Remember I don’t own the Beatles or their families. This is a fan fiction from my warped mind……



John woke up late in the afternoon. After a bowl of cornflakes he took a bottle of booze and hid out in his favorite room. He sat in the sunroom on the small couch, the sound down on the T.V. as he watched the pictures move. He remembered doing this with his mates at a younger age. He would often make them laugh as he filled in the words for them. Now, he just sat there, drinking and wishing he could jump in to it and be anywhere but where he was.


Cynthia knew to stay away from John. He was in one of his impossible moods and had been very curt with her. She took Julian into another room to put off the inevitable. She knew when he got like this and started to drink and at times take drugs that trouble was brewing. She would make sure that Julian wouldn’t be in the middle of his out bursts. Cyn knew he would turn on her when the alcohol hit him and his sulk on became too much. Why did she always allow herself to be his punching bag? He would spit his hatred out on her, the words hitting harder then when he slapped her. Yet she loved him and only hoped he would love her back. Love her the way he did a long time ago. A time before fame and riches, a time when he couldn’t get enough of her, and a time that seemed so long ago. He would be his old self once in awhile only to have his evil twin return and that twin seemed to return more and more these days. For now she kept Julian safe as she bathed him and got him ready for bed.


John cursed his life as he took another swig. He hated the prison he had put himself in. Hated the boring life he led, pretending to be a husband and father. John knew he was bad at both and again cursed himself for his failings. Then again if Cynthia hadn’t gotten pregnant he wouldn’t have to pretend. He poured the liquor down his throat, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He hated feeling out of control, losing his band to a control freak like Paul. Sure he loved the stupid git, but it was his band now wasn’t it? He thought about the falseness of being a celebrity, how everyone wanted a piece of him because he was a Beatle. He had always hated that. The music had been pushed aside with fame and fortune, both things that Paul loved. His temper brewed over all the things he hated that made up his life as he watched the distant lights on the T.V. in the darkness of the night.



It was half twelve when Cynthia snuck down the stairs to check on John. She tiptoed into the kitchen and through to the sunroom. The light of the T.V. lit her way. She saw John fumbling with his guitar. Angry he slammed it down, the strings twanging loudly as it hit. Cyn backed up, but it was too late, John had seen her. Her heart raced as he slowly rose. She saw that angry look in his eyes and spied the half empty bottle on the floor along with an ashtray that over flowed with cigarettes.

She stepped back into the kitchen and turned around to quickly get upstairs. Her movement stopped and she was held in place, John’s hand tightly around her arm and bruising it as she twisted to get away.


“Not want to be around me Cyn? I s’pose fuckin me is out of the question, unless I decide to just take you. Naw, don’t want yer sorry arse.” John threw her to the floor like a rag doll and stood tall over her.


Cynthia winced at the pain and fear she felt, “John please you’re drunk. Why don’t you sleep it off.” She wished she hadn’t said it, as John’s face grew redder with anger.


“ You bleedin bitch!!!! Drunk!!!! Drunk am I ? Of course I’m drunk avin to live ere with the likes of you!” John bellowed.


Cyn got up and two strong hands pushed her against the wall. Holding her there he gave a disgusted look.


 “ You sicken me you bloomin cow. Getting preggers to hold on to me. You appy Cyn? Appy ya married me?” John said in a menacing tone as he shook her hard and the tears rolled down her face.


“ I never got preggers to trap you John and you know that. I know you love Julian and he adores you. Why can’t you be happy with our life? What have I done so wrong except make a nice home for you and raise your son?” Cynthia knew she was being brazen as the tears rolled down her face harder then before. She felt his hot breath against her ear and smelt the poignancy of the booze filter up to her nose.


“Appy with our lives ya say?” John let Cyn go and watched her body slump to the floor.

He waltzed around in a circle. His hands waving around as he spoke, “ Right, I have me castle, me queen and little prince I do. “ John stopped, looking down hard at Cynthia as she sobbed.


“ Yer a bloody cow what bleeds me dry. Takin me money, spending it on whatever you want, doin as ya fuckin please. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! “ John’s body shook as he screamed so loud Cynthia felt the wall shake.


