Heaven for Everyone (Queen/Roger Taylor)

- Interlude -

Oh, hello, darling.

Sorry, I didn't see you there. We don't get many visitors. We get none, to be exact. In fact... why are you here?

You're a... reader? A book about... me?

Oh, right, a story about Rog. That's much more sensible. He's better looking and still alive, so that'll make for a more robust plot line.

But, look, you shouldn't be here at all unless you plan to stay for... well, eternity. When I arrived, they said there's no going back, no matter what. I'm not sure what the governing rules are, but I'm certain that you're contravening all of them. So just--

What's that? You want to...?

Oh, fine, I suppose you can stay. If you don't tell, I won't either. But you have to leave if anyone so much as thinks about coming this way. I'm not fucking around; you'll need to go. Are we clear?

Well, alright. Welcome to my little piece of heaven. Metaphorically speaking, that is... oh, did you think that there's both a heaven and a hell? Oh, darling, really. What would be the fun in that?

No, no, everyone goes to the same place, for better or for worse. It's a bit like what Roger dreamed up all those years ago: heaven for everyone.

I always wondered what death would be like. I rather fancied that it would involve walking into the light, cheered on by loved ones long gone. But it's nothing like that. Well, maybe others walk peacefully into the abyss or whatever, but that's not what happened with me.

One moment, I was at Garden Lodge with everyone fussing over me. The next moment, I was trapped in a song. I could see the fucking thing--it was somehow externalized, a whirl of colors and textures. I've never experienced anything like it, and I'm not sure that I ever want to again.

It was one of our songs. But not the album version; it was a version that we performed one night during the Hot Space tour. We'd considered the recording for a B-side, so I'd heard it so many fucking times that I suppose it was seared into my brain. It wasn't the best rendition we'd ever done:  my voice cracked two minutes in, John's bass notes lagged during the second half, Roger was a beat too early with the initial harmonies, and Brian... okay, well, his guitar solo was A-OK. Nonetheless, that's always been my favorite version of the song, so I suppose a higher being chose it to accompany me on the psychedelic journey.

So then I was here. Though it's easier said than done. One moment you're in abject pain surrounded by those you love; the next, you're free of the torment but all alone. But, lucky for me, a bloke named Jack was waiting for me when I arrived. He's been a sort of mentor, if you will; he's shown me the ropes and listens when I need to talk.

Do I miss my life? You are full of questions. Are you sure you don't work for The Daily Mail? Oh, I'm joking, darling, calm down.

It's complicated. I miss the performance high and the come-down that followed. I miss the intensity of being under the spotlights on stage--it was so goddamn hot, you can't imagine. But, at that moment, the world was mine, and I fucking grabbed it with all my might.

I don't miss being under the metaphorical spotlight. Here, nobody gives a shit who I am. I'm gloriously free of the press and the gossip and the goddamn intrusion on every aspect of my life. Did you know that they surrounded my house in the last few weeks of my life? I wasn't even allowed to die in peace. If I were able to haunt people--which I'm not, I'm not the fucking phantom of the opera--my first target would be those fuckers who stood across the street with their cameras and microphones.

But late at night, when all is quiet here, I miss the more mundane bits. The squabbles in the studio over stupid shit, laughing with Jim so hard that we could barely speak, the long transatlantic flights when everyone else was fast asleep. Those little moments are what life is made of and I wish I had paid them more mind when it counted.

Am I...? Darling, you're really going for it with these questions, aren't you?

Am I happy here? Good fucking lord, no, that's not the word I'd use. Happiness is overrated--what does it even mean? Content is more like it. Not a descriptor I thought I'd ever use for myself, but here we are. All my life, I chased the thrill, the highs, the more more more... but in the end, I realized that I was perfectly okay just being myself.

Alright, last question, and then you've gotta go. We're already on borrowed time.

Well-- darling, of course we can see people down there. But it's not quite so simple. Most of the time, the going-ons on Earth are hidden in a sort of fog. I can see shadows and hear muffled words, but not enough to know what's happening. Life is just out of reach, and sometimes that can be fucking maddening. But, every now and then, the fog lifts, and I can see more clearly. Usually just for a minute or two, but that's more than enough.

The funny thing is that lately, I think that--maybe, I'm not sure--I've been able to talk to people. People down there, I mean. The others here say it's metaphysically impossible, but these conversations, this banter... I think it's real. Though I suppose it could just be wishful thinking on my part.

I tried talking to Mary, but now she thinks that her--well, my--house is haunted. I can only reach Jim in his dreams, and I wonder how much he even remembers in the morning. But Roger... well, lately, he's been replying. Or at least I think so. Who knows, maybe I'm making it all up. Like I said, the fog usually gets in the way, so it's a bitch to know what's what.

For a long while, I couldn't see what was going on with Rog. I could see bits and pieces of others' lives, but never his. Then, when finally I did, I understood: he'd fallen into such a dark place that almost no one could get him out. And I certainly couldn't do anything since I'm stuck up here.

But then Cassie came along.

Wait, you didn't think that it was purely coincidence that Roger and Cassie ended up in the same place at the same time, did you? Two lost souls end up in the same coffee shop in Bloomsbury, just like that?

Oh, God, no. Speaking of contravening rules, I had to bend quite a few to make that happen. We aren't meant to be influencing events down there. Some broken plumbing in Cassie's office, some choice words whispered to Roger's therapist's ear... I won't lie and say that it was easy. But I fucking did it anyway. I had one shot at getting it right, and now I have to let things play out the way they will. Divine intervention carries a price.

It won't be easy for them. Humans always find a way to fuck things up. I mean, look at all the relationships that I ran into the ground. Did I really need to wait so goddamn long looking for explosive, groundbreaking love? No, and if I had to go back, I'd do it all differently.

Look, darling, life will get the way. It inevitably does. But I think those two can save each other. I'm willing to swear by it. My only worry is--

Fucking hell, Clara from down the way is coming. You've really got to go. If they find you here, well... we've only just met, and you seem lovely, but you're really not meant to be here. There are things in your life that you're supposed to accomplish, and I don't want to have a hand in changing destinies anymore than I already have.

So, move along. Hurry, before they notice you're here. Time to go back to reality.