A Babe Without A Name (A Brian May / Queen fan fiction)

2

Ugh, my head. Why is mom already blasting music when she knows I sleep during the day?

I groan and turn over, wondering where the hell my blanket is, and why I'm wearing shoes in bed. Another drunken night? I muse. Must've been a doozy, I can't remember a thing.

When the light hits my eyes, I automatically know somethings up, because I usually sleep with full blackout curtains. All of these differences were suspicious, but it isn't until I see that I'm not even in my room that my heart sinks in my chest.

I spring up to my feet, my head practically doing a 360 degree spin as I took in my unfamiliar surroundings. I had been lying- no- my unconscious was likely placed on a white leather sofa in a small wood paneled room. There was a table filled with food and alcohol in one corner, and a small seating area in the other. There was one door directly across from the couch with the crashing sound of drums coming from the other side.

The fear that I had been kidnapped is now swimming in my head, so I dash across the room and brandish a large glass bottle of vodka- the only weapon like object I can find. It's half empty, but hopefully it will still hurt whoever the fuck put me here.

I silently open the door of the room to find a long hallway with many more doors. Surely one of these must be the exit, and when I find it I'm running like hell. My steps are light and purposeful, and I'm moving as silently as I possibly can, even though the deafening sound of drums was still filling the hall.

The first door led to an outdated looking bathroom, so I continued moving gingerly down the hall, bottle of vodka raised and ready to strike.

My heart was racing as I approached the second door where the drumming was coming from. My kidnapper or someone involved with this was inside that room for sure, so I quickly passed by, feeling relief wash over me when I find a door to the outside world right around the corner. Just as I push it open, and feel a shockingly cold breeze hit me, I'm stopped in my tracks. Not by a person, but by a sound. A sound that I know, and have known apparently since my infancy.

The sound is that of an electric guitar. A very familiar riff, but I couldn't tell which song it was from.

New theories begin to enter my mind as I stood there in the threshold between my freedom and wherever the fuck I woke up. Maybe my kidnapper has been stalking me, and knows what music I like, or perhaps I'm suddenly in a horror movie where the tricky demon knows just how to lure me back to my inevitable death. Either way, I stood there listening, my body and adrenaline begging me to run away, but my brain and common sense turned to mush.

I found myself wandering back into the hallway, letting the door creak shut as if groaning at my naïveté. My feet moved almost involuntarily across the cheesy outdated flooring of the building, until I was back at the door with the music beyond it.

There was a few murmuring voices inside the room, all sounding male. My heart was racing faster than ever before, and I nearly turned to run away again, but then the music continued- scrambling my brain and common sense even more.

I KNOW THIS SONG. It's the beginning riff of Queen's "Good Company".

My sudden excitement and irrationality made me do something quite stupid, solidifying the fact that I would be the one to die first in a horror movie.

I opened the door.

I was met by a small space filled with buttons and knobs, levers, and a big glass window overlooking a separate room lined with foam and instruments. More importantly, I was met by four pairs of very confused eyes belonging to the band members I'd spent my life admiring.

I can only imagine how silly I looked standing there, still wearing my McDonald's uniform, a bottle of vodka dropped and smashed beneath my feet, a face of pure shock- not a good look for someone who's come face to face with the guys from Queen.

"Woah, woah!" Roger Taylor was the first to speak, gesturing to the broken bottle at my feet. "I only just bought that one!"

Roger fucking Taylor- young, devishly handsome, and looking extremely pissed at me. If I wasn't in so much shock I just might have squealed like a prepubescent girl.

Wait just a second- he's young. My eyes shifted from Roger to meet with the very eyes of Freddie Mercury, who bore a mixture of fear and surprise, but was nonetheless alive and in the flesh.

That's when it hit me- this must be a dream. A lucid dream! While the fact it wasn't real disappointed me a bit, it was the only way to rationalize the moment I was in. After All, I have no recollection of how I came to be in this strange building in the first place.

If it's just a lucid dream, I might as well have a little fun.

"Sorry boys, I'm just too clumsy today!" I laugh, and step over the puddle of vodka, entering the room with them. I smile like I have all of the confidence in the world, but on the inside I'm filled with anxiety.

"Uh, Yeah looks like you took a good beating as well."

"Who even is she?"

"Are you okay?"

"Should we uh... call someone? The police maybe?"

Their answers came flooding in almost at once, and I had little time to prepare to explain myself. My god, this dream is incredibly vivid.

"Oh no, I'm okay," I pause to acknowledge the ache in my head. Why is my head hurting so badly? "I'm here for business-" I lean against the doorframe to steady my shaking body.

"You look like you've had the shit beaten out of you." Freddie says, taking a step closer. "How did you get in here anyway?"

"Like I said, I'm here for business." I manage to choke out, desperate to change the narrative of my dream. The air around me suddenly felt thick as I took in the skeptical faces of the band.

I thought the whole point of lucid dreaming was to have control over everything.

"Mmm, well I don't believe you dear." Freddie narrowed his dark eyes at me. "It seems to me like you're trespassing." He takes another step closer, and crosses his arms.

"No, I'm- I'm not!" I stammer. The surreality of being so close to Freddie Mercury is making me lightheaded. "I woke up here!"

"Hmm," he studies me for a moment before turning to the rest of the band. "John will you call the authorities please?"

John Deacon says nothing apart from a slight nod before he exits the room, being careful not to step near the broken bottle.

They're really calling the cops on me? I've always imagined meeting the band members of Queen, and this was nothing like my wildest fantasies. Why would my brain create this nightmare?

Freddie left the room to follow John, likely to give the cops his own perspective on the matter. Followed by Roger, who cried "Well don't leave me alone with the crazy lady" as he ran after them. I was left alone in the recording room with Brian May, who I assume will leave too.

"Guess I've been tasked with babysitting." Brian scoffs with his eyes on the open door. I sink down to the floor, wishing I could just wake up already, and to rest my head (which was still aching) against my knees. "You're not going to try anything funny are you?" Brian asks in a wary tone.

"I would never." I mumbled into my McDonald's issued pants. "This is a stupid dream."

I heard Brian finally set down his guitar, and make his way closer. He stood there for a moment before deciding to take a seat in front of me.

"So what's the real reason you're here?" The soothing sound of his voice filled my ears, and once again increased the beat of my heart. "What is your name?"

"Heather.. my name is Heather." I raised my head to look into Brian's eyes. "I'm dreaming this up."