't; there was no point. Freddie wasn't here. I could feel it in the air- the lack of that subtle electricity, that living pulse that seemed to charge the atmosphere whenever he was close.

As I came back into the living room, I heard Danny's bare footsteps hurriedly padding closer. "Mom?" he called, presently appearing on the staircase. His mouth seemed to twitch as though with a smile, but it faltered almost immediately after his eyes met mine.

"Hello, Danny," I murmured.

"Hi." He swallowed. "Uh- what was the yelling about? I was in the bathroom, I couldn't-"