Psycho Killer || Starrison

Chapter Five

George came back home, shaking. He couldn't bear it, not anymore. He couldn't bear the mindless panic that was slowly embracing his friends; the guilt, that reminded him in every minute of life, that he was a creator of their pain. Harrison wanted to die, wanted to disappear.

Even though some common part of him was realising that the suspicion won't fall on him this way, that was the worst part. Nobody would ever consider George Harrison, the quiet Beatle, to murder his best friend. It was unreal.

But it happened.

He walked very slowly to the basement's door, taking a sharp breath, afraid to open them. Feeling the searing tears in his throat again. Harrison has gone through this so many times. So many bodies he has got rid of this way. He managed to make a dull routine, get used to omnipresent blood, to horrible wounds and choking scent of death. Yes, he adjusted to this as no one ever.

It wasn't normal. None of this was normal. By the age of twenty he was supposed to have girlfriend and not the dead body down in the basement. He was supposed to know how to open a bottle of alcohol, not people's bellies. He was supposed to be used to hangover, not screams for help. He should... He wanted... to be a normal man in his age. Arthur has taken all of it away from him. For the first time George felt such anger towards his comrade.

Haven't I told you that you're meant for greater purposes, said Arthur all of a sudden. Harrison jumped as he heard motionless voice in his head, so washed out of emotions. As always.

"You are," the guitarist murmured bitterly. "Or at least you put it into your head. And you brought me down with you." He couldn't help, his words were full of reproach. Even though he knew Arthur was right. He always was. But nowadays George started doubting his comrade's infallibility.

We're in this together, Arthur responded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I never asked for this..." Despite Harrison's words he knew pretty well what was gonna be Arthur's answer.

I've been with you through all the years. Through your entire life. I've been with you when no one else was. When everyone else has abandoned you. I've been guiding you, I've been helping you. A grim rant, reminding George that they are bonded for better and for worse.

He looked down, not wanting to answer this.

Think of nothing. Feel nothing. Stay numb, Arthur added after a while. His voice sounded nearly as if he wanted to cheer him up and give him a piece of advice. Nearly.

So George Harrison sighed and opened the basement's door, where body of person who was his beloved one for many years laid.

'You just have to do what you always do. Finish it quickly,' the guitarist kept telling to himself, trying not to look at lifeless body of Paul McCartney. Cleaning all of Arthur's tools, sweeping the blood of the floor. And then he realised what he had to do next. He had to cremate his friend. He couldn't bury the bodies, it was way too risky. That's why George burned them, and threw the ashes away. His companion taught him so. It was horrible but seemingly human can get used to the worst things. They say the murderer is like the first time: it's difficult, it hurts but when it's finally done nothing stops you from doing this one again.

"I'm sorry, Paul," whispered George, moving hair from his friend's bloody forehead. The bassist seemed smaller after his death. And very calm. On this day Harrison cried like a baby for the second time, watching McCartney's body devoured by flames. He was really disappearing from this world. It was so surreal. This happy, enthusiastic boy, who got him into the band in the very beginning.

He knew he couldn't throw those ashes away. Despite Arthur's protest, he simply couldn't. He owed it to Paul. For the first time in his life Harrison disobeyed this much.

That's why he buried them on a clearing on the city side, the place he used to go to have a rest. He made sure that no-one's watching him, and then he cried for the third time.

Paul didn't deserve any other this. He didn't deserve the cruel death in pain, in the dark basement, alone. He deserved calm, quick death, in an old age, surrounded by his wife and children, not a meager burial outside the city but a big ceremony for thousands of people and grief.

Everything went wrong.

"What do we do now?" George whispered.

Life goes on, Arthur answered simply.