Mary was in the back garden, hanging the laundry on the clothesline; John emerged from the house and hurried to her. He was ashen and shaking, and there was blood on the front of his shirt. Mary dropped the jeans she was holding into the basket and asked him what was wrong.

"Where's Julia?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"She's in the vegetable patch, picking beans," replied Mary. "Why? John, honey, what's wrong?"

"Summat's happened," he said softly, "An' I dunno how t' tell her."

"What is it? Tell me, love, you're scaring me."

John looked in the direction of the vegetable patch. His daughter was kneeling there beside a basket of beans, searching for more amongst the plants. The sun was lighting her long, blonde hair with almost silver highlights and she looked completely happy. John sighed and turned back to Mary, whose warm, brown eyes were wide with alarm.

"It's her cat," John said softly. "He's been struck by a car in th' lane in front of th' house."

"Oh, John," breathed Mary, tears springing to her eyes, "What are we going to tell her? Is he--"

"Th' woman who hit him was so upset," he told her. "She kept apologizin', but there was nothin' t' be done for it. He's gone, Mary. He died in me hands. I went out t' see what th' noise was; I'd heard th' brakes, an' this woman was standin' in th' lane crying for help. I opened th' gate an' went out t' see if I could help, an' th' cat was there, tryin' t' get up an' come home. I think his back was broken, cos he couldn't get to his feet. I told the woman t' shurrup an' just leave; there was nothin' she could do, she'd done enough."

"Oh, John--"

"I know, I know; I apologized for that, it was just that I wasn't thinkin' straight, with all th' hysterics she was goin' through, an' th' fuckin' cat wailin' as it was. Anyroad, I picked him up and held him in me arms, an' I was gonna get him inta th' car an' take him t' the vetrinary, y'know, but then he suddenly stiffened up an' kinda shivered all over, an' he just went limp. I knew he was gone, an' I apologized t' th' poor woman an' told her it was all right, she should just go. She got back in her car an' I put him behind th' shrubbery by th' front steps."

Mary took him into her arms and kissed his neck. He was still trembling, and he held onto her tightly.

"What're we gonna tell her, Mary? Could I just get rid of him and pretend I don't know what's become of him?"

"We can't do that," Mary said, releasing him. "I'll try to think of how to tell her. You go change your shirt, love. You're covered in blood."

John went back into the house to change. He got undressed and into the shower; there was blood on his stomach, and he soaped it away, watching the pinkish foam run down the drain in rivulets.

He thought of what had happened--he could not forget how the animal had felt as it thrashed and shivered in his hands, and the terrible weight when the life force fled the small body and left it limp in his arms.

He remembered the night he had brought the kitten home. Mary and Julia were at Mimi's; it was right after John had been unfaithful to Mary on Julia's fourth birthday. The kitten had cried half the night, and finally John had taken it out of the box and let the little thing sleep pressed against him in the bed. He thought of how its contented purr had comforted him, and of Julia's face the first time she'd seen it. He remembered the many times the cat had gotten underfoot when he was walking through the house at night, and how he'd sworn at it, and how many evenings it had lain in his lap purring as he absently scratched its ears. He remembered looking in at Julia the night before and seeing the cat curled against the backs of her knees. How the hell, he wondered, am I ever going to tell her that the pet she's loved for more than half her life is gone?

Sighing, he turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. He dried himself off and pulled his jeans back on, toweling his hair as he went to the bedroom for a clean shirt. On his way back out, he grabbed the bloody shirt from the bathroom floor and threw it away in the kitchen rubbish bin so that Julia wouldn't see it.

When John got back outside, Mary was kneeling beside Julia in the garden. Little George was playing in the sandbox with his toy trucks, and baby Emily was sleeping in her pram by the back door. The cover to the sandbox was leaning against a small apple tree. Won't need that anymore, John thought as he passed it.

"How are me gurrls?" he called as he approached them. Julia looked up, smiling happily. His heart sank; Mary hadn't told her yet, that much was obvious. He fervently hoped that she would not leave it to him.

"Fine," replied Julia. She pointed to the basket. "Look how many beans I found," she added. "Mummy says we can have some for supper tonight, and she's gonna let me cook them. Isn't that neat, Daddy?"

"Very," he agreed. "I'm lookin' forward to it." He turned to Mary. "Cn' I talk t' ye in th' kitchen for a bit, darlin'?" he asked.

Mary stood up. "I'll be back in a few minutes, baby," she told Julia. "Keep an eye on your brother, won't you?"

"Sure, Mummy," she said, and she went back to her bean picking.

"Have ye thought of what we're gonna tell her?" asked John as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Well, we can't wait till she starts asking questions," Mary said. She picked up her empty laundry basket and John opened the kitchen door for her. "If she finds out we knew and kept it from her, she'll never forgive us. I just don't know how to bring it up. I suppose the best way is just to come right out and tell her we have to talk to her. I don't know what else we can do."

"I s'pose yer right," he admitted, "Much as I'm dreadin' it, we may as well do that. Let's at least wait till George goes down for his nap, though, okay?"

"That's probably be the best way," Mary agreed. "How does he look? Cressie, I mean. She's going to want to see him."

"I hadn't thought o' that," he said, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep drag. "That's bloody awful, love. He's probably stiffenin' up, like, and there's blood comin' outta his nose an' mouth."

"Where did you put him, in the shrubbery, did you say?"

"Yeah, why? What're ye gonna do?"

"I'm going to see if I can make him a little more presentable," she replied. "You can get the children's lunch and put George down for his nap, and I'll take care of Cressie."

John felt relieved at that; he definitely had the long end of the stick in this instance.

"Ye've got yerself a deal, darlin'," he said.

***

Mary took some rubber gloves, a warm, soapy rag, and a box outside with her. The cat did not look good, and he was, indeed, becoming stiff.  She washed the poor thing’s face free of blood, closed his eyes, and managed to fold him into a more or less natural looking position in the box.

She then put the box back behind the shrubbery and went back into the house.

"Did ye make out okay, darlin'?" asked John when she came back into the kitchen.

"Yes, everything is much better," replied Mary, stripping the gloves off and dropping them into the rubbish bin along with the rag. She washed her hands came back to the table; John pulled her down into his lap and the two of them watched the kids eat their sandwiches. The baby was beginning to fuss, and Mary got up and went to get her.  She was in the middle of nursing Emily when George started nodding off over his lunch.

"Take him and put him to bed, John," said Mary.

He sighed and got to his feet. Here we go, he thought. He didn't hurry.

When John returned, Mary was asking Julia if she remembered when one of her friends from school had lost her dog the previous summer.

"Yeah," Julia replied. "That was sad. He was really sick for a long time, though, so Daddy said that it was better that way, cos at least Sammy didn't have to suffer anymore."

"That's right," Mary told her. "Sometimes when something bad happens and someone or something gets very sick or badly hurt in an accident, dying can be a good thing, because after that there isn't any more pain."

Julia nodded, looking thoughtful. "Mummy," she said suddenly, "Why are you talking about Sammy?" A look of fear came into her eyes that made John's heart sink. He sat down and did not say anything, but he took out a cigarette. His hands were shaking

Noting this, Julia addressed him. "What's the matter, Daddy?" she asked, beginning to sound really worried. "Is somebody we know going to die?"

"Don't be soft," said John, avoiding her eyes. "It's nothin' like that; everyone is just fine; I don't know one single person who is even sick."

"Well, why do you look like that?" Julia wanted to know. "Something's wrong."

"You're right," Mary told her. "Something is wrong. Baby, something happened this morning, but not to any of the people we know."

"Well," Julia said, "Then who--oh, Mummy," she went on, her voice escalating, "Not Cressie, I haven't seen him all morning, and I was wondering where he was! Is it him?"

Mary shifted Emily to her shoulder and nodded gently. "Yes, baby, I'm afraid there was an accident."

Julia looked to her father. He cringed inwardly but managed to keep his face calm. The only thing to betray his emotion was the trembling of his fingers as he lifted the cigarette to his lips.

"Daddy," Julia said, "Is he hurt bad?"

John swallowed and crushed his cigarette out. "No," he told her. "He's not in pain anymore."

Julia sat there in stunned silence as the meaning of what her father had said sank in. He watched in dismay as her face crumpled and she burst into tears in a way she hadn't done since he'd left Mimi's on the day he had given her the kitten. He stood up and went to her, lifting her from her chair and sitting in it himself. He gathered her close and she buried her face in his shirt and just cried while he gently rocked her, looking at Mary helplessly. She told him she would be right back and took Emily to change her and put her down for her afternoon nap.

