Psycho Killer || Starrison

Chapter Six

The week passed since the last time Paul appeared in the studio.

George watched like the primary concern turns into fear.

Two days passed since Paul haven't answered any phone calls nor had he appeared in the studio which made John go crazy. The rest of the guys tried to calm him down, telling that Macca probably is in one of his typical moods for no reason, but they didn't believe in this themselves. Or at least Ringo, because George knew that it wasn't true.

They've knocked to his doors several times. Nobody opened. They'd probably stopped at this point but Lennon broke into the house, looking for any signs of the bassist's presence. Nothing.

They've called his family. Friends. Nobody had a clue.

The Beatles and their manager were all sitting in the police headquarter. They gave the letter and the strand of hair to the policemen, waiting for the experts' evaluation. It was gonna take some time to receive proper test results, but John, George, Ringo and Brian insisted to stay there until then. Very convenient that the alleged victim could be Paul McCartney — investigation was sped up due to this fact.

And here they were. Waiting in uncomfortable silence, everyone praying with hope that soon somebody will walk to them, smile slightly and say "I'm sorry, gentlemen, there's been a mistake, it's not McCartney's DNA. Somebody made a terrible joke." So they could go home. It had to be like this. Who would murder Macca? Happy, always positive and full of energy, sometimes annoying, but lovely Macca? Who?

George curled up on his chair, guilt tearing him apart.

"I-it'll be alright, guys? Yeah?" said Ringo quietly. He sounded very uncertain, nearly scared. Something was definitely wrong, when even inexhaustible resources of the drummer's optimism were over.

After an hour — or maybe a few? — some policeman walked out of the room and came to them; around forty years old, who looked as if he has seen too many crimes on this vicious world. Now he looked at the three musicians and their manager, stifled by an anxiety.

"What happened to him? To Paul? It's not him, right? Do you have a clue where he is?" John got up from chair, asking him all kinds of questions. The man grunted and glanced at the leader.

"We're the closest to Mr. Paul McCartney right now. Those guys," Brian pointed at the guitarists and the drummer, "are like brothers to him. Please, sir, tell us."

Policeman sighed and finally decided to reply. Everyone leaned in, hoping to hear words that could provide them with hope that the bassist is alive, safe and sound. George felt he won't bear this, he won't bear the heartbreaking news and overwhelming pain. His knees went weak, too weak to run away, knowing what the man was going to say.

"I'm afraid to tell you that forensics has shown that DNA on the delivered hair is matching with Paul McCartney's hair and..." He kept on talking but nobody heard him anymore.

Ringo screamed in a protest and took George's arm, who groaned weakly, hiding head in his hands. Brian staggered and leaned against the wall, not believing in this whole situation.

"NO!" Lennon shouted. "YOU'RE WRONG! YOU'VE MADE A MISTAKE! DO IT ONE MORE TIME! PAUL IS ALIVE, SOMEWHERE OUT THERE, AND NEEDS OUR HELP!"

"I'm sorry." It was the only reply. "Our experts are sure. We don't have the body though, so right now McCartney is assumed missing."

"LIKE TWENTY OTHER PEOPLE!" John shook him furiously, not even wanting to accept this fact.

"Calm down, mister Lennon."

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING?! YOU CAN'T FIND THIS PSYCHO FOR TWO YEARS! AND NOW HE'S GOT PAUL! IT'S YOUR FAULT! GO AND FIND HIM! HE'S SOMEWHERE OUT THERE AND HE NEEDS OUR HELP!"

"We really do all we can..."

"THAN FUCKING DO IT!" The guitarist pushed the man aside, furious. Investigator opened his mouth, wanting to say something but wasn't able to finish. John pulled a nearby chair and throw it at the wall, screaming the whole time. Chair fell into pieces, making terrible noise.

Ringo nestled and whined quietly, hiding his head in George's chest. He began to cry. They've never been this close before, but Harrison couldn't enjoy it at this moment. It wasn't the right time. Richard kept on crying, tears rolling down his cheeks and landing on George's shirt. He didn't pretend, those tears were honest. He cried for his friend's death.

Guitarist felt like throwing up.

John was still yelling, besotted with madness. He kicked the closest table flipping it over. Then he punched the wall, struck place marked with stains of blood. Thought the musician didn't feel any pain at all, instead he started stripping wallpaper out of the headquarters' wall. At this point he couldn't control himself. John wasn't able to accept that Macca's had become another victim. No, not him.

Two policemen run up to him, they tried to calm him down but failed. He pushed them away screaming, "MACCA!" After that he took one of broken chair's planks and smashed a lamp. Sparks were everywhere, though he didn't mind. "MACCA!"

Ringo started to cry even harder, unable to calm down. The younger man held him closer, whatever was happening before his wide opened eyes was unbelievable. His face became all pale and he was shaking slightly.

And all of a sudden everything stopped. In one second all of Lennon's uncontrollable rage seemed to disappear. The leader fell down to his knees and hid face in hands. He's shoulders were shaking, everyone could say that he was crying.

Brian knelled right beside him and tried to calm him, whispering words that went unheard by heartbroken man.

Paul was gone.

And he slowly started to realise that.

He couldn't believe it.

Harrison has never suffered like at this very moment. Never before he's wanted to confess everything that much. 'Are you proud of yourself, Arthur?'

Silence.

John and Ringo were sobbing, finally they became aware of the fact, that they've lost their best friend, and brother.