Cynthia was so afraid he’d wake and scare Julian. All she wanted was for him to stop, hold her in his arms and cry how sorry he was. She knew that wouldn’t be the case tonight and only hoped he’d pass out, or leave as he often did.

“ I just want your love, that’s all. I don’t care about the money. I loved you before that entire sort. Please John.” Cynthia whispered and begged through her tears.


John threw her a nasty look, “ Ya did at that. Now, you say please John?” His voice was condescending, “ You’re like all the rest of em want to squeeze the life out of me. Well it aint appenin, not ta me!!!! Ya go on bein Mrs. Bloody fuckin Lennon and leave me the fuck alone, ya here mewoman?! I’m goin out, don’t fuckin wait up.” John grabbed the phone on the wall.

“Les, get the car and pick me up NOW!!!!” He slammed the phone down after talking to the driver’s house.


“I’m off.” John grabbed his coat, cap and then slammed the door behind him as he left, leaving Cynthia on the floor sobbing yet another time.


John sat in a pub in London that he often went to stewing over everything. His mind raced as he ordered drink after drink. His anger towards Cynthia soon turned to his mate and partner Paul. “Stupid git,” he thought, the rage growing steadily in his mind.” Take me band, pushing his ideas on us. Ideas that are shite!!!!”  His mind screamed. He hated the ideas that Paul had been putting out for their next album, hated the crap he’d been writing.


 The bar keep came over to John. He knew how John could get when he drank. It was late and everyone had gone. The bar keep had only stayed open later because John paid him to.

“Mr. Lennon, I think you better go now. It’s late and the wife will worry. I should have been closed quite awhile ago.” The bar keep told John as he wiped down the rest of the bar and put up the stools.


“What not enough money for you Art? I thought money bought it all.” John laughed insanely at the older man. “ Guess not. Can’t offer you more then ?” John asked sarcastically.


“Sorry Mr. Lennon. I really must close up now. I did this as a favor for you.” Art reminded John and then took the last empty glass that sat there.


“’ You did it for money Art, admit it now. I wish some people would tell the truth. Why can’t people just tell the truth!” John roared as he slapped down a wad of cash on the bar, grabbed his coat and left.



The night was brisk with the wind wiping around making it feel colder if that were at all possible. John had told Les to go home. He was just a few blocks from Paul’s and even though he was cold his anger kept him burning. He was ready for a good barny and wanted that with Paul.


He got to number 7 and couldn’t remember the code to the gate. He wobbled to the wall and forced his unwilling body up it. The booze made it hard to judge the distance and his body felt like a rubber band as he fell over the wall to the other side.


“Bloody Fookin Ell!” John cursed as he slowly tried to get up. When he finally succeeded, he wiped the damp dirt off himself, found his glasses, and proceeded to the front door.

His froze fist banged hard on the wooden door. The banging got louder as he took his other hand to it. The steady rhythm was loud and it made John feel good to pound on something.



Paul heard the loud banging and looked at the clock.

“Crickey, It’s a bit past four in the mornin, who the hell could that be?” Paul got out of bed and shivered as he went to his window. He saw a silhouette, but couldn’t make out whom it was. A crazed fan, he thought? No, not the way he was banging.



“Open up da fookin door Macca!” John bellowed loudly.


Paul recognized the voice; it was a very drunk John. He shook his head as the cold air hit him. He begrudgingly put on the sweater and jeans he had on the night before, along with his socks and shoes. He hurried downstairs hoping John hadn’t woken the neighbors.


The door opened and John fell in, he slowly stood up, shaking and wobbling as he stood before Paul. Paul closed the door as their eyes met. Paul could see the wild anger in John’s eyes. He sighed, thinking he didn’t want to go this root with John, yet knowing he had no choice at this point.


“ I could ave froze out there ya twit!” John spat at Paul.


“John, it’s late, you woke me up. “ Paul calmly told John.


John moved passed Paul, falling into the hallway table. He put his hand on it to steady himself and stood there, his eyes locked with Paul’s.


