Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Sixty-Eight

False alarm, friends.  There will be another chapter after this, and an epilogue.  

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Those days I was feeling so sick I could barely move.  Christmas was nearing, but I couldn't have felt worse.  When I was writing for Brian, he said, "I don't want to seem rude, but there is something different about you.  I think I've known for awhile now.  You know what's going to happen to us, all of us, but there is only so much you can say."

I set down my notebook.  "This is so."

"You show up in the lads' care inexplicably one day in March almost two years ago, and since then, things have been different.  The boys were always ambitious, but as soon as you arrived they grew a bit more happy and excited.  They all fell in love with you in their own unique way.  

"But they argued over you.  Paul still loves you, and so does John, so don't tease them.  But that secret little fling you had with our guitarist, however..."  he smiled at my blushing cheeks, "was no secret to me.  I have eyes everywhere.  I see all."

After a moment of silence, Brian sat up and pushed his work aside to talk to me, something I had never seen him do before.  "You think you're dying, don't you?" 

Looking over at him, I nodded.  "I don't belong here, and time is making sure I go somehow.  My home...isn't a pleasant one, and I can only hope that the horrible man that is my father is long gone and my family is safe, for I have no intention of returning to that house." 

Brian took it all in, analyzing every word.  "You saved Paul's life the other day.  How did you know-"

"I stopped Ringo from being hit by a taxi today," I blurted.  It was true.  The car that would have ended the drummer's life had been foreseen, and I held Ringo back as it went speeding past.   I had saved the two living Beatles (in my time) from death and/or severe injury.  

I saved two Beatles...

"I don't know how," I continued, "but I saw what was about to happen before it happened..."  I prayed he wouldn't think I was insane.  After all, the young manager foresaw his own death.  

"Have you fainted yet today?"

I swallowed hard.  "No, but Paul had to shake me really hard to wake me up today.  He thought I had died.  But then I got sick in the bathroom.  Everytime I faint the time were I am asleep gets longer, and eventually he won't be able to wake me anymore."

Brian said, quietly, "Do the lads know that?"

"They must suspect it by now.  Paul's so upset..."

He didn't want me to work that day.  It wasn't that he thought that I was contagious, for we were in close quarters all the time and no one else had experienced it.  He was scared that one of those days I would faint and none of the lads would be there to wake me.  

Paul had a hard time accepting that I was most likely going to leave somehow.  Every chance he got he hugged me, and occasionally kissed my forehead.  And every day, he looked at my bruises, fearing that there would be more where they came from if I went home.  

One night he cried out, trying not to shed tears himself.  "What if he hurts you and none of us are there to help?"

"I'll have to deal with it myself.  I always have."

Though my mind was fully set on George, Paul insisted that I slept in his bed.  It wasn't even a romantic gesture; it had become a matter of safety.  If he was there when I woke up screaming because of night terrors, whether it was John and George dying or my father attacking me, he would be there to comfort me.  And if I was near him in the morning when I couldn't wake up, he wouldn't have to run down a flight of stairs in the dark at six a.m. and shake me awake.