Irene, the morning secretary, parked her car in the staff parking lot of the hospital. She yawned, stretched, and opened the service door. Walking in, Irene noticed a young man sleeping in the waiting lounge on the couch. She was about to wake him when a holoscreen blinked and caught her attention. On it was the image of her friend, Barbara, the late shift secretary.

"Mornin' Irene," whispered the image," You're probably wonderin' 'bout him huh? Well, he went to sleep here last night and, well, we tried to get him up but that boy's a sound sleeper!" the image smiled, "anyhow, we lef' him here. Bob said it was allrigh', that he'd make sure he didn't get in no trouble."

Irene smiled and went behind her desk, not bothering to wake up the man. It was just as well that she didn't wake him, since he woke up a few minutes later. When he woke up, Ringo (for, of course, as you all must have guessed, Ringo was Irene's "young man") looked confused for a second, still not used to waking up in strange places. Not that it is an easy thing to get used to. He then sat up and looked at Irene.

"Mornin', I must've dozed off," He yawned and looked out the window. He walked towards the door and then paused, remembering that without John to guide him, he would be lost in a matter of moments. He turned and walked back to the secretary awkwardly.

"Have you got the time?"

Irene looked up and smiled at the man, "Six-thirty..." She paused a second in thought, looked at Ringo again, and then continued on, "...have we ever met before? It seems like I've seen you someplace."

Ringo's heart jumped slightly into his throat as he waited for the recognition. But the recognition didn't come. This woman either had a very slow working mind or-- common sense decided to make an appearance in Ringo's mind-- ... didn't recognize him as the famous Beatle because... for the time being, and for all practical purposes... he wasn't one.

"I have that type of face..." He defaulted, "Could you find my friend's room number... I seem to have forgotten it. His name is John Lennon..."

"Certainly sir," she punched in a few letters on the keyboard in front of her," He's in room 107... Right down the hall, third door to your left."

Ringo walked down the hall to room 107. Ringo paused for a second in the doorway, watching John's curious behavior. The best words to describe John would have been 'nervous wreck'. He was pacing back and forth in the room like a caged tiger, occasionally wringing his hands. The calm composure that he had radiated since he met Ringo had taken leave, with no sign of coming back. He looked as if his heart had just been jump started, and had run off without him, leaving him waiting apprehensively for its return.

Ringo was stumped. There was no way that he could even guess what was making John act like that. The only way for him to find out would be to ask him. He opened the door.

"John?... I--"

"Ringo?! Where the fuck am I?!" John ran up and nearly threw himself into Ringo's arms.

"John?" Ringo paused, could it be? "The Beatles.."

"This ain't the time to talk about the bloody Beatles! *This*--" He motioned to the window, "Is something to talk about! What happened?! And how-- and if McCartney had a hand in it, I'll murder him!"

"John!" Ringo, reassured that it was the John he knew, ran up and threw his arms around him, welcome for the change.

"But what happened to John..." Ringo backed off slightly, overwhelmed. He was happy that John was here but what had happened to the other one.. was he back in John's place now?--

"We've just got to get off of this fuckin' movie set and back to the real world!" John gestured again to the window, "It's not real. It couldn't be. It's a side effect of... something, right?" He paused, as if in thought, "What was I doing last night?...."

"John, I've been around...it's real enough," Ringo sighed, "It's some kind of... other world that we've gotten sucked into. I can't find anything that can get me back, but maybe now that you're here we can find something," he finished, grateful that the task of getting back was no longer his sole responsibility. He paused again, just looking at John, happily assured that the spirit behind that face and body wasn't someone who he had only met a few days ago, but someone he had known for years and years. Now they could actually get started on getting home. John would find a way. Since John was here, it now seemed to Ringo impossible that he could have carried out his plan alone.

"Mornin'," John said, dryly.

Ringo turned to him.

"Hello?" John asked.

Ringo gave him a strange look and then--

--woke up.

