The End (Beatles Fanfiction)

Chapter 12

PAUL

No one said a word. Everything was silent in the studio, except for my fingers idly pressing piano keys.

"Hmmm," I hummed softly, and looked up slowly.

Ringo was off in the corner, a bottle in hand. I watched as he studied the bottle for a moment, then took a drink from it.

George sat in a chair near the drum set, a deep slouch in his posture. His hair blocked his face, but I saw cigarette smoke swirling from where his mouth would be.

Other people moved in the background, producers and engineers and all that. Their footsteps and the piano were the only sounds in the room.

"Let it be," I sang, as quietly as possible. George slowly brushed the hair out of his face, and puffed on the ciggie.

"Well, it seems you all are having a very productive day!"

The three of us turned to the doorway upon hearing the voice.

John stood at the entrance to the room, Yoko holding his arm. A smirk was on his face.

"Look who decided to show up," I heard Ringo mutter.

"Ey, John," I said, standing up and walking over to him. I hadn't seen him since he ran out on us yesterday. "Where were you?"

John waved his free hand nonchalantly and said, "Out." He walked past me, followed by Yoko, over to his guitar, which stood propped up just as he had left it the day before.

"I know how much grueling work you've probably done today," John teased, plugging his guitar into an amp, "but maybe we should do some recordin', ey?"

George, Ringo and I all looked at each other. John looked back to his normal self, with the exception of actually wanting to do work today. It was a big change from yesterday. Was he hiding something? Or did he really feel nothing for Prudence anymore?

George put out his ciggie, stood up from his chair and walked over to John. "You alright?" he asked softly.

John flashed strain in his eyes, but the answer from his mouth was a curt, "Fine. Come off it, la."

George nodded slowly, and briskly walked over to his own guitar.

"Shall we begin then?" John asked, a bite in his voice appearing.

George looked at me. I nodded back to him.

It was clear. John hasn't gotten over Prudence.

Ringo straightened up, downed the remnants of his bottle, and set it on the floor. Rubbing his hands against his pants legs, he walked up to the drum set.

"We all ready?" he asked, positioning himself behind the drums, ready to play.

"Yeah," I said, after looking at John for a moment. He didn't look back, just stared at his guitar, concentrating on his fingers over its neck.

The four of us started playing, and kept on for hours. Prudence's name wasn't mentioned once.

PRUDENCE

The kettle whistled, a high-pitched shriek emanating from its spout.

I didn't move from my seat on the sofa, in front of the television. Some show was on, but the sound was turned off, and I wasn't paying attention.

The whistle grew louder.

I stared blankly at the telly screen. My vision blurred as I lost focus. Shapes moved around on the screen, and I could just make out forms of people.

The whistle blared in the distance.

One figure was holding something, an instrument. His hair fell in a mop-top do, and he had on a nice clean suit. His eyes were thin, and he had a smirk on his face...

I focused my eyes, and leaned forward to see the screen better. My heart jumped into my throat as I saw...

...a man I didn't know.

It wasn't John. It didn't look like him at all. He wasn't even wearing a suit, and his hair was neatly cut, not at all like the mop-top cut John had the last time I saw him.

The whistling pierced my ears, and I finally acknowledged it.

"Alright! I'm coming!" I shouted to no one in particular, lifting myself from my seat with a huff. I walked into the kitchen and took the kettle off the stove.

While preparing my tea, my mind wandered back to John.

He really changed. Then again, so have I.

Have I changed?

He's already been married. I felt a pang of sadness at that thought, but it went away as soon as it came.

We haven't seen each other in years.

This was just a coincidence.

So why was I thinking about it so much?

He was in a recording studio, as he should be.

I was in a building working on fashion. As I should be.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Except I saw him. And I think he saw me.

I sighed, and looked down at my cup. I had poured too much water, and the cup was overflowing.

Closing my eyes, I set both palms on the countertop.

What was happening to me?