Walking into the kitchen he filled the kettle and glanced over to the phone.  Picking up the receiver he dialed Mary, his oldest child, and after three rings she answered.

“Daddy!  How is the weather at the farm?”

“Still cool, luv.  I just wanted to check in, I know how you worry.”

Her voice got softer. “Are you doing okay?”

“So-so.  I kept half expecting…well you know what I’m saying.”

“Yes, yes I do.  I know how difficult this is for me, I can’t imagine what you are experiencing.”

“But I thank God for you Stella and James.  I promise I will come home soon.  I just need this time to sort out a few things.  Will you let your brother and sister know I rang?” he asked, reaching to turn off the kettle.

“I will Daddy.  I love you.”

“I know, pet.  I love you too.”

Paul hung up, glanced at the mug and put it in the sink.  He reached underneath the counter and pulled out a bottle of Scotch.   He sacrificed a glass and just took the bottle back to the chair by the fireplace.  He unscrewed the cap and took a long drink.  The alcohol burned as it trickled down his throat.  It had been years since he’d tasted straight Scotch.

Paul felt guilty after speaking to his daughter.  He was here at their family vacation home to mourn the loss of his wife, but instead he was thinking about a girl he was with over 30 years ago, a lifetime ago, before marriage, before children. 

Over the years something small would have him flash back to her, a word, a smell, a feeling, and he would wonder.  If they could have worked out their situation would they still be together?  How would his life been different?  He speculated about his children and the pain was deep.  Would Ivonne have had his offspring?

His head was throbbing with all the 'what ifs' and he chugged another mouthful of liquor.  Why couldn’t she have just been honest with him?  The truth would have been difficult, but after a little time he would have understood and found a way to free her and enable them to begin a life.  She should have trusted him.

***

Jane left and Paul tried without any success to find Ivonne.  He had just about given up seeing her again when he felt a strong impulse to visit the Dunbar flat. 

Climbing the stairs, he felt a twinge of excitement in his gut.  He scanned the crowded room and passed up drinks and grass, working his way through each room.  As he was about to give up hope he turned around, and there she was standing in the doorway watching him.  She looked so young and vulnerable in jeans and a t-shirt, her hair hanging loosely, hardly any make-up.  When their eyes locked her smile made his blood warm.

Winding through gyrating bodies he just took her in his arms, ignoring all the eyes fascinated with their interaction.

“I thought I would never see you again,” he murmured into her left ear.  Her arms held him tightly.

“If I had any sense, you wouldn’t.  I just felt you would be here tonight and couldn’t help myself.”

“You have no idea how glad I am of that.  Let’s get out of here.”

Paul had walked to the flat and he just wrapped his arms around her as they headed back to his house.  Ivonne was quiet, holding on to him like he might disappear.  He rounded the corner and groaned when he saw all the girls out front.  Ivonne followed his stare.

“Not a good idea?” she said softly, knowing he did not want to advertise he was with someone else.

“No, they love to cause me trouble.  Of course if you’d just agree to let this take place in the open we’d have nothing to hide.”

“You have a person you care about you would not want to hurt.”

“I care, but I need to have you.  I need you, Ivonne.” He cupped her cheek.

She shuddered a little. “I know I need you too.”

Paul kissed her. “Wait here.” He headed toward his house.  He spoke with the girls and went inside the gate.  Ivonne watched as the gate opened and his car emerged.  He drew around the corner and she hopped in.  His eyes were heated with desire, “How about a drive?”

They parked on a deserted street near Regent’s Park and Ivonne slid onyo his lap.  Their kisses grew more and more urgent until Paul finally tugged her t-shirt off and submerged his face against her chest.  When she leaned against the horn, both jumped then burst out laughing.

Ivonne slipped her shirt back on and moved back into her seat.

“I think we can go home now.” He grinned, starting the engine.  Part of him was disappointed; making love in odd places turned him on something fierce.  The crowd had dispersed when they got back, and Ivonne sunk down in the seat as he drove through the gate.

When Paul opened the door, Martha scampered out of the house and Ivonne played with her for a little while.  She watched Paul disappear inside and knew she should just go, but her basic desire to see him always won out.  How could this possibly end?

Paul emerged with a bottle of wine and a huge comforter and curled his finger in her direction.  She followed him to the rear of the yard and stopped, letting her senses take in the huge glass-domed structure.  The smell of the garden was heavenly and she pursued him inside.

