Psycho Killer || Starrison

Chapter Eleven

Pieces of all the articles he has read appeared before his eyes, slowly they all fit together. Kidnappings... First degree murders... Bodies never to be found again... And he was next. He imagined his family, opening the letter with fear in their eyes.

He'll kill him. He'll kill him. He'll kill him, it's over. He'll be killed by the man he trusted the most in his much too short life. It's over.

"No!" he screamed. No reaction. "George, don't do it! Let me go!" There was no place for mercy in the capturer's eyes. He raised a knife — its blade shone in the dime light. "GEORGE NO!"

Arthur's knife became covered in Richard's blood.

The killer ignored all the screams of protest, as always. The only thing that bothered him were Harrison's trials to get a hold of his body again, his powerful emotions, so strange to the murderer. Arthur growled and pushed him deep inside; he had bigger worries already.

The Codex. What did Codex say about it? The situation was far from normal and destroying the order, that Arthur has been building for so long. He has never killed a man outside the sequence and it made him somehow afraid. Pedantic personality of the killer despised any changes.

He had to continue, though. What else he could do?

Ringo kept crying and begging. His mind couldn't take all this pain, betrayal and suffering. He looked at the oppressor with his big, tormented eyes.

"...why are you doing this, Geo?"

Arthur backed off and watched him with contempt, just like he did with every previous victim, feeling greater than them, convincing his sick mind that they are only singular checkers in the hands of chess master.

Harrison couldn't bear it anymore. He helplessly observed Arthur hurting the most important person in his short life, even though he promised to protect Ritchie at all costs. What was the worst? Probably the fact that Ringo still thought that it's George who causes all this pain. Harrison who was so head over heels in love with him so much that every scream of grief meant a stab in his heart, tearing it from guilt.

Only now George realized he hated his comrade.

Arthur has been with him from the youngest years. He's been looking after and protecting, never ever left him alone. He's been caring in his own way — and also has made him commit things that musician didn't even want to think about.

And this very hatred combined with a sight of Starkey's eyes pushed him to action.

"Enough!" He threw the knife away, as far as he could. "Oh God, Ringo... What have I... What has HE done to you?" Technically the oppressor didn't manage to hurt him badly, only cut his left hand nastily. It looked terrible. Harrison leaned forward, feeling the wave of nausea and groaned. Richard watched him in pure shock.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." George kept saying over and over. He took bandages and approached the man, wanting to help. Repay for Arthur's sins.

"Don't touch me!" Ringo screamed with fear and contempt shining in his eyes full of tears. "Don't come closer, you monster!"

The guitarist stepped back like a wounded animal. Somewhere deep down inside of him Arthur protested but got ignored.

"I'm sorry, Ritchie..." he whispered quietly and ran, ran away far from the drummers sight, afraid of his own tears. He wanted to die, to sleep, to never wake up.

***

John Lennon was sitting in his house, unsuccessfully trying to call Ringo.

He had sent him to spy on Harrison a few hours ago and still haven't got an answer, which caused his fear. Every passing minute made it worse and worse, shaping the fear into anxiety with one terrible thought on the back of his mind — what if all of his suspicions came true? Than he said straight to the monster's cave.

He was wandering around his house, not paying attention to Cynthia nor Julian. If he only looked closer, he would have seen fret in his wife's eyes caused by a state the Beatle has gotten himself into. Paul's disappearance made him nervous, angry and sad. Actually all at once. Musician also stopped caring about his looks, the mirror would show him a man with stubble, dirty, wrinkly old shirt that has entered seen laundry in a long time and doomed eyes. But looking in a mirror wasn't on his mind. Neither was wife and his child, only revenge.

Besides the worries about her husband, Cyn had her own suspects. Grief over his close friend was understandable but there was something crazy about it. This intrusive thought couldn't leave his wife's mind, with a question on the back of her head — was there something more behind it?

"George is not a killer," John told himself after another circle made around the living room, but no matter how much he tried there was no way to hide the uncertainty in his voice. He couldn't believe in anything anymore. His thoughts once more came back to Paul and the man felt tears streaming down his cheeks. He's never cried for anybody this much, even Julia. Never-

Lennon heard knocking and jumped slightly.

He stood up, wiped his tears away and walked to open the door.

"What do you want?" He growled only now realizing that he's standing face to face with two police officers.

"Good morning, Mr. Lennon," said one of them, looking at him fiercely.

"We wanted to talk with you about Paul McCartney's missing."