John whispered that everything would be all right into his daughter's soft, blonde hair. She lifted her tear-streaked face and said at last, "Daddy, where is he?"

"Well, yer mum knows more about such things," he told her, "But I s'pose he's with what ye'd call God."

"No, I know that, I mean where is his--" her voice hitched and she struggled for control. "I mean where's his body."

"Oh, sorry," he replied. "He's outside by the front steps, in the shrubbery."

Julia sighed and laid her cheek against his chest, then Mary came back into the kitchen.

How is she? she mouthed to John. He nodded to signify that the little girl was doing all right.

Julia sat up and looked into John's face. "Daddy," she said, "I wanna see him. Can I?"

"Sure, baby," Mary told her. "You stay here with Daddy, and I'll go get him."

Julia took a deep breath and let it out in a long, shuddering sigh, wrapping her arms around John's neck. "I'm gonna miss him," she said in a small voice. "I loved him, Daddy."

"I know ye did, baby," he whispered, kissing her hair. "I'm gonna miss him, too."

***

John and Paul stood toe to toe in John's basement recording studio, each one unwilling to relent. They were breathing hard, facing off like a pair of bulls pawing at the ground.

"I think I'm beginnin' to remember why we stopped doin' this in the first place," George said with a heavy sigh. "C'mon, lads, if neither o' ya will give over, just call it a draw and let that be the end of it." He set his guitar aside and smiled happily. "I won't let it ruin my day in any case," he went on. "I had a great night."

Exchanging a final dark glare, the two friends turned away from each other and took seats on opposite sides of the room.

"Did ye?" John said, sitting beside George and taking out a cigarette. "An' why would that be, pray tell, Mr. Harrison? Get yerself a little, didja?" He leered at him suggestively. "Have yerself a particularly tasty shag? Or maybe I should say slag."

"Bugger off, John," replied George mildly. "It wasn't like that. This was a nice girl, I think she could mean somethin' to me. I've been seein' her for a while, but she's always made me leave before, an' last night she didn't."

"Really--well, what is this paragon's name, if I might ask?" John wanted to know.

George leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his neck and looking up at the ceiling.

"It's Olivia," he replied, "And I think she just might be the one I've been waitin' for all me life."

"You're really serious, aren't you," said Paul, getting himself a beer. "I haven't seen you like this for a long time, not since--"

"Ya gonna ask her to marry ya?" Ringo wanted to know. He had been listening quietly and had had little to say all afternoon. It seemed to John that there was something on the drummer's mind, and he made a mental note to talk to him privately later.

George stunned them all by replying that he just might.

***

After the session was over, John quietly asked Ringo to hang around for a few minutes. "I've summat I wanna talk t'ye about," he told him.

Once the others had gone, the two of them sat at the bar and John poured them each a drink.

"What's up, John?" Ringo asked. "Is there a problem?"

"You tell me, son," John replied. "Ye've been lookin' decidedly pensive these last few days. I know ye well enough t' know when summat's botherin' ye."

"Ya know me, John," his friend replied, managing a weak smile. "It's not worry, it's just me face."

"It's more than that, an' ye know I'm right. Don't fuck with me, Ritch. I know ye too well, an' McCartney's got me halfway pissed t' begin with. C'mon, son, out with it."

Ringo hesitated.

"C'mon," John prodded again. He knocked his drink back and poured another, then shoved Ringo's glass closer to him. "Drink that an' let's have it, I don't have all day. Spill it!"

Swallowing the bourbon in one gulp, Ringo winced and looked into John's expectant face.

"Pour me another, Johnny," he said softly. "This is big."

John tipped his head back and regarded his friend down his nose, eyebrows raised. He poured another drink and Ringo downed it. He slid the glass towards John again.

"Another," he said.

John snorted. "Here ye go, Ritch," he said, "Take th' fuckin' bottle. Have a couple o' good pulls an' tell me what this is all about. Ye got me really wonderin' now."

Ringo upended the bottle and swallowed what to John seemed to be quite an admirable amount. He emitted a long, low whistle and grabbed the bottle back.

"Alright, enough, don't be gettin' paralytic, Mo'll have me head, an' Mary won't be too overjoyed either if I let ye leave here in yer car in such a condition. Bloody hell, Ritch, what th' fuck's th' problem? No more stallin'. Out with it."

Ringo folded his arms on the bar and dropped his head onto them.

"Ah, John," he groaned, his voice muffled by his arms. "I think I'm losin' her. I think me wife is seein' someone else."

John was stunned. "Yer not serious," he said. "What makes ye think that?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Ye gotta be wrong. She fuckin' loves ye, man, she wouldn't do it."

Ringo lifted his head and met John's eyes. There were tears running down his face, and John realized that although he'd often joked about his friend's morose expression, he had never seen him look as miserable as this in all the years he'd known him.

"She is, John," Ringo said softly. "She's gotta be. It would explain everything."

"Gimmee a 'such as', Ritchie," John prompted. "What does it explain, exactly?"

"She got this phone call th' other night," Ringo said thickly, "It was a man, an' she told 'im she couldn't talk. Later I came inta th' bedroom an' she was on th' phone...as soon as she saw me, she clammed right up an' told whoever it was that she hadda go." He took a deep breath and sighed.

"Gimmee 'nother drink, John," he slurred, reaching for the bottle. "Please, this's hard 'nough s' it is. C'mon, give t'over."

Against his better judgement, John handed the bottle back. Ringo seized it and guzzled another three inches.

"Whist, man, give that back," John cried, horrified. "I told ye, yer wife'll have me head! Yer gonna kill yerself." He grabbed the bottle back and held it up, looking at it in dismay. "Christ, Ritch," he muttered, "Ye'll be staggerin' blind."

"Nah," Ringo said, lunging for the bottle again, but John held it out of his reach and shook his head.  "C'mon, 'm nosso drunk," Ringo slurred softly, "Jus' a li'l cabbaged's all..."

"Not by half; yer done in, son," John told him. "Now, what else has she been doin' that makes ye think she's been gettin' it on th' side?"

Ringo winced. "She's done t' b'fore, 'member her n' George-- 'sides, she's not gettin' it from me," he said mournfully. "Ev'ry time I try anythin' with 'er, she says she's gotta headache, or she's too knackered, or she jus' don' feel like it." The drummer was slipping fast, and John could see that he was fighting for consciousness and losing the battle.

"Maybe she's just not feelin' well, as she says," John offered.

"THEN WHA' 'BOUT THOSE FUCKIN' PHONE CALLS?" Ringo replied in something between a roar and a wail. He dropped his head onto the bar again and it landed with a sickening thud; his arms were not there to cushion it; they were instead hanging loosely at his sides.

"There ye go," said John. Ringo snored in reply. Sighing, John got up and lifted the drummer, carrying him to the couch and lying him down gently. He grabbed the afghan from the back of the couch and spread it over his sleeping friend, then saluted him silently and went upstairs.

***

"Where's Ritchie?" Mary asked when John came back upstairs. "I didn't see him leave."

"He's down in th' cellar," John replied. "Sleepin' one off."

"Pardon?" Mary said. "What do you mean? You don't seem--"

"I'm not, but he sure is. Listen, Mary, I hafta ask you summat about Maureen. Let's go inta th' sittin' room an' have a talk."

***

"So, he's goin' through all this for nothin'," John said, shaking his head in amazement. "That's all there is to it?"

"Yes, she just didn't want to tell him until she was sure everything was all right, especially since she miscarried the last two," Mary replied. "She was trying to keep him from worrying."

"Yeah, well that didn't work out too well, love," John said, putting his arm around Mary's shoulders. "Th' poor bloke is beside himself. Ye know what happened before with George; he thinks there's someone else now.He's convinced that he's losin' her."

"Maureen is going to feel terrible when she finds out," Mary told him. "I think that it's something they'll probably be able to laugh about later, though."

"I can't wait t' tell him," John said gleefully. "This is great. Ye better go tell Mo that he won't be home for a while, though. She'll be expectin' him by now, an' it wouldn't do t' let her get all upset wonderin' where he is in her present delicate condition. A baby," he added, shaking his head and smiling. "That was somethin' our Ritchie never saw comin'!"

***

"C'mon, Lennon, what's wrong with ya, yer wife don't let ya get high no more? Everybody's doin' this, give it a try, don't tell me yer whipped. Not you," said Keith Richards. He was sitting in on one of John's sessions. The two of them hadn't seen one another in a couple of years. John was stung by the accusation.

