Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Sixty-Seven

The lads returned to Liverpool for break before their Christmas show.  Ringo was back, and the replacement drummer was gone.  Though I knew that the lads had gotten along well with him, they were more than happy to say goodbye in order to welcome back their real drummer.  

However, Paul's mood turned curious and then to frightened when we arrived at his apartment and saw the little sheet of paper dangling off his door.  At first I feared it was some time of eviction notice, but when Paul saw it, he looked confused.  Most letters he recieved were placed in his mailbox, not taped to his door.  

When we went into the apartment, I started to get dizzy.  Leaning back against the doorway, I figured it was another fainting or nausea spell, and waited for it to pass.  But it didn't.  Then suddenly my vision went black.  As soon as I started to panick however, it exploded back into color.  Though, it was brighter than normal, as if I was watching a movie.  

I saw Paul in the living room opening up the letter.  Everything seemed fine as he began to read it, but then he screamed and dropped the paper.  His hands and fingers had been burned and blistered.  There was something on the paper...

Everything went dark once more, and then I was back in the doorway.  Paul had dropped his coat and bags on the kitchen table, and went to the living room.  

To open the letter.  

I ran in after him.  He had just began to unfold the paper I slapped it out of his hands.  "What's the matter with-"

"Don't touch it." I demanded.  "Do you have a pair of tweezers?"  

As soon as we found two pairs, I unfolded the note using such a thing.  I told Paul to get me something, anything, that we could set on top of it that was a bit like human skin.  He tore off a bit of newspaper and placed it onto the note.  

"Elle, what is wrong-"  I silenced him and told him to watch.  

Just as I suspected, the paper began to wither and fill with some type of oil or liquid.  Poor Paul would have burned his hands severely if he had just brushed the inside of the letter.  

The note itself was very straight-forward: 

You've poisoned the young minds of the world.  

Now pay for it.

The bassist seemed stunned for a few minutes as I tried to get his attention.  "Paul...please, can you hear me?  Look, I need to call the police so they can examine the handwriting and take fingerprints.  Paul!"  

I shook his shoulder.  "I know this is your first near-death experience, but please tell me the number for the police."  

He suddenly snapped to attention.  "Let me get it."  

The police came an hour later, and examined the note.  One of the officers told Paul he was lucky.  Whatever was on that letter could have done some serious damage.  They wanted us to leave the apartment for the night, or maybe two, as a precaution.  The investigators wanted to take a look around the house to see if they had broken in and set anymore traps for Paul.  

John, George and Ringo were out with family or friends, so Paul hired a cab to take us someplace else.  I had a feeling I knew where we were going to end up staying.  

Paul opened the door for me to the house, for he had a key.  We were greated by a friendly man who knew Paul quite well.  "Paul, my boy, I haven't seen you in ages!" he clapped him on the back.  

"Dad," Paul explained, "this is my good friend, Elle.  I believe you might have met before.  I'm afraid I might need to use my room again tonight, and the guest room if Elle wants it.  We've had a strange occurance that's brought us here tonight.  My room is upstairs to the right, Elle, if you would make your way up there, please.  Can I talk to you privately in the kitchen, please?"