As the brothers returned to town, they stepped out of the taxi to the sounds of a keyboard in the air – playing Billy Joel, if Quinn identified it correctly – along with a voice being amplified through speakers.
“I don’t need you to worry for me, ’cause I’m alright…”
Quinn realised it was Sam’s voice.
Where did he get the equipment…?
“I don’t want you to tell me it’s time to come home…”
Exchanging a puzzled look with Colin, the pair followed the sound along the street, and ended up in front of a record store, whose sign told Quinn it was called ‘San Fran Disco Records’. Just outside the door, Sam and Rembrandt had a keyboard on a stand, an amp, and a couple of electric guitars in stands behind them.
Rembrandt was leaning against the wall, tapping a finger to the music. He caught sight of the brothers, and waved.
“Hey, Q-ball!” he said, a wide grin on his face, “These cats let us use their gear in exchange for a promotion between songs.”
He held out a hand, and Quinn grasped it.
“Nice goin’,” he said. “How’s business?”
“Great! I think we just need to do this maybe 3 hours a day, during the most busy times. People round here love this.”
“Go ahead with your own life, leave me alone…”
The sound of coins on coins chimed as Sam completed his rendition, along with light applause.
He stretched, turning his microphone off.
“How’d your visit go?” he asked Quinn.
“Not so good,” Quinn admitted, flickering a look to Colin.
Rembrandt switched on the microphone he’d been nursing, and began to uphold his contractual obligation.
“Ladies and gentlemen, come on in to San Fran Disco, where you’ll find the latest and greatest chart toppin’ hits!”
Sam smirked as he watched, but returned to the conversation at hand.
“Not so good, how?”
Quinn sighed, and took his own place, leaning against the brick wall. “I blew it. My Dad got suspicious as soon as I brought up the younger me. Should have chosen a different cover story.”
“Suspicious?” Sam squinted.
“Yeah… it was kind of weird, really. His eyes were watching the road. Maybe something happened to the me of this world.”
“Nonetheless,” Colin interjected, “I enjoyed what I saw of your house. And Bopper is a very lovely dog.”
Quinn gave a tight smile. “Yeah, he’s a special boy.”
Sam stroked his chin. “Sounds like something to get to the bottom of…”
Quinn raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
Sam turned away, lost in thought. Quinn scratched the back of his head, and looked at Colin, who shrugged.
“It might be nothing,” Sam continued his thought. “But, every time I ignore something like this, it ends up coming back to bite me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know the whole God or Time or Fate or whatever thing is pretty out there, but I can’t help but think maybe you’re here to help whatever’s going on there.”
Quinn was a little taken aback. “Wait, you’re the one who gets assignments from your divine boss or whatever, not me.”
“Well,” he began, gesturing to his chest, “I’m me, so the rulebook’s already out the window, you know?”
“So you’re going with your gut, huh?”
Sam nodded, with the ghost of a shrug. “Sometimes, my gut is more accurate than Ziggy.”
Quinn frowned.
I suppose it’s possible.
“Well, when you finish for the day, let’s plan our next moves back at the hotel.”
Sam patted Quinn on the arm. “Sure thing.”
He turned back to the instruments. “Now…”
He picked up one of the guitars, which Quinn now recognised as a four-string bass guitar. He said something in Remy’s ear, whose mouth curled into a smile. Rembrandt sat down at the keyboard, switched on the mic, and awaited Sam’s cue.
Sam played a light funk tune on the bass, nodded to him after a few bars, and Rembrandt chimed in with a breezy accompaniment, before beginning the song:
“When I wake up in the morning, love…” he sang, “and the sunlight hurts my eyes…”
Quinn couldn’t quite identify this song, but it sounded familiar. Colin was tapping his foot again, and Quinn just stood there listening to the laid back song for a while, before deciding they’d better go check up on Maggie.
“Just one look at you, and I know it’s gonna be, a lovely daaaay…”
“Lovely day, lovely day, lovely day…” Sam sang softly, under Rembrandt’s sustained note.
