I'll get you

Chapter 7

The person was furious. He had no idea what exactly had happened, and why it had gone like it had. He cursed. He had planned everything so well, what had stopped him from kidnapping the Beatles? It had never been his intention to kill them anyway, he needed them for later. He'd thought of it for a short moment when he stood there with the knife in his hand, but he'd held on to his plans. Except he panicked.

Panic was one of those things he almost never felt. It was like a mystery to him; just not knowing what to do anymore for a moment, your heart rate going up to the top, fear. He remembered the last time he panicked. It had been just after the Beatles had become famous.

He was angry at himself, not only for what had just happened, but also the old wounds were ripped open. Now and then he'd become really angry, frustrated, and he'd smash things around and kick everything in his way till he calmed down again. It was all for the same reason. The reason he'd killed Brian Epstein.

"The best plans are the spontaneous plans", it said. That was what his dad had always told him as a kid, when he used to do everything without thinking. He hadn't agreed with it.

___

Ringo strolled through the room. He had blisters on his fingers of playing the drums, and now there was literally nothing to do. Paul was sitting on the ground, his eyes directed at the floor. Ringo peeked over his shoulder. "What's that?" He asked. Paul looked up from his doodle. "Martha." He answered. "Oh." Ringo nodded at looked better at the drawing. "You must miss her." Paul nodded and Ringo thought he saw a little, just a little tear rolling down his cheek.

"Strange how dogs become part of you, isn't it? Same goes with cats." John said from the other side of the room. He was also drawing, but in a notebook instead of on the floor. Paul nodded. Ringo stood up again and looked around if he could see George.

"Did you see where George went?" He asked. John nodded in the direction of the small room that they'd transformed into a kitchen temporarily. "Oh god, not again..." Ringo sighed. George would be the death of them, eating all their food. George opened te door, in his hands even more food. He casually walked into the room, but then suddenly stopped awkwardly. The others were staring at him.

He looked at the food in his hands, then at the others and then at the food again. "What's wrong?" He asked, taking another bite. "There's nothing wrong with food, if that's what you're 'referring' to."

John snickered. "No, nothing's wrong with food." He gave Paul and Ringo a  significant glance, leaving George in confusion.

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The person sat down on his couch and looked around. The cupboard was shattered, cups and glasses lied on the floor, broken. He wasn't going to clean the mess up now, he had more important things to do. It was nothing or everything, jail, even death or victory. He stood up and walked to the table. He grabbed his little notebook in which he wrote down his plans, and picked up the pen that had fallen on the floor.
He thought deeply. How could he get any chance to come even close to the Beatles again, let alone kidnap them, all four of them, without anyone noticing? First he had to find out more about their situation. He turned around, leaving the new page in his notebook empty, and grabbed his coat.

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John didn't know life could be so boring. They were practically locked up in the studio, for they'd risk their lives by going outside. First he'd thought it couldn't be that bad, after all, he had his friends, his guitar, paper and a pen. But now he missed the walks outside, the drives with his car, his cats, Cynthia, even the hundreds of fangirls following him everywhere. He sighed. Suddenly he was pulled out of his thoughts by three loud knocks on the door.

He jumped up, as did the others, all trying to be there first. He knocked over his chair and ran to the door, bumping against it. The others, who had followed him on only a few centimeters distance, bumped into him. John let out a laugh and quickly looked through the little hole in the door, made so that they could see who was on the other side. He had expected Mal, but he didn't recognise this man.

"Open it!" George yelled. John didn't respond. The others became quiet. "What's up, John?" Paul asked worriedly. John put a finger to his lips and whispered: "It's not Mal. I don't know who it is."

"Well, open the door then!" Ringo said. John shook his head strongly, fear in his eyes. "Is Johnny boy scared?" Ringo laughed. John rolled his eyes. "I just don't want to die like Brian did. We need to be careful. Let's go back again." He turned away from the door and walked in the direction of the main studio again. The others followed him, a bit dissapointed.

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He knocked on the door. He already knew the Beatles were in this building, apart from that, he was going to find out everything he needed to do today. He waited impatiently. He had never been good at waiting, that's probably why he had made that one mistake all those years ago. A bump on the door brought him back to reality again. He heard people talking, but suddenly there was no sound anymore and the people seemed to have gone away.

He knocked again. No reply. He walked down the stairs which led to the door and approached the window. There were curtains in front of it, only the upper windows let through the light of the sun from outside. He looked at the wall, and considered climbing up to the windows. But the wall was far too equal, it'd be impossible for an inexperienced climber like him to even get one meter high.

He looked around him, there were stones lying on the ground. Big stones, small stones, round stones, uneven stones. He picked a big, uneven stone and weighed it in his hand. He looked at the window again. Throwing it in would cause alarm. Maybe he'd better not do it.

Suddenly he was grasped by a strange feeling. It was like he'd just won the lottery combined with the feeling of getting the results of his first exam! His blood was rushing through his body, and his heart rate doubled. He looked at the door with a crazy look and a small grin on his face. He laughed softly to himself and soon found himself sprinting towards the door.

Once he got to the door, he ran his fingers over it. "The best plans are the spontaneous plans." He whispered to himself. Then he kicked the door in.