"Shurrup, Keith, nobody fuckin' tells me what t' do, an' ye know it. I stopped all that cos I wanted to. Nobody told me nothin', nobody controls me. Say anythin' like that again an' I'll cripple ye, so help me," John said. There was a dangerous edge in his voice, and his eyes narrowed.

"Have a snort, then, an' show us yer still th' same as ya always were," Keith coaxed. "Prove it."

John hesitated briefly, then snatched the straw from Keith's hand and bent over the mirror, inhaling deeply. He raised his head and regarded the other men defiantly.

"Satisfied?" he asked. "Or would ye like t' see some other evidence that I'm still th' same as I ever was? Now, let's get back t' work."

"Yeah, okay. Ya proved yer point. It's good, though, innit?"

John grunted a wordless reply and picked his guitar up again, but he had to admit that after a few minutes the warmth in his nose and the tingling that was beginning at the base of his brain was welcome as an old friend. He wondered why he had ever stopped; surely just a little something every now and again wouldn't hurt him, and he was a grown man. He could handle it. He grinned despite himself.

"Yeah," he said. "It is...what th' fuck was that?" He was beginning to feel very good indeed.

"Heroin," replied Keith, "Pure and uncut shit...expensive as all fuck, but well worth it if ya ask me."

John nodded and signaled the producer that they were ready to try the number again.

***

When the session ended three hours later, John snorted his third line and casually asked if Keith had any extra on him that he could take home.

"Ah, ya liked it, did ya?" asked his friend.

"Yeah, it's all right," John replied. "I wouldn't wanna do it all th' time, but I could go for a bit now an' then."

"Hey, Terry," Keith called, "Got any extra bags? John wants to take some home for later."

"Yeah, sure," replied the piano player, "Hang on, I've got some extras. How much do ya want, John? Will a bundle do ya?"

John looked at him curiously. "How much is that?" he asked.

"Ten bags, ten doses," replied Keith. "And if ya think snortin's good, ya should try mainlining. I could show ya how."

"Nah, I hate fuckin' needles," John told him. "I'll stick t' me nose, thanks." He turned to the piano player again. "Yeah," he said. "Ten bags'd be great. Give 'em here." He took the small stack of packets and dropped them into his jacket pocket. "Thanks," he added.

***

"John, honey, what's wrong? You don't seem quite like yourself tonight," said Mary after supper. "Did something happen at the studio?"

"What? No! What d'ye mean?" he asked defensively. "Nothin' happened. Why're ye always askin' me stuff like that, it's bloody annoyin'."

Mary stared at him, and he felt immediate regret when he saw the hurt in her eyes. He looked away. "S' nothin'," he said. "It was a tough session, is all. We had t' keep doin' stuff over. I'm just knackered, that's all. Sorry, love."

"It's all right," she replied, "I didn't mean to upset you. I'll try not to ask you things like that if it bothers you."

She went back into the kitchen and John watched after her. "Fuck," he muttered, feeling guilty for lying to her and sick over hurting her feelings. He looked toward his jacket, which he'd tossed over the piano bench when he'd come in. "Fuck," he said again, and he hauled himself to his feet and crossed the room. He picked up the jacket and dipped his hand into the pocket; the little stack of paper packets were there--he could feel them, encircled with a small elastic band--and he pulled them out and stuffed them into the pocket of his jeans. Feeling like a little boy escaping the kitchen with a pocketful of stolen cookies, he went down the hall to the bathroom, refusing to look into the kitchen as he passed the door.

Once he was in the bathroom, he carefully locked the door. He withdrew the little stack of packets and slipped one from the pile. He set the rest aside and his fingers shook as he tore into the paper. He looked around for something to dump the powder out onto. There was nothing that he could see, so he poured it onto the counter beside the sink. Lacking a straw, he pulled a banknote from his pocket and rolled it tightly. His hands trembling, he bent his head and inhaled the little pile of powder, then stood up and opened the toilet lid. He flushed the paper away and stuffed the rolled up note and the rest of the packets into the pocket of his jeans.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection and noticed a bit of powder under his nose.

"Shit," he muttered, "That was close." He turned on the water and splashed a bit onto his face, dried off, and peered at himself again. Satisfied that there was no visible evidence of what he had done, he turned out the light and went back to the living room.

***

"I'm finished, and the kids are all fine for the rest of the night," Mary said from the doorway an hour later. "I don't mean to disturb you, but if you're tired, I thought maybe you'd like to turn in early."

"Ah, yer not disturbin' me, love," he said gently. He was feeling very good just now, so good that he didn't even feel guilty anymore. "Come on in here an' sit with me, whydontcher."

Mary smiled and went to him. He pulled her into his lap and she laid her head on his shoulder.

"There, now, ain't this nice?" he asked. He was pleasantly buzzed, he wondered again why he had ever stopped doing things like this. It was a rhetorical question, of course. He knew very well that it was because of Mary. She disapproved of drugs in general, and once he had begun his relationship with her he had phased out and stopped using most of them, limiting himself to a bit of pot and a couple of drinks now and then. He knew that she would be horrified if she knew he had even tried heroin. There's no sense in upsetting her, he thought. She'd never understand, and besides. It's not really a big deal. I won't let it be a big deal.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," she told him, putting her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.

"Thanks," he replied, "Me too. I dint mean t' hurt yer feelin's, Mary. I'd had a rough day, is all. I shouldn't've taken it out on--"

"Shhh," she whispered, touching his lips with her index finger. "It's all right. I understand. Maybe I can do something to help you get rid of some of that nasty tension."

"Maybe ye could at that," he said, pushing her back onto the couch beside him. "Let's find out."

"Not here," she whispered. "Let's go to bed."

Something inside of John snapped when she said 'not here'.

"No waitin'," he told her. "Don't tease me. I want ye here and now."

"I'm not trying to tease you, baby, I only thought--"

He mounted her, pressing her down with the weight of his body. "No thinkin'," he said in a harsh whisper. His head was spinning slightly, and he felt a rush of pleasure in his power over her. It flashed through his mind that she might resist, and he pinned her arms above her head and covered her mouth with his to stop her from further speech. Once she relaxed and began to respond, he paused to unfasten his jeans. He pushed them down and pulled her skirt up. He pulled her underwear down and tore them away. She made a small sound of protest and he looked down into her face. His eyes were smoldering with passion, and something more. Mary found herself feeling slightly threatened.

"John." she whispered, "What's wrong with you?"

His eyes narrowed and his voice was a little cold when he answered. "Nothin'. Don't tell me yer gonna start that again."

"No, of course not, but--"

"But me no buts, woman," he said. His eyes burned with hunger now, and he bent his head to claim her mouth again. He forced his knee between her thighs and when he found a slight resistance, he reached down and spread her legs forcefully with his hands. "I want ye now," he growled.

His demanding insistence excited Mary and she did not resist any further. This was a game they had often played, and she had no way of knowing that he was not just playing now. Besides, she needed him as badly as he needed her. His mouth was on hers now, his tongue caressing hers insistently, his hardness nudging against her opening. He raised his head and threw it back, thrusting forcefully forward, sliding deep into her immediately. He let out a satisfied groan, pulled back slowly, then pushed in deep again.

Mary looked up at him; excited by his intensity, wanting him desperately. He was magnificent in his passion, untamed and ferocious. She wrapped her legs around him and gave herself to him without reservation.

"Oh, John," she moaned, "I want you--"

He moved smoothly and tirelessly. "Yer gettin' me, gurrl," he said in a silky growl, "Ye've fuckin' got me." He was looking down at her and his eyes were blazing. Mary had to force herself to hold his gaze. He was achingly beautiful. He slammed into her again and again; the only sounds were the slapping of flesh against flesh and the harsh sounds of labored breathing tempered with the sweetness of the whispers and moans their excitement pulled from them.

At last Mary felt herself losing her tenuous hold on conscious thought. Her body was being relentlessly pulled along with his to the point of no return. John was thrusting madly now, as though his very life depended upon it.

"Are ye ready, love?" he managed to gasp. His eyes were wide and he was obviously struggling to keep control. "please--say--yes," he groaned, slamming deeply into her with every word.

"Yessss--" she cried, "God, yes!"

He gave up trying to hold back, screaming her name--he almost lost consciousness, the feeling was so powerful when he came-- and Mary arched against him, her body gripping him tightly as he filled her completely.

"Jesus, so good," he groaned. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever felt anything this good before.

