Paul blinked as the last of the mist disappeared, wondering if he was seeing his surroundings wrong. What was he doing in his own kitchen in Scotland when he was supposed to be in New York saving John? Had the time travel even worked? For one brief, heart-stopping moment, Paul thought it hadn't and that all his excitement over the past few days had been for nothing, but then he realized the kitchen looked a little different. The furniture wasn't positioned exactly the same as it had been and the towels hanging up weren't the same ones he'd left that morning. Even the clothes Paul was wearing weren't the same ones he had left in. Then Linda came in and smiled, not asking him where he had gone or if he'd had a nice time. Paul understood. He was in exactly the same place he had been on the morning of December 8, but with all the memories and thoughts of his 1981 self. The time-travel stories had got it wrong - there wasn't a 1980 Paul and a 1981 Paul running around at the same time. He had simply been able to rewind time a little while retaining his other memories, giving himself a chance to do things over differently.
"Want some lunch?" Linda asked him, heading over to the cupboards, perfectly cheerful, not knowing what was going to happen today if Paul didn't stop it, not talking to Paul as she had been recently, knowing he was going through the grieving process. Paul shook his head.
"Can't today, love. I've got to head out soon. There's something I've got to do."
Linda frowned. "What? You didn't tell me!"
"Well - it was very last-minute," Paul explained. He couldn't very well explain that he wouldn't have had any idea he had to do this at all if he hadn't just come from the future. "I'll be back tomorrow morning, or even sooner if I can."
Linda looked unhappy. "Is this a last-minute show or something?"
"Not exactly. Listen, I'd better run, or I'll be late."
Paul hurried away to make preparations, like reserving himself a seat on the earliest flight to New York he could find. He felt a little bad about running out on Linda like this. He could hardly take her along, of course - what he was going to do was much too dangerous. Then she'd have to take the kids, too, and Paul wasn't about to risk his wife and children getting shot at. That was out of the question.
Despite the guilt, though, and the inevitable nerves, Paul couldn't help feeling almost cheerful, something he hadn't really felt in a long time. John was still alive. For the first time in three months, Paul could confidently say that John was out there somewhere, perfectly all right, and if all went well tonight, he always would be.
If all went well tonight... in the back of Paul's mind there crept a tiny sliver of doubt. If, for some reason, he failed tonight - not that he thought he would, but just say he did - would he be able to remember what John had told him in his dream for another three months, until the portal opened up again? He should be able to, since he'd already dreamt it, and yet, in a way, that dream hadn't happened yet, and wasn't going to for another three months. Supposing he did forget, would John come to him again and give him the same information? Was there a limit on how many times John could do that? It was all very confusing. Being the first person ever to time-travel did have its inconveniences.
It would be a smart idea to give himself some insurance, just on the very unlikely chance that something didn't go as planned. Not that that would happen. And that way Linda could help him, and hopefully feel a bit better about Paul having to leave her so suddenly. Paul took a pen and paper and wrote down everything John had told him about the portal, as well as his own experiences with how it worked and what happened after he went through it. He couldn't resist adding that. Maybe he would put it all in an autobiography someday. For the moment, though, there were more pressing matters to attend to. He had to save his best friend's life. John was still alive.... It felt so good to remember that, and it gave a new spring to Paul's step as he made his way back into the kitchen.
"Listen, Linda," he said. "I need you to do something for me." He handed her the piece of paper, which he'd folded up small; she frowned, puzzled. "I'm going out to do something - important, and I will get it right, but just in case I don't, I need you to give this to us." The "us" came out automatically and very naturally, but Paul knew Linda would know what he meant. In the Beatle days, he had used "us" more than "I", because the Beatles did almost everything together, and he had never entirely slipped out of the habit. Linda knew this and always knew what Paul meant when he said "us".
"All right." Linda took the paper with a sigh. "I wish you would let me go with you."
Paul shook his head. "Not this time, love." He hesitated. "You know I wouldn't run off on you like this if it wasn't really important. Trust me on that, okay, Linda?"
