The Answer (Paul McCartney/Beatles Fanfiction)

lucky to be found

London, England, 23 August 1963, 6:45 pm. 

"Lovely interview eh?", Paul asked John. The Beatles had been interviewed for the first time today. Paul and John walked back to the flat they shared together. 

"Yeah. The lad asked so many bloody questions I couldn't keep my mind straight". They both chuckled. Paul's eyes wandered to what looked like an abandoned shack. 

"Oh. It's the haunted house Macca. Awfully quiet today." 

They stopped in front of a wooden house. Its windows were broken, there were no lights that were on. But they could hear screaming, and was it...a baby wailing?

Paul and John looked at each other, worry in their eyes. 

"Maybe a scary movie? C' mon la' we need to go home. I'm tired. I haven't slept since--"

Bang 

Paul shot a terrified look at John, who now, equally as terrified stared back. 

They heard the front door open with a thud. 

"John! Hide!", Paul hissed. They hid behind the bushes. They saw a dark figure storm out of the house. He had a gun in his hand. 

Paul gave a 'we must go inside' look. 

"Absolutely not.", John spat out. 

"Come on John. We have to. I have to. There's probably someone in there. What if they got shot? Please, Lenny. We have to do this."

"All right. Don't get your knickers in a twist. Just promise me you'll be careful."

"Yea Yea. Let's go." 

Paul and John ran toward the door and pushed it. It creaked open. They were met with a horrific sight. The furniture in there was broken and torn. The kitchen was full of broken cutlery and there was blood on the counters. Paul looked down to see bloody footprints leading upstairs. 

Paul walked upstairs, following the bloody footprints. There were holes on a door. Bullet holes. Paul slowly opened the door and then shut it immediately. He was shocked at what he had just seen. Tears sprung into his eyes. 

"JOHN! COME HERE!", shouted Paul. He was panicking. 

"What Macca?", John said with an annoyed tone.

"There's a woman in there. She's been shot. I don't know what to do--"

"What you need to do is call the police. You know what, I'll do that. You check if there's a pulse on the woman", John said and rushed downstairs to find a telephone. 

Paul gave a shaky nod and went inside. He immediately ran towards the woman. He saw her face. Her eyes, her lips?

'No Paul. Focus. You are not falling for the maybe dead lady!', Paul slapped himself 

He placed two fingers on the side of her throat and prayed for a pulse. There was one. Weak, but it was there. He looked at her stomach, where the blood was pouring out of.

'If there's blood, find the source and tie it tightly. But not too tightly.', he remembered his mom instructing him of what to do in case he encountered a situation like this. 

Paul looked around for a sash...or anything he could use to stop the bleeding. Nothing. He then looked at the woman. She was quite a petite one.  Her waist was thin. Way too thin. Paul took his suit jacket off and ripped the right sleeve of his shirt off. He hastily wrapped it around the woman's waist and tied it tightly, but not too tight.