John Lennon and The Time Machine

Chapter Eight: The Phonecall

'I died, I was murdered." Those words kept repeating in John's head over and over. Everybody dies, and there are so many people who are killed in cold blood everyday. Then the words whispered in his head again. 'But it's always different when it's about you, isn't it? You selfish bastard!'

John wondered about who killed him. There was no sense to even think about it because he wouldn't remember. He had to, that much was clear in his mind even if it wasn't worth anything. Mostly because it mattered to him now, he knew now.

John's killer was crazy, but how crazy? Julian said he had a personality disorder, but he knew right from wrong. So just being crazy wasn't enough for him. He needed to know more or he would be the fucking crazy one. John knew if he didn't find out more, the wires in his brain would fry.

The bed John was laying down in had a squeak that would never leave, and the pillow was lumpy and hard. This was worse then some of the cheap motels he was at during the band days, maybe John was in a motel after all.  He was already thinking The Beatles as the past, it was for him. It seemed so distant now.

"I don't know where in the hell I'm at," John said to nobody.

Now that almost bugged him worst then not knowing the motive of his murderer. Where was he? John was starting to think how much of a idiot he could be. John taken all the information without giving the slightest doubt. Of course he asked Ernie a little bit, even made a friend it seemed.  All he knew he could be on a different planet, in a different solar system. With time machines, did that seem so far fetched any more?  No it didn't.

John was starting to get angry. He just wanted to know.

The lights flickered and the sudden shadows burst on the dirt walls. He sighed and opened a pack of cigarettes from the bed side table. He took one, lite it with a match, and then finally smoked. The process seem to take forever. Smoking cleared his head, moved the junk in the right folders. Some how it calmed him, he bloody needed calming.

What year was he in? It took a moment for John to recall....2008! That's right. Over forty years later, he would be in his seventies, the geezer.

John got up and knocked very loudly on the door, no he pounded. The shuffle of footsteps was not far behind the pounding.

"What?" The new rather young man asked in the annoyed tone. 'As if he is busy' John thought, now annoyed himself.

"I need a god damn different room, or I might go bonkers." John said raising his voice.

"We are not here to comfort you, but to protect you. There's a difference." He paused. "A pretty big one that is."

John glared at this boy, as if his eyes could do all the damage.

"If I don't get a better room, little boy then this shit hole. I will scream or bloody pound you in." John paused. "I like the latter." A grin popped up on his face.

"Okay Lennon do what you like, somebody will hear if you decide to pound me in, and no one will care about the scream knowing it's yours. " The boy was suddenly taller, a person could see him raising upon the tips of his toes.

John sniffed the air hoping it would help, and his eyes cast down.

The brown eyes suddenly flashed up. "Get me a bloody book or something. I'm bored out of my mind."

"We got The Time Machine."

"That's something by Bell, right?" It sounded close.

"H.G Wells Johnny boy."

"Give it to me then."

The boy returned shortly and gave John the book.  John sat down and began to read The Time Machine.

Only then did he see the irony.

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Julian was reading about Mark David Chapman. By now he quit the stupid book by Philip Norman. When he can get all the facts by the man himself, sure it was only up to 1964. Who was complaining, not him.

Chapman planned for days ahead, actually months. It was not a passion of the moment thing. It was hard, sweaty, and dirty work. Really dirty. That's what the internet said. Everything on the internet is true....NOT.

Julian sighed, and ran his hand through his long hair. His eyes reflecting the computer screen, they ran over the screen once more.

Julian would have to find out why. 'Why did Chapman do it?' he thought. 'Just imagine if he didn't.' The thoughts were flying through Julian's head showing what could have been. Julian and John were on the road of recovery, the the bullet ended it all with a pool of  blood on cold cement.

Tears fell down.

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The phone was ringing. Sean hurried to pick it up. He stopped a moment when he got beside the outdated phone. 'Why would anybody call him on this thing? He had a cell phone, damn it.' Sean thought.

"Hello." Sean said in the empty world of the telephone waiting for a answer.

"Sean is that you?" Julian asked in a rushed voice.

"Who else?" Rolling of the eyes. Sean's fingers tapped the counter.

"We are going to meet him."

"If you mean Dad, we already have. I wouldn't mind seeing him---"

"No! I mean him."

"Him who?: Sean asked, now puzzled.

"Chapman."