Psycho Killer || Starrison

Chapter Sixteen

Hurry up. Arthur couldn't stop chivying him. Quite ironic if you consider that he insisted on packing up all his tools, especially his enormous collection of knives. Harrison himself didn't require much, just some clothes, something to eat for first few days, nothing more. He could have already left as well.

The guitarist was running around the house, trying not to forget anything. He stopped by one of the cupboards in the living room. Half of it was filled with vinyls, during all those years he's gained a big collection of those. He watched them, not denying that he started to feel pretty nostalgic. It's been a long time since George had listened to any of them. He had no time, power nor will. Lately he resigned not only from this one pleasure. When Arthur was leaving him alone, when he was exiting his consciousness and going away Harrison felt too exhausted. He couldn't recall any night that he slept well through. He was wondering himself how is he even functioning. The man was following rather instincts than logical thinking. Small things like listening to music were pushed into the background. It was overshadowed by fighting for another day.

Second half of the cupboard was less ordered. He rarely looked there but it was only his fault. George was never great at the paperwork and just threw all the documents to one of many folders filling the space. It worked well so far because he never needed them much. But now, in a wave of panic he couldn't find the most important thing for them. The key.

Harrison deeply believed he would never have to go there. So he took care of keeping the key out of sight as well as the entire perspective of having to use this backup. He pushed it down in the depths of documents, along with the act of purchase just like the one pushes aside unwanted memories. With the matter of luck people can forget about them and live as if nothing had happened. It was the instinct.

But this time the guitarist was cursing at himself. He was sure he'll never find it in those sheets, that it'll be over. This time they will catch him, arrest, and finally put in a court. The perspective of incoming death was closer than ever. George wanted to give up, sit down and cry, waiting for anything that could happen, when-

He did it. Finally, he had the key. He could leave this place behind.

The man looked around once more. At this moment all these papers were covering most of the floor messily, but he didn't even care. If they're never coming back, he shouldn't worry about the mess. He caught few pieces of paper, those laying the closest to him. He pushed them into the cupboard chaotically. The man took the act of purchase and hurried downstairs. He was sure he had everything and had no power to check again. Now the only thing he had in mind was to get away from there.

The Beatle walked into a basement. He spent a long time, battling with his thoughts, how to transport Ringo into his car. He didn't want anything to happen to his friend, but if Arthur taught him something except of hurting fellow men, it was caring about his safety. Pedantic nature of his comrade required everything to be tight as a drum. No place for mistakes here. Walking Richard out by his hand was stupid and dangerous. Outside one simple scream could send George on a pose.

But now he was sure the best solution has been found. Well, at least for him. Sleeping pills.

George kept on giving his friend food. After some time, thirsty and hungry, the man had no choice. He gave in. Not straight away, but he did. Last time he drank a glass of water suspiciously. But now Harrison had something even better. A cup of tea. He told himself it had to work. Ringo will drink everything and after fifteen minutes he'll be already unconscious. Hopefully somewhere far away.

***

They left. Ringo was lying unconscious on the back seat. George really hoped he won't wake up until they reach the point. He shouldn't, but they were riding for so long.

When Harrison has just left, he was afraid he'll get lost. Since the day of purchase he hasn't been there even once. A small path he was supposed to turn onto could have completely changed by now. More to say, it could disappear. Deep down he even hoped for this house not to exist, disappear from the planet. Nothing was impossible, right? It would take one flame caused by some random kids that would consider his garden a good place for a grill after school. Puff, house disappearing in fire. Unnoticed guests would come back home, but nobody would check if the fire was put out for good. Nobody knew the identity of the parcel's owner, so nobody would inform him.

It was obvious like two plus two equals four. And possible.

Deep in his thoughts, George could believe that something like this might happened. He imagined the ashes in the middle of the field. It was his last chance and it had vanished in the air. The only thing he could do now was to wait until they'll find him. Wait for justice to happen. Ringo will come back home, he himself will die, and Arthur will disappear, forever. In this very moment it wasn't the worst perspective at all. Maybe it's how it should be, maybe it's the best, maybe-

They were there. The house stood there unaffected. In warm rays of the sunshine it could seem really cosy. Harrison carried Richard inside, not without any trouble. The man was so tired and the temperature really stared to affect him negatively. November was coming to an end and winter saw no use in waiting any longer. The guitarist wondered if there's any heating in the house. He hoped so. Otherwise, he'd probably prefer to spend next month in some warm jail cell.

George was wandering around the house, checking out each and every room. The house was presenting itself just like he remembered. The only difference was a strong layer of the dust, carried in wind through the last two years. This problem was easy to solve though. With a little effort the house will look shiny and new, or at least newer, he thought, watching plaster falling off the wall in his living room. It could've been worse, no doubts about it

He'll wake up soon. Arthur brought him back on Earth.

Whether he wanted it or not, George headed towards the living room. Ringo was sleeping peacefully on a couch, not realising his position. It was better for him — at least for now. Harrison carried him in his arms, the drummer was heavier than he expected. Maybe it was caused by Harrison's exhausted state, maybe because the boy was unconscious. Not paying second thought to it, he walked with him towards the basement's door. Yes, the basement was here as well. Yet again only for Arthur's use. George didn't even try to protest.

Tying his friend up to the pipe in a dark, moist room he felt his heart shuttering. Richard appeared to be some prisoner deep down in middle ages' castle's dungeon. Life sentenced for crimes he hasn't committed. In fact, that's who he was. An innocent man who happened to appear in a wrong place at a wrong time. The only difference were feelings the guard had for the prisoner — because Harrison loved him.