His climax seemed to last forever, the pleasure flooding his body relentlessly, refusing to fade. Finally he was finished, and he collapsed onto Mary. She was whispering his name, kissing his neck, her face wet with tears.

"Whist, gurrl, why're ye cryin'?" he asked, becoming alarmed. "Have I hurt ye? I got a little carried away--"

"No, baby, it's okay, it's not you," she whispered. "There's nothing wrong. It was just so...overwhelming. It was beautiful. You were wonderful."

He kissed her, feeling very guilty. He made himself smile and told her that she was the wonderful one.

They got up and went to bed, and long after Mary had fallen asleep, John lay awake thinking about what he had done. It amazed him that she would accept his forcing himself upon her the way he had without condemning him.

Thinking back on it, it almost seemed as though he had raped her. That was unforgivable in light of her past. The only man Mary had ever been with before him, John knew, had raped her. How could she have not only allowed him to force himself upon her, but then tell him that it had been wonderful? He knew the answer, of course. She loved him unconditionally and without reservation. Knowing the depth of her love for and trust in him, he was still keeping something from her, and he felt terrible about that. Well, he told himself, it's better than hurting her with the truth. I just have to keep it from getting out of control. In fact, he promised himself, as soon as those packets are gone, I won't do it any more. Then there will be no reason to lie to her or to hide anything.

***

"What're ya doin', John?" asked Ringo. He'd come into the bathroom at the studio and found John snorting a thick line. "What's that?"

"Just some stuff I got from one o' th' sessions players," he replied. "Takes th' edge off, like."

Ringo frowned. "What kinda stuff?" he wanted to know, "And how long have ya been doin' it? Is it any good?"

"Don't be soft," replied John. "O' course it's good; why th' fuck else'd I be doin' it?" He opened the door and looked down the hallway; satisfied that they were alone, he closed the door and turned back to Ringo. "It's heroin, Ritch, an' it's pretty intense. I've been doin' it for a couple weeks. I'm gonna stop as soon as I'm done with th' album. I just need it now cos it helps me focus on me work."

"Does Mary know?"

"No, an' yer not gonna tell her--don't think o' tellin Mo, either. She'd be spillin' it t' Mary before ye'd finished gettin' th' words out."

"Yeah, okay, but what's it like?"

"It's intense, like I said. Wanna try a little?"

The drummer hesitated. "I guess not," he said. "I don't think I'd better. I don't think you oughta be doin' it either, John."

Don't fuckin' tell me what t' do, Ritch," replied John. "I've got it under control. Ye just keep yer gob shut about it; I'll be fine."

Ringo watched John leave the room and head down the hall, and he fervently hoped that his friend was right.

***

"John, what the hell is wrong with you?" asked Paul. "You've been out of it all afternoon. Are you sick or somethin'?"

"Nah, I'm fine. Let's try it again, I'll get it right."

"Look at ya," Paul insisted. "You're like a fuckin' zombie."

"Yer still snortin' that stuff, aren't ya, John," said Ringo; it wasn't a question.  John shot the drummer a poisonous look.

"Can't be that," Paul replied, "He'd be bouncin' off the walls, if he was back at that again."

Ringo avoided John's eyes. "It's not speed," he said. "It's junk." He glanced guiltily at John.  "Sorry, man. "I haven't told anyone else, but ya can't just keep this up. Yer work's sufferin'. It's affectin' th' rest of us, too. We hafta spend extra time here because yer fuckin' up...it's not fair t' the rest of us, John."

"I guess I know who me fuckin' friends are, don't I, Ritchie," said John acidly. "Thanks for th' stab in th' fuckin' back. I'm outta here--always a pleasure, lads."

Paul grabbed John by the arm as he started to leave. "John, think!" he said sharply. "This is your house. Don't you even know where you are?"

John shook him off. "Gerroff, Paulie," he snarled. "Th' rest o' you lot do things, too. What gives ye th' right t' act so superior? I've never seen any o' th' lot o' ye turn a fuckin' joint down, have I?"

"That's different, John," George told him. "Nobody ever died from a joint. That stuff'll kill ya. How long have ya been doin' it?"

Before John could answer, Paul asked, "You're not shootin' up, are ya, John?"

"No, 'course not," replied John, sinking into a chair. "Just snortin' it, that's all. Ye think I don't know what I'm doin'?"

"John, listen," Paul went on, "Ya gotta quit that stuff. Think of Mary. Think of your kids." he paused, then added, "Mary doesn't know, does she?"

John looked up, suddenly alarmed. "No," he replied firmly, "An' yer not tellin' her.None o' ye--an' none o' ye better tell yer birds, either, else they'll be blabbin' t' Mary."

"So what, Johnny?" asked Paul casually. "Scared of her, are ya?"

John was out of his chair in a flash, and suddenly Paul found himself against the wall with John's hand at his throat.

"Shurrup, Macca," he hissed, his voice cold as steel. "Nobody tells me what t' do, that includes me wife--an' that includes th' rest o' ye as well." He drew his fist back, and George caught hold of his wrist.

"John," he said softly, "No. Ya don't know what yer doin'. Let him go."

John stared at the guitarist as though he'd never seen him before. "George?" he said, "What th' hell are ye doin', son? Let go o' me fuckin' arm, an' I mean now!"

"No," George replied calmly. "John, no."

John tensed, then he slumped and allowed George to lead him back to his chair. He sat down heavily and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. Paul, George, and Ringo stood around him, looking at each other helplessly. The intercom light flashed and the buzzer sounded. Paul pressed the button.

"Yeah, Mary, it's Paul here, what's up?" he asked.

"Is John busy? He has a phone call."

George and Ringo unconsciously moved protectively closer to John, who had not moved.

"Uh, he's in the loo, Mary," Paul replied.

"Oh...I'll tell them he'll call them back, then." Mary hesitated. "Paul," she said, "Have you noticed anything different about him lately?"

"Different? How d'ya mean?" asked Paul.

"Well, he's in the loo a lot, and he seems moody. He's either really happy--giddy, almost--or he's really depressed. He's been more extreme than I've ever seen him. I tried to get him to talk to me, but he won't, and he gets mad at me if I try. I'm that worried about him, Paul. He's said nothing to the rest of you?"

"I'll try to talk to him, Mary. I promise," Paul said. "Look, I gotta get back to work, talk to ya later, okay?"

"All right, goodbye," she replied softly, "And thank you, Paul."

After he'd hung up the phone, Paul turned to John.

"There, ya see that?" he asked. "Ya've got Mary worried sick, an' she's scared to even talk to ya about it. This has gotta stop, John."

John raised his head slowly and looked into the worried faces of his friends. There were tears in his eyes and his throat was tight; he knew that they were right, but he also felt as though they had him backed into a corner, and that was something he just could not allow. He was sorry that Mary was worried, and he felt badly about lying to her, but it irritated him to be surrounded by people who kept reminding him of his failings and his weaknesses. Sure, they were worried about him, but why couldn't they mind their own business? Why was everybody always criticizing every little thing he did and every little thing he said? Why did they always have to push him into a corner like this and leave him feeling as though he had no alternative but to fight back? What business of theirs was it what he did anyhow?

"John, did ya hear me? I said this has gotta stop," Paul repeated, shaking John's shoulder gently. That did it. The remorse was gone, replaced by rapidly rising anger.

"Right, that's it," John said quietly. "I've had enough. Pack up yer stuff an' get th' fuck outta here. I'll be fucked if I'll let ye stand here in me own house tellin' me what I 'hafta' do. I don't have a problem. I'm fine, I'm handlin' it, an' I c'n stop whenever th' fuck I want!"

He sprang to his feet and pushed his way roughly between Paul and George. "Gerrouta me way," he growled. "Yer suffocatin' me! What th' hell's wrong with th' lot o' ye? Sod off, yer all a bunch o' bleedin' hypocrites--none of ye're any better 'n I am. Yer all conspirin' against me. Th' lot of ye make me fuckin' sick!"

They all just stood there watching him. John was trembling all over with rage. "Not one o' ye'd dare t' stand up against me on yer own," he said venomously. "Ye've gotta get together in a pack t' do it. Well, I won't have it, an' certainly not in me own house. Bugger that, get out an' don't any o' ye come back until ye cn' remember where yer loyalty's s'posed t' lie."

John surveyed his friends imperiously. "I mean it," he said with a gesture of dismissal. "Get the fuck out."

Turning on his heel, he stalked away and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

He sat on the lid of the toilet. He could hear the sounds of his friends packing up their equipment as they prepared to leave.

