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?"
As Paul and his father talked in the kitchen, I walked up the stairs gingerly, afraid to make any noise. I wasn't sure if Mike was there or not that night, but if by chance he was already in bed, I didn't want to wake him.
When I arrived in Paul's room, I smiled. Though most of his belongings were now at his apartment, remenants of a little boy still hung around in his room. There were little toys on the windowsill. A little wooden horse. A matchbox car.
He had a few pictures in frames that were a bit dusty. Him, his brother and his mother were one of them. Another was of him and John looking ever-so serious as teenagers.
"Do you like it?" he said from the doorway.
"It's cozy," I said.
He cleared his throat. "If you want, I'll stay in the guest room, and you can have this one. It's no trouble."
"Oh, thank you, Paul, but-"
I was interrupted from some loud yelling and a door slamming. I bit my lip, but Paul just smirked. "Mike's home. He must be past his curfew. Dad must be giving him a hard time." After a moment of silence, he told me, "The bathroom is right next door. If you wanted to freshen up, I could make us something to eat."
I smiled. "Thank you."
The hot shower felt wonderful after the day of travel and Paul's near-death experience. I wondered how, out of every moment when I could have used this new-found "power", it had come at the exact time I needed it. If it hadn't, Paul might have never been able to play music again.
However, when I emerged from the hot, relaxing embrace of the water, I found that my clothes were gone. I wondered if Paul had done it to play tricks or if Mike was the culprit that time.
Scared out of my wits that Mr. McCartney would see me and throw me out, I crept back into Paul's bedroom with just my towel. He was facing his television when he came in, which was at times could be full of static, eating some soup he brought up on a tray. "Elle, I saved you some...whoa." Noticing my dripping wet appearance he asked me, "I thought you had clothes in there with you. I took out the ones you were wearing to wash them."
"Those were the only clothes I had in there, Paul. I came to get some others to change." He held out my bag. As I rummaged through it for pajamas, he said, "Here, let me help," and walked towards me. He got a bit too close for my comfort, especially when I was wrapped in just a towel. I stepped back instantly, almost falling down, which would have been even worse.
"Elle, I-I'm not going to look at you. I wasn't trying to pull your towel off, I swear."
Picking up the clothes I had picked out, he took them carefully and held them out to me. I took them, but then we had a visitor.
"Hey, Paul, do you still have...damn!" he exclaimed when he saw me. "Holy hell, Paul! Tell me the next time you have a naked girl in your room!" Mike smiled, and tipped an invisible cap to me. "Hello, Elle."
"Hi, Mike."
Paul took his younger brother by the coat sleeve and lead him out, shutting the door behind the both of them. I changed quickly, and dried my hair when I told Paul he could come back in. "I apologize for him. I'm sorry about taking your clothes. I didn't mean to have you walk around in just your towel. In truth, I'm sorry about everything that's happened so far tonight."
While we were eating, he asked me quietly, "How did you know I would have burned myself?"
I set my bowl down. "When we were walking in, it was as though I had a vision. I saw you burn yourself when you opened it, so I stopped you. I didn't want to risk it thinking it was just some sort of hallucination."
"Thank you," he said, quietly.
Then I spoke back one of the things he and the other lads so often repeated to me. "I'll protect you. I won't let anyone hurt you."
He smiled shyly. "If you don't mind, I think I might wash up. If Mike comes back in and starts bothering you, you can tell him to sod off. He won't take it to heart."
By the time Paul came back to his room, I was already tucked under the covers. It was cold in the room; the windows were starting to get a bit frosty, however it hadn't snowed yet.
A knock on the door woke me from my tired state. It wouldn't have been Paul, for he would have just walked in. "Come in." I said.
It was Mr. McCartney. I got up from out of bed, feeling indecent. "I-I...thank you for letting me stay here tonight with Paul, sir. I'm very grateful."
The man smiled. "It's no bother. How long have you been living with Paul?"
"Oh," I blushed, "for almost a year or so now. Occasionally, I'll go and stay with other friends. But I work for Brian Epstein, Paul's manager." Though I believed this man was kind, there was something about his gaze that seemed almost...threatening. Like he was waiting for me to make a wrong move and pick me apart for it.
Paul's father gave another smile. "You live together, but Paul tells me that you two aren't together. Why is that?"
I swallowed hard. "I really do like your son, sir. He's a very kind and gentle person, but I think it would be hard to have a serious relationship while he's so famous. After what happened today with that threat...I couldn't possibly think of what would happen to him if people found out he had a significant other."
He gave me a rather stern gaze. "I see your reasoning. It's such a pity, really. You are the first girl he's ever brought to this house, at least that I know of. He cares so much about you."
I wasn't sure what to say to him after that. But I knew I had to speak. "He's a very sweet boy, Mr. McCartney. I'm just afraid it wouldn't be good for him if he had to worry about me and work all at once."
The father nodded, and looked out the window for a minute before looking back at me. "Are you interested in any of the other lads?" I shook my head quickly. "No, sir."
"I don't mean to frighten you, Elle. However, you should know that I don't appreciate girls who play around with my sons' emotions, whether it's Mike or Paul."
"Sir, please, I'd never intentionally hurt either or your sons, especially Paul."
A knock on the door way made my heart slow down from its dizzying race. "Dad, can I talk to you for a minute? Downstairs?" Paul did not look happy. I prayed there would not be a falling out between them.
When they went down the stairs, Mike came into Paul's room and told me to follow him. He led me into his room, which was right above the kitchen. He told me to put my ear to the floor so I could hear. Though I knew it was wrong, if they had an argument, Paul would come upstairs afterwards and say everything was fine. I wanted to know the truth.
