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Paul couldn’t wait to get home. On the farm he could dream music the city seemed to drive out of him. He was tired, but happy. He felt good about the album he had in production. The music was done, he had just spent the day working with the mixing. He knew it would be the best one yet.
A glimpse of light through the high hedge alerted Paul to an oncoming car. He slowed and pulled to the far left side of the road. The other car came around the bend fast, then slowed as the driver saw Paul’s car.
Paul glanced over as the car passed, the driver looked back, neither he nor Paul could see much in the lights of the dash.
Then the world exploded. It lifted the other car first, slamming it into Paul’s car.
So, this is it, Paul thought, I’ll be the second of us to die violently. Then the world went black.
* * * * *
It was the damp that aroused him, irritated and puzzled. Then he remembered he was supposed to be dead and then he really woke up. The cold, wet ditch in which he lay suddenly became the most wonderful place on Earth; he was alive and, as far as he could tell, miraculously unharmed.
Paul could see the flickering of the fire on the bushes. He started to sit up when he felt a hand touch his arm.
“They are still up there, the killers,” the man whispered, “and I haven’t the strength to ‘port us again.”
Paul looked over, in the lambent flickering light he could see the thin, dark haired man lying on his side next to him.
“Then they are after you and not me,” he whispered in relief, wondering what the man meant by “port.”
“Don’t let it calm you too much. These men don’t like failing,” he replied in the same low tone.
Paul’s eyes widened, fear crept up his spine, cold and more intense than the times he had been mobbed by the fans. Then the kids didn't mean any harm. They did it for love. These people had meant to kill and would finish the job if they found them.
“What should we do?” Paul asked. He rolled toward the man to face him in the ditch.
“Since I can’t move us,” the man said, “then the next best thing is to move them.”
“How?”
The man looked him in his eyes. “Listen carefully, I need you to understand me. I have the power to agitate and frighten those men, but you will also feel the fear. You must lie perfectly still, understand?”
“No… I… no,” Paul whispered.
“Just trust me and be still,” he murmured. “You are safe here.”
Paul felt only doubt, but he responded back. “Right.”
As Paul watched, the man closed his eyes. Then Paul felt fear. A vise of terror wrapped around his throat, trying to close it.
Were those footsteps coming closer? Paul wanted to sit up and look. The hand, still resting on his arm, squeezed and Paul stayed still.
“Come on, man,” came a harsh American accent. “We’re going to get caught.”
“The boss said to make sure he was dead,” another American replied.
“How could he survive that? Listen, man, they’re both dead and those gas tanks may go up any minute,” the first snarled. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Alright,” the other said, reluctantly.
“Come on!”
Paul could hear crashing through the hedge on the other side of the road. Finally he could hear the sound of a car starting and driving off.
Paul felt instantly better. It was like a hand lifting off his soul. He sat up, dripping mud and grass.
“They’re gone then, mate,” he told the man still laying next to him.
“I know,” he replied. He worked his way up to his elbow. “I’m Stefon Parvel. Sorry about the rude introduction.”
He was also American.
“Paul McCartney,” he replied. “What do you mean?”
“I sensed the bomb a moment before it went off. I had seen you, so when I jumped, I took you with me.” Then he paused. “Paul McCartney? The Beatle Paul McCartney?”
“Yeah,” Paul affirmed.
“I’d like to shake your hand, but…” Stefon looked down at his wet, muddy hand.
Paul offered his own, equally dirty one and they shook. Paul then changed it to a hand up. They scrambled out of the ditch and looked at the burning wreckage.
“I guess we’ll have to walk,” Stefon said. He sounded very tired.
“It’s alright, I’m happy just to be alive,” Paul replied.
“Yeah.”
“I remember a lane back there a bit,” Paul said encouragingly. He was puzzled why Stefon still seemed so down. They were alive and unharmed, yet Stefon seemed weak.
“So, how was it you said you rescued me?” he asked, mostly for conversation as he took Stefon’s arm to pull him along.
“I jumped… teleported,” Stefon said in a toneless voice.
Paul frowned as he thought about it for a moment.
“Teleporting… I thought… I mean…” Paul was struggling to find the words to ask what he wanted to know. He felt at a loss since words were a part of his business.
“It’s hard to explain,” Stefon admitted.
Paul glanced over, but couldn't see anything in the dark. He did sense a smile in Stefon’s voice now.
“I suppose you are right,” he said. “Was it a spur of the moment sort of thing?”
“No, I’ve been able to do it for years.”
They walked along in silence while Paul thought about it. He turned them up a narrower lane. On a low rise a ways up the road they could see lights.