Twirling, she smiled at him, “What is this place?”

“Not sure, got the idea and had it built.  I come out here to think, to compose and now...” he spread out the quilt, “…to make love to my girl.”

“Don’t try and trick me with sweet words, surely you’ve been out here before with a girl,” she said shyly as he worked at the zipper on her jeans.  His warm hands drifted onto her skin.

“No, never, you are the first, and I hope only.”

She stepped out of the pants and extended her body on the blanket.  Paul’s eyes were huge and glistening as he whipped his shirt off and lay beside her.  He circled her erect nipples pressed against her t-shirt.

“Is that for me?” he breathed, running his tongue and making the shirt damp.  Her hands combed through his hair.

“Yes.  You are the only one who makes me feel this way.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all your fellows,” he said teasingly, but she pushed his head back and stared into his face.

“No, never, Paul.  I need you to really know that.  The feelings I have when I’m with you are brand new.”

“Ivonne.” He brought her face so close. “I can’t ever let you leave now.”

***

Paul tipped the scotch bottle and took another long guzzle.  He could almost feel the want he experienced in the greenhouse, how desperately he had to make love to her, how tender and loving she was with him.  His eyes squeezed shut as he begged for forgiveness.

***

Paul woke in the glass house and was shocked to find that she was still curled up around him.  He stroked her hair, and she shifted and snuggled closer.

“Good morning,” he whispered, ready to make love to her again.  She blinked her eyes open and sat up abruptly.

“Oh my God, I shouldn’t have slept!”

Paul tugged her back into his arms. “Why not?  It’s just us.” He kissed her, his erection growing against her.  “I never get tired of being with you.”

“Paul, I have responsibilities and I was not home to fulfill them last night.  I could be in serious trouble,” she said weakly, thinking of the meeting she did not show up for.

Paul smoothed hair from her face. “I will do anything to clear a path for us.”

Her eyes lowered. “That’s impossible.  Please, I need to get dressed and leave.”

“Whatever you missed is over and done with.  Stay with me today, all day, please.”

Ivonne leaned her head back and stared into his face.  She absolutely adored his face.

“All right, yes.  I’ll stay and hang the consequences.”

After making love again, they gathered their belongings, stole into the house and showered together, washing, touching and having each other again under the spray of water.

Paul gave her sweatpants and a t-shirt and they set about making breakfast and ate sitting on the floor, talking non-stop.  Martha got the scraps, and then Paul took Ivonne by the hand and directed her upstairs and into his music room.  She walked around and looked at the awards on the wall, the photos with his mates and the notepad with words scribbled on it.

“So, this is where your songs come to life?” She sat on the edge of the piano bench.  “I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I adore your music.  I have every one of your albums.”

Paul cocked his head. “Really?  I never would have thought.”

“Why?  Because I can act so cool and calm around you?  The night I looked up and saw you standing there smiling at me – well, it was amazing to say the least.”

“I noticed you the second you walked through the door and could not take my eyes off you.” He sat beside her. “You took my breath away.”

“So it’s just my external features that attract you?”

“In the beginning, yes, but now it is much, much more.” He flipped the pad and pointed to the words written there. “I wrote this for you.”

The blue of her eyes grew a little deeper before they rested on his left-handed scrawl.  She read each line several times before attempting to clear her throat. “That is nothing to tease about.” Her voice quivered.

Paul nuzzled against her cheek. “I’m not.  I came home the first night I saw you and couldn’t sleep from the words swirling in my brain.  Do you like it?”

One tear rolled from the corner of her eye, “It’s beautiful.  Thank you.”

He took her by the shoulders and made her face him. “Will you let me get you into my life?”

“Don’t ask that, the complications are far too many.”

“Hang the complications, I will deal with them.  Look at the life we could have.  I can’t explain how much I care about you, how quickly it all came about, but I know you feel it too.  I know it.”

Brushing hair from his forehead she just stared at him.  She wanted to remember him just this way. “Yes, I feel it too.  Do you think we knew one another in another life?  A life that was far less troublesome?  A safe place where we could be happy and content without outside interferences?”

“Ivonne, I have money and a lot of people I can get to help you, help us untangle any unwanted obligations.  Trust me, let me help,” he begged, his fingers circling on her skin.  She melted into his touch.

“You asked for today and I stayed; let’s be satisfied with that.” She stood up and Martha followed.  “Shall we take her for a walk?”

