Roger quietly closed the door behind him after he entered the band's room. Brian and John were still fixated on the broken light fixture.
Freddie glanced up a his friend from his drawing for a moment only to look back down and glare up at Roger. He put down his pen and narrowed his eyes.
"Roger? Is everything alright, darling?" he asked.
Roger gulped and felt a wave of tremors shoot through his body like lightning. Suddenly, all of what he had experienced the past few days hit him like a double decked London tour bus. A voice spoke inside his head warning about his friends. He saw his own face staring back at him in the audience at one of his shows. A pack of killer monsters are on the loose. The same voice spoke to him over the phone and knew his name. He softly shook his head and leaned against the door trying to hide that his legs gave out from under him.
Brian and John paused for a moment and sniffed the air like a pair of dogs.
John's eyes followed along the walls of the room and stopped at Roger. "Fear," he muttered.
Roger's heart beat roared in his ears and he could feel the pulsing of his blood thumping in the back of his brain.
"Roger?" Brian asked.
Roger stared into Brian's eyes for a moment and then the world went black around him. For what felt like an entire minute, he felt himself lose complete control of his body as gravity pulled him down with iron chains. He couldn't figure out where he was. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't touch. The only thing he could feel was his mind exiting his body for a moment, escaping the clutches of reality, and witnessing its fall.
The feeling of his tailbone hitting the floor brought him back to the present and he let out a yelp of surprise.
Brian dropped what he was holding and leapt over the bed to Roger. He put one hand on his shoulder and held up Roger's head with the other. The only thing that felt real in the room was Brian's touch. Roger's mind seemed to yet again float out and behind him like a camera doing a panorama on television. His brain entered a fog like a deep sleep's dream and for fleeting moments he questioned as to whether or not he was still awake. Yet, Brian was there with him even though he couldn't pinpoint where exactly he was.
"Roger?" Brian asked again. A seed of panic grew from his voice.
Roger inhaled and mustered to utter, "Uh huh?"
"Are you okay? What happened?" Brian asked.
"Erhm, one of the managers was mad that we canceled," Roger lied as a tear slipped down his face, "Guess I'm taking it hard."
Brian furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head. "You're lying," he said.
"What?" Roger slurred.
"You just lied to me. I-I don't know how I know, I just do," Brian stuttered, "If it isn't a mad manager, then what was it?"
Roger lazily rolled his head out of Brian's hand and looked over at Freddie. Freddie made eye contact with him and nodded.
"Alright, John and Brian, dears, will you please go and find some food for the four of us and bring it back here for us?" Freddie requested.
Brian shook his head and responded, "I'm not leaving him."
"It's okay, Bri," Roger assured. He gently removed Brian's hand from his shoulder and forced a thin lipped smile.
"Go and get us something good. And maybe something to take the edge off if they sell it this early in the day in this town," Freddie said. He squatted down at Roger's side and helped him up onto his feet. Roger walked a few steps and then stumbled down face first onto the bed. He closed his eyes and listened to the door open and close and the sound of his heart slow down and fade into its normal silence.
He felt Freddie place a jacket over him like a mother would place a blanket over a sleeping child.
The other bed squeaked under Freddie's light frame and the man let out a soft sigh.
"Roggie, my sweet, it is just the two of us now if you are comfortable with talking about it," Freddie whispered.
Roger rolled over to face away from Freddie and groaned.
"Okay. I'll be here when you are ready," Freddie replied.
Roger took a deep breath and said, "I heard it again. The voice."
His friend remained silent but he sensed the atmosphere in the room tense with his piqued interest.
"Through the phone," Roger continued, "It spoke to me through the phone while I was in the middle of a call."
Roger rolled back over to face Freddie who studied him like a cat.
"It knew my name," Roger whispered.
"It what?" Freddie questioned with his mouth open wide.
"It knew my name. And it seemed to have changed its mind about what it first told me," Roger said.
"And what did it say the first time?" Freddie asked.
"It said to beware my friends and to leave with the dark haired one. I don't even know which of you that would be because you all have dark hair," Roger answered, "This time it 'made a correction' and said that my friends might not be dangerous, but that I should still leave."
"If I were to guess, if I may," Freddie started.
"Go ahead."
"I would guess that I am the dark haired one because not only do I have the darkest hair but also I am the only other human in the band," Freddie concluded.
Roger rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, "I mean, I am glad that it thinks that John and Brian are alright, but I can't help but worry. For fuck's sake, Fred, there are werewolves in Brighton."