Well, he thought, let them go. He'd manage just fine on his own.

"I don't need any of ye," he said softly. His fingers trembled as he tore two of the little packets open and spilled the beige powder onto the counter. He reached into his pocket and fished out the piece of soda straw he now carried. His vision blurred as he stared at the little pile of powder in front of him. "Fuck 'em all," he whispered, bending his head to inhale deeply.

***

"John," Mary said later that night, "Please tell me what in hell is wrong with you! You haven't been yourself for months. Sometimes I feel as though I don't even know who you are anymore. I know you don't want to talk about it, but we need to. You just have to tell me what it is that's making you act this way!"

John grabbed her by the shoulders and leaned close to her. His heart was racing, and he was feeling trapped and panicky. She tried to pull away, but he saw no fear in her eyes, only anger, and that infuriated him.

"Don't hold me that way!" she cried, trying to twist away from him.

"Don't fuckin' tell me what t' do!" he yelled. "I've had it with all of ye! Not one of ye understands what th' fuck I've been goin' through!"

"Daddy!" cried Julia. "What are you doing?"

He looked up and saw his daughter standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with fear.

"Go t' yer room," he told her. "This has nothin' t' do with ye."

"But, Daddy--"

"GO!" he roared, and the girl turned and fled to her room in tears. Her father had never yelled at her before, and it frightened her to see him this way.

"How could you do that?" asked Mary. "She didn't do anything wrong. John, you're acting crazy."

He stopped then, and stared at her. His eyes were blazing with fury, and he shoved her roughly away . She lost her balance and landed on the couch. That she would dare to say what she had said to him pushed him over the edge.

"Ye think I'm crazy?" he said in a low, dangerous voice. "Fuck ye, then. I'm goin' out."

"Where are you going?" she asked him, her voice trembling.

"None o' yer goddamn business," he snarled as he slammed the door behind him.

***

John got into his car and tore out of the driveway, heading for town.

He ended up at one of his old haunts near the recording studio; he hadn't been there in years. He sat in the car looking at the club for a few minutes, then took a deep breath and opened the door.

John entered the darkened room a bit hesitantly; he felt a bit out of his element. He wondered briefly what he was even doing there, then shook the thought off. He was a grown man, and he had the right to do as he pleased, he told himself. He sat down at the bar and ordered a glass of Scotch and coke.

"Hey, you're John Lennon," said an American voice from behind him.

"Yeah, last time I looked," he replied, turning around. The speaker was a stunning blonde. John felt the familiar tug in his groin. "And who might you be?" he asked, favoring the girl with an appraising once-over.

"I'm Jerilyn," she replied. "Wanna dance?"

"Sure," he said as he got to his feet. After all, it was only a dance; what could it hurt?

***

"Mmmmmm, you're a good dancer," purred Jerilyn. "I haven't seen you here before. I must never come on the right nights."

John smiled down at her. She was rubbing against him suggestively, and it was having a definite effect upon him.

"I haven't been here for a long while," he told her, "But I used to come here a lot. It hasn't changed much."

"You have, since we started dancing," she whispered. She reached down and stroked him, the pressure of her fingers causing him to swell to his full size. "Very impressive," she added. "Would you like to go someplace else?"

"Where, fr' instance?" he asked. His heart pounded and he was feeling a bit lightheaded. He was almost painfully hard and he wanted to take the girl right there on the dance floor.

"My place," she replied, her lips soft against his ear. He felt a surge of excitement in his belly and he bent his head to kiss her fiercely, pushing his tongue roughly into her mouth. She moaned and pushed herself against him; he cupped her behind and pulled her closer.

When he finally broke the kiss; he was breathing heavily. "God, I want ye," he growled.

"Then come home with me," she whispered. "Let's go now. Do you have a car?"

He nodded, alarms ringing in his head. He couldn't do this, he'd promised Mary--

"Ahhh, s'cuse me," he said, "I'll be right back."

The girl nodded and released him; John hurried to the men's room. He shut the door behind himself and leaned against it, closing his eyes. He reached into his pocket with trembling fingers and withdrew his stash. He looked at the floor beneath the doors on the toilet stalls to make sure that no one was inside. Finding himself alone, he opened three of the packets and inhaled the contents before straightening and looking at himself in the mirror.

"What're ye doin', John?" he asked himself. "Yer fuckin' up an' ye know it." He sighed and turned towards the door again, wondering how he could tell Jerilyn that he could not go home with her. Before he could reach the door, it swung open and she walked in.

"I came to see what was taking you so long," she told him. "What are you doing in here, anyway?"

"Snortin' a line," he said, laughing nervously.

"Cool," she replied, pushing up against him again. "Hey," she added, "Let's just do it right here."

John's head was beginning to buzz slightly, and the girl's fingers at his zipper had him instantly, achingly hard again. With a deep groan, he lifted her and dropped her onto the counter by the sink. He pulled her blouse up and caressed her breasts roughly--he needed release badly, and at the moment he could think of nothing else but the biological imperative his raging hardness was insisting upon. He took her mouth again, tasting the creme de menthe she'd been drinking, feeling her tongue darting between his lips and twisting sensuously around his own.

Tearing the girl's underwear away, he positioned himself to enter her...and caught sight of himself once again in the mirror.

"I'm sorry, love," he told her thickly, "I can't do this." She watched after him in dismay as he fled.

Back in his car again, John sat with his head against the steering wheel. His pulse was hammering in his ears and his mind was fogged by the drug he'd taken. After a few moments, John started the car and pulled out of the lot, heading towards the safety of home and the woman he loved.

***

"John! What's wrong?" cried Mary. He opened his eyes and wondered briefly where he was, recognizing at last that he was lying across the seat of his car in his own driveway. He looked blearily up at her.

"What're ye doin' out here, Mary?" he asked. "Where're th' kids?"

"They're all asleep." Mary told him. She was very worried. What on earth is wrong with him, she wondered. "John, honey, it's almost two in the morning."

"Is it? Guess I lost track o' time."

***

Back inside the house, John went into the bathroom and urinated. He reached into his pocket to get his dope, but there was none there. He knew he'd had more; what had he done with it? His heart hammering, he checked all of his pockets, but he found nothing. Even his straw was missing.

He hurried down the hall and past the kitchen. Mary saw him heading for the front door.

"John, where are you going?" she called.

"I forgot summat," he replied. "Be right back, love." He took the stairs two at a time and got back into the car, looking for the bags.. He was checking under the seat when he heard Mary's voice behind him.

"John," she said gently, "Is this what you were looking for?"

He spun around to face her in a mad panic. His heart was racing, he was breathing raggedly, and his eyes were wild and dark. Mary stood there calmly, and John's heart sank when he saw that she was holding out the packets and the straw.

He considered lying, but he knew it would be no use. He could see by her face that she knew, and lying would only make things worse. He looked away and whispered, "Yeah."

Mary hurried to him and put her arms around him. "Why have you been hiding this from me? Don't you know I'll always love you, no matter what?" she asked. He did not reply, and she said quietly, "Let's go inside and talk about it. I just want to understand. Let me help you. Please."

***

John and Mary sat at the kitchen table. The packets of heroin and the straw were on the table between them. John looked longingly at them.

"You really want it, don't you," Mary said gently.

"It's not that I want it, exactly," replied John. "I need it, Mary. I don't have a choice."

"How long has this been going on, baby? How long have you been struggling with this?"

He sighed heavily. "It's been a while," he admitted. "About three months, I guess. It started while I was workin' on me last album. Keith was there, an' he was doin' it...he said that I was refusin' t' try it cos I was afraid o' you. He kept sayin' it, so I finally did it just t' show 'em that I was still--"  He struggled for the right words. "That I was still me," he said at last. "That I was still a man. At first I was just doin' a bag at a time, but now I'm up t' three, cos I've built up a tolerance. Forgive me, Mary, but I fuckin' love the feelin' it gives me. I know I can't go on like this forever, though."

Mary considered his reply. "John," she said, "Do you miss being the way you were before we were together, all the drugs and the heavy drinking...all those women?"

"Ah, Mary, no, 'course not," he told her. "C'mere, gurrl."

She went to him, and he pulled her into his lap.

"Listen t'me," he said gently. "I've been happier these last ten years than I ever was before I had ye in me life. Yer th' best thing that ever happened t' me, darlin', better even than all th' money an' success...this has nothin' t' do with anythin' ye've done. It's me."

"Are you going to stop?"

He considered the question. Finally, he asked, "Do I have a choice?"

