Psycho Killer || Starrison

Chapter Nineteen

Murdered. Madman. Orphanage. Tragedy.

John Lennon fiercely threw the newspaper away as he snapped back to the reality of the world surrounding him. He looked outside the window; a downpour started for good and the raindrops kept hitting the glass mercilessly. The man couldn't recall when it started. The place seemed all blurry while he was reading, and it's just now that he's been able to regain focus. As if, he put the glasses back on.

Staring at the tiny print of the newspapers made his head hurt; the information he gathered and desperately tried to put together didn't help either. The angry librarian approached him, ready to tick him off for making such a mess, but something in his eyes made her back off without saying a word. It started to become clearer and clearer that the sanity of the musician was slowly but surely hitting its lowest, that he couldn't bear everything that's been happening, that he's wandering around, going in cycles as everything he loved and believed in is turning to ashes.

Ashes. And what happened to Paul's body? Was he buried underground, waiting for the worms to do the job? Burnt and scattered in the middle of nowhere? Or maybe cut to pieces and thrown away as some useless garbage. As if he wasn't a brilliant young man with an open mind and a great heart. A man ready to help anyone in need, wanting to make the world a better place. Beautiful, with delicate, almost feminine features that never failed to embarrass him. And that's because Lennon felt like he could stare at that pretty face for hours, even though he knew he shouldn't. The things he loved in Paul seemed countless, but John couldn't dwell on them for any longer. It hurt him too much and made him feel like crying again.

He was just like a broken glass, cracking, full of scuffs; distorting the image. But John knew he mustn't break down, not now. Not until he finds the killer and makes sure he gets the punishment he deserved.

By now, all the puzzles seemed to fit together. It all made sense.

In his early life, George has suffered a massive trauma. There was no doubt that the articles were about him. Every detail fitted just perfectly. All the horror that he experienced caused all the strange behaviors they ever witnessed. All those times they caught Harrison talking to himself, sometimes arguing. He would never admit to it, but they could all notice. As well as when he would look in the distance, terror painted all over his face, looking back and forth as if looking at someone who wasn't there. Every time he panicked hearing, often, innocent jokes. George screamed in his sleep, the rest of the band could hear him through the thin walls of the hotels they stayed at during tour. Something was wrong with this kid, even from the very beginning, but the guitarist himself never shared what was tormenting him inside.

Well, John was no psychologist, but he could easily tell that the mysterious murders may have something to do with all this pain and trauma as well as the odd behavior. To the troubled man, it just seemed logical. Maybe this was his way to take it all out, to relieve the pain he suffered in childhood. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, telling him to do just like his father. Could it be hereditary? Some murderous genes one could not run away from? Everything seemed possible to the desperate man.

And, as terrible as it could be, slowly but surely John was starting to believe that under the mask of his bandmate and one of the closest friends was where the merciless killer was hiding all this time.

Lennon held the newspaper tightly. This old, yellowed piece of paper was now the only trace he had. An important one. He hid it carefully under his coat, making sure the rain wouldn't be able to touch it. The man left, completely forgetting the librarian and not caring about the library's policy at all.

When someone hits the rock bottom, so goes the number of things he cares about. And Lennon was getting dangerously close to falling down there.

Nonetheless, at this moment, he felt determined to keep his hopeless investigation going. Even if he had to hunt Harrison from beyond the grave.

This time the police must listen to him.

***

akhem...
*pats the microphone*

there's.... that
an update after.... 3 years? maybe?
i didnt plan to continue this story, in fact i never expected myself to get into fanfic again but... it is what it is

i cannot promise i will bring this story to an end this time. i will try my hardest tho. for now have this short chapter, excuse me if its a bit messy i currently have nobody go proofread for me... not sure if i will

enjoy... i guess?

~ Wii ♡

what the fuck am i doing