Day 8: Well, how do I put this. I guess bluntly is the only way. I woke up in bed next to Freddie, but he promised me (whatever that means) we didn't do "it". Apparently he made a bet with Mr. Roger Taylor to see which of the two could get to me first, so he and I are not on very good terms, he just doesn't know it yet. I'm on a private jet plane called the Starship. Freddie's decided we need to go to Las Vegas because I made the mistake of saying I was something I'm not. We've been on the plane for about five hours now, three more to go until we stop at New York.

This jet has everything. There's a kitchen in which the stewardesses, Lucy and Belinda (but who are currently going by Lulu and Belle because someone, I think either Straker or John Holmes, Elton's PA- yes, I said Elton, and I do mean Elton John, and no, I'm not high, not right now- told them those names suited them better), have prepared some very nice munchies for us. Lulu's the one I like; she's a little more strait-laced than her partner, and she's a good old-fashioned American.  Who'd have thought. 

But more about the plane.  There's a shower room, a bedroom, a TV, a fully stocked bar, and an electric Hammond organ right next to it (makes things very convenient for our musical party people). And there's a fireplace. I don't know why a plane needs a fireplace, but we have a fireplace. Whatever.

Rudy's actually not flying the plane by himself, he was just joshing around (I didn't know he had it in him to josh). Our pilot's name is Kelly. Rudy does have a pilot's license, though, so he's acting as copilot. I guess it's Captain Kelly and First Officer Barnes. They've just switched now; Rudy's taken over for -

From behind the cockpit door I heard another one of Peter's loud cackles. Even over the grinding of the engines, he was audible. I was sitting behind the two flyboys, Rudy and the captain. I'd been going back and forth between the passenger area and the cockpit, finding refuge with Freddie's silent driver whenever things in the back started becoming a little odd. Keep in mind what was stocked aboard the Starship, add in the alcohol, cocaine (courtesy of Paul and Jack Kristenhoffer, Peter's friend), two very able and willing floozy stewardesses, and the wild passengers themselves- and I'll let you decide what "odd" means.

Right now, though, the passengers had relatively settled down. The three divas- Peter, Elton, and Freddie- had been tipsily caterwauling at the Hammond organ for the last half hour, each trying to outdo the other two. I hadn't minded for the first fifteen minutes, in fact enjoyed the star-studded serenade. Several times Elton waved his hand, taking requests on a first come, first serve basis. Which, since Lulu was in and out of her station and Belle was in the back bedroom "serving" Kristenhoffer and Paul was keeping an unwavering eye on Freddie, meant I monopolized the market.

"O-Bla-Di!" I would request, and Elton would crash right into it, and laughingly the boys would sing the Beatles' story of Desmond and Molly. It was so contagious, I had to sing along. I once tried sidling up next to the trio to at least be closer to the action. But Pudding Face rose from his seat almost immediately and wormed between me and the rest of them. I don't know why he saw me as such a threat to Freddie, even then when I was anything but his biggest fan.

And then there was the matter of that darn Straker. Don't get me wrong, Peter had a beautiful, rich tenor voice. A true, underappreciated talent. The only problem was, he seemed convinced that he was a flat first soprano. He started freestyle warbling in his falsetto; then, not to be outshone, Freddie let rip, turning his own higher notes on full blast; and Elton decided to throw both of them for a loop and did his best bullfrog bass before joining them in the screech fest. Peter Straker did not equal Montserrat Caballe- but rather than tell him that, I just slipped off to the cockpit for the seventh time, and caught up on my journal. I had already written what I remembered from yesterday, now I simply had to catch up on today's happenings and a few NFOs for the flavor.

NFOs: When in the company of his friends, Freddie is a very different person than he is with me or even the band. He's more than a loose cannon- he's, he's just loose. He's flubber. Anything and everything, that's the way he rolls. His friends don't provide much of a moral support, moral center, to be sure- and if they did, it is very likely Freddie would not wish to have them as friends. Moral centers bore him. I bore him. Yet he expects everyone here to treat me like a lady, and I appreciate that, but what does he care what they do to me? He keeps picking on me about how I go around barefoot all the time, yet the first thing he did once we could get up and walk around the plane was take his shoes off. Bare feet for me, but not for thee. He's so inconsistent and so moody. It drives me crazy.