“I had been afraid they might’ve been after me,” Paul finally said.
“That would have made life as difficult as when John was murdered,” Stefon replied. He sounded a little stronger despite the walk in the dark.
“What do you mean?” Paul asked.
“I work in a drug rehab center in New York City. I got to meet John a few times. He didn’t come in, but asked someone to come help them, him and Yoko, with their drug habit. Turned out they also have gifts, they were getting training. Their teacher had me come along because he felt he was getting out of his depth. They, the three of them, had gotten kind of close. His death nearly broke their teacher, I pulled him off then and moved him out of town, to a different Den, at least for a while.”
“Den?”
“The Lion’s Den,” Stefon said.
Paul thought he had heard of the place. “The drug rehab place?”
“Yes, but we also help people with psi gifts, many resort to drugs because of the voices.”
“I guess I could understand that,” Paul said.
“After John’s death, we had a lot of breakouts. People who had never shown any traces of E.S.P. suddenly having it.”
“Why would that happen?” Paul asked.
“Strong emotional shocks can override early suppression. Lots of people who might’ve heard things as children are told it is all in their imaginations or in their heads and so they suppress it. Some are even punished by parents and they will block off their gifts.”
“Shame. Can other people teleport?”
“Quite a few, but I don’t think very many of them could have shielded and teleported like I did with you.”
“You mean anyone else couldn’t have saved my life?” Paul asked with a sudden shiver.
“If it hadn’t been me, I doubt there’d’ve been a trap at all,” Stefon replied. “This will take the heat off me for a while until they are sure I’m alive.”
“What about when we tell the police about the accident?” Paul asked.
“I’ll take the blame,” Stefon said. He sounded slightly worried. “I do for almost everything else.”
“No,” Paul said firmly. “I’ll take the blame. You’re doing all this good work and getting no credit.”
“Well, we do try to keep it a secret,” Stefon admitted. “It keeps us from scaring people.”
Paul stopped in his tracks, almost tripping Stefon.
“Then why have you told me all this?” he asked.
Paul could just make out the smile on Stefon’s face in the distant light from the house ahead.
“Because I’m a fan. I feel as though I’ve known you for years. In fact, on your last U.S. tour, I saw every show.”
Paul smiled at the thought.
He was also aware of how fans had always used the familiar. They felt since they knew you so well, then you must know them also.
They were finally approaching the house. “I’ll take the blame, Stefon,” Paul told him firmly. “I won’t get in as much trouble.”
* * * * *
EX-BEATLE IN WREAK
London: Paul McCarney, former Beatle and leader of Wings, was involved in a fiery two car collision last night. Both cars were destroyed, but neither driver was injured although they were treated for exposure and shock in a nearby hospital.
“I probably should’ve stayed in London,” McCarney told the police. “I must have dozed off behind the wheel.”
McCarney claimed he lost consciousness after the impact and the other driver, who did not wish to be identified, pulled him to the safety of a nearby ditch before the vehicles exploded.
The other driver was overheard telling the police he hadn’t known it was the former Beatle until after McCartney identified himself, but “I would have done it for anyone.”
The police are still investigating the accident and no charges have been filed. Paul McCartney says this is the first serious car accident he has ever been in.
His last thoughts, before he lost consciousness, McCartney says, was he was going to be the second Beatle to die violently.
John Lennon,another member of the Beatles, was shot in front of his apartment building on December 8th, 1980.
McCartney was picked up by his wife at the hospital and they were going to spend the night in a hotel before returning to his farm.
* * * * *
“Got a letter here for you,” Witch called Stefon into her office.
Stefon stepped in and picked up the letter where Witch had tossed it. He weighed the unopened letter in his hand, sensing back through all the handling to the writer.
His eyebrows shot up. “I do believe Paul McCartney sent this,” he said aloud.
“Oh?” Witch said with a smile. Stefon gave her a narrow-eyed look. She had probably done the same thing, after all, she had taught him how to do it. “I believe he’s doing a benefit concert in London in a few days. Maybe you’ll get to see his show again.” Now he really gave her a sharp look. “You don’t think I missed your Den visits just so happened to coincide with the Wings tour, did you?” she asked, innocently.
“Nothing is safe from you,” Stefon said. But he now grinned at her. He picked up a letter opener and slit the envelope.
Stefon pulled out the two sheets of paper and, after glancing quickly at one, read the other. A smile spread across his thin features.
“I’ve been invited to the concert,” he told Witch. “This is my backstage pass.” He waved the second sheet.