"No," Mary replied, laying her head upon his shoulder. "No, baby, I don't suppose you do. Just promise me one thing, John. Promise me that you won't lie to me any more. I know you have a problem, and you know I know. Just be honest with me, baby, please. No more hiding and lying. Promise?"

John sighed and nodded his head. "I promise," he told her. After a brief hesitation, he added, "I'm feelin' kinda sick right now, I really need a fix."

"Well," Mary told him, "Go ahead, then. Do what you need to do. Just promise me you'll put an end to this as soon as possible. I'll help you. We'll beat this thing together." She pushed the bags towards him. He hesitated briefly, then closed his hand around them. He started to get up to go into the bathroom, but Mary stopped him.

"No," she said firmly. "No more hiding. Just do it; right here, right in front of me. Be honest about it, John. I can handle that. What I can't take is the deceit."

"Mary," he said gently, "I don't want ye t' see me do this. Let me go t'another room."

"I want to see," she said firmly. "If you're going to do it, you can do it right in front of me. Why should you hide anything? It's not like I haven't seen you in a lot of more intimate situations."

"I'm ashamed o' meself," he whispered. "Please, Mary, don't watch this."

"John," she said, "I want to see. I want to understand. Please, don't hide from me anymore."

He sighed and tore three of the packets open. After he'd finished, Mary asked him to come to bed.

"It's three o'clock in the morning," she said, "The kids will be waking up in about four hours. Let's go lie down, baby. We can talk more tomorrow. Are you all right now? How often do you need to do that?"

"I'm okay till morning," he said.

***

Once he had gotten into bed, John watched Mary undress, and his mind went back to what had happened in the club earlier. He thought of the girl rubbing against him on the dance floor, and he found that his unfulfilled need was now returning. Mary got into bed beside him, and he pulled her close, taking her mouth hungrily. She responded as enthusiastically as she always did, and pressed tightly against him. He thought of how he'd put the girl on the edge of the counter and how much he'd wanted to take her then and there, and found himself almost painfully hard again.

"Baby," Mary whispered, "Yes, please--"

He could not wait; he had denied himself release and his desire was far too strong to stop now.  He pushed into her until he could go no deeper, then held himself there,breathing heavily, trying to regain control of himself. Mary writhed beneath him; his raw intensity excited her beyond all reason.

"Don't move," he told her in a tight voice. "Not until I tell ye." He needed to possess her, to take her roughly as he had been about to do to the girl at the club.  His pulse was roaring in his ears, and he could barely hold himself in check. Mary loved him like this, raw, untamed, and just barely in control of himself. She lay as still as she could, but she could not stop the trembling from the anticipation of what she knew was coming.

He took a deep breath and dragged his hips back slowly until he was almost free of her. A small moan of protest escaped Mary, and she clutched him tightly, unwilling to let him go. He looked down into her face, and the intense fire in his eyes was beautiful. She felt as though she almost had to look away when his eyes burned like this, but she could not tear her gaze from them. She waited, barely breathing, as he began to move at last with long, slow strokes that took every bit of self control he possessed. After a few minutes of this, Mary was beside herself; both of them were on the verge of exploding.

"Oh, God, baby, faster, please!" said Mary in a desperate whisper.  "Take me now!"

He nearly lost it. "Can't wait, can ye," he said in a low, sensuous growl. He was fighting for control now; it was almost more than he could bear. "Here ye go, then--" and he stopped fighting to hold back, gathering speed, slamming against her again and again until the feeling was too big for either of them to contain. He did not ask her if she was ready for him to go off; not this time, not like this. He knew she was. She was shaking, and the muscles inside of her gripped him relentlessly.

He let out a harsh, wordless groan when the feeling was too much for him to bear, pounding into her as though both their lives depended upon his finishing. Mary cried his name out, biting into his shoulder, arching violently against him, pleasure flooding her entire body and banishing all conscious thought. An explosion went off inside of John, and as he released everything he had into her welcoming softness. The aftershocks raced up his spine and blew up like fireworks in his bra! in behind his eyes. "Jesus," he breathed, gathering her close and rolling to the side, taking her with him, keeping himself still inside of her.

They covered one another's faces and necks with desperate little kisses, and he tasted tears on her cheeks. He knew that her tears had nothing to do with sadness, they were just her reaction to the intensity of what they had shared. There were tears on his own face this time as well, and he was fervently glad that he had resisted the urge to have the girl in the club and had come home instead to Mary. This was much better than it could ever be with anyone else, and he knew it.

***

When he opened his eyes in the morning, the first thing John saw was Julia sitting on the bed beside him, regarding him quietly.

"Mornin', darlin'," he said, "Summat ye need?" He had no memory of what had happened the evening before; he did not remember shouting at her.

"Are you still mad at me, Daddy?" she asked softly.

"Course I'm not. Why d'ye ask that? I could never be mad at ye. C'mere, Puss."

Julia scooted closer to him and he put his arms around her, pulling her close to him. He kissed her cheek and she giggled.

"Your whiskers are scratchin' me," she told him. "You need a shave, Daddy." she laid her head on his shoulder and sighed, glad to have him back to the way he always was. "Why did you yell at me and Mummy yesterday?"

"What? When--I wouldn't yell at ye, baby. Ye must've had a dream."

"No," she insisted. "It was real. You were holdin' Mummy an' wouldn't let her go. You said that she didn't know what you'd been going through and I asked you what was wrong, and you yelled at me. You told me to go to my room. You've never done that before. I was scared. You yelled at me loud, Daddy. You made me cry. Mummy said you didn't know what you were saying and that you didn't mean it, but it really hurt my feelings." She put her arms around him and kissed his neck. "I'm glad you feel better now, and I wanted to tell you that I was sorry I made you mad," she told him softly.

John's eyes filled with tears and he hugged her closer. He could not believe that he had done such a thing and could not remember. "Baby, I'm th' one who should be sorry. Ye didn't do anythin' wrong."

"It's okay, Daddy," replied Julia. "As long as you're not mad at me, everything's okay."

"I'm not mad at ye, baby, an' I never really was. I love ye, darlin'. Now, where's yer Mummy?"

"She's inna kitchen. George is havin' breakfast. Want me to tell her you're awake now?"

"You go ahead an' do that, love," John told her. "I'm gonna go an' take a shower, an' then I'll be out t' have some brekky meself."

***

As soon as Julia had gone, John got out of bed and fished the little bundle of packets out of his jeans. He stood looking at the bags in his hand, considering his next move. Before he had a chance to change his mind, he carried them into the bathroom and flushed them quickly down the toilet. He felt a pang of regret as they disappeared; he had a headache and an upset stomach as it was, and he knew from experience that it wasn't going to get better before it got much, much worse. He sighed and started the water running in the shower.

***

"Good morning, love," said Mary when John walked into the kitchen half an hour later. "How do you feel today?"

"Not too well, I'm afraid," he replied, stopping to ruffle George's hair before taking his seat.

The little boy smiled up at him. "Hi, Daddy," he said before going back to demolishing his pancakes. He looked as though he would need a bath by the time he was finished with his breakfast.

"What's wrong?" asked Mary, "Didn't your...medicine help?"

"Dint take it," he said. "I tossed it, actually."

She handed him his coffee and newspaper. "I'm proud of you, baby," she told him quietly. "Can you eat?"

"Don't guess I'd better," he replied. "Th' smell's makin' me a bit queasy as it is. Maybe I should go lie down again."

"Why don't you do that," Mary said. "As soon as I get Emily dressed, I'll come check on you."

John nodded and went back down the hall, taking his newspaper with him. He did look decidedly green to Mary. As soon as he had gone, she turned to Julia.

"Keep an eye on your brother, honey," she told her. "Make sure he doesn't get into any trouble. I have to go get your sister up and make a phone call. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Sure, Mummy, I can do that," the girl replied. "Is Daddy gonna be okay?"

"He'll be fine, don't worry," her mother replied.

***

Mary diapered Emily and put a fresh jumper on her, then sat in her rocker and gave the baby her breast. While she was feeding her daughter, Mary dialed Ringo's number.

"Yeah, who is this?" Ringo said when he answered.

"Ritchie, it's Mary. I was wondering if you and Mo could do me a huge favor," she told him.

"Sure, Mary, what is it? Is everything okay?"

"Well," she said, "No...but I think it will be. John's been using heroin, Ritchie."

His silence told Mary that he'd already known.

"He's stopped now, he took the last early this morning. He threw the rest away, and he's getting sick now. Could you keep the children today? It would be good practice for Maureen to have Emily around for a while, and I think it might get a little rough in a few hours."