Also: I don't think Freddie's so much as looked at me since the drinks started flowing. Not that I want him to, but I can't help noticing. I suppose it's true, then. I'm a tool. Even so, this is an awful lot of trouble to go through to convince Roger. Does he want out of the bet that badly? Or am I just a good enough excuse to go party across the pond? See, there's no way I can believe now. I have no choice but to question him. I don't know what to do.

I found myself humming that Kelly Clarkson song again. I could have played the song from my phone, but one, it was at half power and I was trying to save the juice for an emergency, and two, it wasn't in my playlist. Funny how that song popped into my head every time I was in limbo about Freddie. I'm not even a fan of hers, but that song fit him so perfectly, and so neatly matched my mixed up feelings about him.

(What song was it? Oh, but that's not for another few days. Believe me, it becomes very important later on, even more important than the Mercurena, which is saying something. You'll see. Stay tuned.)

"Why do you keep running in here?" Rudy murmured, turning to look at me. "You've got the whole jet but you want the cockpit."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was bothering you," I said, quickly getting up.

"You're not," Rudy answered. "I just wondered why you'd spend almost all your time up here, when Freddie and the rest are all having a time back there."

"It's the view," I sighed. "It's peaceful up here. Just the sky, just you and Captain Kelly, nobody's doing anything nasty, nobody's being loud. It's just nice."

"Oh." Rudy turned back to the controls, facing the clear blue in front of us. "You can stay. I just don't know why you would. It's a lovely pl-"

Suddenly we heard a loud grating, rattling sound. It came from the direction of the engines. Rudy's brows knit with concern, and in very British glibness he said to himself, "That doesn't sound quite right."

The rattling continued for about half a minute before fading away again. To my surprise, the boys had hushed; they heard it too. Just out of curiosity, I stepped back into the passenger area to see what they were doing.

Peter seemed unfazed as he made yet another trip to the bar; I couldn't see Elton's expression due to his tinted glasses, but he came off as comfortably numb as well. The stewardesses emerged from their respective locations, Belle of course draped heavily over Kristenhoffer, all three laughing. Paul Prenter was Paul Prenter. But Freddie looked pale, his hands clenched tightly in his lap as he sat cross-legged on the wall bench.

"What was that?" Freddie said when I came out, his voice tight. "Sounded like the engine."

I shrugged. "Maybe it was."

He scoffed, "You don't know?"

"No."

"We're going to crash, obviously, or else they'd tell us," Peter sang, lifting his glass. "Here's to our memory."

"Shut up, you twat," Freddie muttered. He clenched his hands harder.

I drew nearer with growing interest. What's this? Is Freddie afraid of flying? "It was just a little rattle, Freddie, nothing to worry about," I said.

"How do you know?"

"I'm guessing, but it's a good guess-"

"Well, for all the time you've spent up there, you ought to be an expert by now. Is it that they don't talk to each other or you just don't listen?"

"If you feel so strongly about it, why don't you ask them yourself?" I retorted, then went back to the cockpit. I am not in the mood for another tiff, dear sir.

I closed the door behind me and held the knob, made sure Freddie wasn't lurking behind me to yank it open and drag me back in so we could squabble with a clearly one-sided audience. I sat myself in my seat, but I drew the buckle over my lap just in case and fastened it. One of the worst things about Rudy is also one of the best: he doesn't say much. That's good enough for me. I think I'll just stay up here the rest of the trip.

So I did. I sat there, legs stretched out in front of me, my hand fiddling absently with my tracker which still hung dead but faithful round my neck. The party kept on behind me. Freddie eventually worked out of his little tantrum, according to the sound of his laughter through the door after ten minutes or so.

He's impossible. How I had been so arrogant as to think I, an amateur stripling not even out of university, could get a good look at his soul, is beyond me. I'm right back where I started.

And then, in careless frustration, I opened my journal and wrote a miscellaneous comment in the margins right under the "NFO" tab:

What a waste of time. What a waste of life.