The anger rose again inside John. If John had been a bull smoke would have been snorting out of his nose like one of those cartoons Paul thought. He held back his laughter knowing it would only further the anger he saw in his friend.


“Who the fook do you think you are? You’re trying to take me band over with you’re pansy arse ideas!” John voiced loudly.


Paul was taken aback by John’s statement, “I’m not trying to take over the band, just had some good ideas is all. The other’s like them.” Again Paul tried to be calm, but he knew at this stage of the game he couldn’t reason with John.


John spit on the floor, “ They’ll do anything to shut you up. You’re a control freak you are. May I remind you how you got here? Ya joined me band, if ya hadn’t you would ave never been a Beatle. Would ave been a bloomin English teacher. My band The Beatles gave you the image that you love at that and I chose to invite ya in laddie. “ John pushed his index finger into Paul’s chest as he finished the last part of his statement.


“ I know that John and together we’ve made history. We’ve written the greatest songs as the Beatles.” Paul reminded him, moving back away from his finger.


“ No, yer songs are crap, shite they are. If you didn’t ave me they’d never appen. Ya think you can do it without me Macca? I think not! If things were to end tomorrow, I’d be the one who’d make it.” John fumed.


Paul felt his anger starting to get the best of him. He knew John saw this and also knew he’d take advantage of it.

“My songs are good and you know it. We might not be writing together as we used to, but we still help one another with them.” Paul told John through gritted teeth.


“Oh right, forgot son ya get all the A sides. That’s only ‘cause ya sold out and

write what they want to ear. Ya don’t write the truth, from the eart. I write the truth, I do and people just don’t always want ta ear da truth. No, they want to ear your pansy arse stuff, feel good muzack I think they call it now.” John pushed Paul more, liking the feeling of getting to him. He could see Paul’s usual composure fading and couldn’t wait for it to completely fall.


Paul’s face turned red, he put his hands on his hip so he wouldn’t punch John. His brow knitted as his brain took in what John was saying.


“I don’t write pansy arse muzack as you put it. I have come up with some gear ideas and like you, have pushed the boundaries in the music field and so has George for that matter.”


“George writes from the eart he does. You just like to control everything. That Sgt. Pepper shite is just that, a pile of shite! What bout that old fart song you wrote. I don’t want it on the album, nor do I want that stupid bloody concept stuff. It’s bullocks and you know it. Oh wait, yer the famous Paul Mcfartney, yer ideas are the most. Cor, Paul you even listen ta yer stuff? No truth to it, just plain rubbish.” John chastised him. He wanted a reaction, wanted to see Paul blow up at the truth and make himself feel better in the process.


Paul started to pace around, “ I want you out of my house you ungrateful prat!” Paul’s voice raised an octave as he told John.


John knew he was starting to get what he came for. Now, he just had to push a bit harder and maybe they’d even come to have a brawl.


“Why don’tcha admit it son. Ya’d be nothin without me balancing you’re so called songs. Blimey Paul, ya write shite, the best part of yer songs are the parts I elp ya with.” John laughed with angered sarcasm. He stood up on his own now and drew closer to Paul.


“You bloody fuckin egotistical arse!” Paul yelled as he stared incredulously at John.


“No, got it wrong again mate. Yer the Egotistical maniac of the band and all know it. Sgt bloody fookin Pepper is ridiculous. Yer just a tosser from the Pool whose eads gotten to big fer im!” John stared smugly as he stood toe to toe with Paul, waiting for the first punch.


Paul didn’t disappoint him as he drew back his fist and throttled John with it. John, being so drunk wasn’t steady enough to stand up to the blow as he thought he was. He wheeled back into the wall.


“Ya want more mate, or you gonna get the fuck out of me house?!” Paul looked hard at John. John pushed himself off the wall and they fell to the ground fighting. Punches flew, John getting out the pent up anger he had had all day and Paul defending himself. Paul felt John weaken from his drunken state and took the opportunity to get up. He lifted John up by the collar of his coat.


