Hour Of Darkness
Chapter Fourteen, You Can't Do That
"Oh my god. What if he fell down the cliff? What if he went to the wrong place?? What if something got him after we left the field? What if…"
"Paul!" George burst out, cutting off his hysterical band mate. "It's not going to help us OR him by playing 'what-if' all day. There's nothing we can do. We could both die trying to find him, but that wouldn't help anyone. All we can do is try to find John and hope that Ring shows up. Ringo did say that he may not have the power. Perhaps he just teleported us and now he has to regain his strength before he can do himself. I'm sure he'll turn up." Paul stared at him blankly.
"But…you're giving up on him already? You can't do that! He needs us, George!"
Exasperated, George just walked off. Relationships were already wearing thin, and George just couldn't take Paul's hysterics anymore.
"Jai guru deva om." George's wings sprouted from his bare back, and he ran to the nearest high rock without looking back. Pushing off with one large leap of his long legs, he sailed up to the top of the highest castle wall.
"George! You can't do this! George!!" Paul screamed, terrified and enraged at the same time. He didn't want to be left alone, much less outside the foreboding castle. Nonetheless, George didn't heed his calls, disappearing over the castle walls. Paul sat down on the nearest rock, putting his head in his hands.
****
Ringo was deep in a troubled sleep, his body desperately trying to keep itself alive in his terribly weakened state. Nightmares plagued the eldest Beatle, and he saw horrifying visions. First, George. George was swirling through the air, chased by a huge dark shapeless form. He screamed at George to come down, but he wouldn't, or couldn't, trying desperately to outrun the huge thing chasing him. Eventually, the thing caught up, and with one last, earth-shattering scream from George, enveloped his winged form.
Ringo awoke with a start, bathed in sweat. He still felt completely drained, and, much to his terror, not even able to move. It was dark, and the moon was completely covered by thunderclouds. The only light was the ever-present lightning dancing through the sky in a never-ending ballet. Ringo would have found it fascinating, if he weren't so worn out and feeling like shit. In addition, he was too scared to return to sleep for fear of seeing another frightening vision. But soon he couldn't help it, and his weakness drained the last bit of life from him.
****
"Paul!" Ringo called, running through the colorless field. The sun shone bright white against a grey sky with black clouds. "Paul, thank god you're ok!" Ringo skidded to a stop in front of his band mate, gasping for breath.
"How'd you get away, eh?" Paul didn't respond, his eyes glassy and looking straight ahead. Ringo's brow furrowed. "Paul? This isn't funny, Paul…"
Suddenly, Paul collapsed, falling forward onto Ringo, who caught him, staggering under the weight. "Paul!"
Ringo gently lay him on the ground, face down. A large dagger was plunged deep into his back. Ringo stared at it, mouth agape in shock. He pulled it out, his hand bloodied in the process. He held it, staring at the crimson blood, the only color standing out in bright contrast to the grayscale of his nighmare.
"You killed him."
Ringo's head snapped up. "John? George?"
The other two Beatles stood side by side, pointing accusing fingers at Ringo, their faces twisted into horrible masks.
"You killed him!" Tears welled up in Ringo's eyes.
"No, I didn't! I swear!"
"You killed him," they persisted, closing in, their eyes glowing red. Ringo hugged Paul's lifeless body to him, like a frightened child, clutching the dagger in his bloody hand as tears spilled down his cheeks.
"I didn't! I didn't! You have to believe me! I didn't kill him!"
Ringo woke up, sobbing and frightened. He brought up his hands slowly, covering his tear-streaked face. He didn't move for a long time. His strength had returned in the slightest, allowing him to at least move. When he did finally bring his hands back, a flash of lightning revealed a shocking vision.
His hands were covered in blood.
****
"Excellent work, John. That's enough for today." Mystique helped John up from the ground, starting to lead him to the inner door of the courtyard, but John could only stare at the toppled statue.
I did that. Me. Karine nodded gently, as if she were addressing a small child.
"That you did, John. You have incredible mind powers, dare I say almost as powerful as mine. You are certainly more powerful than Mystique." She turned to her daughter. "Take him back to his room."