Quinn thought fondly about how fantastic an era of music this was, as he headed toward the Dominion, with Colin hot on his heels.
* * *
Maggie was clutching her head in pain as she heard the door of the suite opening. The searing agony came in waves, and she was smack dab in the middle of one right now.
“Hey,” she said, without looking up.
“Maggie, are you alright?” came Quinn’s voice, and she sensed him rushing over to her.
“Well, no. But hey; what else is new?” she said with a bleak sigh, her eyes tightly shut.
She felt a body sit on the side of her bed.
“There’s nothing you can do right now,” she said, in the hopes that he’d just leave her be.
“Do you need some company?” Quinn asked, his voice laced with pity.
Maggie sighed. “Ask me again when I can look you in the eye without my brain feeling like it’s gonna rip itself in two.”
Maggie buried her face in her pillow, as she felt Quinn place his hand on her lower leg.
“Well…” he said, “I’m here if you need me, okay?”
“Me too, Maggie,” came Colin’s voice from somewhere across the room.
Golly gee, that’s ever-so heartwarming, came a sarcastic voice in her head, that she assumed must have been the part of her that didn’t know these people. The part of her that did, on the other hand, was aching to hold Quinn’s hand.
This feeling prompted her to pipe up, despite her pain: “Quinn… are we… um, married?”
Quinn was silent for a moment.
“N-no…”
This was enough for her to open her eyes and look at him, in spite of the severe pain it caused.
“Then… why do I remember our wedding?”
Quinn looked towards Colin, grimacing.
“It’s a really convoluted story, but we were… sorta married? In a bubble universe. But it only exists in our memories now.”
“Oh…”
So, her real marriages, on either side of her current dual being, were to Billy Colbert and Stephen Jensen, the former of whom she divorced, and the latter was murdered by someone who she’d hunted down and seen die, if she recalled correctly.
Quinn was not her husband. Not technically. At least that matter was cleared up. More or less. No more confused dreams about her love life, right?
She closed her eyes again, and set her head down.
She felt Quinn’s hand clasping hers.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, okay?”
She nodded, her eyes longing to open again and gaze upon Quinn, but the pain wouldn’t allow it.
“I mean it,” he continued. “Both of you. Even though one of you did some messed up things to us, you’re both Maggie, and…”
He trailed off, and Maggie wondered why.
She forced her eyes open, and saw tears on his cheeks. He was choked up.
Quinn…
Colin approached them.
“What Quinn’s trying to say is you mean a lot to him, and he’s going to do everything in his power to help you.”
He gave her a warm smile. “We all will.”
They really do care? Maggie thought, and she didn’t know which half of her had this sentiment.
She didn’t know how to respond, so she remained silent. She felt Quinn pat her hand before releasing it, and his weight on the bed lifted.
“I’ve got some equations to figure out,” he muttered, rummaging in the nightstand beside her for a pen and paper.
“Would you mind filling me in?” Colin asked him. Quinn’s rummaging ceased for a moment.
“On the equations?”
“Yeah. Maybe I can help.”
“Sure,” Quinn said, and Maggie could sense some pride in his voice. He’d definitely been spending a lot of time talking nerd stuff with Colin, though there was a big gap of progress that Colin had to fill in a short period of time. He’d been at Edison levels of technology just a handful of months ago, but he’d taken to computers at a rate that far surpassed Maggie’s knowledge.
Well, that wasn’t completely true. The part of her that was Sheriff Maggie had a decent handle on computing, though her zest for it was entirely lacking.
Regardless, Maggie knew that Quinn was proud of his brother for all the information he’d been able to absorb in such a short time, and he was not going to let that progress go to waste.
“Well, you two have at it, just don’t be too loud,” Maggie said through the squalls of pain that separated her from her surroundings. “Good luck.”
The last thing she perceived as she drifted off to another restless sleep was a warm hand squeezing her own.