“That’s nice,” she said. She looked up at him from her desk, green eyes twinkling. “Have a good time.”
“Thanks, I’ll go pack.” He teleported back to his apartment too excited to go there a normal way.
* * * * *
Stefon was greeted at the stage door by a burly guard who read the entry pass with suspicion.
“I’ll just go check on this, if you don’t mind,” he grunted at Stefon.
“Not at all, go right ahead,” Stefon said with a smile.
In a minute he came back, still frowning and let Stefon in. He acted like he didn’t think Stefon fit in, like he was some kind of old hippy wanna-be.
Stefon followed a harried stage hand’s directions the door guard had handed him off to and was quickly lost. A door opened up ahead, Stefon recognized the profile.
“Ah, Stefon, you’re here. I figured you’d be along about now. Come on in.”
Stefon was ushered into the crowded room. Everyone seemed to be talking at once.
“This is my band, I got them in here to meet you. This is Linda, my wife,” he said, one hand on Stefon’s arm leading him into the crowd. “Guys!” he raised his voice. “This is Stefon, the man who pulled me from the car last month.”
“Hey! Nice to meet you, man!” one shouted.
Linda came up next to him. “I want to thank you for what you did. Paul told me all about it.”
“All?” Stefon asked, glancing over at Paul, who nodded in agreement. “So, what did you think?”
“It was very enlightening and really explains a lot.”
“Oh?”
“You’ll see, tonight,” she promised with a smile.
“How mysterious,” Stefon said softly.
“I want to shake your hand,” one of the band members came up.
Stefon was quickly swamped by Paul’s grateful friends for several minutes before a stagehand gave them the two minute warning.
“Stefon, come on, I want you up by the stage,” Paul said, rescuing the thin telepath from his band mates.
The others followed, laughing, pumping themselves up for the show.
Paul carefully stationed Stefon in the wings of the stage. Then he joined the rest of the group for their entrance.
A different stagehand walked by and handed Stefon some earplugs.
“You’ll want these, put them in now,” he was told.
Then the band ran on the stage and the crowd went wild. They all picked up their instruments and adjusted them.
“One, two, three, four!” Paul yelled and the show started.
Stefon felt the crowd’s excitement become more controlled. He sensed it calm externally, but build internally.
After three numbers they broke. Paul spoke to the cheering crowd. They grew quiet enough to hear him speak.
Stefon could sense the power Paul held over the crowd.
Paul switched to an electrified acoustic guitar. He started a slower song, Yesterday, and Stefon could feel the sorrow Paul was emoting. The audience was silent, Stefon could almost hear the sobs.
The next song was to be more upbeat. Stefon could sense it in the silence. He recognized the change and so did the crowd. With the speakers that pretty much blotted out any sounds from the audience, he couldn’t hear anything as Paul hit the first cord, but he knew the crowd was already on their feet. Many even before the first cord was struck.
The crowd roared with pleasure as Paul sang Live and Let Die.
* * * * *
After the show, Paul came and collected Stefon to take him back to the dressing room. The thin telepath’s ears were ringing from the close proximity to the speakers, despite the earplugs. This time only Linda was there.
“How are you doing?” Paul asked.
“Fine,” Stefon said with a grin. He pulled the earplugs out.
“A little bit closer than you’re accustomed?” Paul asked.
“A bit.”
“You stay here with Linda while I go field the reporters.”
Stefon grimaced, the few times he had to deal with reporters he hated it.
While Paul went off, Linda quickly took him to the couch, and asked if he’d like a drink.
“A soda if possible,” Stefon replied.
Linda shoved a garment aside and got one out of a small refrigerator.
“What did you think?” she asked eagerly.
“He’s really good.” Linda frowned. Stefon guessed she didn’t quite understand he was referring to their previous conversation.
“Paul’s gift as a projecting empath is amongst the best I’ve ever witnessed. But I did know he was one already.”
“Oh, yeah, he told me you saw him during the U.S. tour.”
“I saw all of the shows,” Stefon told her.
She nodded when he told her it, Paul had also told her.
“So, what was John?” she asked.
“A leader. He had some small skills with reading thoughts and emotions, but mostly he could make people want to follow him. He didn’t know he was doing it, but he could do it. He also could project his ideas for others to become excited about them, even if he didn’t say anything at all.”
“And Paul projects emotions?” Linda asked, clarifying it to herself. “Can he do anything else?” she asked.
“I don’t know. It is possible. Some might show up if he wanted to try and get some training. He doesn’t need much training with the empathy, just a little refinement.”
