Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Elle's POV

That morning I had my first nightmare.  

It wasn't too horribly frightening, just enough to make me yelp a bit as I woke.  I had dreamt that I was in a crowd full of people who were pushing, shoving and shouting at each other.  George was on the other side, but he kept moving away from me.  The mass of people were so thick I couldn't get through them.  I fell and cried out in fear of being trampled.  

Surprisingly, no one came in to check on me in the morning.  Usually someone did, unless they were all busy.  I wasn't too worried.  I figured that if I stayed in my hotel room I would be fine.  

Though, as soon as I got out of bed, I fell to the ground.  My legs had buckled underneath me, and felt as flimsy as wet cardboard.  I tried getting up but ended up on the floor again.  

My arms were trembling as I crawled back onto the bed.  I debated whether or not to call room service for help, or to scoot over to Brian's door and bang on it.  I ended up sitting there, shaking in a perfectly warm room.  

What was wrong with me?

It was around midday when I began to feel nausated.  I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up.  After I was done I laid on the cool bathroom tile for a good ten minutes wondering if I should re-think calling for help.  

Instead I hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob outside and laid in bed.  

Because of the sign on the door, no one checked in on me that day.  I could hear people in the hallway moving about, oblivious to what was going on inside the room.  Typically, if we didn't go downstairs to eat, waiters would deliver food to the rooms.  They must have left food outside my door and since I didn't make an effort to take it, they just wheeled it back downstairs.  I felt guilty about that, but I had no appetite at all.  Everything, even the water I drank, came back up again.  

I prayed that I would be better by the next day.  We were flying to Paris, and that would be horrible if I was still sick.  

I burrowed myself underneath my covers.  The room was warm, almost hot, but I felt like I was lying in snow.  My entire body felt weak.  I couldn't clench a fist.  A sickening thought occured to me.  I could die in here.  I could die in this hotel room and the lads will never know.  

As I tried to relax in the blankets, I keep seeing movement in the corners of my vision.  It was the strangest thing I had seen in awhile.  Convincing myself that my mind was playing tricks, I closed my eyes.  But that was when I swore I could feel something move across the room.  

A part of me was crying out in fear.  Don't open your eyes!

Meanwhile the other thought I was being childish.  I had given up these nightmares.  Dad wasn't there anymore.  He was long gone.  

But then I began to hear footsteps again, like the ones I heard at George's apartment that one night.  They grew louder and louder in my ears.  I felt tears fill my eyes.  

"Make it stop!  Please!"

There was a soft knock on my door.  "Elle?"

I wiped my eyes, greatful that my savior didn't immediately come in.  "It's open."

To my surprise, George walked in, dangling the door hanger on his fingers.  "I thought you were changing or something.  You look awful.  Are you alright?"

I shook my head, but that only made me dizzy.  He awkwardly leaned against the side of the bed, unsure if he was allowed to sit.  Even though he was the one who came there, he acted as if he still had no desire to talk to me.