Chapter Text
John woke up at 7:00 A.M. sharp. He yawned and stretched in his bed, eyes still fluttering open. After a couple minutes he got out of his bed and walked 3 doors down the hallway to Paul’s room, planning to continue a song they were writing last night. He opened the door, walked to the bedroom, and he nearly passed out. A loud “Bloody hell!” echoed through the hotel hallway.
George ran out of his room, awakened by John’s cry. He first checked John’s room, but it was empty. He must be with Paul. He opened the door to find John on the couch, paler than a ghost. He didn't even have his specs on.
“John, what the hell are you screaming about?” George asked, angered. “You’ll wake up the whole building like that!”
John couldn't even respond. All he could do was point to the bedroom before he started rejecting his dinner from the previous night. He ran to the bathroom.
George walked to the bedroom and immediately he couldn't breathe. All the color shot out of his face, now matching John. “I’m getting Rich, stay in that room.” He said firmly. He wanted to be more in charge about this, because clearly John can't handle it.
Ringo was still fast asleep before he was pushed off the bed and landed on his arm nice and loud. He quickly got up and saw George on the other side of the bed. He seemed to be trying to breathe firmly, as if he just got shot in the lung.
“What's that all about?” Ringo asked, rolling the shoulder he landed on. George took a deep, deep breath.
“Paul is dead.”
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He couldn't believe what he had done. He immediately walked into a small breakfast restaurant, his hands shoved into his pockets. The handle of something was hidden in his sleeve.
“Good morning, what may I-” the waitress started before being cut off. “I just need the restroom.” He said, before adding “...and a coffee.”
“Of course! Our restroom is in the back, and I’ll have your chair be right next to it just to make things easier.” The girl said, pointing to the far side of the restaurant. “Could I have a name for that, please?”
“William.” He stammered. The waitress went off to the kitchen and William went to the bathroom. Luckily, it was a one person bathroom, so he didn't have to worry about someone seeing him. As if someone would be here at 7:00 on a Saturday.
William threw his hands out of his pockets and immediately started a stream of hot water. He removed his hammer, once shiny and silver but now coated with blood, and placed it in the sink. He scrubbed his hands like there’s no tomorrow. Why didn't he use gloves? That was a good move.
After a good long 5 minutes, he had scrubbed his hands raw with his nails. The hammer had been rinsed off a long time ago. He placed it back into his pocket after drying his stinging hands and calmly went to his seat.
“Perfect timing,” the waitress said, “here’s your coffee William.” He looked at the clean white mug, comparing it to the image of the skull he broke in a desperate rush. He nodded to the girl and took a long sip, the dark liquid burning his mouth.
From a few feet away, the waitress seemed to be staring at him. He was told a few times that he’d look similar to Paul McCartney if he shaved his face. Just as he assumed, the waitress walked over and said “You know, you look an awful lot like Paul McCartney. That Beatle?”
William knew it was meant as a compliment, but after what he just did, he flinched at the name. Go with it, don't be suspicious. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” He said, stuttering through the sentence. He took another long burning sip of coffee.
“Well that makes you a very handsome man then,” the waitress said. Is she trying to flirt with him or something? All he did was nod. He was getting ready to leave, especially now with this bird on his chest.
“Oh, would you like another coffee? Maybe some food?” She offered as she saw his cup nearly empty. William shook his head. “No, thank you. I just needed this to start my day.” He said. Kind of a bad excuse but whatever he could do to get out of here. He picked himself up and left while the waitress was wishing him a nice day.
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The three men sat in the main room, George sitting on the floor and the other two on the couch together. Ringo was trying his best to comfort John, but to no success. After a long period of silence, George straightened his posture. “So what the hell are we going to do?”
John looked down at George, Ringo still on his left patting his back. “What can we do?” Ringo asked. “It's not like we can piece him back together, he’s not a doll.” Everyone sat in silence for a minute.
“If we could just… replace him.. with someone who looks just the same.” George started to say. “You can’t replace Paul.” John said, firm. “I’ve known this man longer than any of you two. You can’t just replace him. That won’t work.” He said, raising his voice.
“I don't care how much you don’t care about Paul, I care about him and now he's gone! What are we supposed to do? He’s gotten his head busted open and we need to find out who did it!” John yelled. Ringo had pulled away earlier to avoid being hit or pushed or whatever John might do in his sparking frenzy.
“John, calm down-” George tried to say, standing up. “Calm down?” John echoed, and stood up after him. “What if someone beat the hell out of- out of Ringo, to the point where you can’t even tell who it is anymore, and I told you to just replace him? You wouldn't be very calm either!” John argued, his pale face turning red.