Linda looked unhappy, but nodded. "What are you going to do?" she asked him again.
Paul shook his head. "Can't stop and explain right now." An explanation like this one would take much too long, that is, if Linda even believed him. Paul kissed Linda goodbye. "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow when I get back. See you later, honey pie." He hurried out the door. Now he had a chance to save John, and he had even given himself some insurance to make sure that, on the off-chance he didn't get it right, he would be able to try again and again until he did. Paul hurried to catch his plane.
The whole trip took Paul longer than he had reckoned on. It took him seven and a half hours to fly to New York, and longer to get a taxi ride to John's neighbourhood. By this time, it was already getting very late in the day. The skies were darkening and Paul was beginning to get fidgety. He would get to John on time, wouldn't he? He had to get to John on time!
At last, Paul could see John's building coming into view. By this point, it was completely dark and Paul's heart was pounding in his chest. He wasn't sure what he was going to do or what John would say when he saw him. But at least he had gotten there, and he was pretty sure he was on time. What time was it, exactly? Was John home right now? Hadn't he gone out? Paul was pretty sure he had gone out. Should he try and meet him on the walk when he came back in?
Then several things happened, almost as if they were in slow motion. Paul could see two figures coming up the walk. He heard a voice calling out to John, and suddenly realized it was happening right now, and he hadn't come up with any plan for how to prevent it.
So Paul did the only thing left to do, without thinking, just knowing he had to do whatever he could to save his friend. He threw himself in front of John.
He heard the sound of gunfire, heard a woman screaming, heard John's confused voice saying, "Paul... what...?" He barely felt the bullets as they hit him full in the chest. It was as though all this were happening to someone else, as though it wasn't his body that slowly sank to the ground as his knees gave way, not his ears that filled with a ringing that muffled everything else, not his vision beginning to blur, as everything faded away.
He was vaguely aware of John dropping to his knees beside him. He tried to tell him it was all right, John was safe, but didn't seem to be able to get the words out.
"Paul, come on! Snap out of it!" John was shaking him. John's face was all Paul could see anymore. His face was twisted in pain. Was he crying? That was the only thing that bothered Paul. John never cried. He wasn't supposed to be unhappy. Paul had saved him. He was supposed to be all right now.
"Paul, no!" cried John, who was definitely tearful. He shook Paul's shoulders, hard, but Paul knew it was no good. He was slipping away... but John would be all right....
"At least it wasn't you, John," he murmured, and closed his eyes.
"Want some lunch?" Linda asked him, heading over to the cupboards, perfectly cheerful, not knowing what was going to happen today if Paul didn't stop it, not talking to Paul as she had been recently, knowing he was going through the grieving process. Paul shook his head.
"Can't today, love. I've got to head out soon. There's something I've got to do."
Linda frowned. "What? You didn't tell me!"
"Well - it was very last-minute," Paul explained. He couldn't very well explain that he wouldn't have had any idea he had to do this at all if he hadn't just come from the future. "I'll be back tomorrow morning, or even sooner if I can."
Linda looked unhappy. "Is this a last-minute show or something?"
"Not exactly. Listen, I'd better run, or I'll be late."
Paul hurried away to make preparations, like reserving himself a seat on the earliest flight to New York he could find. He felt a little bad about running out on Linda like this. He could hardly take her along, of course - what he was going to do was much too dangerous. Then she'd have to take the kids, too, and Paul wasn't about to risk his wife and children getting shot at. That was out of the question.
Despite the guilt, though, and the inevitable nerves, Paul couldn't help feeling almost cheerful, something he hadn't really felt in a long time. John was still alive. For the first time in three months, Paul could confidently say that John was out there somewhere, perfectly all right, and if all went well tonight, he always would be.
If all went well tonight... in the back of Paul's mind there crept a tiny sliver of doubt. If, for some reason, he failed tonight - not that he thought he would, but just say he did - would he be able to remember what John had told him in his dream for another three months, until the portal opened up again? He should be able to, since he'd already dreamt it, and yet, in a way, that dream hadn't happened yet, and wasn't going to for another three months. Supposing he did forget, would John come to him again and give him the same information? Was there a limit on how many times John could do that? It was all very confusing. Being the first person ever to time-travel did have its inconveniences.
