Broken Words - Paul McCartney, John Lennon

Dreading the Dakota

Paul awoke, dazed slightly. His eyes were wet with a vision of blurriness. He blinked a few times. When his vision cleared, the room before him was unfamiliar, he realized. The table lamp was absent. Upon sitting up in bed, he saw the shattered remains of the light on the floor. Breaking and entering. Dreaming and grieving. He was without a thought as to where he was until he remembered the events of the day before.

John! The thought hit through him as a wave would have. He fell backwards onto the bed, hands placed over his eyes, to hide the tears which had started the second he had thought what he had. John, John, John. Beautiful, Paul thought. That's what he is....was. Was. I don't even know if he's dead yet, and I'm already using the term, 'was.' I haven't even seen the flat!

The phone in the hotel room rang, and Paul stood up to answer it:

"Hello?"

"Paul - is the press bugging you?"

"Gosh, Linda, the reporters are gathered 'round the place, but none of them have approached me."

"Not yet."

"You do have a point; if you hadn't approached me, we wouldn't be where we are today, though you're a photographer, not a reporter..."

"You seem distant, awfully quiet. Is something wrong, Paul?"

He had not felt the approaching tears, and they fell from his eyes.

"Paul?" Linda asked again.

"Nothing, it is fine, fine. Just a bit of - ah - dust (dust?) in me eye. That's all."

"Paul, Paul, I know 'it' is not fine. I know there is no dust, and what you are telling me is not 'all.' John, he's impacted our lives deeply, by never so as deep as yours. I know you two were close friends, brothers practically, I know. But Heaven only knows what is going through that Yoko Ono woman's brain; she was there when he was shot, shot, that is a bizarre thing. It must be a many times worthy more tears from her eyes."

"Yeah, tears of joy."

"No, I can tell you it would not be of joy, because, if it had been you and I whom were there in New York yesterday night, and if - if you had been shot, I wouldn't even be speaking right now. I can hardly do so, just at the thought of it! But, I will let you know, Paul, these tears in my eyes are not for nothing. They're for John, and, I can only cry now, much more heavily than I have before, as I think I know exactly what Yoko is experiencing right now."

"Nobody can know what goes on in her mind," said Paul.

There was silence on the other end.

"Linda? Honey, I was making an opinion, an unwise one, I'm sure of it, and I'm sorry for it."

He heard a sob.

"I wish I was beside you, because we are both experiencing the same things right now. I don't care if it is what Yoko is feeling or not, though I'm sure it is not...I can hear you crying, over my own tears. I want to be beside you, with my arms around you, letting you cry into my shoulder as I cry into yours. It sounds to be so - so impossible, but I want it. I want it, but I cannot have it. I want John here, too. I want you here, with me. I need you here with me."

"Paul, I understand. There's a flight to New York again, today, and I could ask Louise to watch the kids...okay, it is settled...I'll be there..."

"Honey, I know how you feel about planes. You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I don't, want to, but I need you with me. I need you for comfort, you need me for the same reasons. Please, I'm doing this for John."

"Linda, my dear, please don't be one of those people whom do reckless stuff like what you are planning to do, just because of a - a death. Please, you honestly do not have to, Lin."

"But I'm going to. That's the thing. I love you, Paul."

"I love you, too, Linda. Stay safe, please..."

Paul waited in an anxious way for Linda to arrive. However, he did not have to wait long, for there was an abrupt knock on his door. He glanced through the peephole, and smiled a little for the first time that day. He opened the door. There, on the other side, was Linda. He took a few steps out into the hall and put his arms around her shoulders.

"Lin, how was the flight?"

He felt her shudder; Linda put her hands on his shoulders. "Like any other flight...terrible."

"I know, babe, I know...But you made it. You're fine, alright. Alright?"

"Alright," she said. "I'm alright, fine. Glad you are here, at least." She kissed him.

"Glad you're here, too." He let her kiss him a second time, then he kissed her. He pulled her into the room and kissed her again. And again. With each, he could feel the tension from the flight leave.

Linda pulled away. "Paul, please, I just got here."

He blushed. "Alright, it is just nice to see you."

"It hasn't even been a full day, but I see your point."

Paul changed the conversation, "For the Dakota, I know the press is still there, and the fans, but I really would like to see it. I would, even after, after..."

"I know, I would, too, but there isn't just the press there. The police have gathered there, too, even though they've already arrested the man."

"Who?"

Linda shook her head. "I didn't catch his name, but I overheard a reporter commenting that he declared his own guilt, though."

"He's going to be one of those fellows? One of those men whom go around and kill random men for - what - the pleasure of it?"

"Paul, whoever shot John, he didn't do it for pleasure, and it was not random. This man was honest about it, doing it in public like that. It's terrible, terrible, but it is the truth. Paul, you look tired, sick. Maybe you need some rest."

"Maybe you do, too." Paul knew Linda did not look tired, though she did look pale, but he wanted her beside him this whole time he was in New York. Not because he was afraid for her or for himself, but because he was afraid of the murderer of a man whom had been close to him at one time in his life.