“No, I only want to be with you; I don’t want to see the outside world.”

“Did I see a projection screen?  Can we watch a movie?  I make wonderful popcorn.”

She beamed at him, but Paul could see beyond her facade.  He hugged her. “I warn you, I love musicals.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

She did indeed make tasty popcorn and wrapped up together with bottles of Coke and a huge bowl they watched movie after movie, sometimes missing a few scenes as desire took over.  They talked, Ivonne carefully avoiding any topics close to being personal or revealing.  Paul discussed his family, the price of fame, and how lucky he was to have achieved the goals he and his mates set for themselves many years before.

Ivonne went for more soft drink and noticed darkness creeping in.  She could hear the sound of their fourth movie drifting in from the other room.  Her eyes pressed shut; she didn’t want to leave him – hell, she didn’t want to leave the dog that was full of popcorn and spread out contentedly -- but she knew she had to.  She knew she had to disappear from his life before it all got more complex.  But how could it?  She was hopelessly in love with the man; at least she thought she was, having never felt love before.  Just manipulation, abuse, exploitation and now, intense sadness.  Leaving would break her heart.

The movie began and Paul gathered another handful of popcorn, tossing several kernels to Martha.  What was keeping Ivonne?  He sat up, panicked.  She couldn’t have…

“Ivonne?” he called, his voice laced with fear.  Nothing.  He climbed from the sofa and reached the door as she strolled through.  He grabbed her tightly.

“What’s wrong?” She drew back to look into his face.

He took the bottle of Coke she was holding. “I was thirsty.”

She giggled. “Apparently. Oh, it’s started, catch me up will you?”

***

Paul tugged himself out of his chair and went to the radio and tried to find some music.  He picked up his novel and checked the fire.  He had to put thoughts of Ivonne from his head.  He had experienced terrific loss only weeks ago, and bringing up another chapter in his life that was just as agonizing was not helping his mental status.

He found the last page he had read and fastened his eyes to the print.  The words blurred as his mind continued to wander.  He could almost smell the fragrance of her hair.

***

“I loved that film.” She rolled her eyes to Paul as the final credits scrolled across the large screen.  He loved the twinkle behind the beautiful blue.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this before!  A sad lack of education, missy.” He tapped the end of her nose and stood up and stretched.  Martha was at full alert and he knew she needed to investigate the back yard.

They walked to the kitchen, and she indeed charged out as the phone rang and Ivonne put the popcorn bowl and glasses in the sink.

“Hey mate, how have you been?”

Ivonne watched him chat, using his hands in an intimate and close manner, and she longed to have that kind of connection with another human being.  He was the only person she had ever actually opened up to, and even that was limited.

Paul turned and put his hand over the receiver.  “I need to get something in the music room.  It’s John, would you hang up once I pick it up?”

She nodded as he leaned forward and kissed her sweetly.  She took the phone and marveled that John Lennon was on the other end.  She watched Paul disappear and held the phone to her ear until she heard his voice and waited just a fraction to hear John’s.

The clothes she wore the day before were on a chair and she quickly changed, let Martha back inside, and wrote a brief note.  This day was the most wonderful she had ever had and she wanted to remember it just this way.  She started to sign it “love,” but changed her mind and just scratched her name.

Waiting for a second she let her eyes sweep the kitchen and the parlor, and they closed as she snapped a mental picture.  Thank you, she whispered, and hurried outside and down the street before Paul would realize she was gone.

Paul hung up with John and was walking to the landing when Martha scampered up panting wildly.  He fluffed her hair.

“Where’s our girl?  It was nice of her to let you in.” They went down together, Paul anxious to draw a bath and hold Ivonne before taking her to bed.  He had always been a hound when it came to sex but he could hardly wait to be with her, hold her, kiss her. She made every sense he possessed remain on heightened status.

The downstairs was empty and he could feel she was no longer around.  He bolted into the kitchen and noticed his sweats and t-shirt on the chair before he saw the note.

“No, please…” he muttered, picking it up, reading and crumpling it.

He tried to concentrate on recording, meeting his mates at Abbey Road and finishing their latest project.  They became annoyed with his lack of focus, how easily he was distracted, and finally in desperation he confided in John.  John tugged off his round glasses and cleaned them on the bottom of his shirt.

“Mate, this is not like you, to get so wrapped up in a bird.”