A dream? That was all it had been? Ringo looked around. No Irene the secertary, no John Lennon the Beatle. He was alone again. Ringo wasn't usually cast as the leader, but this time he was, and he was going to have to play it out. He stood up and gave a glance to the secretary before walking down the hall to room 107. He knew very well the number of the room John was in, and had since last night. How could it be possible that after all that had happened he wouldn't have remembered it? He peeked in the window, half dreading and half hoping about what he would find. John sat in the bed, wide awake, staring out the window, wearing a very un-Beatle-ish expression. He looked composed, peaceful, calm... if he was unhappy about something, Ringo couldn't tell. What he could tell, however, was that this was not John. Not his John anyhow. He walked back to the waiting room to wait for John.

John was quite unaware that he was being observed. He was still deep in thought, and had been since sunlight came through the window. Another day dawns, he thought ironically, Always. No matter what might have happened over the past day... John smiled weakly. At least that was a given. So-- that was it? Years worth of a vow down the toilet in an instant? John's eyes flitted over to the garbage can which Ringo had thrown the Porto in, though it had long since been emptied.

That was the end if it then? No taking things back. But no regrets? Ha. Would that life was made up of rights and wrongs, not exceptions and contradictions. Still, life went on. Another day came. Always. And there was no use expressing your problems to others. They either didn't care, or cared so much that you inflicted pain on them by expressing yours. John sighed and set his jaw. This issue was far from 'dealt with', but his friend was out there... somewhere... in a strange world, with perhaps no one to help him, and no one to talk to. He had to get Rich back, and the only way was to go along with Ringo's plan. There wasn't much choice.

With yet another heavy sigh, John got up, stretched, and made ready for another day.

When he reached the waiting room, he found Ringo there. John explained that, with a broken arm, he'd have to take the public transit, instead of the rail. It was rather slower, but still effective, and they'd be home by about noon, if they left at nine. After a breakfast of oddly colored foods (or so Ringo would have described it) from a nearby vendor, they caught the 'public transit', which, Ringo noted pointlessly, was amazingly like a bus. Once on the bus, they waited for a few other people to board, and then sat in silence for a moment. The scenery passed by, and Ringo stared at it, letting his eyes wander as his mind sorted out things. His mind soon wandered to a conversational topic.

"How'd you and Rich meet?" Ringo asked.

"It was quite a while ago," John sighed, " I was just starting off, and quite unsure of myself. I managed to find someone even more lost than I was. I had already joined the monastery..." John's eyes took on a wistful gaze, and he trailed off, his voice relaxed, delving into his memories. "It was about eight years ago...."

"I was out to save the world, and everyone in it. It seemed the most logical thing in the world at the time, I was young, and seemed invincible, " John paused, "Defeat comes only with age... and only for some people. Anyhow, I went out to save the world, and came back with a lost soul. I had been walking down Garington Street when I passed by one of the local bars. There was a great deal of commotion. This was rather unusual, since it was only about seven, and the local commotion didn't usually start until at least ten. I looked in through the window and saw you--him, Rich... trying his best to knock the life out of a jukebox. He was cursing at the wall and occasionally throwing a punch it's way. I walked in to ask what was wrong. A rather foolish undertaking, I have to say, in retrospect. Rich was hardly in the mood to calmly tell me, least of all read what I was asking. So I waited. About an hour later, his temper had sunk to a drunken stupor, and the story came out. He was over here, searching for his fame and fortune, like so many others.

"And, like so many others, he hadn't found it either. He had this girl back home... I don't recollect her name. From what he said, they were friends, and just friends, nothing more. But over here he realized that he loved her. He was just about to go back and propose when he got a wire that she had been killed. He was a wreck... to be expected. I couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy, but I knew he needed a friend... and that's what I became. He needed someone, and I was the one. That's really all there is to it," John turned to the window, cutting off rather abruptly.

A minute later, he turned back to Ringo.

"What of your John... the other me...?" John looked at him, not with curiosity, as would have been expected, but anxiously.

"Why?" Ringo asked, "I mean-- he's not going to kill Rich you know. He's my friend," Ringo suddenly fell into protective mode.

"John's a good guy. He--" How could Ringo defend John to John... that is.. when the other John's a Missionary Priest. The real John might not be the ultimate role model, but Rich would come back intact... except for perhaps his morals. Ringo decided not to mention that.

"John'll take care of him. He'll be fine.. don't worry," Ringo found himself defaulting again. At least this much was true. John *would* take care of Rich, if he ever got over thinking he was insane for claiming to be from another world.

John turned back to his window, and Ringo retreated to his.

Onward Chapter 8

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