I'll Cry Instead

Chapter 23

All while Paul was being nursed by Sally, Jackie, and Cathy, the other Beatles and Brian had still been stuck at the building where the press conference had occurred. They had been nervous wrecks, constantly either pacing, smoking, or coming up with ideas on how to find Paul.

But, unfortunately, although they'd hoped the storm would pass and they'd be allowed outside, the blizzard never seemed to slack off and so the four men had been forced to spend the night in the dressing room, much to all of their frustrations, especially John's, who, once he'd been told they'd have to stay, so eloquently answered, "This is the crappiest idea yet, and I was sure becoming a Beatle was the absolute crappiest. Stupid, freaking storm."

All of that to say, the four of them were still very worried about their bassist and were hoping and praying that the blizzard would dissipate by the next day.

Now, it was indeed the next day, and John was the first one up to race to the window, which he'd hope would reveal only a bit of snow and absolutely no snowstorm.

He was completely crestfallen, though, when the window revealed nothing but more raging winds and pounding sleet. There were mounds and mounds of snow, and John noticed that the piles of winter debris were actually engulfing some of the expensive sports cars that had been parked innocently outside the night before.

"Blimey!" he spat as he punched the window sill. "Now we'll never get to go out and find Macca...but wait!" he then exclaimed as he sprinted to the telephone. "Perhaps the phone will work anyway!"

Quickly, the rhythm guitarist raised the telephone from its cradle and held it up to his ear.

At first, John was sure he heard a crackle or a beep, but perhaps that was only his wishful mind playing tricks on him, for the telephone was still indeed dead.

Slamming the device back onto its cradle, John let out the loudest curse word he could muster, which caused George to jolt awake as he clumsily stood up, trying to prepare himself for whatever danger might come his way.

"W-who are you? What's going on?" George muttered sleepily as he held his fists out, obviously ready to fight.

"Why, good morning, Hazza! Just thought you'd like to know that we're still stuck in this crap hole of a dressing room and that the piece of crap telephone is still out of commission!" John exclaimed in faux excitement as he jumped up and down and clapped his hands in a very girly manner, obviously mocking their teenage fans.

"Oh," George mumbled as he laid back down on the hard floor, which is where they'd all been sleeping, except for Brian, who was told by Ringo that he deserved the sofa. "I'm going back to sleep, then," he added, not all of the way awake, which is why he didn't seem to give a darn, much to John's dismay.

"You do that, Georgie. You do that," John sighed gloomily as he glanced out of the window once again. "Please be okay, Macca. Please."

=======================

Jackie awoke with a startle as she felt a weight shift around on her lap.

Snapping her eyes opened, she objected groggily, "What?"

"Get up, Jackie! Paulie's still here, remember?" the child declared as she shook her sister some more simply for the fun of it, or at least that's what Jackie supposed as she internally griped.

Remembering the night before and, of course, Paul, Jackie complied to her sister's wishes and rose from her spot on the arm chair, where she'd slept peacefully the entire night.

The first thing her eyes fell upon was the adorable sight of Paul, who was still passed out comfortably on the couch, the many blankets still wrapped around him, and some of them now covering his neck and face, which had caused his mop top to tousle messily across his pillow. The white washcloth Cathy had given him was surprisingly still resting upon his forehead, and Cathy couldn't help but feel proud that her doctor work had stayed put throughout the night.