"-sleep in the same bed with her, for Christ's sake, Paul! I know you're interested in her. Your eyes light up whenever she's next to you. You can have everything you want if you try for it, and you want her, don't you?"
"She's not interested in me that way-"
"Do you or do you not love her!"
"I do, but I can't force her to love me when-"
I bit my lip, fearing that Paul would say something about my real home. How I didn't belong there with all of them.
Mr. McCartney was persistent. "Paul, you're a good-looking boy. You're in a world- famous band! You could have any woman in the world, and there's the one you want up there in your bedroom. She wants you too-"
"She's in love with someone else!" The Beatle shouted.
It seemed like the whole house went silent. My breath got caught in my throat. Mike withdrew his ear from the floor and looked up at me. His eyes were sad, silently saying I'm sorry. I mouthed to him It's alright. I covered my mouth with my hand, afraid of what Mr. McCartney was going to say then.
But Paul didn't give him the chance to speak.
"I don't know who it is, but I know she is. But that's fine with me. Elle has a wisdom beyond her years, and she knows that she can't stay here with me, and the Beatles, forever. She doesn't want to hurt anyone by leaving. Elle told me that I will be fine, and that I'm yet to find the love of my life. I'll be happy. Elle is wonderful in more ways than one, but she isn't the perfect one for me, and she knows that. She isn't going to pretend to be. Having to let someone go like that...it takes real love." Paul seemed a bit choked up at the end.
I felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest, but replaced with a stronger one. He knew. He listened to me. Tears filled my eyes, but they were those of relief and joy.
He was going to be fine.
Mr. McCartney, however, didn't seem convinced. I hurried back to Paul's room as he started to make his way out of the kitchen and up the stairs. "James Paul McCartney! You listen to me! You'll never make it anywhere with this band if you don't have confidence in yourself to work for what you want!"
"No, it's time you listen! That girl up there, when I first met her, was terrified of all of us. Terrified of being love and cared for. She didn't like being touched and was afraid to get too attached to people emotionally. Her father beat the hell out of her every night and she was frightened to get too close to me in fear that I would hurt her. But, Dad, she's a good person. There's no hate in her soul. Bringing her to life once more took confidence to get her to open up. So don't you dare tell me that I'm not confident, or that she isn't either, because she and I are still brave enough to be standing here today after everything that's happened in our lives." Paul was breathing hard at the end of his speech, and, amazingly, Mr. McCartney didn't say another word.
I was standing in the doorway when Paul got upstairs. "I assume you heard." he said. I nodded. Hugging him, I said, "You're so brave, Paul. Even during the whole investigation you were strong."
But when I looked up at him he had tears in his eyes. "Paul, what's wrong-"
He wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry...damn, these stupid tears. I was really scared afterwards. What if you didn't stop me, or you opened it instead of me? Or what if it fell off and a child stumbled upon it?"
"Shh..." I whispered. "It's alright. I bet in the morning the police will call saying they've found something. You're going to be fine."
Paul sat up immediatley. "I need to call the other lads! What if something has already happened to them?"
"Don't you remember? The police said that they would notify them. They're safe. You need to rest. It's late."
He nodded, and sat back down on his bed. "You're right..." the young Beatle began to change clothes, and I looked out the window. I knew he wouldn't care if I saw him change, but it was uncomfortable to me. My heart belonged to George.
When he was done, he said, "I know that you're interested in someone else. I'm not going to ask who; it's not my business to know. But it gets awfully cold in here at night, and I don't want you to be cold..." he couldn't help but start to smile at the last part. Though it was obviously a trick, I laid down next to him anyway.
"I like twin beds. They're very...cozy." he said, enjoying the fact that there wasn't much room for me to roll away from him.
I had no nightmares when I slept.
The next morning Paul's father went to work and Mike went someplace with his friends, deserting school for the day. Not that Paul said anything. I knew he had done the same thing himself many times.
As soon as I had changed and gotten cleaned up, I heard a rather familiar riff on the piano downstairs. Hurrying to the living room, I saw Paul playing it with his notorious thinking look. He must have been figuring it out for the first time.
Sitting down next to him, I said, "Play that for me again, will you?"
He did, and I smiled. "Have you any lyrics?" I then asked.
The Beatle cleared his throat.
I never give you my number,
I only give you my situation,
And in the middle of investigation,
I break down.
I bit my lip, and then smiled big. "That's fabulous, Paul. Have you thought of anymore?"
"Well, there's this...but I'd have to write something in between the two parts."
One sweet dream,
Pick up the bags and get in the limousine,
Soon we'll be away from here,
Step on the gas and wipe that tear away,
One sweet dream came true today,
Came true today,
Came true today.
He seemed satisfied. The grin couldn't escape my cheeks. "That was fab, Paul." He smiled too. "I know you like it, but I think I might set it aside for now. I'll make sure to write it down, but I'll have to forget about it until we finish the new album." I nodded, but felt happy that he was already thinking for the future.
And even though it was gloomy outside and the police called us several times, it was a relatively fine day. A simple one, but one that wouldn't be forgotten.
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Kind of bad news, my friends.
This could potentially be the second to last chapter, not including the epilogue.
However, I plan to write a short Paul fanfiction soon, and there is another story I'm already concocting with a little help from my friend.
I might not be able to update as soon as you would hope, for I'm starting a writing camp for a week -.- Hopefully, it will be good.
Peace and love,
Luna <3