The time--2:30 a.m. in the morning, exactly 4 hours before the dawn.

John awoke from an uncomfortable gut feeling in his stomach. It hurt so much, he felt nauseous. Something wasn't right, something must have gone wrong...but what? The answer hit him like a speeding train.

Paul McCartney could be dead.

He panicked as he rushed out of bed, replaced his pajamas with ski clothes, and forced himself to find Paul in the bitter cold. His scarf blew in the wind, his hat held on frantically to his head, the rest of his outfit endeavored to protect him from any more cold penetrating to his heart. His sight was almost blinded

by very thick gray fog; John couldn't tell where he was walking to, but his eyes were darting all over the place, trying to find his mate...who could be freezing to death, or already dead...

John stopped walking, held his head down a bit, and closed his eyes tightly. He held up his hand to protect his face from the wind. The frost beating against his face hurt. His hat lost its grip and was blown away by the wind. His hair was now trying to fend off the oncoming gust. Taking no notice of that, John continued to stand there for about two minutes, then once his face felt better, he opened his eyes and looked around.

His surroundings had changed. Where was he?

That two minutes of blindness stole him away from his familiar surroundings.

He knew he didn't walk anywhere, did he?

John didn't even know how to control his own senses. He didn't even know if he walked or stopped. He didn't know if his hat was gone or not, didn't know if his head was now a target to the frost. He didn't know if his eyes were open or closed, didn't know if he was still alive.

Was he going out of his mind?

He knew he had better do something fast, because he was losing the sense in his hands, feet and face. John determinedly continued to search for Paul, in this new and foreign location, wherever he was, he had to find Paul. Who cared about all the evil and cruel things he said while joking to Paul? Who cared if he

teased Paul 'til Paul could no longer retort back? Who cared if Paul was the cute one, while he was the witty one? Who cared that he could write a song with Paul and it could be a number one hit?

Who cared about all that crap??

John only cared about finding his companion, his mate, his best friend...literally his brother...

He searched and searched, his goal never fading, his perseverance never ceasing. How long was he searching? He had no idea, nor did he care. If he couldn't find Paul, he'd have to die along with him.

Suddenly, John tripped and fell...he thrust out his hands to help break his fall. The snow also helped to cushion his collapse to the ground. He cursed to himself as he rose to his feet, and with all his might, and in his aggravation, kicked whatever had tripped him.

It was soft...this came as a surprise.

He knelt down and waved his arms in front of him to try to break up the fog that blocked his view of the "thing" that tripped him. Again, another surprise came to him.

The fog around his back and side were still present.

The fog in front of him cleared.

Through the now transparent air, John saw a spot of black in the snow that puzzled him. He used his hands and brushed all the snow away, some of which was blown away by the wind. John couldn't tell if the wind was on his side, or trying to kill him too. Disregarding this trivial thought, he continued on to more important matters, the one that was present in front of him.

The "thing" that tripped him became a black figure. A human figure, just like John himself...

...only cuter.

John stared at the figure's face. It couldn't be...it wasn't possible...

...this "thing" was Paul.

John shook his mate as hard as he could to try to wake him up. He did this three times, but to no avail. Paul still remained lifeless. As desperate measures call for desperate actions, John did something which he had never done to his mate before.

With all his anger, desperation, and power, John held Paul in his hands...

...and slapped him in the face.

Nothing again. John once again but more violently shook his friend to get him to open his eyes. Why wouldn't he just wake up?? By now, John had tears streaming down his face not only because of the cold, but that Paul was...was...

He couldn't bear to think of the horrible word.

John's torrential tears splashed like a depraved downpour upon Paul; his eyes became red, his cheeks became red, his entire mind, heart and soul turned red as he held his mate in his arms...and he could not do a single thing to save him.

Paul was gone...forever.

John closed his eyes...rage, wrath and fury welled up and boiled like overheated metal inside of him, penetrating all thoughts of the freezing cold...he had to set it all free...

John let out a blood-curdling scream that lacerated the sky...

...split and slashed through the dense and traitorous night...

...shattered the mountains...

...and cracked the world in half.

