Psycho Killer || Starrison

Chapter Eight

The sound of doors closing echoed through the library’s walls; they were left alone.

“We’ll get through this without him.”

“But…” Ringo wanted to protest, but he knew very well it won’t change anything. Definitely not now, when John was this angry. So he came back to his work quietly.

It didn’t take them much time though. The musicians soon came to the conclusion that it’s enough work for today, and they’ll come back tomorrow. The librarian was also bored with their presence. They both decide it’s time to stop and put everything back at its place — which wasn’t easy due to the amount of materials — and walked out of the building,

“See you,” said Richard, nodding at him, and turning back, to walk home.

“Wait!” Lennon took his hand. “I have a request.”

“Yes?”

“It’s about Geo…” Starkey looked at him, surprised, but said nothing. “Would you go and check on him?”

Ringo raised his eyebrows. “Why won’t you do it yourself?”

“Umm… because, you know… he’s mad at me. Okay, I may sound weird, but I don’t like the way he acts.”

“I’ve heard it before…” He smiled slightly.

“Yes, but… I think he’s up to something. He knows something that he doesn’t tell us. I want you to go to his place, and, you know… look around.” John felt stupid, talking like this about his friend, but he couldn’t resist this weird feeling, that something is wrong with Harrison. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but… better be safe than sorry.

“You want me to spy on George?”

“Well, you can call it that…”

“You’re fucked up,” said Ringo, not believing his friend. For his entire life he never expected to find himself in such a situation, and he didn’t like it at all. He wanted to refuse, turn back, go away. He really wanted. But there was something in Lennon’s eyes… something that soon made him find himself in even stranger situation.

On Harrison’s couch, looking for the clues of the murder.

* * *

Ringo swallowed, asking himself another time, what the hell was he doing. It was surely crazy. George? Murderer? He could know something about this terrifying case and hide it from them? The drummer wasn’t sure if they talked about the same person with John. About honest and straightforward George? That would never hurt a fly on a purpose? The only thing he’d do was getting in fight for his friend; memory from this one night in Hamburg appeared in his mind, when he protected Richard from Pete’s fans. And this man was supposed to hurt his friend?

He moved on a couch nervously. Harrison walked in, with cups of hot tea, and gave it to his friend, smiling.

There was a nervous silence; awkward atmosphere filled the room. They’ve always had so many topics, so many things to talk about. But not now.

“So…” George spoke. “How’s your investigation?” He accented the word ‘investigation’ with doubt in his voice.

Ringo shrugged, trying to sound casually. “We basically looked at a few more newspapers and went home. Nothing much…” Lying to his friend made him feel bad — but what could he say? Oh, nothing special, John sent me to spy on you and your home to check if you surely haven’t killed your best friend?

“I understand. I’m sorry I left back then… but I couldn’t take it anymore.”

The drummer sighed. “I know, I know.”