Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Fifty-One

Elle's POV

Paul didn't return to the room for a long time.  I was frightened.  Was he angry with me?  Had I told secrets about George and me?  Had I said anything about my family, and given up my identity in the future to Doctor Baudine?

Slowly, the doorknob turned and Paul entered the room silently.  "Hello, darling."

"He's not coming back, is he?"  There was a long silence, and I began to cry.  "Oh, what have I done?  What did I say, Paul?"

He sat down next to me on the bed, and took my hands.  "It wasn't your fault.  You were in some sort of trance.  You said only a few things about the future, but he didn't believe you.  Unfortunately, he thinks that he will no longer be able to help."

"I'm insane, Paul." I cried.  

"No, no.  You're not." He tried to calm me, but I was crying too hard.  Wrapping his arms around me, he rubbed my back to get me to relax.  It took a fair amount of time, but my cries eventually subsided to whimpers.  

He let go of me, but held my shoulder at an arm's length still.  Fishing around in his jacket pocket, he said, "Um...I've been meaning to give this to you.  I've just never really felt like it was the right time, but it might as well be now."  Paul pulled a small blue bracelet, and held it out to me.  He took my hand, and clasped the necklace around my wrist.  I felt so guilty.  The lads had already bought me a beautiful locket, and now an equally goregous bracelet.  

I admired it, and hugged him.  "It's so beautiful.  I don't deserve this though."  

"Why shouldn't you?" Paul asked.  

I bit my lip.  "I just feel like...I wish that I could afford to buy you nice things.  It makes me feel guilty.  I'm too good at spending all your money."  I smoothed out my skirt, and examined the bedspread, but Paul kissed me, forcing me to touch him.  He pulled away a bit abruptly, and I kept my eyes closed, almost trying to contain the kiss within me.  

"Thank you, Paul," I gave a small smile.  "For everything."

As much as things seemed to be alright with me on the outside, I felt like I was collapsing on the inside.  Things were plummeting with George and I, and it was as though he had left me completely and I was falling alone.  With that, I had to think of a way to save him, even though I was sure he despised me.  John and I were oil and vinegar when it came to each other: we did not mix.  And in sixteen years, I would need to save him.  How would I do that?  Disarm the killer?  Keep John from leaving his house?  

Would I have to kill Mark David Chapman?

Would I have to jump in front of the bullets?  

The expression on my face was definitely one of horror because Paul shook my shoulder and said, "Are you alright?"

I put on the best fake smile I could manage.  "I'm wonderful."

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It had taken me most of the day to get my courage up to talk to George.  I hurried through their living room and knocked on his door, hiding my peace offering behind my back.  "George?  Can I talk to you please?"

I stood there waiting for about a minute in complete silence before the door opened.  George looked like he hadn't slept in days.  My eyes wandered over his shoulder to his guitar and a flurry of papers laying on his bed.  He must have been writing some new music, but that seemed like the only thing the poor boy had done for several days.  George refused to join us for meals, which frightened me horribly.