The sun and the moon crumbled to pieces as the scream echoed forcefully all around him...

If he died, it would be by the side of his brother...

He broke down crying, cursing, screaming...was he now going out of his mind?

His head throbbed and spun endlessly, his senses no longer responded to him, his mind refused to function properly under such harsh and sudden circumstances...

He felt himself losing control...any minute, any second now...and his mind would be gone forever as well.

This was no longer John Lennon...but a fiery entity of hate, vindictiveness, violence.

Whoever or whatever he had transformed to be....his eyes closed to shield from the oncoming frost that pelted him wickedly and unmercifully...

John opened his eyes, red from crying; tears drenched his face, his hair, his pillow, his sheets, his bed.

He sat up to recover from his appalling and horrible vision...

It was too real.

The nightmare was too real for him to handle. Again, he felt nauseous.

Paul was dead...unless he did something about it.

~~~***~~~

The night vanished. The moon was not in sight; it had already sunk, getting a headstart to its daily respite, beating out its nocturnal companions. The little diamonds concealed themselves and hibernated until night would pull its indigo curtains once again. Slicing the incandescent blue sky, the morning sun emerged brightly from its twilight sleep, meeting the brand new day. It was 6:30 a.m.....

That couldn't be said for the lifeless, bass playing Beatle.

The snow no longer fell, and the wind did not blow as often as before, yet it still blew with the same force as the night before. One brief gust blew so hard, it knocked Paul's skis and poles over. They fell beside him, but one ski landed on top of Paul's head. Normally, he would have cried out and started complaining in his usual Macca panache. This time...

...he didn't flinch.

He didn't wince. He didn't notice. He was still motionless, still cold. The falling snow from the night before covered him up to his waist and small piles of snow gathered on his shoulders and hair. John's extra scarf was blown away by the wind. The last memory of his mates was swept away by the uncaring and indifferent wind.

It was already too late to save him...or was it?

~~~***~~~

"Ahhhhh!!!!!!" John screamed as he tried to comprehend his vision. It wouldn't go away. George and Ringo immediately leaped out of bed and came to their distressed mate's side.

"John! What's wrong?? What happened??" George asked as he took his hand and placed it on John's head to see if John had a fever. He quickly took his hand away. "John! Your head is all wet!"

"I know I know, it's my bloody tears! Crap, you should have seen it! You wouldn't believe what I just dreamed about--" John truncated his sentence as he fell limp into Ringo's arms. He was still conscious though.

"John!! What's going on?? Are you ok??" Ringo asked.

"No, does it look like I'm ok?? Huh??" John retorted back vehemently in his weakened state.

"God, I have to get some water for him!" George raced to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

"It's ok, it's only me John," Ringo reassured. "Calm down...did you have a bad dream? A nightmare?"

"Shut up Ringo! Paul is dead! A dead man! He's dead! Dammit! I have to save him, let me go!" John cried out as he wrenched out of Ringo's arms.

"John! John!!" Ringo pleaded. "No!!! Come back! You're getting delusional!"

The runaway Beatle was about to leap out the door until...

Splash! John was now drenched with water, stopped in his tracks and fell to the floor.

"Crap, John, get a hold of yourself before I shove this bloody glass down yer throat!" George screamed as he thrusted the glass in John's face. By now, John was sitting up, hair dripping wet, clothes now steeped in water and tears. He squinted at the floor, trying to comprehend his past vision and snapping out of his delusion.

"I--I'm sorry mates...but Paul...the trauma, the fear, the panic..." John started slowly. George and Ringo once again came to his side.

"C'mon John, are you ok? What's wrong?" Ringo asked.

"I had--I had a nightmare...I--I saw Paul...he wasn't all right, he wasn't himself...every time I tried to get him to wake up, he wouldn't...I couldn't do anything to help him..."

"Jesus Christ, is it a sign?? Maybe not looking for him at night was not a great idea... " Ringo asked alamed.

"But we had no bloody idea that John was going to have the bloody nightmare! This is not good, at this rate, we have to go out and look for Paul!" George exclaimed as he got up to his feet. "Are you sure you're all right John? That nightmare really had an impact on ya..."

