I wake at once. Gasping.

It's as if all the air has been knocked out of me. Like my senses have gone into overdrive.

Hypersensitivity. Shock. Adrenaline rush.

I try to sit up, but I'm bound by cuffs. My weak limbs feel strained. My wrists burned by the rubber as if I've been twisting about trying to escape.

Where am I?

There's a heavy curtain drawn around me, hospital machines beeping but none in sight. My head feels dizzy, my thoughts quick and loopy. A nauseated feeling squeezes my guts and my insides begin to panic.

Breath becomes harder to find as my panic heightens. The intensity of a whoozy migraine makes me want to grip my head, but my hands are still tied and all I can do is shove my head backward into the stiff pillow behind me, rolling my head from side to side to try and feel some sort of relief.

I start to flex my arms, bend my knees, trying to curl into my self to make enough friction and pressure to break free. This doesn't feel right, something off. This seems like a trap, a napping— where the fuck is everybody!?

"Hello!!!," I yell and my throat burns. It's raw and sore. My voice is hoarse and tired like it hasn't been used in centuries. "Hello!? Can anybody hear me?!"

"We're going to need you to calm down. Take a few slow breaths. You're okay, Freddie. You're safe."

Who said that?

That's the question I try to say, but no words will come out of my mouth. My throat is dry, constricted with a sudden rush of fear, like any words that dare climb up my throat will scrape and scar me.

I'm too scared to open my eyes again. The harsh, blinding light is too much for my delicate vision and— hey! I can see!

Or... I could see. I could see everything, though there still isn't much to take in. No more blurry vision, no shadows to decipher. My sight isn't fuzzy, everything is crystal.

I shut my eyes a gain and squeeze them tightly. This is a dream. It's all a dream. It has to be.

How did I get here? Who's talking to me? Where are they?!

I slowly pry one eye open. My head still pounds, but I just want to be sure.

I breathe slower. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Everything's fine. I'm still in one piece, aren't I? But where—

"How do you feel now, Freddie?," a man somewhere hidden from the blinding, bright—

...that voice...why is it so familiar?

Though every sound and visual alike are heightened, rushing the void-like image of my surroundings into my brain for translation. I'm on a hospital bed. The four pristinely clean white walls that cage me, seem to go on forever.

"Can you hear my call?," the voice speaks again making me jump, slightly startled. "Why aren't you answering?"

I blink once.

Twice.

I squeeze my eyes closed again trying to shut out the sudden ear piercing noise, but end up in a sort of cringing spasm. My hands fly up in their restraints as I attempt shield my ears, but the hideous sound has already slipped beneath my skin, making it prickle. My jaw clenches and my shoulders scrounge upward.

"Sorry about that," feedback from a microphone makes me turn a bit, eyes spying the intercom hanging on the wall behind me.

"Had to figure out if your sense of hearing was back. You've only been able to see for a while now. Just staring at us...," he pauses.

Whispers ensue, but they're far too muffled for me to interpret. "Anyway, congrats! The tests were fantastic..."

Tests?

"Right...," I start off cross, already too quickly annoyed for having just woken up in what I believe to be a hospital testing room. "Darling, if you don't let me out of here at once, I'll fucking sue you straight to hell."

"Take a few slow breaths, Freddie. You're in a safe place..."

Against my captors advice, I begin to thrash about again, screaming my lungs out this time. I cry for help, but I don't think anyone can hear me. My yells echos back to me trifold, feeding my tiring migraine, palpating my heart in my chest like an insane ticking bomb ready to explode.

"This isn't a trick, Freddie. We aren't being secretive," a tisk of the tongue wets the mic, followed by a heavy sigh, and probably an eye-roll, too. "I'll tell you everything. Where do you wish to begin this time?"

"How long have I been here? What kind of sick pervert— what do you mean, 'this time'?!"

———————————————-

"So you mean to tell me I hallucinated it all? My whole life? My wife? My kids? My career?," my voice quivers but rises with each sounding question. "Bullshit! You're a fucking crock! I'm leaving—"

"Not so fast," He places his hand on my chest and I have half a mind to bite it off. "Sit still and I'll explain. You'll hurt yourself if you think your legs can carry you anywhere. You've been in that bed for years."

I gulp hard taking in his words. My body begins to tremble against my own will. I must admit merely lifting myself up an inch off of the bed put such strain on my muscles that I had to grit my teeth against the pain.

"You better have a good explanation for this, because right now you're none too convincing."

There's no way out of here. I can't even locate an exit door. All I can do is sit and listen. For now.

"You speak of a wife, Freddie?," the doctor asks in a condescending tone, fixing his glasses onto his crooked nose.

I nod.

"What's her name?," his bottom lip pours out, his head tilts to the side. He's looking at me like I'm crazy.

