One hundred sixteen

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"Uh... W-Wha?"

"John?"

"P-Paul?" He blinked, trying to see clearly. "Where am I?"

"We're back at Liverpool, John." Paul said.

"Liverpool?! Paul, what... w-what 'appened?" John asked, his head throbbing as if someone hit him hard in the head. "Was the cake... drugged?"

"Cake?" Paul furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean cake?"

John let out an imaptient groan. "The cake! Strawberry Fields, remember?"

"Oh, John." Paul's bottom lip trembled. "George... Ringo... T-They..." A sob escaped his lips.

John was absolutely confused. And angry. Not a good combination.

"They what Paul?" He demanded, head hurting much more now.

Paul faced him, tears in his eyes.

"They're dead."

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