In the Year of the Cat (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

30. Mission: Implausible

My fingers ticked against my thighs to the rhythm of the music I had softly pumping into my ears. I was listening to my movie soundtrack playlist, the best I could come up with to salve my quickly developing claustrophobia. The "Pink Panther Theme" had played three times already in the shuffle. But it fit so nicely with my current situation, I had to hear it again when it came around the fourth time.

I had my head almost stuck between my stiffening knees by this point. I shifted my legs with what space I had. And it wasn't much. The trunk smelled of dust, leather, and old book paper. The air inside it was indescribably hot and stuffy, the little holes in the top I had cut for myself doing little to fix that. My shoulders ached from hunching over so long. I paused the music a moment, peered at the time.

I groaned. I'd only spent an hour in this godforsaken box? Lies! I'd been in this trunk for ages! I was born in here!

It was getting harder and harder not to beat against the side and call for help, but I didn't know if the muffled voices I heard just above the lid were friendly. A lot of good a panic attack would do me in the middle of a customs line.

Okay, I feel an existential crisis coming on, I said to myself. Who am I? I'm Julia Samuels. Not Eve Dubroc, Julia Samuels. Remember that. I'm a psych student from 2017. Where am I? I'm in an elevator stuck between heaven and hell, though right now I feel a little closer to the lower levels. It's the year 1977 where I am at present. And the guy I'm living with seems hell-bent on stealing my sanity from me even though that's almost all I have left. How did I get here again? Why am I in this dumb box about to get shipped to Las Vegas? Oh, yeah. Because, Freddie. Of course. How could I forget.

The trunk fell from some ledge, couldn't have been five feet off the ground. But with the one-hundred-fifteen pound female bulk it held, it toppled over and plunged heavily to the ground. I hit my head against the side of the trunk, barely stifling an "Oof."

"Careful!" I heard Freddie's voice, laced with nerves, a short distance away. "I've got some very delicate stuff in there."

Two men took either end of the trunk and with a grunt lifted me up. They started hauling me up a stairway; I felt myself lean forward into my legs, brutalizing my back further. Eight hours more of this. I want to die.

"Just put it up in there with us. Yes, that's nice. Perfect." Freddie sounded anything but calm. Maybe he'd give us away even before I had the chance to. Oh, the NFOs I was racking up. Hopefully I'd remember all of them for later official recording.

A few minutes later, I was set heavily down, and one of the two men asked, "What's all packed in there? Cinder blocks?"

"Something more precious than diamonds, my dear," Freddie cooed.

"A lot heavier, too," the other fellow remarked. "I do believe I strained a muscle."

I snorted. Wimps. Freddie slung me over his shoulder that one time and didn't even bat an eyelash.

They started pushing the trunk across the floor. Someone opened a sliding door and the two movers shoved me in. With a couple more gripes each, Tweedledee and Tweedledum walked out. I noticed several other voices as I was pushed along- all English, but none I automatically recognized. Not that I expected to know anyone on a public airplane, I just blandly wondered.

But it was odd, the way I was being taken to the luggage area of the plane. It seemed like they were carrying me down the aisle right in front of all the passengers. Weird plane. Was this how they worked way back in the 70's? Somehow I didn't quite believe that.

A fist tapped lightly against the trunk top. "How's it going in there?" Freddie whispered.

"Freddie! What are you doing back here?"