I'll Cry Instead

Chapter 21

Ten minutes had passed since Paul had disappeared from the conference and the three remaining Beatles and Brian had only just managed to make it out of the room of reporters (of course, if it hadn't been for a whole lot of yelling and screaming from John and a great, piercing whistle from Brian, they never would have made it out).

"Finally!" they bellowed as they emerged into the same, drafty hallway.

"Paul!" John then called as he frantically searched for his friend, the others mirroring his actions and expressions.

"Where are ya, Paul!" George shouted as the four of them began to reach the end of the hall, now only a few feet away from the dressing room, which they decided to enter next.

After inspecting around the quiet room, which they realized hadn't been disturbed since they'd last left it, they began to panic.

"Where could he possibly have gone!" Ringo worried as he bit his finger in anxiousness, glancing frenetically between each man's distressed face.

"I don't know, Ringo! I don't know!" Brian broke down as he tried his hardest not to cry whilst he shook his fists in the air. "This is all my fault! If I hadn't pushed the lad into this, he'd still be here and happy!"

George and Ringo's hearts broke then and there for their manager. They had never seen him so upset, and they felt utterly horrible for him.

"Aww, Eppy..." George started, but was interrupted by John.

"So what if it is your fault! We can play the blame game all day, but it doesn't help us find Paul! Let's get our fat rears outside or something and look for him!" he suggested, irritated, as he motioned for them to join him in his pursuit to the doors, which would obviously lead outside.

"John! Wait!" Ringo called after him as he, George, and Brian tried their best to keep up.

Swiftly enough, they made it to the doors. John immediately twisted the handle and went to open it, but, as soon as he had, something slammed it back in his face.

"What the...!" he cursed as he pulled it again.

Still, the same thing happened. The door slammed itself shut in his face.

"Is someone on the other side?" Ringo inquired, trying to figure out what the matter was.

"Umm, mates, look," George spoke shakily as he pointed with a trembling finger through one of the small windows.

Quickly, they raced over to the lead guitarist to find exactly what he was talking about as they peered through the almost fogged-over window.

Outside, it was like a frozen tundra. Snow and sleet were pounding into everything they came in contact with, simultaneously turning each object they touched white and shiny with ice. The wind was raging, which became evident in the way the freezing precipitation was whirling and gusting about. Not a soul was in sight, eerie silence emitting from the usually bustling London, excluding, of course, the howl of the wind. It looked an awful sight, and it certainly didn't make the remaining Beatles and Brian feel any better.

"Oh, cor," Ringo sighed as he ran his hand through his mop top. He had a blank look in his eyes and it looked clear that he was overcoming himself with worry. "That's why the door slammed shut."

"What if he's out there, Eppy?" George spoke, asking the very question everyone was thinking.

Brian didn't answer at first, only stood still with his mouth agape, almost like he knew what to say, but didn't truly want to say it.

Finally, he spoke, "I pray not, George, but there's no way we can be sure that he's not, which is why we're calling for help," he explained as he went back to the dressing room, the others in tow.