George didn't say anything. After a long few seconds John sat down, covered his face, and started sobbing into his hands. “John, it’ll be alright.” Ringo said, his hand on John’s back. “How about you go back to your room? You can clean yourself up, grab your specs, and me and George will talk.” John peeked at Ringo before standing up, wiping his face, and stumbling back to his room.
After the door shut, George and Ringo worked together to use the rug Paul was laying on to roll him up. They were lucky he wasn't splattered everywhere. The mess was controlled. This was strategized by whoever mutilated his face.
“How do you plan to get rid of this?” Ringo asked. George just stared down at the rolled up rug with his hand covering his mouth. A long period of silence came.
“You know, I was serious about replacing him.” George said. Ringo looked up at George. “Are you mad?” Ringo said. “We can’t find someone who looks and acts just like Paul. And even then, how are we hiding this?” George didn't respond for a while.
John sat on his bed, still weeping. He changed his clothes, splashed his face with cold water a few times, and put his glasses on. He planned to walk back to Paul’s room, but he was afraid to face George again. To face what couldn't even be called a face anymore laying on the floor in that room. After 10 minutes of putting it off, he took a deep breath and walked back over.
When John arrived, the other two men were hovering over a carpet. “Come on, lads. We’re getting breakfast.” He said. It wasn't an offer, it was a plan. He already wanted to leave that room. George and Ringo looked at each other before nodding and walking to a nearby breakfast restaurant, leaving the remains of Paul in the room with a Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the handle of the entrance door.
The three arrived and were greeted by a cheery waitress and an empty restaurant. “Good morning! How can I help you boys?” She asked.
“We just want to get a quick breakfast,” Ringo said. The waitress happily led them to a small booth. They waited for their food in silence.
After eating most of their plates, the waitress came back with new drinks, placed them down, and asked “Where’s Paul?” The boys looked at each other before George said “He wasn't hungry. He wanted to spend his time grooming himself before something today.”
“Oh, that's a shame.” The waitress replied. “You know, someone came in here earlier who looked almost just like him.” After she said this, George perked up. “Oh, really? Where was he headed? When was this?” He asked.
“Just 10 minutes ago,” the waitress replied. “He didn't seem to know where he was going, but I think he was headed to that club down the street.”
George stood up and walked out of the building, and the other two boys quickly followed in confusion. Ringo left cash on the table and shrugged at the waitress.
“George, you're seriously going mad.” Ringo said after catching up. John followed close behind.
“No, I’m going to the club. We're finding that boy.” George said firmly. John’s eyes widened and he stopped walking. “No we're not,” he said.
George walked faster, but Ringo stayed with John. “Come on, I get you're mad at him for that but people can't know what happened. The world will fall apart,” Ringo said. He grabbed John’s arm and started dragging him along.
“You both are mad!” John said. “You’re really agreeing that this is better for us?”
“Maybe not for us mentally, but we’re in the middle of a craze. People will kill when they find that Paul has been murdered!” Ringo replied. John didn't say anything.
They arrived in the club and started looking around for the boy. And there he was, sat in the corner of the large room, plucking at a guitar like his life means it.
George walked closer and saw that he really did look like Paul with a mustache. The boy was too focused on the guitar to notice George staring at him.
“Hey, can you play?” George said. The boy looked up and seemed petrified to be faced with George. He didn't respond.
“Wow, he really does look like Paul,” Ringo said. “Does he sound like him?
John stood behind the two, admiring the boy’s face. It was uncannily similar to Paul’s. It made him sick, this could basically be Paul in front of his face right now, unscathed. But he knew it wasn't.
“I- I don't know what you guys mean,” William said. Holy shit, he was being stared down by the people who knew Paul the most. The people who knew the person whose head he had just bashed in less than 30 minutes ago.
The boys perked up. “He does sound like him!” Ringo said, amazed. “Can he write?”
William sat on his stool being cornered by the remaining Beatles. Although he truly was terrified, he had to act confused. And, anyway, why was he being interrogated by them? Has he already been found out?
George studied him for a good minute. “You a busy lad?” He asked. When William shook his head, George seemed content. “Well then, we’d like to introduce you to our group.”
William could feel his heart drop. It probably skipped a beat too. They weren't supposed to find out about this. He was supposed to wash up, hide the hammer and replace Paul without them noticing. God, why did he go to the restaurant? At least he did, otherwise he’d have been found out.
Before he knew it, William was being led back to Paul’s room by the other Beatles, and they didn't even know he was at fault for this catastrophe.
“What’s your name?” George asked.
“William… William Shears Campbell. People call me Billy Shears.”
“Well, now your name is Paul.”