The Devil In Her Heart (Beatles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 20

August 14th 1965

"Well, At least there's no one here," Paul said trying to sound hopeful. John and Ringo looked at him in mute surprise. "Press, like, I meant..." Paul added, his voice fading away.

"There will be later, when we have to admit he's missing," John said.

"Don't say missing," Paul mumbled and looked out of his window at the policeman standing across the street.

"What word would you like then?" John asked. "Lost? Mislaid?"

Ringo turned his head to look at John, sitting next to him on the leather backseat of the car. "Perhaps he got lucky?" he offered.

"When?" John said. "When did he leave the hotel? Come to think of it, when did anyone last see him?"

"The press conference, he was there then," Ringo said.

John pulled his face at him. "Yeah, Ring? D'yer think we might have noticed if he was missin' then?"

"He'd say if he was going out? Wouldn't he?" Ringo continued, turning back to Paul.

"Who can tell what George would do these days?" John said. "Fuckin' prima donna, he's turned into. What was all that fuss about on the plane?" He said it to Paul.

"I don't know," Paul said, trying to sound flippant. "He doesn't like flying, does he?"

"It wasn't the flyin'," John said. "He didn't want to travel with us. He was doin' everything he could think of to get out of it."

Paul looked down at his watch, staring at the second hand ticking round. "He's been funny ever since he split up with Pattie. At the Help party..." he replied, without looking up.

"Funny?" John interrupted.

Paul shrugged. "Yeah, I dunno. What happened with Pattie? Maybe that's messed his head up?" Paul tried to sound convincing. Trying to convince himself as much as the others.

"Like he would tell us anyway," John said. "Not til after the fact, anyway. Stubborn get."

The drivers door of the car opened and the chauffeur – a man none of them knew – climbed in. "Shouldn't there be another one?" he said, looking over his shoulder at them.

Paul and Ringo looked to John. John sighed. "No," he said to the driver. "It's just us three. And we'll be late if you don't get gone."

The driver shrugged and turned around, starting the engine.

Ringo and Paul were still staring at John. "What do you want me to say?" John hissed.

Ringo cleared his throat. "Where the hell is Brian? He should be here by now."

"He's probably waiting at the studio," Paul said, returning his gaze to the window. The policeman had gone.

Ringo nodded. "Well, he'll find him," he said.

Paul smiled, but he couldn't shift the knot from his stomach.

When they arrived at the studio they found George standing alone in the studio, tuning his guitar next to the amplifier. On the far side of the room technicians fiddled with the lighting controls, but the spotlights only highlighted the prodigal Beatle George, casting the rest of the room into darkness. Apart from the guitar, it was deathly quiet.

George turned the machine head and the top string snapped, lashing through George's hand and giving him a fine cut on the flesh of his first two fingers. George sucked in the sting as he looked at the blood start to gather. He put them in his mouth, as he leant the guitar against the amp.