I swear, with God as my witness, that I wasn't talking about Freddie.  I was referring to myself, and my future, and how I was stuck forever (Hello, Reality, it's about time you showed up) in a world where I didn't legally exist. I should have clarified- or at least written it anywhere but there.

But anyway.

After a little while, I dozed off, the airplane noise lulling me to sleep. I figured this late in the day, I would go free, and have no scary earthquake dreams. But even at thirty thousand feet, I wasn't safe from the nightmare. On the contrary, it was easily the most vivid, most horrifying version yet.

Again, in the swirling magenta, it started with Freddie and me together, but a few things had altered. A few important things. Now neither of us were wearing any clothes, every aspect of Freddie's form etched out in perfect detail- and instead of holding my wrists and leading me through the fog, now he led me along only part of the way before roughly pulling me down onto the hard, rocky ground and pinning my shoulders down against the dry earth. He licked his lips, began to sigh. This was enough to make me start thrashing about, both in my dream and in real time, but I couldn't wake myself up.

And then he was on top of me. The earth split in half all around us, and I started shouting in fear and in protest but he paid no heed. One last time I cried out before his face leaned in closer than before, and I stared into the coals-not their usual ebony glow but a flat, cold, horrible red- that drooped closed as his lips met mine before further desecrating my neck, and his hands, his beautiful hands were everywhere. Over and over the caresses came- long, sinful, and rough, as though he knew he could possibly be hurting me and didn't care- and his body pressed even closer upon mine until I could barely breathe; but now I wasn't fighting any longer and my arms had slipped tightly around his damp, heaving chest, and he came coarsely open-mouthed to me, this time for my breast.

It was then the rift split us apart- by some great magic, considering our positions, but it happened. And just before he flew over the cliff, so did the Relic, which had been laying by my side. I'd been so distracted by his savage foreplay I hadn't even noticed the Relic was right there, waiting for me to take it. Over they both sailed, in opposite directions, and just as I reached out-

"Eve?" Someone put their hand on my knee.

"GAAAAH!" I screamed, eyes snapping open. I tried leaping out of my seat but the fastened belt took the wind out of those sails immediately. With an attempt at calm I unbuckled the belt, but I was still completely freaked. What was that? What the EFFING HELL was that?

This thought darted through my brain at lightning speed: Wish fulfillment. 

I visibly cringed, then covered my face.  But, strangely enough, I didn't bother to convince myself otherwise.  I couldn't help my physicality.  That wasn't my area.

Captain Kelly was back at the helm.  Rudy was staring at me with a Well-she's-finally-flipped look. Maybe I had. "We're about to land," he managed.

"Yes!" I punched the air with both fists, then let them fall into my lap again.  "That means I go back in the box, doesn't it?"

Rudy shrugged.  "Or you could just stay on the plane and not get off."

"That's an idea," I remarked.  "I think I'd rather do that."

But still, I put my hand on the cockpit door, prayed I wouldn't see anything horrible on the other side, then opened it.

Freddie was gazing at Lulu, who was, for some reason, out of her blue stewardess uniform.  Instead, she wore one of my vest/ button down combos and my old blue jeans, smiling dazzlingly at him.  What's she doing in my clothes?

Freddie turned and put out his hand to receive me.  In the other hand he held cut up pieces of a Polaroid.  Well, at least he was in a better mood now.  "Ah, Evie!  You're back.  Dear, will you do something for me?"

I answered, "That depends."

"Lulu's trying on your clothes to see if they fit, won't you go in the bedroom there and put on hers?"

I blinked.  "Why?  Are we playing dress-up or something?"

"Sort of.  Now go on."

I didn't move.  This sounded so fishy.  But I knew how far a flat "no" would get me, so I said, "I ought to be getting back into my trunk-"

"First, the uniform, darling.  Thank you."

Obediently, then, I marched into the now unoccupied bedroom, edging my way around the rumpled bed and daintily slipping out of my clothes.  Placing my shirt and skirt on the very foot of the bed (ugh, I didn't want to know), I stepped into Lulu's stewardess attire.  All I needed to do was pin my hair up and I'd look like a PanAm trainee.