"Yeah, sure, Mary. I'll come pick th' kids up in a bit."

"Thank you, Ritchie. You're a good friend."

"Mary?"

"Yes?"

"I knew about the problem. We all did, but John made us promise not to tell ya. I felt bad not lettin' ya know, I hope ya understand."
"I do," she replied, "It's all right. I'm sure he made you all promise not to tell your wives, too."

"He did. I would have told you eventually, though, for his sake."

"I know you would have," said Mary. "Thanks for helping me out, Ritchie. I'll have the children ready. Could they possibly stay the night? Julia doesn't have school tomorrow. I know it's a lot to ask--"

"Don't mention it," he told her. "I'll be by in a while. Bye, Mary."

"Goodbye, Ritchie, and thanks again," she said. Mary hung the phone up and shifted her daughter to her other breast. She would have to pump some milk and put it into bottles for Emily; it would mean that the drummer would have to come back later and pick up more, but she knew that he would not object or complain, and she was grateful that she and John had friends like Ringo and Maureen.

***

"John, sweetheart, are you okay?" asked Mary. She had been sitting beside the bed in her old rocking chair, watching over her sleeping husband.

"No," he said thickly, "I feel like shit. What're ye doin' here, love? Where'r th' kids? S'still light outside."

"Ritchie and Maureen have them. They're spending the night; I'm expecting him soon to pick up some more milk for Emily," Mary told him.

"Oh," John said. "Well, it's gettin' kinda bad, Mary. Could ye help me get outta bed? I need t' go t' th' loo, an' I'm not sure I cn' make it on me own." He tried to rise, but sank back with a soft groan. Mary helped him sit up, and he closed his eyes and steeled himself to stand. Leaning heavily on Mary, he walked unsteadily to the bathroom.

It was hard for Mary to get him back to the bed after he'd finished in the bathroom. Once she had him down, he sank back into the pillows. He was shaking all over, and his skin was hot; he was dripping with sweat. Mary applied a cool washcloth to his forehead and sat on the bed beside him.

"Baby," she said, "You're shivering. Do you need another quilt?"

"No," he whispered. "So hot...so fuckin' hot." He felt suddenly nauseated, and he moved to get up again.

"What is it, baby?" asked Mary.

"Sick," he whispered, and his stomach lurched. When he retched, Mary grabbed the wastebasket from beside the bed and held it in front of him. He moaned and vomited into it, unable to rise. Mary brushed his hair back from his face with the backs of her fingers and made soothing sounds as she did when one of the children was sick.

When the nausea had passed, John sank back into his pillows once more. "Sorry, love," he whispered hoarsely, "But thanks."

"It's all right, darling," she assured him. "I'm here to take care of you...I think you're very brave for doing this."

"Not brave," he whispered. "Stupid, for startin' on that crap in th' first place. I'm sorry, Mary."

His teeth were chattering, he was sweating profusely, and he was periodically shaken by tremors from head to foot. He looked almost as miserable as he felt.

"Th' worse part is that if I had one o' them bags right now, I'd do it in a minute," he whispered. His speech was slurred and his head was throbbing painfully. "God, I wish I hadn't tossed 'em...Mary, couldja call Keith an' get me just a little t' take th' edge off...please?"

"John, no. You've come this far, you can't back down now," Mary replied.

In answer John retched again, and Mary bent over him, holding the wastebasket for him. He struggled to empty his stomach, but nothing came. At last the spasms stopped and he collapsed back, breathing shallowly.

"Please, Mary. I need some," he whispered. "Call someone, get me just a little, I can't take this any more. Just one bag, I won't take the whole thing, just enough t' stop th' pain. Ye don't know how bad it hurts." He grabbed her hand and held it tightly. "Every muscle in me body is crampin' up, Mary, I feel like I'm gonna die, please!" He began to choke, and a pint or more of water gushed out of his mouth; Mary just managed to catch it in the wastebasket. He struggled to bring up more, but was unsuccessful. Panting, he fell back again and closed his eyes. "Please," he moaned.

Mary looked into his face through tear-blurred eyes. If she could, she would have gladly taken the pain to spare him, but there was no other way.

"No, baby," she said quietly. "You have to do this."

"Fuckin' bitch," he snarled, and he was seized by another wave of tremors. His legs jerked and bounced on the bed, and his spine went into a painful spasm. He was in agony; and a harsh cry escaped him. "GODDAM FUCKIN' BITCH!" he screamed. His head snapped back and his eyes rolled up so that only the white showed, and he screamed again. He mercifully passed out.

While he was unconscious, Mary went to the closet and got a handful of John's ties. He never wore them anymore, but had never discarded them. After undressing him, rolling him over and spreading some plastic trash bags over the bed and covering them with a sheet, she turned him onto his back, then she tied his wrists and ankles to the bedposts. He was getting out of control, and Mary knew that the worst was yet to come. She had seen this happen to her father before he had drunk himself to death; he had gotten just the way John was now when he had become ill and could not get out to get any of the drugs and liquor he had subsisted upon. Her uncle had come to stay and care for him through the illness, so she knew what to do and what to expect. She sat back down in her chair and waited; she knew John would be furious when he woke up and found that she had tied him up.

***

John fought his way back to consciousness; he could not move. He opened his eyes and tried to bring his hand down, but he could not pull it free. It seemed to be caught in the sheet. He tried to use his other hand to free it and found that he could not move that one either.

"Mary!" he cried. "Where are ye? Help me, I can't move! What's happenin'?" A cold worm of fear twisted in his belly, and he thrashed ineffectually. His legs would not move, either! He tipped his head back to look at his hand...he was tied down!

"MARY!" he screamed, "WHERE ARE YE?"

"I'm here, baby, right here," she said.

He turned his head towards her. His eyes were wild and he was breathing heavily. "Untie me," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "Why'd ye do this t' me?"

"I don't want you to hurt me," she said softly. "I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Clever gurrl," he said. "But I'm not gonna do anythin' like that...untie me."

Mary shook her head. "No," she told him.

"Untie me, dammit," he growled. "I tell ye that ye will."

"No," she said again.

Seeing that she would not budge, John howled with rage. Suddenly he fell silent, and another convulsion shook him. He emitted a strangled cry and surged upward, then fell back, shuddering and twitching uncontrollably. When he was released, he fell back, and his stomach revolted again. He began to choke, and Mary sprang forward, holding his head up and putting the wastebasket in front of him again. A torrent of water came out of him. Dear God, Mary thought, Where is it all coming from?

"Easy, love," she said aloud. "It's all right, it will all be over soon."

"Please," he whispered from between chattering teeth, "Please, love, fix me, please...I'll do anything you want, just help me...call someone an' get me just a little."

Another convulsion ravaged him, after which he slipped mercifully into unconsciousness again with a deep sigh. Mary climbed into the bed with him and pulled the quilt up over them both, her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as it slowly returned to normal.

***

Throughout the night, he was alternately abusive and wheedling, screaming obscenities at her one moment and crying for her to help him get the drug he craved the next, with steadily escalating periods of unconsciousness in between.

Ringo came back again at around nine the next morning and collected several bottles of the milk Mary had expressed for Emily. Mary was exhausted. She'd been afraid to allow herself to really fall asleep for fear that John would vomit and choke in his sleep.

"Is he okay?" asked Ringo. "You look terrible, Mary. Is he awake?"

"No, but you can see him if you want to," she told him. "Come on in."

***

"Shit, he looks like he's been through a war," Ringo said in amazement. He grinned at Mary. "How'd ya get him to let ya tie him up?" he asked. "Can't imagine John sittin' still for that."

"Oh, he didn't. I did it while he was unconscious," she admitted. "He was furious when he woke up and found out what I'd done."

"I'll bet," said Ringo. "Listen, Mary, have ya had any sleep at all?"

"Not really," she replied. "I'll sleep when he's better; probably this afternoon."

"If ya want, I'll watch him for a while; you can get a little kip, how would that be?"

"No, you've done enough, Ritchie. Thank you, but you go see to the children. I take little naps now and then, I'm getting by," Mary told him.

John stirred and opened his eyes, struggling back to consciousness. "Ritch," he said in a hoarse whisper, "Ritch, help me, get me loose. This fuckin' bitch tied me up while I was out cold...When I get loose, I'm gonna teach 'er not t' fuck with me."

"You'll be on yer knees t' this woman when this is over," said Ringo. "She's savin' yer life, John."