“Get out now!” Paul ordered, before dropping his hold. He wiped the blood from his mouth and gave John a disgusted look.


‘I think not Paulie ole boy.” John laughed as he too wiped blood from himself.


“Right, then I’ll leave and when I get back you best be gone.” Paul took his coat and keys, marching out the door before something more happened. His feelings hurt more then the beating as tears stung the cut on his lip. He headed for his car, determined to just get away.


John leaned against the wall smiling at getting a rise from his mate. He sat on the hall chair and looked at his watch. Nov. 9th 4:40 a.m., Christ, he thought, they weren’t supposed to drive tonight, Paul wasn’t supposed to drive. Fuck, he thought as he pushed himself up from the chair, swung the front door open and stumbled down the stairs to Paul’s car in the pouring rain.


:”Close the bleedin door Lennon !” Paul shouted to him.


John didn’t listen. All he could hear was George and Rita’s warnings. He pulled the passenger side door open hard and slumped into the seat beside Paul. He sat there as wet and soaked as Paul from the rain.


“ Can’t drive Paul. Remember what George and Rita said?” John’s mood had changed drastically as he tried to persuade Paul not to drive.


“Fuck it, you don’t give a shite, told me so just a bit ago.” Paul eyed him up as he waited for the car to warm up and then turned on the lights and wipers.


“No really I’ll leave, I will, just don’t drive on. Go back to bed. I was just being daft and drunk.” John begged.


“I’ll take you home to sleep it off and hope you apologise to me in the morn.” Paul told him coolly.


“No! I’ll call Les.” John told him as he felt fear run throughout his body.


Paul opened the gate and drove out onto the wet road heading towards John’s house.


“C’mon Paul stop the car. I’m sorry, is that what you want to hear? I should have kept me gob shut, Now, stop the car.” John panted urgently as he quickly sobered up.


“What’s the matter with the mighty Lennon? Scared are we Johnny? “ Paul said smugly, still stinging from the lashing he had gotten back at the house.


John looked at everything pass by as the car accelerated down the wet streets. He could barely see what was in front of him. The rain pelted down so hard it was like a curtain that made it hard to see, as the car drove on faster.


“Paulie, please stop this now. I said I was sorry.” John pleaded with his friend. Bloody mouth of his, when would he learn to stop before it was too late.


Paul answered him in an excited state of mind, “ Why Lenny? Why do you do that? It’s a perfectly good idea. Do you really think I am so beneath you? Do you really think that you would have gotten this far without me? ‘Cause that’s what you said y ’know.”


“I know I said that, I’m daft, what can I say. I don’t think before I go off and then say things I don’t really mean just to get at the person. Y ’know that about me, you’ve always known that about me.” John told him as he held on to the dashboard of the car and turned sideways to see Paul and the road at the same time.


“So because I know this I’m supposed to fergive ya is it then Lennon. I can’t take it anymore, can’t do that over and over to a person. I know I can be a right bastard at times, but you can be…..” John cut him off.


“I can be a real cunt. I know that Macca, please don’t drive over on that part of town. Remember what George said.” John said as he notice the direction they were heading.


“I’m not going in that direction. I remember what George said and I am going the opposite way, towards your house.” Paul told him as tears started to fall from his eyes. He loved John, but John could make it so hard too. He still felt the slap across the face that John’s words had given him.


John noticed the tears that fell from the long lashes on the face he knew so well. He felt bad about what he had done and knew he really didn’t mean it the way it came out. When was he going to be able to control his temper? Stop starting punch-ups and fights? His mind fixed on the tears he had caused his mate.


“You’re right and I am a sad bastard at times. Listen, the idea is just different is all and I just need to get used to it. I know you helped me start to write, showed me the right way to play the guitar, even if I had to restring the bloody thing twice. We’d be nothing without the four of us together. I never meant to hurt you, but I always seem to hurt someone I love…….” He stopped and looked again at the streets as they whizzed by.


“You love me.” Paul stated incredulously, “Well, that’s quiet clever, it just doesn’t half seem it.”