"Yeah, I think I'm ok, gotta keep strong, I'm the macho Beatle, remember?" John said with a tiny yet sincere smile.

"Whew, we were really scared...ok, once we dress and all, let's go!"

~~~***~~~

John, Ringo and George hit the slopes immediately after they arrived at the ski lifts. They skied up and down, up and down, striving to find Paul...

"*Sigh* I'm getting this feeling of Deja vu...and we still haven't found him!" George yelled as he skied down the bunny slope, closely following his two older companions.

"I know, I know Geo! We just gotta keep looking!" Ringo encouraged as best he could, leading the way.

"I don't know about you but--aiiie!" John exclaimed. He slipped and fell in the middle of the slope. "Jeez, now I'm all bloody wet again! Might as well get it over with then!" He laid down and his back was now steeped in snow.

"Ok, take a break," George said, hockey-stopping as best he could next to John. "Look what you did John! You made Ringo have to side-step back up a bit!"

"That's all right George, it's not very difficult. Are you ok, John?" Ringo said joining them.

"Yeah, I guess," John replied, getting back up. "Hey, how do we know if Paulie took a similar stumble, but in a more precarious situation?"

"John, are you saying that he could have..." George looked up and pointed his ski pole...

...over the edge of the mountain side.

"No, no! Don't think about it! It couldn't have happened, Paulie knows better than that!" Ringo exclaimed.

"But how do we know? You don't know what could have happened in a night! That's a long time!" John rebutted.

"You guys can just sit here and argue then, cos I'm going to check and see!!" George skied over to the side and looked down. He sat down near the edge in response to the sight.

"What is it, George?" Ringo asked.

"Look and see..." George answered. The drummer and rhythm guitarist slowly skied over and took a peek.

"Don't you think they should have a fence here to block off skiers from going off this way? Something to bring up to the Norwegian government!" John said. "And you think Paul would be able to get down that?? It's steep, dontcha think??"

George looked around for an answer. His eyes found a sign that read:

"Skill level: Black Diamond."

"This is a black diamond slope for Christ's sake! This is for advanced skiers! And how long have we been skiing? No more than two days!" John cried as he stabbed the snow with the end of his ski pole.

"There ya go again Lennon, always so cynical. If you don't think about the skill level of the slope, you can get down it no sweat!" Ringo answered.

"Easy for you to say, I already know the skill level of the bloody slope! What if he's not down here at all then?"

"Hey, you never know...why don't we try skiing down this slope to find him?" George inquired.

"No, I have a better idea, why don't you try skiing down that slope!" Ringo answered.

"Ringo! How come you're the one telling me to 'not think about the skill level of the slope'!" John said laughing. "C'mon Ring, it's only a black diamond!"

"Hey, I don't know fellas, I just looked at the sign again. Look," George pointed out. "Part of the sign at the bottom is cut off or something."

"Hmm...you're right for the first time, Geo..." John replied smiling, later to be smacked in the head with a snowball from the youngest Beatle. "Hey! Now me hair is all wet!"

"Oh John, you're starting to sound like Paul and his precious hair. Lay off of Geo and don't bother looking at the sign, you couldn't read it from here anyway!" Ringo said in the same tone as John before. John smacked him in the head with a snowball. "Well, if I'm going to get pelted, I might as well have said something to deserve it!"

"John, Ringo...the sign somehow gets cut off, leaving some word, then "Not" and part of another word, but I can't tell what it is."

"Not?" John contemplated. "Not what? Not a second time?"

"Not to worry?" Ringo offered.

"Not a through street?"

"Not a good sign?"

"Not my type?"

"Not in a million years?"

"Not for a million bucks?"

"Not in my lifetime?"

"Not what I appear to be?"

"To be or not to be?"

"I've got a not in my stomach! For real too!" John cried as he and Ringo were giggling and having a ball. George sighed.

"I am not amused!" he exclaimed. John and Ringo kept laughing. George sighed once again.

"All right all right, enough of this! I'm going home!"

"But George! We still have to look for Pa--"

"Not!!" George interrupted quickly and keenly. It was the other two's turn to sigh. John added a bonus and rolled his eyes teasingly.

"Ok Geo, you win. Find Paul first, then we can all share a laugh. Shall we commence the rest of the journey of searching for his lost majesty Macca?" John asked.

"Gotcha! C'mon!" George said happily. "Paulie! Don't worry your highness! Your loyal subjects are coming!"

"Careful fellas, take your time, it's a hard slope ya know!" Ringo warned.

Slowly, the three Beatles cautiously skied down the advanced black diamond hill, hoping that this path would lead to Paul, wherever he was.

Somehow, Ringo's warning about the slope being difficult to ski down didn't seem enough. The broken sign still lingered in their minds, but no matter what, they were still determined to find Paul.

The sign's message in full was: "Skill level: Black Diamond. Slope not in use."