“John, I am besotted, possessed. Choose a word, but I must have her in my life.  It is essential to find out what is keeping her at bay.  I know she feels as strongly as I do.”

“Have you spoken to Dunbar? Maybe he knows her story.”

“I tried the night she left, but he was out of town.  He’s supposed to ring as soon as he returns.” Paul snagged a hair through his hair. “I am going insane without her.”

“Not good to make a girl that important, mate, trust me on this one.”

Paul squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “Too late, mate, way too late.”

It was late when Paul left the studio and almost without thinking he drove in the direction of the Dunbar apartment.  The lights were on, the usual noise drifting down. 

Paul charged upstairs praying he would find her there, but after a quick scan he realized that wouldn’t happen.  He found John Dunbar in the kitchen loading the fridge with beer.  He glanced up with a grin.

“Hey, tried to call you earlier...”

“Yeah, I was working.  Can I have a word in private?”

“Sure.”

John escorted him to his master bedroom and shut the door behind them.  He lit a joint and offered it to Paul.  “What’s up, Macca?”

“The girl, Ivonne. I was wondering if you could tell me how to get in touch with her?”

John shrugged as he let out a puff of smoke, “Ring her service, they’re make the appointment.”

Paul frowned, “Appointment?  She and I have been seeing each other, and I need to speak with her.”

John almost choked on his next toke. “Seeing each other?  She’s been giving it away for free?  Christ, Wilson will kill her.”

Paul was baffled and scratched his head. “What the fuck are you talking about?  I met her here, we really like each other, and who in the hell is Wilson and what does he have to do with Ivonne?”

“Fuck, Paul she’s a whore and he’s her pimp, her manager, whatever you want to call the bloke.  He sets up her johns; he’s a tough motherfucker and if she doesn’t do what is expected of her he has been known to beat the shit out of her.  She hasn’t messed up since the last time.”

Paul staggered and sagged down on the bed.  He wasn’t hearing this correctly.  “But I…I don’t understand.  She…I…we felt something...”

“Jesus Christ, Paul you didn’t get involved with the girl, did you?  If Wilson finds out she’s been giving it away…holy shit, I don’t even want to know.”

“She’s so young,” Paul murmured, trying to comprehend what he was hearing.

“Her father used to rape her and kicked her to the streets when she was 14; Wilson found her and put her to work.  He thinks he owns her, and trust me he protects what he thinks he owns.  You need to forget anything about her, forget you even know her.” John warned.

“But she was here.”

“With a client.  She doesn’t do anything that isn’t with a client.  Nice enough girl, just fucked up. Ah hell, like the rest of us.  Is there anything else?  I’ve gotta get back to the party.”

Paul was looking at his shaking hands folded in his lap. “Do you have a card with her number?  For an official call?”

John rooted through his wallet and drew something out.  “Here, but be careful.”

Paul looked at his own handwriting and the address he had written down.  It took days before he finally dialed the number Dunbar had given him and was assured Ivonne would indeed take his appointment.

He could still not comprehend what she did.  His thoughts of a father molesting his own flesh and blood and then dumping her on the streets made him almost physically ill. 

The flat was in a fairly decent section of London.  She lived on the third floor and was expecting him at nine.  He wasn’t sure what he would say to her, nor how she might react when she realized who was at her door. 

Paul stood outside, raising his hand several times to knock.  Finally he rapped twice and he heard her voice.

Ivonne opened the door in a short skirt, high heels and a low cut blouse.  Her hair was twisted up and she wore heavy make-up, making her look much older then her years.  It seemed to take several seconds before it registered who her guest was and one hand moved to cover her deeply painted red mouth.

Tears brimmed in her eyes. “Oh God, no,” she moaned, and staggered backwards a bit.  Paul came in and shut the door and just caught her.  She felt perfect in his arms.  She fought his grasp.  “Please go away and leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that,” he said firmly, drawing her face back.  Now he knew why she had such thick foundation on; faintly underneath he could see the remains of bruising.  He led her to a leather sofa and they sat down together.  Ivonne kept her face low, her cries muffled in her hands.

“Why did you come here?  Couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?”

“Well enough?  I have been desperate to find you.  I want you to pack up and come home with me now.”

Mascara streaking down her cheeks, she stared at him, “Knowing what you know, you still want me to come with you?”

“Yes, I do.  I have done things in my life I’m not particularly proud of for the sake of my own selfish needs.  I don’t believe that is your agenda.  This does not make me happy, but getting you out of the situation will.  Come on, we need to go now.”

