Nineteen Sixty-Four // Starrison

Chapter 20

  On this very day George came back home tired, but happy. He felt like smiling at Big Brother's vigilant placard, that was watching them from the staircase's wall, but obviously didn't do that.

Everytime he met with Ringo, he felt some kind of emptiness after coming back. Harrison had to face this cruel realization that they could never be together fully and legally. That until the end of their days — God knows when it'll come — they will have to hide and run from Party's sight. And in the moment of leaving, there was always this fear. Great fear.

He was jealous of his friends — of John and Ringo. He was jealous of how casually they were breaking the law; that they didn't fear this much. Harrison felt like a coward himself.

But for now he was happy. Truly happy.

The young Outer Party's member made himself tea, depleting his already poor supplies, and spread all the document and newspapers all over the desk, that he had to deliver to work tomorrow. Pretending that he was reading, in fact being deep in thoughts.

"The ship is sailing away in a few days. We'll reach the harbor, using two different ways. Paul knows the first, of course. I'll go the second one, by the train. We'll get on a deck... somehow..." That's what John told them some time ago. "Paul has a plan. We'll make it together. Don't you believe in us?"

"But," the younger one still had doubts. "Isn't it too obvious? Hasn't anyone tried it before?"

In this very second George realized what answer will he receive. "Look at the surrounding citizens."

Silence.

"They're cowards. Or they got used to this life too much to even try running away. See my point? Absolute surrender to the Party became a routine. Fuck," Lennon spat.

Harrison's good mood became to slowly melt. He'll never see them again if they'll leave. Never.

The sky was soon covered with dark clouds, and rain fell down on the world. Its steady hammering on the window nearly drowned out the telescreen, which George accepted with a sigh of relief. Not much time passed until the man escaped into the world where no fear or pain could reach him, where everything was so deeply colorful, not only in a grey palette of colors. He fell asleep, hoping that this dream will last forever.

* * *

The next day in work George felt vigilant Stuart's eyes on his back. They passed on a corridor, but this one second was just enough to make him realise, that time is running out. He still had the Book on his own, waiting in his case carefully. Harrison wondered about the right time to meet with his friends, but since it was summer, they've all had longer days of work.

So the right time didn't come in the next days.

Nor in the next week.

Clock loved to torture him, the young man assumed. Until finally, finally! they all set up some rainy afternoon. The one could say that they mastered the ways of forbidden meetings.

The rain didn't stop for many days. The streets and sidewalks full of holes were drowned in dirty water and mud; grey clouds settled on the sky, not leaving at nights and days, bringing dark atmosphere. George became soaked wet just a few steps away from home. While knocking at John's door he was already shivering from cold.

"Come in." Lennon opened the door, letting him in. Ringo was standing on the corridor — the first, as always, as if punctuality was hardwired into his DNA. Starkey opened his arms, and the younger man fell into them, as if he was a part of the puzzle, and they both — entirety. His lover kissed him on the forehead lightly.

"Get a room, you two." John rolled his eyes. George opened his mouth, ready to argue — they both loved to banter, as old friends do — but sound of kettle stopped them. John sighed, gave him a look, saying we'll come back to it later, and got up. The two lovers were still hugging each other, sharing heat. Rain was hammering mercilessly. Finally, they've had time. So much time.

George Harrison, number 3912, shivers slightly, remembering the last sweet seconds of their freedom. He recalls the calmness of this moment. Wanting to feel this love one last time before his death. Fleeting memories are suddenly cut, when the pain comes back. The walls echo with screams. His own screams.

Harrison and Starkey looked each other in the eyes, smiling.

Suddenly a loud bang shook the entire building. And the sound of doors being ripped right off its hinges. They jumped away from each other, not being able to understand the situation yet, until they heard footsteps, footsteps of so many people, screams, even more screams, louder than the rain, or maybe it was them screaming...

"Don't move," calm voice spoke to them. "Don't give us an excuse to shoot. Turn around, back to back. Away from the walls. Hands behind your head."

And they stood like that, paralyzed. George felt shivers down his spine, freezing cold paralyzing his insides. And so they found us, he kept telling himself, as a mantra. They found us, they found us, they found us. It finally happened. A few members of Thought Police came into the room. Tall, muscled, towering over them, surrounding them, looking with numb eyes. Chaotic thoughts filled Harrison's mind — who blew the whistle on them? Who? They couldn't run, oh, they couldn't.

Then they heard another scream, this one different though. Desperate, panicked, with a note of insanity, the scream of man that lost everything and protects the dust of his life, sentenced to fall. John running to one of Thought Police men, his knife stuck into the wall, thrown by his own hand. John Lennon, number 3701. His every move blurred into one big stain, inhuman speed. And the men raising their hands, weapons, some orders and words spilling out of John's mouth, hard to distinguish.

George's legs grew into the floor, he couldn't do anything. His mind registered some noise on the stairs and only now realized that Paul was with them. Paul. Paul. Paul, run away, for God's sake.

Everything slowed and then fastened with the sound of shot.

Lennon's body bent over, the blood spurted on them, drops of crimson in the air, and he was falling down, down, and George right with him, down, into the hall hole of madness, beyond the bound of sanity. He felt touch of Ringo's hand, but ignored it.

Before John's lifeless body collapsed on the floor, Harrison felt the first hit. Second. Third. Now he was lying, too. He registered Richard's painful screams, and he was only able to think of how to protect his lover. No. Not Ritchie. Not him. The young man moved, but then got kicked in the ribs and spat with blood.

George moved his head slightly and saw Starkey pitching on the floor, unsuccessfully trying to shield from the hits.

"Ringo!" he screamed. "No-"

Another hit made his world blurred and bringed wave of unimaginable pain. He desperately tried to catch a breath; helpless like a child, hit by hit. He didn't hear his lover's shouts anymore.

Suddenly all the pain stopped. Harrison still feared to open his eyes, he was afraid that they were only playing with him, that there will be more of suffer. But instead, someone took his helpless body.

"You're dead. Not today, not tomorrow, but you are," said someone very calmly. George finally opened eyes, to see a man, but not in Thought Police outfit — in an outfit typical for Inner Party's Members.

He needed a moment to recognize so-called member of the Brotherhood, Brian Esptein, in him. In this very moment all of his thought disappeared. George blacket out.

//A/N: I'm...
I'm so sorry for everything that happened in this chapter.//