“What can a projecting empath…” she stumbled over the term, “do?”
Stefon smiled. “Crowd control.” Linda looked surprised. “I know a woman who stopped a riot during a blackout in New York a few years back.”
“I see,” Linda whispered.
Stefon couldn’t actually hear the words, but sensed the thought.
“There’s Paul; it’s time to eat.”
* * * * *
Stefon was surrounded by wonderful food, but he barely got a bite without being interrupted. It was a relief later when Linda came to his rescue and took him, and his loaded plate, to McCartney's suite.
When they were finally seated on the couches in the room, Stefon realized they could get down to the real reason the former Beatle had asked him to come.
“What did you think?” Paul asked for himself.
Again, Stefon knew he wasn’t asking just about the music.
He took a bite of the best looking thing on his plate, then set it aside. Instead he picked up his drink.
“I know you didn’t ask me to come, just because it’s been a while since you have done a full concert. Neither did you want me here just to confirm what you obviously already know, you have a gift.”
Paul nodded. Linda leaned up against him and he put his arm around her.
“The fact is the reason the Beatles became so great was because all of you have a special gift. Most of the fans knew this, after a fashion.
“John was the brains, a leader, he could sense enough of what people wanted and could give it to them. We call it telepathy, but it is much more than being a quote…” here Stefon did the two finger air quotes, “a mind reader,” and Stefon stopped doing the air quotes. “Whether he was singing or just playing the guitar, he made people know things
“George was the soul, he could see the truth in a man and give it back in his music, even when he was just playing the guitar. He could make people want to be better. It's why he got into all the Eastern mysticism.
“Ringo was the humanity… well, it isn’t the right word, but his gift is a hard one to explain. It makes people see both sides in themselves; the good and the bad, the ugly and the beauty, the lies and the truths. It is extremely rare and nearly impossible to train, it is just something they have or don’t have.
“And you, Paul, you were the heart, the emotions. The more sensitive in your crowd tonight knew what was your next song because you broadcasted it. It is why your shows are so exciting.
“This is why The Beatles were so successful, the four of you basically created a complete person,” and again he did the air quotes, “that was The Beatles.”
Paul sat for several moments, quietly thinking.
“I guess I always kind of knew that. We are all successful alone, but if we hadn’t been The Beatles first, how successful would we be?
“Also,” he continued, “it is probably why when I met John it felt so right, and when I met George it felt like we were steady, not yet a four legged chair, but also not teetering on only 2 legs.
“So, can I learn to use this gift better?” he asked.
“Yes. The empathy gift is one of the easier to train and you already have a pretty good handle on your gift, it probably only needs to be refined.
“When you get your gift under better control, there might even be other gifts.”
“Really!” Paul leaned forward, breaking away from Linda in his excitement. “When can we start?”
“Ah… I’m not the man to train you,” Stefon told him.
“No?” Paul leaned back, disappointed.
“It isn’t that I don’t want to, it’s just I don’t have the time to take on both of you.”
“Both?” Linda squeaked.
“And probably your children,” Stefon added.
“What?” the couple said together.
“It is really very simple,” Stefon told them. “Mixed marriages simply do not work.
“Why do you think John and Yoko fell in love so fast?
“Why do you think it was never quite right until you met Linda?”
Paul shrugged.
“It is because you never found the right person before. You fitted together, you completed each other. When you met the right person you knew them,” there were more air quotes given to the word ‘knew.’
“So I have these powers, these gifts, too?” Linda asked.
Stefon nodded. “I guessed as much when I saw you on the stage during all the concerts I saw in the States. I knew it for sure when I met you.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t think it is anything as specific as Paul’s, and not nearly as strong as Paul’s, but only training will show what it is.”
“Who will train us since you can’t?” Paul asked.
“It will have to be someone local to you, probably near your farm,” Stefon said. “I can ask at the main London Lion’s Den to give me a list of names, if any, in your area.”
“Oh. How will you get this list to me?” Paul asked.
Stefon smiled in a mysterious way. “I have my ways.”
There was a rather long, awkward silence.
“Do you need a place to stay?” Linda asked, finally.
“No,” Stefon said, getting up. “I’ll just pop over to the Den. They usually have a room set aside at one of them in case any of my friends or I show up.”
Paul and Linda also stood up and they shook hands. Linda started to the door, but Stefon stopped her.
“I think I’ll take the easy way,” he told her.
And then he was gone.
The couple stood, looking at the place the man had been, then at each other.
“‘Popping over’ has just taken a whole new meaning,” Paul finally said.
Linda could only nod in agreement.