It would be a smart idea to give himself some insurance, just on the very unlikely chance that something didn't go as planned. Not that that would happen. And that way Linda could help him, and hopefully feel a bit better about Paul having to leave her so suddenly. Paul took a pen and paper and wrote down everything John had told him about the portal, as well as his own experiences with how it worked and what happened after he went through it. He couldn't resist adding that. Maybe he would put it all in an autobiography someday. For the moment, though, there were more pressing matters to attend to. He had to save his best friend's life. John was still alive.... It felt so good to remember that, and it gave a new spring to Paul's step as he made his way back into the kitchen.
"Listen, Linda," he said. "I need you to do something for me." He handed her the piece of paper, which he'd folded up small; she frowned, puzzled. "I'm going out to do something - important, and I will get it right, but just in case I don't, I need you to give this to us." The "us" came out automatically and very naturally, but Paul knew Linda would know what he meant. In the Beatle days, he had used "us" more than "I", because the Beatles did almost everything together, and he had never entirely slipped out of the habit. Linda knew this and always knew what Paul meant when he said "us".
"All right." Linda took the paper with a sigh. "I wish you would let me go with you."
Paul shook his head. "Not this time, love." He hesitated. "You know I wouldn't run off on you like this if it wasn't really important. Trust me on that, okay, Linda?"
Linda looked unhappy, but nodded. "What are you going to do?" she asked him again.
Paul shook his head. "Can't stop and explain right now." An explanation like this one would take much too long, that is, if Linda even believed him. Paul kissed Linda goodbye. "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow when I get back. See you later, honey pie." He hurried out the door. Now he had a chance to save John, and he had even given himself some insurance to make sure that, on the off-chance he didn't get it right, he would be able to try again and again until he did. Paul hurried to catch his plane.
The whole trip took Paul longer than he had reckoned on. It took him seven and a half hours to fly to New York, and longer to get a taxi ride to John's neighbourhood. By this time, it was already getting very late in the day. The skies were darkening and Paul was beginning to get fidgety. He would get to John on time, wouldn't he? He had to get to John on time!
At last, Paul could see John's building coming into view. By this point, it was completely dark and Paul's heart was pounding in his chest. He wasn't sure what he was going to do or what John would say when he saw him. But at least he had gotten there, and he was pretty sure he was on time. What time was it, exactly? Was John home right now? Hadn't he gone out? Paul was pretty sure he had gone out. Should he try and meet him on the walk when he came back in?
Then several things happened, almost as if they were in slow motion. Paul could see two figures coming up the walk. He heard a voice calling out to John, and suddenly realized it was happening right now, and he hadn't come up with any plan for how to prevent it.
So Paul did the only thing left to do, without thinking, just knowing he had to do whatever he could to save his friend. He threw himself in front of John.
He heard the sound of gunfire, heard a woman screaming, heard John's confused voice saying, "Paul... what...?" He barely felt the bullets as they hit him full in the chest. It was as though all this were happening to someone else, as though it wasn't his body that slowly sank to the ground as his knees gave way, not his ears that filled with a ringing that muffled everything else, not his vision beginning to blur, as everything faded away.
He was vaguely aware of John dropping to his knees beside him. He tried to tell him it was all right, John was safe, but didn't seem to be able to get the words out.
"Paul, come on! Snap out of it!" John was shaking him. John's face was all Paul could see anymore. His face was twisted in pain. Was he crying? That was the only thing that bothered Paul. John never cried. He wasn't supposed to be unhappy. Paul had saved him. He was supposed to be all right now.
"Paul, no!" cried John, who was definitely tearful. He shook Paul's shoulders, hard, but Paul knew it was no good. He was slipping away... but John would be all right....
"At least it wasn't you, John," he murmured, and closed his eyes.