"That there are," Freddie added like he had nothing else to say.
"And that is only compounded by the voice and me seeing my face in the audience at the last show at the pub," Roger grumbled, "Did you know that? During Brian's endless solo I had a staring contest with myself?"
Freddie shivered. "That is horrifying," he said, "Why didn't you mention something earlier?"
Roger paused for a moment and admitted, "I'm not sure."
Freddie leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "I am so sorry that you had to experience all of this. You are not alone," he promised.
Roger sat up on the bed and continued, "It's strange, really. After all of those crazy stories I've heard from my family, some of which you've heard yourself, none of them mentioned hearing voices or seeing you face. But of course they have goddamn werewolves."
"I suppose if we were to find a positive, it seems that schizophrenia doesn't run in your family," Freddie decided.
"To think that all of those stories were true!" Roger exclaimed, "The silver, the werewolf hunters, the full moon, all of it!"
"I have to say, knowing your family, I wouldn't be surprised if some of those stories were a little over exaggerated," Freddie attempted to joke.
Roger let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah," he agreed, "I'm sure, after what I've seen, you don't turn into a werewolf when you don't do Lent and that they only go after naughty children who don't go to bed on time."
"What's a lent?"
"My point exactly. But maybe I was told something that can help us find out the source of the voice, maybe even something that can ward off werewolves," Roger said.
He pondered for a moment. He searched through his mind to find anything useful. A memory of his mother scolding his cousins for scaring him by telling him that werewolves would eat him passed through his head. What simpler times, he thought.
"You know," he laughed, "I truly can't remember anything about voices. All I can think about are my cousins being dicks. The only thing that I can think of off the top of my head is that I know that werewolves don't like silver."
Freddie clapped his hands together and replied, "Brilliant, darling, we could've learned that from any book or pamphlet ever published about werewolves."
Roger rolled his eyes. "And silver would also potentially hurt Brian and John, which is the opposite of what we want to do," he added.
"We must tell John and Brian when they come back with something to eat," Freddie insisted, "They will know what to do."
"But what about the warning? What if there is really something going on with Brian and John that we don't know?" Roger pointed out.
Freddie sat up straight and responded, "Roger, love, there is a pack of werewolves running around killing people that has been doing so since before we came here on tour. I truly don't think they are involved or will get involved. Besides, would Brian ever hurt a fly?"
Roger shook his head. Brian wouldn't hurt a fly, he thought, but he is the type of person that would purposely run someone over with a car.
"Would Deaky," Fredde continued, "After calling us his brothers, harm us in any way? Call me optimistic, but I find it highly unlikely."
"But you aren't the one with the voice in your head," Roger argued, "And the voice doesn't know your name. Nor have you seen your face in a crowd or heard the same voice over the phone."
"No, I am not," Freddie agreed.
Roger slumped back down on the bed and rolled over to face the wall again.
"No," Freddie spoke, "I'm the one with with my best friend that I've known ever since I moved to England whom I'm deeply concerned about, a friend that I love more than life."
Another tear rolled down Roger's cheek and he turned over to look up at the ceiling in an effort to keep his tears in his eyes.
"A friend who decided to trust a lycan right after he found out that they exist," Freddie continued, "All based on what? A gut feeling? Tell me, Roger, what does your gut feeling tell you now?"
Roger paused for a moment. He really had just trusted Brian, whom he thought was an ordinary bloke, whom ended up being a breed of monster that his family had heeded for countless generations, all based on a distinct feeling of peace that he felt around him. He found it foolish thinking about it in retrospect. It was a risky leap of faith all based on instinct or a gut feeling. This is so cool, he remembered thinking when Brian told him about his condition, my bandmate is a wolf-shifter. This is so cool and I don't even care about the danger side of things. Sure, he was terrified when Brian's fangs first came out and his eyes glowed like firefly embers, but that feeling was quickly washed away with a feeling of home. Like the hunters said, Roger thought, we're mates. We look out for each other. Always.
"It tells me that Brian and John are still good," Roger finally said.
"That settles it, then," Freddie decided, "That voice can piss off and you can tell it that I, Freddie Fucking Bulsara, said so myself."
Roger climbed off of the bed and gave Freddie a hug.
"Thank you, Freddie," Roger said, "You have no idea."
Freddie's stomach growled and he patted Roger's back.
He asked, "Now, when are those pesky little wolves going to be back with our food, eh?"
A/N- I AM BACK! How are we doing?