December 9, 1980 [ABANDONED]

Chapter 4

Ringo sighed heavily and stretched his legs. He looked over at George, who was also exhibiting signs of being restless, his fingers quietly drumming on the arm of the chair and staring into space. He was probably tempted to go out and smoke another cigarette, but was waiting on Paul and John. Ringo hoped that they were finally talking to each other again, and that the horrible nightmare that had been going on for the past ten years or so was finally over.

As a door creaked open, both Ringo's and George's eyes darted toward the room. Paul nodded to them and silently motioned for them to come back in. He could tell by Paul's demeanor that the earlier tension was now gone. Ringo smiled at George, who nodded his head back in understanding. They already knew what Paul and John were going to say.

Ringo and George stepped into the room and sat in their chairs. The atmosphere of the room was much lighter than before. John was even grinning, a bit sheepishly.

"I'm sure you fellas know what was going on in here," John sighed.

"Of course we do," George flatly stated as he crossed his legs. "You arses finally worked out your differences."

Ringo chuckled at George's use of strong language, something he thought his mate had cut back on. "So who's ready to go in the studio next week and record some music?"

Ringo had meant for this suggestion to be a joke, but the silence in the room told him that no one saw it that way. John and Paul looked at him, almost coldly. Ringo bit his lip; he didn't mean anything by it. He certainly didn't want to offend anyone. He had never wanted to disappear more in his whole life.

George patted Ringo's back supportively. "How 'bout we crawl before we walk, eh mate?"

"I only meant it as a joke..." Ringo muttered under his breath, now completely ashamed.

Suddenly Paul and John burst out laughing.

"C'mon Rings, we were only playing," Paul smiled apologetically. "We'd need some time to decide if such a thing would work out, but right now... I'm not sure."

"If it makes you feel any better, Ritchie," John added, "I'm feeling very positive that such a thing could happen. How soon, I'm not sure. It all depends on my recovery, and how the situation with Yoko works out."

Ringo thought he saw Paul wince at the mention of her name; perhaps he was just remembering some awful incidences from the past. Ringo hoped so, because if Paul couldn't deal with Yoko, all of this apologizing and getting back together would be for naught.

***

After an hour or so of talking, John announced that he was going to take a short rest. He had barely been able to sleep since he had arrived at the hospital, and every time he managed to actually fall asleep, he woke up even more tired than before. He felt different though; after making peace with Paul after all of these long years, it felt as if a great load had been removed from his back. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out...

A split second after he fell asleep, he felt a strong nudge on his shoulder. However, there was no pain anywhere in his body, not even the slight soreness that stuck with him constantly. A motion like that would have shook his whole body, and his wounds would be aching terribly, but he felt nothing. He was standing alone in a dark, quiet place. After realizing this, John frantically searched around for someone, particularly the person who had touched him.

"Hello?"

John's voice echoed eerily, more in his own head than in the room. That is, if it could be called a room. It didn't seem to have any walls, or a ceiling. In fact, John didn't know how exactly he was standing because he couldn't feel a floor under his feet.

"Must be a dream," John mumbled to himself. "Don't get yerself all worked up..."

Without warning, John felt a pair of hands wrap tightly around his neck. At this point he realized that even when one knows they are in a dream, it is impossible to not react as one would in the real world. He struggled for air, unable to take any oxygen in. He began gasping heavily and choking, and he thrashed and clawed at the evil, calloused hands until they released him.

John growled when he heard an unmistakable giggling. "You.. bloody.. lunatic... You nearly... fuckin' killed me!" John was practically spitting his words at his attacker by this point.

A young man stepped out of the shadows, wearing a white shirt and pants. He was short, with messy, dark brown hair that matched his big eyes. "Calm down, dear boy. You can't die in a dream. It's common sense, even if you're dumb and can't count past the number nine."

"That don't mean you don't feel anything," John moaned as he massaged his throat. "If you hadn't overdosed, Moon, someone woulda killed you for your bloody antics by now. Sometimes I wonder how you made it to thirty-two..."

The Who's old drummer looked taken aback. "No need to be harsh, Johnny boy. People adore me. I'm not the one who was almost murdered, now was I?"

John had just about had enough of this little prankster. He had met Keith on many occasions, the most memorable being at the filming of the Rolling Stones' Rock and Roll Circus. That damn clown costume. While John respected his rebellious attitude, something they had in common, he always thought Moon took it too far. Everything was just a big joke to him, nothing more than a game. John smiled deviously. He could play a game with Keith right now.

He took a swing at the little drummer, and he nearly leapt for joy when he felt his fist connect with his jaw. Keith flew backwards, nearly stumbling and falling over. He looked at John with a shocked face as if he didn't understand what he had done to deserve that.

"How do you like that Moon? Is that funny?" John shook his fist at him. "Just crack one more joke, you'll see, there's more where that came from..."

"Come now, John, there's no need for that," another familiar voice scolded him from the shadows. It was an eloquent accent, very warm and friendly. It was a voice he hadn't heard in a long time.

"Eppie?" John could almost feel his eyes tearing up. After Brian had died, being a Beatle became hell. He was the eye of the hurricane, the glue that held them together and kept them from killing each other. When he left, it all began to fall apart. And he was now again  in his presence.

The unmistakable Brian Epstein stepped forward, his smile just as warm and familiar as it was all those years ago. "Of course, John. A lot of people are here."

John raised an eyebrow, confused. "So wait a minute... Is this... Hell?"

Brian laughed a bit. "Think positive, John."

"I might've said heaven if it weren't dark. And if you weren't a queer. And if it weren't for this stupid sod," John nodded towards Keith, who was now standing off to the side, quietly mimicking John and making over-exaggerated faces. A glare from John stopped this behavior.

"So... This is heaven then?"

"Not exactly..."

John was even more confused at this point. Was he truly dead? Was this a dream or not? "So, what is this place? Am I still alive?"

"Oh yes, you're quite alright in the real world," Eppie assured him. "This is simply a vivid dream."

"So, can you tell me where I am?"

Brian thought about it for a moment, as if he himself was not sure how to explain this place. Looking around thoughtfully, he sighed and put his hands in his pockets. And then he smiled.  "Well, let's just say the title of a popular Pink Floyd song would put it best..."

John pondered this for a second, and then suddenly it came to him.

"The Great Gig In The Sky."