~~~***~~~

"It is possible that he has done it....he could still be alive...perhaps it has worked after all!" thought the spirit that visited the night before. She had come down from her vast canvas of sky, and was sitting next to Paul in the snow.

"I cannot take his soul away; I failed to kiss him on the forehead..." she said wistfully as she looked upon him. "I cannot wait until I hear what will become of me since I did not follow out my duty."

The spirit loosened Paul's scarf and placed two of her fingers upon his pale neck. She was looking for a beat, the steady rhythm of life itself.

The rhythm was silent.

She tried again to find it. It was not present, as if it had never existed. She began to worry.

Once again, she sought for the pulse. Failing to find it, she took off Paul's left glove and tried to find a beat at his wrist.

Once again, she failed.

Paul's glove was replaced while the other one was removed, and her quest for a sign of life continued. Her marble white fingers were at his wrist.

Nothing was there.

The spirit hung her head sadly. All her hopes were shattered...until she felt...

...thump.

She shook her head to check if it wasn't her imagination. Were her senses trying to trick her? Was she dreaming?

A second, very faint thump followed.

Smiling to herself, and relieved that he must be alive, she replaced his glove and continued to sit near him. A lone aqua tear of joy rolled down her face. Her hopes were pieced back together one by one. She knew that what she had done was right in her heart, and it didn't matter if anyone else was disappointed

in her.

"You are alive, innocent one, yet not awake. I do not possess the power to open your eyes; I only hold the power to close them. Someone will rescue you; that dream had to have some influence on him, but he needs to save you quickly...You do not have much longer until I must come back for you...for now I

must leave you, good luck..."

With that, she dissolved and disappeared into the sky.

~~~***~~~

"Ok, who's brilliant idea was this??" John complained as he sat on his bum on the black diamond hill. "That daft sign, no wonder! There's no bloody lift to transport us back to the top! We'd have to side step all the way back up this bloody hillside!"

"C'mon John, it's not that hard, this may be steep, but it's not a long side of the mountain. We can get back up to the bunny slopes in about ten minutes," George said.

"Ten minutes, ten shminutes!" John continued. "Ten bloody minutes going back up!"

"Well then, if we're lucky, Paul will be around here somewhere! That way we don't have to go down the hill any further!" Ringo concluded as he sat down next to John.

"All right then, we'll look around here. Sheesh Paul, always getting himself into trouble. When we find McCartney, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind..." John mumbled.

"Or what you have left of it after the search, Lennon," George remarked. "We're going to find him and after we do, everything's going to be all right."

"George's right," Ringo said, getting up. "Maybe we have to hike back up, but I'd rather find Paul than anything else now...maybe we should split up, and maybe it'll be easier if we took off our skis."

"Ok, that's good I guess. Just don't slip and hurt yourselves!" George added, taking off one of his skis. The others followed suit.

"Here John, you go to the left, and George, you go to the right. I'll go down straight this way," Ringo said as he pointed downward in the direction he was to take.

"Meet back here at five o'clock. Don't get lost like Paulie, or we'll have to look for you and him!" John said.

"Gotcha, five o'clock. Good luck to you guys! See ya later!" George said, waving goodbye as he trekked off in his direction.

"See ya!" Ringo and John simultaneously answered.