John nodded. “ I know, but I really do …..” He stopped nervously spying familiar streets. Oh my God, John thought, they were heading in the direction of Charing Crossing!

“Paul this is the way to Charing Crossing!” An alarmed voice escaped John’s mouth.


“Can’t be I purposely went the other way, you saw me turn the opposite way John, towards your way.”

Alarm also filled Paul’s voice, as he realized that the car was no longer heading away from Charing Crossing, but instead towards it.


“ I know, I saw you turn in the opposite direction, I know you were going to me house, and now……” Paul finished John’s sentence for him.


“It’s like the car just appeared over here. It’s the destiny that George was trying to stop!” Paul panted in fear.


Terror filled John’s whole body as he shook; he turned and yelled in panic to Paul.



“ I CAN’T!!!” Paul yelled back in a terrified voice.


Paul felt like he was in a dream, everything started moving slowly. He looked at the crossing ahead of them and then saw her. A girl with blonde long hair standing there under the protection of an umbrella, John saw her too, as they sped closer to their awaited destiny. 


“PAUL THE LIGHTS RED!!!!!” John screamed.


Paul slammed on the brakes; he swerved around the on coming car and missed it. Panic hit both of them again as the car started to skid on the wet pavement. The sound shrieked in their ears as the tires squealed.


John held on to the dashboard, bracing himself for the impact that he knew would happen. Pictures flashed through his mind of all the people he loved. “I’m so sorry Cyn, Julian daddy does loves you.”


Paul’s heart pounded as he tried in vain to bring the car under control. He heard John’s cries somewhere in the distance. He thought of his family, his brother, his aunties and uncles, his cousins and mostly of his poor dad. “At least Rita was safe, sorry Janie.” Paul whispered.


The car struck the pretty blonde girl and she died instantly. Her umbrella flew up into the air and tumbled down to the sidewalk, no longer protecting her from the rain.



“I’M SORRY PAULIE. I DO LOVE YA MATE! OH CHIRST!!!!” John yelled as he watched the lamppost grow closer and their fate along with it.


“ME TOO, I LOVE YA JOHNNY!!! GOD FORGIVE ME!!!!” Paul didn’t know how he got those words out as he too watched their fate move closer. All he knew was he had to say it before they died.


The car crashed into the pole. It rolled up like an accordion; shards of glass flew into the sky and dropped to the ground like large shiny teardrops amongst the rain. The lights went out down the block and the lamppost bent over the car like an old tree.


John died fast, his head going through the windscreen. Paul laid half conscious, blood pouring out of him as quickly as his life. The blood of all three victims ran together making a pool as it joined the rainwater, running down into the gutter.


The car exploded just as Paul lost consciousness.



George bolted up in the bed. He hadn’t felt this scared from the dream in a long time. His hair and body dripped with sweat. Scared, he slowly turned to the clock by the bed. 5a.m. it read, George picked it up and threw it across the room, smashing it against the burrow. Pattie’s hand fell on George’s shoulder just as she heard him mutter.

“It’s still gonna happen, only now it will happen differently.”


He turned to see his loving wife’s blue eyes stare at him.


“Another dream luv?” She knew it was and she knew what he meant when he said it was still going to happen.


“Sorry luv, yeah a dream. I guess I was angry in it. Sorry about the clock.” George told her mindlessly as he thought. Even though they canceled the studio for that night. The terrible accident was going to happen, the alternative destiny had found a way, now what would he do? He had to call Rita, but it was too early. They had to do something fast, it was Saturday and the whole thing would happen on Wednesday. He remembered Pattie at that moment and turned to her.


“It’s just a clock George, doesn’t matter much. You want to tell me what your dream was about?” She asked hoping he would finally confide in her.


George shook his head, “Stupid it was. No worries luv. Let’s go back to sleep. I wanna change first not to keen on wet bed clothes.” He smiled and kissed her as he got up.


 He took some clothes and went into the bathroom.   He changed and then splashed some water on his face. When he opened his eyes the dark red liquid was running down the sink, laughing at him as if to say that it had won.