I emerged.  "Okay, I'm wearing it, now will someone please tell me what this is all about?"

"Everyone, sit back down and brace yourselves, we're landing in t-minus two minutes," Captain Kelly said over the intercom.  Immediately Lulu took a window seat and buckled up.

"Would you look at that, Sharon," Freddie crooned, sauntering towards the seats.  "She and Eve are practically the same size."

"Fascinating," Elton replied dryly before dragging on a cigarette. "They could be twins."

I laughed.  Lulu had deep-set gray eyes and short, Dorothy Hamill-styled red hair framing her heart-shaped face.  She and I looked nothing alike, not while my long brown locks, square jaw, and hazel bug eyes had anything to say about it.

When I started to take my seat across the aisle from Freddie, who was sitting next to Peter, he cried, "My dear, what do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, right, sorry, back to the box-"

"What box?"

"The box I came in on."

"You're not getting back in there, the customs people will find you."

I huffed.  "Why didn't this occur to you before?"

"The vodka, of course.  But that doesn't matter now.  You belong up there with Belle!"

"Say wh-"

"No questions, just do it!"

I did it.  I sat next to rosy-cheeked Belle and strapped myself down, feeling more and more confused by the second.  As I passed Freddie, he pushed a leather-bound booklet into my hand.  Only after I was secured did I inspect it.  The item was dark green, with a seal emblazoned in gold stamped on its front.  The words above and below this seal read, "Passport: United States of America."

"And, uh, darling, almost forgot: don't forget to say your name is Lucy."

"What?!" I cried, and might have said more but the plane touched down too quickly. The ground rolled noisily beneath the wheels, gradually slowing as we trundled along.  The engine again started making some strange, almost wheezing noises, but since we were on the ground nobody paid any attention.

I looked at the inside to find the name scrawled there as being Lucy Leppert, but the image beside the name was my own.  But it wasn't just any picture; it was the very same picture Freddie had taken yesterday in the bathroom- the one where I looked so ugly and so frazzled.  Therefore, it was the perfect Passport ID picture, which he had cropped and used to painstakingly cover Lucy's. 

He was sneaking me into the States disguised as a stewardess.  The hits just kept on coming.

The plane itself pulled to a stop.  Amid playful "yays" I asked, "What's Lulu going to do?"

She responded, "Oh, I'm going home to Connecticut.  There's an umbrella and a towel and a spot on the beach all with my name on them.  I'll take the Passport back right before I leave."

My heart fluttered.  "Freddie, this is so illegal!"

"It's only illegal if you get caught," Peter chimed in.  I could almost hear the wink. 

"And we won't get caught," Freddie said.  "Besides, we're just passing through.  This is all a 'just in case' thing."

"I'm afraid it's more than that," Rudy announced, exiting the cockpit as we unbuckled. 

Jack and John traded glances.  "What do you mean?" Freddie asked.

"I don't think we're going to want to be stuck another straight four hours aboard this big tin can.  Before lifting back off, that is."

Elton looked aghast.  "Four hours?"

An annoyed grumbling arose from the sparsely filled passenger seats.  "Why the f--- can't we just fill up and go?" Freddie demanded.

"The captain's worried about the plane.  He's going to have someone look at the engine while we're here, make sure nothing's wrong.  Apparently the process takes anywhere from two to four hours, if a man does the job right."

"Four hours," Freddie repeated, letting Rudy's words soak in.  He weighed the pros and cons of following Captain Kelly's words, or just letting hubris take hold and flying out anyway, perhaps into death. 

He sighed.  "Well, that settles it.  Sorry, Eve, scratch the 'just in case,' yes, we're getting off for a while. That means you too."

"Must I?"

"We have four hours to kill in New York City, and you want to sit around on a f---ing jet you've been sitting around on all day?"

"Well, when you put it THAT way..."

And so we all piled off the plane, I with a change of clothes in my arms.  I'd never get past customs, I just knew.  This was so silly. Two people with the name Lucy Leppert on the same plane were bound to make people suspicious. 

But still, by now I knew better than to underestimate Freddie.