2+2=5

Part Six: True Love Waits.

Chapter 61

The storm outside howled and gnashed, but its ferocity was permeable through the sanctuary of the older Ed O'Brien's cottage. Weathered wooden beams creaked gently, whispering tales of many storms weathered. The older Ed's face was etched with deep lines, the kind that spoke of a life lived in the dystopian world, hardships faced and overcome. He waved Thom and his bandmates inside, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of their shared past. The room was warm, filled with an elusive comfort that the band had forgotten over weeks of fear and running.

As they followed the older Ed inside, a familiar melody filled the cottage, soft and haunting. The notes twanged through the heart of the room and wrapped itself around Thom, pulling him towards its source. A guitar was being strummed gently in a room beyond, its notes blending in harmony with a voice singing the lyrics of Radiohead's old song, "Lucky".

"Pull me out of the aircrash,

Pull me out of the lake,

'Cause I'm your superhero,

We are standing on the edge."

The song was a testament to a time when creativity bloomed freely, a time when they were not fugitives. The lyrics evoked a sense of longing in Thom, a yearning for a future where music was not a rebellion but a joy. Leaving his bandmates with the older Ed, Thom found himself moving towards the sound, a moth drawn to a flame.

The room he entered was dimly lit, and in the low light, a figure was hunched over a guitar, quietly singing the last of the lyrics. The figure lifted his head at his entrance, and Thom caught his breath. The older Thom Yorke sat there, the years etched prominently on his face. But it wasn't the vivacious, determined man he remembered, nor the mindless drone the Party had made of him. This version was like a ghost, a faded image of both his past and future.

He seemed quiet, contemplative, wrestling with thoughts that were far from reach. His eyes held a hint of confusion. The Party's propaganda had left its mark, convincing him that the ideologies he had once resisted were now a part of him. That he could still be Thom Yorke, the man who dared to dream and create, while upholding the principles of the Party.

The older Thom's face softened as his eyes locked with his younger self's. "Thom," he said, his voice shaking slightly, "I'm sorry."

Thom crossed the room in two long strides, pulling his older self into a hug. The older Thom's apology hung in the air, a symbol of the emotional turmoil, the fear of an unknown fate they had all been grappling with. "It's alright," Thom reassured him, the words feeling foreign in his mouth, "I'm glad you're okay."

As they separated, the older Thom still seemed lost, but the initial shock in his eyes had lessened somewhat. Thom spent the next few hours talking to his older self, trying to bridge the gap that a dystopian society had forcefully carved between them.

As Thom exited the room, leaving his older self with his thoughts, he felt weariness settle within him. The path towards liberation seemed longer and more treacherous than before. But he looked at his bandmates, their faces holding a grim determination that echoed his own, and knew they would face whatever came next.

Chapter 62

The days had blurred into weeks, the weeks into months, and Ed O'Brien could no longer discern how long it had been since he was thrust into the oppressive universe of 1984. The secluded cottage, once abandoned, now served as their sanctuary, hidden within the wild forests of this alternate Oxford.

Thom Yorke, who he'd spirited away from the cold grips of the Party, was no longer the depersonalized drone the Party had molded. He was still a shell of the vibrant frontman Ed had once known, his spirit dimmed by what he'd endured. Nights were the hardest. Thom would thrash in his sleep, tormented by nightmares, and Ed would sit by his bedside, singing soothing songs into the dark until Thom found peace again.