"Cherie. Her name is Cherie Mercury. She has long brown hair and big brown eyes and she stands about here," I motion my head to her height, staring defiantly right back into the doctors cold eyes.

"Mmm," he hums, scribbling soemthjng into his clipboard. The side of his mouth lifts into a smirk— it's a tiny change, but I notice.

"And your children," he continues. "What are they like?"

"What does it matter?!," I dig my closed firsts into the mattress, becoming more irate by the second. "Who are you? A bloody reporter? Who do you work for? What's your wife like, hmm?"

"Freddie...," he shakes his head, taking his glasses off to tap them against his pursed lips. "I'm only trying to help you. I only want to understand your stream of unconsciousness..."

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"You've been here a while—"

"Yes, you've said that," I cut him off. "But you still haven't answered for how long?"

"5 years."

"Five—," I try to scoff but instead choke on my own sputter. "Five YEARS?! FIVE YEARS??! I've heard enough. Fuck this shit— let me outta here— ahhhh!"

Trying to run away from him now only gets me a couple a feet away from the edge of the bed. I fall flat on my stomach, automatically gripping my aching body, withering in pain.

"I told you that wouldn't work," the doctor sighs.

"Fuck you!"

"You weren't this aggressive last time..."

"FUCK YOU!!"

"Come on— lets get you back in bed..."

He tries to grab my sides to lift me up, at the same time I'm doing my best to crawl away. My legs feel like deadweight. My arms not doing much of a better job at dragging me along.

"Don't be stubborn, Freddie!," the doctor growls. I immediately note the change in his once patient tone.

"If I tell you where your wife is, will you let me help you?," this gets me to stop moving. Completely tuning into what he has to say. I adjust my body a bit to look up at his face.

"Bed first," he says, sticking his hand out to me.

"Tell me first," I retort.

"Fine," he sighs, walking the couple of steps backward to sit back into his chair.

"You fell in love with her voice, I suppose. Your description is basic, but it's spot on..."

What the hell is he on about? My face scrunches in disgust. How is he going to tell me about my own wife.

"She enjoyed watching soap operas— Thats for sure. It's quite obvious you were able to hear them and absorb them into your dreams. She could sing beautifully, too."

"So where is she? You don't have to tell me what I already know. She's my wife. Take me to her now!"

"Don't you see, Freddie?," he chuckles a bit, but when he sees the anger twisting my face, he quickly covers his move with his hand and fakes a cough to clear his throat. "I'm trying to ease into this. I don't want another outburst while you're sprawled out on the floor..."

I inhale sharply. Immediately starting to internally freak out at his words. Is she... is he trying to tell me she's...

"You came here after your accident. You were shot in your back, yes, but you also suffered a bullet to your head—"

"WHAT?!"

"I told you you've been here a while. And trust me, she did wait. She waited as long as she could stand it, but you never woke up."

"Shut up!"

"Well, you did a couple of times, but your memory wasn't there and so began the testing, the comas, and the seizures."

"SHUT UP!"

"She's moved on, I guess. Hasn't been here in a little over a year. It was too much for the children to keep hope alive. They all believed you'd never notice."

"Stop it! You're lying! Where is she?! Where's my family?! What have you done to them?!"

He tries to come and comfort me now, rubbing his hand on my heaving shoulders as I shutter and cry at his words he doesn't let up. He's relentless.

"Get away from me! Don't touch me! HELP!!!," I start to crawl away again, squirming inch by inch, looking ridiculous but not giving a shit.

"Freddie, you promised. Now back in bed—"

"I never promised you a damn thing! Get away from me! HELP! SOMEBODY! HELP ME!"

"I'm going to need backup for a behavior. Sedation, STAT!"

"HELP ME! PLEASE! ANYBODY!"

The white wall creases and a door slams open, an ongoing corridor visible in the distance. The feet rushing in, surround me.

"What are you doing?!"

They lift me up by my arms, dragging my feet against the floor, pulling me backward.

"Why are you doing this?!"

I meet the doctors eyes. It's almost like he has tears brimming them as he watches the pair of buff men throw me back into the bedding.

Suddenly, looking one directly in the face, my eyes bulge— this has to be a set up.

"What the FUCK! Thomas! You're working for Thomas?! Get off of me!" He's supposed to be dead! I thought he was dead!

I spit in his face. The blonde-haired, demon eyed son of a bitch!

"I'll kill you! Fight me like a man! Let me go!"

"HELP ME! HELP! CHERIE!?!?"

A stabbing pain shocks me steady. I become still. My stiffened, fighting form slacks. I look down to see the needle in my arm, the syringe stopper slowly being pushed down to pump me with sedatives.

"Why....where....please....."

And all goes blank.