Mystique slung John's limp arm over her shoulder, guiding him back to his room. She reshackled him, then left the room, door closing quietly behind her.
John gazed out the window, trying to regain his senses. He closed his eyes, thinking. The training seemed to be the best way, he admitted reluctantly, to hone his skills. He would have preferred a choice, but it didn't seem that his feelings mattered to Karine. He wondered what her motives were.
Suddenly, there was a loud knocking at the window. John's eyes snapped open, and he looked out the window, craning his neck.
George stood on the tiny windowsill, waving like mad. John opened his mouth to yell, but, of course, no sound came out. He jerked his head, trying to indicate for George to break the window. George made a fist, gesturing like he was going to break the window, a questioning look on his face, as if saying, "Is that ok?" John nodded madly, and George nodded. He stepped back, off the windowsill, and John's mouth dropped open as his younger band mate plummeted from view. Soon, though, George reappeared a little ways away, keeping aloft with large sweeps of his leathery wings. With one strong beat, he shot himself straight at the window. John held his breath, closing his eyes tight.
With a loud crash, the glass shattered, and George did his "emergency landing" through the glass onto the stone floor. He somersaulted over and over, his wings tucked tightly to his back, until he smacked into the opposite wall. Sitting up, he rubbed the back of his neck.
"Shit that hurt…remind me to never do that again…" His bare chest and shoulders were cut in various places, but not very big or very deep. John would have laughed if he could. George stood up, looking at him strangely. "What, no hello for yer little mate?" He asked teasingly. John opened his mouth, trying his hardest to speak.
"John? Is something wrong?" John nodded madly, jerking his head at the table of food. Curious, George walked over, looking at the food. "Yea, so?"
Suddenly, a blueberry rose from its bowl. George yelped, jumping back. It hovered in the air for a minute, then floated back down to the table. George watched in astonishment as it was squished by some unseen hand on the table, the dark juice oozing out. A splinter broke off from the edge of the table, dipping itself in the pool of juice. George stared at it as it scrawled in very messy handwriting:
I can't talk.
George looked at the words, then at John, who nodded, then back at the table. "You did that?" He asked incredulously. John sighed in exasperation, picking up his 'pen' again.
Course I did, you sod! Get me out of these!
"Oh! Right! Sorry!" George jumped over to the slab of cold metal, tugging at the shackles. He stepped back, shaking his head. "They won't budge. What's here I can use?"
John thought for a moment, then wrote, I don't know; where's Ringo? He could prolly do something. George shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. What? What is it? Speak up, lad!
"Ringo…he's…ah…sort of missing."
Missing? Whaddya mean, missing??? John scrawled, his handwriting getting messier as he wrote faster and more urgently. George relayed the story to an attentive John, who nodded avery now and then throughout the narrative. He looked terribly concerned for their older band mate.
Why didn't… Suddenly, John's 'pen' fell to the floor. He stared at it hard, his brow furrowing, but it didn't move. He looked at George, shrugging, a confused look on his handsome features.
The door to the cell swung open with a loud bang, revealing a very angry looking Karine.
Karine! I…uh…
"Silence, John!" George pondered this for a moment, trying to figure out why she was telling him to be quiet when he couldn't talk. He eventually let it slide.
Karine pointed one long, gnarled finger at George, and George compulsively rolled behind the table, trying to hide. Karine looked surprised, but simply tossed the table aside, spilling the food every which way, exposing George. He put his hands up, trying to protect himself, but Karine's magic sizzled in the air, and George fell to the floor with a dull thud. John fought his shackles angrily, feeling hurt and betrayed.
How could you do that??? I thought you were trying to HELP us!!
"Correction, young John. I'm trying to help you. He will serve as a formidable opponent to practice your powers on." John stared at her, mouth agape.
You expect me to fight him??? Think again! He's one of me best friends! He exclaimed, looking at George's still form with a chagrined look. Karine paused for a moment, then snapped her fingers loudly. George stood up abruptly, stiffly. His eyes glowed a bright red.
"He's not your friend anymore, John."
On to Chapter Fifteen!
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