203�204�205� He grinned an ugly grin when he found the suite he�d been looking for. He checked his watch once more and was satisfied to learn that he was precisely on schedule. It was now exactly four a.m. and he knew everyone would be sound asleep by this time, which made it highly unlikely that someone would catch him red-handed.
He knelt silently in front of room 206 and fished a set of lock-picks out of his pocket. He quietly set to work on the cheap hotel lock and grinned again as he heard a soft click. The man quietly turned the doorknob and inched the door open to make sure there was no one in sight.
Satisfied, he swung the door open fully and immediately went to the left bedroom door, effortlessly avoiding any obstacles in the darkness. He repeated his previous actions by opening the door ever so slightly and peeked inside. The sounds of soft and even breathing told him the two occupants were sound asleep.
When his eyes came to rest on the figure bundled up in the left bed, he was suddenly overcome by an intense hatred. His eyes blazed and in two large strides he was standing next to the peacefully sleeping occupant. For a split-second, the man hesitated. But then, consumed by hatred, he leapt onto the young man in the bed, his fingers tightening around the boy�s throat even before he�d finished positioning himself.
Paul�s eyes flew open as he was suddenly unable to breathe. Staring into two horribly blazing eyes, he gasped and clawed at the fingers applying pressure to his throat.
Paul could see the man�s lips moving, but he couldn�t hear what he was saying for the sound of blood rushing through his veins. He coughed and gasped, desperately trying to suck in some air, but to no avail. He thrashed about, attempting to dislodge the man that was sitting on top of him, but he was too strong and too heavy.
Finally, Paul could no longer bear to look into those eyes that were glowing with hatred � an intense hatred that was directed at him - and he shifted his gaze to the figure on the other bed, which appeared to still be sleeping peacefully.
�Ringo!� he gasped weakly, his voice unable to rise little more above a whisper. �Ringo! Help�please!�
But the figure in the bed did not move.
Paul coughed again, emitting a horrible choking sound. Darkness was closing in around the edges of his vision and his attempts at breaking free grew fainter.
�Ringo�� he tried one last time, before the darkness claimed him.
*
�MACCA!�
At the familiar sound of the nickname Paul�s eyes snapped open, and he took in great gulps of air at the same time.
�That�s it, Macca, breathe,� a voice said soothingly.
Paul coughed and tried to sit up, but found he couldn�t move. In his half-asleep mind, he thought he�d been tied up by his attacker and broke into a panic, struggling weakly.
�Paul, stop it! It�s alright, it�s just yer covers,� the voice said, which Paul now recognised as that of his friend John Lennon.
Paul blinked and lay still, breathing raggedly. �John?� he croaked, suddenly realising that his friend was hovering over him.
�That�s right, mate. It�s me, it�s alright,� John said, peering into Paul�s eyes. He saw an intense fear in them, something he�d never seen in anyone�s eyes before.
Paul took a deep breath and shook his head. That dream had been much too real for his liking. Had it been a dream?
�God,� he murmured, suddenly realising that his covers were wrapped tightly around his body, effectively pinning his right arm to his side.
�Yeah, how you managed to get yer covers all tossed up that way is beyond me,� John remarked, as though reading Paul�s mind.
Paul slowly untangled himself, which proved to be a much more difficult task than he�d thought.
Suddenly, something just seemed to click in his mind. He paused and looked up at John, who was standing next to his bed, watching him with concerned eyes. �What are you doin� here? Where�s Ringo?�
�I switched rooms with him,� John replied unwaveringly. �I didn�t like the way you were behavin� and Ritch refused to tell me what was goin� on in that daft head of yours.�
�Well, now you know, don�t you,� Paul grumbled, feeling annoyed with himself as well as with Ringo and John. Fuck, he felt annoyed with the whole world right at the moment.
When he finally managed to sit up properly, Paul reached for the glass of water that was on his night stand. Only when he took a sip did he realise that John must�ve put it there for him, because it hadn�t been there when he�d gone to bed a few hours earlier.
�Ta, John,� Paul muttered. He felt the mattress dip as John sat down next to him.
�How long have you been havin� these nightmares, Paul?� John asked him seriously.
Paul shrugged. �Since we begun tourin� again,� he replied, deciding that trying to deny it now would be useless. He rubbed his eyes, expecting John to start yelling at him what a stupid sod he was.
But he didn�t.
Instead, John just nodded and was quiet for a few long moments. �Bloody hell, Macca�,� he muttered finally, shaking his head. �Why didn�t ye tell me? Or Brian? He could�ve arranged somethin�, you know, cancel the concerts or some such thing.�
Paul looked at him sarcastically. �I�m sure the press are having the best time of their lives already with what happened this morning. I can�t back out now, John, they�ll think we�re splittin� up or something�again.�
�Well, who cares?� John said, suddenly feeling rebellious. �Let �em think the Beatles are over. I don�t fuckin� care! They�ve said that loads of times and we�ve proven them wrong every time, haven�t we?�
Paul shook his head. �Think about the fans, John.�
�Well, they can�t very well blame us for the whole bloody thing, can they?�
�Well, no,� Paul said, then seemed to hesitate for a minute. �But it�s important to me, you know. I mean, you know what they say about falling off your horse; you have to get back on it or you may never dare riding a horse again. It�s the same for me,� Paul said, finally looking at his friend. �If I don�t get up on that stage tomorrow, I�m afraid I�ll never have the nerve to do it again, and I can�t stand that thought.�
John nodded, turning that information over in his head. He understood now why his friend was being so stubborn. It wasn�t necessarily because he felt he owed it to their fans, but he owed it to himself. He needed to get his nerve back and John had to admit that that was a very important thing to try to get back. He looked over at Paul, but didn�t really know what to say. He�d never felt very comfortable talking about this sort of emotional stuff.
�All right, son,� he suddenly said in a thick Scottish accent, clapping Paul on the shoulder. �We best be gettin� yer nerve back for ye then, aye?� He yawned widely and stood up. �Right, now off to bed with ye, lad.�
Paul smiled faintly and watched as John made his way over to his own bed and buried himself deep under the covers. John threw a last glance at Paul. �Will you be alright then?�
�Yeah,� Paul replied, not sure if he was speaking the truth or not. He wasn�t too keen on going back to sleep, but he knew he�d be in a much worse state the next day if he didn�t.
As John turned over, Paul flicked off the light, lay back down and closed his eyes.
�John?� he asked five minutes later.
��M�asleep,� John mumbled.
�Ta, mate,� Paul said and was answered by an unintelligible grumble coming from the other bed.