Ivonne felt warmth she had never experienced in her 19 years.  “Thank you.  You have no idea what this means to me, but I can’t go with you.  There is someone who could hurt you, ruin your life or even worse, and I can’t allow that.  But what you have given me, Paul, will carry me through any and everything I will experience in the future.”

“Ivonne, I will not leave you to this life.  This is not who you are.”

“I’m afraid it is; I am in too deep and can’t get out, but the only time I have ever felt like the girl I might have been was with you, always know that.  Everything with you was fresh, new and special.”

“This Wilson guy -- I can have someone deal with the man so he never hurts you again.  You need to trust me; I can’t lose you and won’t allow you to continue living like this.”

“No, you can never have anything to do with him,” she cried, gripping his hands.  “He is evil and ruthless; there is no telling what he will do.”

“That is why you need to leave with me.” He cupped her face and she nestled into his hand.

“Paul, it is not an option.  You need to go so he doesn’t find you here.”

Paul reached for a tissue and began to dab her tear-streaked cheeks, “I used a different name and I paid for the whole night.  No one else will be here this evening.”

He could see the relief in her eyes and pressed her into his chest.  “I have gotten so good at blanking out, going to a place where there is no injustice in the world, a place where a person is not forced to do unspeakable acts.  I can do that very easily now,” she said,  her voice barely a whisper.  “Wilson found me cold and hungry on the streets.  He took me to a warm apartment, bought me clothes, fed me, and I felt I owed him for my very life.  The first time he brought a man home and sent me in the bedroom with him I was terrified, but felt I had to pay him back for his kindness.  How warped is that?  It wasn’t as if I was a virgin, my own father slept with me from the time I was 12 until my mother died, and he drove off without me on my 14^th birthday.  Most men don’t care if you get involved, just that you are there and that you don’t fight it.  I got used to it.”

Paul felt tears build behind his eyes as he stroked her gently.  “No one should have to get used to rape and abuse.  Where is your case? We need to pack.”

She was shaking. “I can’t take the chance.  Something could happen to you.  I wouldn’t be able to stop it and that would destroy me.  Did you say you paid him for the night?”

“Yes, I sent the money round to the address he gave me.  Why?”

“Then let’s use it, and for once I won’t have to worry about being discovered.  Love me, Paul; take me to the place only you have done before.  Let me see there is love in the world.”

“Let me see my girl,” he whispered taking her hand and leading her to the bath.  They climbed into the shower, and Paul gently washed all the make-up from her face.  He kissed each bruise, cursing inside the bastard who could beat her for absolutely no reason at all.

He dried her body before carrying her to the huge bed, and hesitated only briefly before laying her down on the dark green comforter.  Ivonne noticed his hesitation and drew a pillow over to cover her.

“I changed the bedding, Paul. Please don’t think about that,” she said shakily, and he reached for her.

“I’m not, honest.” He tried to convince, her leaning over and drinking in her lovely features, loving the adoration in her eyes as she watched him warily.  “I love you so much.”

“And I you. I never thought I could ever love anyone.”

They made love for hours, holding one another, blocking out any and everything in the world.  As the sun began to rise, Paul could sense her fear and once again attempted to beg her to leave with him.

Defeated, he dressed and prepared to go home.  Ivonne walked him to the door and allowed him to engulf her in his arms.

“I will never forget tonight.  This will last me a lifetime,” she whispered into the hollow of his throat.

“Somehow I will figure a way out of this for you.  I will not rest until I do.”

The thought of leaving her ripped a gash in his heart and he kept turning to look until the lift came.

Paul went directly to Brian’s office and found Al and Mal.  He pledged them to complete secrecy as he explained what he had been through the last few weeks.  Al was wide eyed and muttered a little, Mal, as usual, just listened, nodding occasionally and finally asked what he needed for them to do.  Paul leaned back and ran a hand across his brow.

“I need to find out about this guy, this son of a bitch, Wilson, and neutralize him, pay him off, do something to get her away from him.  Please, I know what I’m asking is above and beyond but, I don’t know where else to go.”

Mal leaned forward and touched Paul’s knee. “You are in love with the lass, aren’t you?”

“Very much. That’s why I need to save her.  Can you help me?”

***

Paul did not realize he was crying until Martha jumped on his knee and peered worriedly at his streaked face.  He lifted the Scotch bottle and let the liquor filter down his throat.  God, it was like yesterday, sitting with Al and Mal working on a plan.  They were such good mates and worked tirelessly for him and his friends for years.  He thought about Mal, the unfairness that he, too, was gone for no other reason then people didn’t understand the gentle giant.  Life could be so cruel.

He stood up, set the bottle down, and leaned against the mantel and stared at the flames.  He eventually found someone to care for him whom he grew to love deeply and they had a wonderful life and four amazing children.  He was blessed, very blessed.   But over the years, at the most unexpected times, he thought of her and the “what ifs” cascaded over him.  Why wasn’t he able to rescue her?  What grand scheme allowed the unthinkable to happen?  With a blast of anger he chucked the bottle into the fire.

***

Al sent out feelers and the reports he received back were not good at all.  This Wilson character was bad news and had a vicious reputation.  He asked Mal to go to a few places they had heard he might frequent and see if he could get a line on him and if he could be bought off.

It was almost a week later, and Mal slumped in a chair and waited for Al to get off the phone.  Al looked hopeful until he noticed Mal’s expression.

“What is it, mate?”

“The rumor mill says the bloke has taken off, he’s on the run and no one seems to know where to.  It seems the police are after him.”

“Jesus, what for?”

“No one is offering, but I’ll keep nosing around.”

Paul was getting anxious, and once Al relayed the information he felt hopeful he could go by her flat and maybe urge her to pack up and come with him.  He would drive them to High Park and they would stay there until Wilson was in jail or gone for good.  He liked the idea as he drove across town and parked near her place.

Walking towards the building, he noticed a few police cars but didn’t pay much attention.  Taking the lift to the third floor, he hopped out and stopped short.  The door to her flat was open and people were coming in and out.  With a sick feeling, Paul approached until a young police officer laid a hand on his arm.

“Mr. McCartney?” he asked.  “May I help you?”

“What is going on here?” Paul asked.

The young man frowned. “This certainly is no place for you.  We are investigating a murder.”

Paul reeled, and the man took hold of his arm.  “Are you all right, sir?”

His voice barely was audible. “Who was murdered?”

“A young hooker. Apparently her pimp had a problem, beat her pretty badly and then strangled her.  Did you know someone here?”

Paul pushed by him and rushed the door before two larger officers latched on to him.

“Let me go, please!  I have to know,” he cried.

“You don’t want to go in there, sir, trust me.  Please, can I have one of my men drive you home?”

Paul walked into his house and Martha charged happily past and into the yard.  He went from room to room not seeing, not hearing, not feeling.  Nothing was registering in his brain; he was at the wrong place, the person inside could not be Ivonne, the police had made a mistake.  He stopped in the entrance to the movie room, where one kernel of popcorn nestled in the carpet.  Horror washed over him and he began to pick up objects and throw them, one after another, smashing, breaking, destroying anything he could.  He grabbed a bottle of liquor and staggered out into the garden and back to the glass house.  The comforter was still spread on the floor.  Falling to his knees, he wept and drew the material closer.

Mal found him passed out, wrapped in the blanket.  He stood in the entrance of the greenhouse after checking the house, relieved Paul was here and safe.  His investigations had led him to Ivonne’s flat, where he learned about her death.  He contacted a mate in the local precinct and found out it was indeed Paul’s friend, and much to his horror found out Paul had been to the crime scene.  Before he drove to Cavendish he rang Al.

Mal bent to one knee and rested a hand on his friend.  Paul rolled onto his back, his eyes slowly opening, all the pain Mal feared staring at him.

“He killed her, Mal, the bastard killed her.”

“I know, Paul.  Come on, let me help you.”

“No, I can’t leave here, I can’t,” he hiccupped between sobs.

Mal gathered up his stricken friend and carried him into the house and up to his room.  Paul curled into the bed like a scolded child, still weeping.  Mal reached for the telephone and rang John.

John sat by the bed for hours thinking of what Paul confided in him and what on earth his mate had to be feeling.  He had seen cruelty, hell, he had a streak of it inside him, but this took merciless to a level he could not comprehend.  What would he be able to do to help Paul? Any idea escaped him.

Paul finally woke, showered and attempted to drink a cup of tea, but his hand shook so badly he could not hold the mug.  His eyes were haunted pools, just staring into only a place he knew.

Mal arrived back at the house and asked John if he could speak with him.  John rose and followed him outside.

“I’m not sure what to do,” Mal whispered. “The police have her body at the morgue but with no family and no one coming forward to identify, she will be cremated and laid to rest in what they refer to as Potter’s Field.”

“Christ,” John muttered. He turned as he heard footsteps.  Paul blinked at them and swallowed.

“I need to see her.”

Mal shook his head passionately. “Paul, that is not a good idea at all.”

Paul would not budge. “I need to see her and claim the body.  She will not be alone any longer.”

The three of them drove to the city morgue. Mal preceded Paul inside and explained what he needed.  Paul and John waited in a small, nondescript room for what seemed a like terribly long time.  Finally a man with grey hair and large glasses opened the door in the rear and motioned them into a cool windowless area.

Paul glanced around at bodies on trays all covered with sheets.  The man moved to a space off to the side and with a deep sigh looked up.

“This is never a pleasant task; I just need a confirmation of her name.”

He lifted the sheet to only revel her head and shoulders.  Paul thought he was prepared but nothing could prepare him, ever.  Her beautiful hair was spread against the metal tray, her sweet face swollen and black and blue, and around her neck, her graceful neck, were deep red fingerprints.  Paul gripped the metal and flashes moved across his mind like a silent movie.  His hand moved without his knowledge and rested against her cheek.  He flinched from the cold.

John looked at this girl and his gut ached.  His eyes moved to his friend and the tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Let’s get out of here, mate,” he said gently.

“What do I need to do to claim her?” Paul whispered, his fingers streaming her hair in between.

“Are you willing to take care of her burial expenses?” The gentlemen seemed to perk up at the idea.

“No, I want to take her someplace to be buried.  I want her out of here, the sooner the better.”

Arrangements were made, money paid and finally Paul allowed his two companions to take him home.  He refused food and just sat in a chair in the parlor before reaching for the telephone and dialing his father’s number.

“I’ll explain later, but could you speak with Father Anderson and see if he will perform a small funeral service in the next day or two?  I still don’t have a definite time frame.”

Paul accepted a mug of tea and sipped quietly.  Mal bent down beside him.

“What else can I do, mate?  Anything, you name it.”

“When the morgue finishes and she is ready to come home, please bring the remains here for me?” Paul asked, his voice monotone and not like itself.

“Sure Paul, no problem.  I just want to say this once, I am so sorry.  I didn’t know the girl, but it is very apparent that she was special.”

Paul’s hazel eyes filled with tears as he focused on his friend. “Aye, Mal, she was.”

Paul made the decision to drive to Liverpool.  With Martha and his case in the back of the car, he headed north with the small urn on the seat beside him.  He was still in denial and shock but knew he wanted her far away from London, far away from the place that did not treat her well.  He wanted to take that pain away for the final time.

His Dad and Mike were waiting as he drove up to the house.  Jim had never seen such a deep sense of desperation in one of his children.   Paul sat in the parlor, the urn cradled on his lap.  Mike knelt before him.

“Kid, will you tell us what happened?” he asked gently, and Paul stared with empty eyes.

“I failed her and now she’s dead,” Paul said, clutching the metal tighter.  “Mike, he murdered her.”

Mike rested a hand on his brother’s leg. “Start at the beginning, son.”

Paul released everything, how they met, their instant connection and her dark secret.  Mike sat back on his bottom.  Jim McCartney puffed nervously on his pipe.

He withdrew the tip from his pursed lips. “I am so sorry, Paul. It all seems horribly unfair.”

“Dad, I know you think less of her, but you didn’t know the girl.” His voice quivered. “I went to her flat to bring her here, then up to the farm.  I wanted her to know what family was all about.  I…I was too late.  I let that monster torture and murder her.  Jesus, I shut my eyes and I see her battered body. Da, I may go insane.” He buried his face in his hands and Mike looked at his father with intense sadness.  He had never seen his brother so obliterated.

Jim never was one to show strong emotion, and felt helpless at how to help his eldest boy.  “I did speak with Father Anderson, and he is prepared to say a few words anytime you like.”

Paul nodded and rose up. “Ta, Dad. Tomorrow, we’ll go tomorrow.”

The church was one of the oldest in Liverpool, all stone and stained glass.  Mike drove the three of them over and Paul carried the urn inside and into a private chamber.

He barely slept at all the night before, looking at what was left of the girl he loved and fighting the image of her struggle to stay alive.  He kept replaying their time together and the words they had exchanged. 

Father Anderson entered and approached Paul with a smile.  He laid a hand on his slumped shoulder. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Father,” Paul murmured, as the parish door opened to reveal John, George and Rich.  Paul stood up as they surrounded him.  “What are you doing here?”

“We wanted to pay our respects,” John answered.  “Hope we aren’t too late.”

Paul bowed his head. “No.  Thank you, thank you so much for coming.”

“We wanted to mate.” George touched his arm.

Paul scanned the room, his father, his brother and his mates.  Ivonne! he thought with an internal cry, you should have known them, and you should be part of this.  Despite the despondency in his heart he felt very lucky to be loved by these people.

***

Paul opened the door to the farmhouse, walked outside and gulped in the cool, early morning air.  His eyes found the spot where he had scattered her ashes so many years before, under a spreading oak tree behind the barn.

Martha charged ahead, barking at leaves, looking back to make sure he was following.  The horses whinnied and watched with curious eyes as he passed on his way to the oak.

Paul sat and ran a hand over the deep green grass sprinkled with wild flowers and heather.  I still miss you ambled across his exhausted brain.  He thought about driving here and deciding on the perfect spot for her final resting place.  He always felt a sense of peace when he sat here, writing songs, even reading to the children he had later on.  Ivonne never was very far.

His head was spinning from lack of food, sleep and too much Scotch.  Walking back to the house he closed up, checked the fire and finally crawled into bed. 

His eyes stayed focused on the wooden box and all the memories it evoked.  He slipped a hand under the pillow, felt something and pulled out a photo, the one from Battersea Park.  Her face still gave him chills.  He ran a finger over her jaw line.

“I miss you too.” Her voice filled the room.  Paul rolled onto his back.

She was kneeling on the foot of the bed

“If I am asleep or hallucinating, I don’t really care.  It is wonderful to see you.” He smiled at her.   She crawled up and stretched out beside him.

“Haven’t you felt me over the years, silly?” She wanted to take his hand but stopped herself. 

“Sometimes, but I thought I was being daft.”

Her eyes softened. “I loved it when you read to the children.  I enjoyed listening to all the silly voices.”

“You heard that, huh?  Did you ever know what I thought?”

“I wondered what our children would have been like too,” she replied softly.  “But you were blessed with a wife who loved you and four wonderful kids.  That pleased me.”

He blinked to disperse tears. “Thanks.  I need to ask you something.”

Finally, unable to resist, she laid a hand against his cheek. “No, I never blamed you at all.  I know how hard you tried to help; it just wasn’t meant to be.  Maybe we will have our time again.”

Paul could feel her. “I wanted to die for a long time, and it came out as anger and disregard for others.  I was not a nice fellow.  My unhappiness was the major demise of the band.”

“I hated that, I tried to get through to you but you were terribly resistant.  I loved that you brought me here.  I adore it here.  I loved it when you and the family came; it made me feel I belonged.  Thank you for sharing this place with me.” She drew up and Paul reached out wildly.

“No, I don’t want you to go.  Stay with me, please.”

A sad smile filled her face, “We attempted that once before.  But what you don’t seem to understand is that I never left you.  I couldn’t.”

“Ivonne!” Paul said with a cry, and she turned, her dark hair moving in slow motion.  “I feel so alone.”

“I know, but I can tell you something that might help.” She looked down, then back to his tear filled eyes.  “She is well, well and whole.  She is young and beautiful and is the head of our animal clinic.  She knew me when I stopped to see her.”

Paul froze. “You’ve seen Lin?”

“Yes, and she wanted me to tell you she is happy and trying to understand her new existence.  We are always with you.  This time I was the lucky one.  I needed you to know you have no reason to feel guilty; you were everything to me and I left this plain knowing I was loved.  No one can ask for anything more then that.  Be happy, Paul.”

Linda Cooper lives in Centennial, Colorado, and has for 18 years with her husband, two teen-age children, two cats and two dogs.  She works at the local high school, and loves hockey and music.  She first began writing in high school, sharing the duties with a good friend.  After several years in college, she moved to London with three friends and lived in a small flat in the West End, working, traveling and even having the privilege of meeting John Lennon at a book signing promotion.  Her stories took a hiatus for many years until about a year ago, when she found several websites with fan fiction and thought she would give it a go.  She hopes everyone finds them fun.

Tell Linda Cooper what you thought of her story!