"Don't ye believe 'er, Ritch; she's fuckin' killin' me," John said in a harsh whisper. "Ye don't know what she's been doin' t' me! She's actin' all sweet now, but once yer gone, she'll be back at it--ye gotta help me, mate, please! Just untie me, that's all I ask, c'mon, ye gotta help me--"

"Sorry, mate," Ringo told him as he turned to leave the room, "But I can't do it; this is for yer own good, you'll see that when yer right in th' head again."
"THERE'S NOTHIN' WRONG WITH ME FUCKIN' HEAD!" John screamed after him. "YE GOTTA HELP ME--COME BACK HERE, YE FUCKIN' BASTARD! AT LEAST CALL SOMEONE ELSE T' HELP ME! RITCH! COME BACK!!!" John's voice trailed away and he began to sob brokenly.

Outside the door, Ringo turned to Mary. "Are ya sure you can handle this?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Mary replied, managing a weak smile. "He doesn't know what he's saying. He'll be all right by tomorrow. Are you sure it's not too big of an imposition for you to keep the kids another night?"

"We'll keep them as long as need be," Ringo told her. "Just give 'em a call as soon as he's sleepin' again. Julia's a bit concerned, and Georgie's pickin' up on it. He cried a bit at bedtime last night, though they both seem okay durin' the day when they're playin' with the other kids."

"GODDAMMIT, RITCH, I CN' STILL HEAR YE OUT THERE!" yelled John from behind the closed door. "GET TH' FUCK BACK IN HERE AN' UNTIE ME, YE FUCKIN' TRAITOR!" His voice broke. "Why won't anyone help me,? he said in an agonized moan.

"It's so hard for me to see him suffering like this," Mary said. "But it's got to start getting better soon. By tonight he ought to be getting back to normal. Go on back to the kids and tell them I'll call them in a while, Ritchie. He'll be asleep again soon; he doesn't stay awake long. I'd better get back to him again. Do you have your key? Make sure to lock the front door and the gate when you leave, and thank you so much for everything you do. I don't know how we'd manage without you." She embraced the drummer, and he kissed her cheek and walked down the hall. Mary sighed and went back into the bedroom.

John was sobbing quietly. He turned his head to look at her, and Mary's heart turned over when she saw the pain in his beautiful eyes. "Help me love, please," he whispered. "I need yer help. Don't leave me here like this. Let me loose an' just hold me. I need ye, Mary."

As much as she wanted to, Mary was afraid to let him go. She knew that he could turn nasty without warning. o sooner had the thought crossed her mind than John's eyes narrowed.

"What's th' real reason ye won't untie me, Mary?" he asked in a dangerous tone. "He's still here, isn't he--ye've been hittin' th' sheets with Ritchie while I've been helpless here...I'll bet he couldn't make ye scream like I can, could he, though. I'll bet ye dint tear his back t' ribbons like ye did mine th' other night..."

"John, don't be soft. You know I would never do anything like that with another man," Mary told him, pulling the quilt up. It felt heavy, and when she bent to investigate, she found that he had urinated on himself. She went to get him a dry blanket, a basin of warm, soapy water and a washcloth.

"Where are ye goin?" he asked her. "Come back, I dint mean t' say that, I'm sorry, Mary!"

"I know you didn't mean it," she called from the bathroom. "I just need to get you a fresh blanket and clean you up a bit. You've wet yourself."

"I know," he said miserably. "I was hopin' ye wouldn't notice. I dint mean to...I think it happened in th' middle o' th' night. It was dark when I woke up, an' it was already happenin'. I couldn't stop it." He let out a long, shuddering sigh. "Sorry," he added.

Mary came back into the room with the fresh blanket and basin. She pulled the quilt back and washed him gently; he closed his eyes and turned his head aside, refusing to look at her. His face burned with embarrassment even though he knew that Mary would not think any less of him because of his mistake. It just made him feel humiliated that he'd been unable to control himself.

"Baby," she said softly, "It's okay. I understand. You're very sick, and you can't be held responsible for what's happening to you now." She picked up the wastebasket she'd cleaned and held it by his hip.

"Roll to the side a bit and see if you can do it now, in here," she said. "That will save you losing control later."

"Ye could at least untie me so I cn' do it like a man," he muttered.

"I'm not untying you," she told him, "So just stop asking me. You'll probably be all right to untie by tonight, but I'm not taking any chances. Come on, I'll hold you, you just let it out."

John stopped protesting; he really did have to go badly, and he just closed his eyes and allowed his bladder to empty. Mary waited quietly and then cleaned him and set the wastebasket aside.

"I'm really sorry, baby," he whispered. "If I'd never taken th' damned stuff in th' first place-- but I hadda prove meself t' Keith an' th' others, an' I really thought that I could handle it. I can't do it, though, Mary, I can't handle this at all."

"I'll help you," she told him, covering him with the clean blanket and pressing her lips against his forehead. "It'll be okay, you'll see."

John sighed and closed his eyes, falling asleep almost at once. Mary lay beside him and laid her cheek against his chest, dropping off immediately.

***

Mary was just coming back into the room after talking to the children on the phone when John awoke; it was just about five in the afternoon.

"Me arms an' back hurt so bad, Mary, I just wanna be able t' turn over. Untie me, darlin', please," he begged.

Mary hesitated; his light brown eyes seemed clearer, and he was calm. She relented and bent to untie one of his wrists.

As she loosened his wrist, John flexed his fingers. He winced and brought his free hand down, shaking it to get the circulation going in it better. He reached to untie his other hand, fumbling with the knot.

"Where'd ye learn t' tie a knot like this?" he asked. "This's a sailor's knot."

"My father taught me when I was a little girl," replied Mary, sitting back on her heels. "I didn't want to take a chance of your getting loose before you were--"

"Good move," he snarled, lunging at her. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her down "I'll teach ye t' fuck with me, woman!" He twisted her wrist and went for the other one, but Mary pulled away and screamed.

"No, John! Stop! You don't know what you're doing!" she cried.

"Like fuckin' hell I don't," he growled, making another grab for her other arm.

Panicking, Mary slapped him as hard as she could across his face.

John let out an enraged bellow and lunged for her again, his face contorted with fury. Suddenly he stiffened and began to thrash wildly, surging upwards as he was gripped by another full body seizure. His eyes rolled back and his teeth clenched. Mary tried to pull free, but he held her arm in a viselike grip. He was shaken with a series of deep tremors, and he uttered a high, keening cry. His body shivered all over the way a horse's does, the muscles seeming to twitch and shudder beneath his skin, and he released her as he lost consciousness again.

"Thank God," Mary whispered, and she quickly tied him up once more. She was breathing hard and her heart hammered in her chest. Once he was secured, she sank down onto the bed beside him and fell into an exhausted sleep.

***

When Mary awoke, she sat up and looked at the clock. It was nearly five o'clock in the morning and the house was entirely dark. She got out of bed and went to the bathroom, then returned and sat on the edge of the bed beside John. The light coming in through the bathroom door lit his face, and he looked peaceful and relaxed. He seemed to have slipped into a calm, natural sleep at last.

Mary lay beside him again and put her head gently on his chest. His heartbeat was slow, strong, and steady.

John stirred and opened his eyes.

"Mary? Are ye awake?" he asked softly.

"Yes, baby, what do you need? You must be feeling better; your skin feels warm and dry now. You were so clammy before," she replied. "Are you thirsty?"

"I am," he told her. "I think I'm gonna be okay, love."

"I think so, too," she said. "I'll go get you some water. I'll be right back."

When Mary returned, she helped John lift his head and held the glass to his lips. He drank greedily.

"Slow down," Mary cautioned him. "You don't want it to come right back up."

He lay back again and Mary resumed her place, her cheek against his chest. She put her arms about his neck and kissed his neck.

Mary," he said quietly, "Please untie me, I'm all right now. It really does hurt, an' I want so much t' hold ye." He took a deep breath. "I understand if ye don't trust me, love, but I'm tellin ye th' truth. It's over. Please let me loose."

Mary raised her head and looked into his eyes. She hesitated briefly.

"Please, Mary, Really, I'm fine," he said again.

She decided that it had been long enough and untied his ankles, then his wrists.

"Thank ye, love," he said. "Help me get up, I've gotta use th' loo."

Mary helped him get to his feet, and he made his way slowly to the bathroom. After a few moments, she heard the shower go on and she decided to change the bedding before he came back. She stripped the bed down and put fresh sheets and pillowcases on it. When John returned, he was clean and damp, and he climbed back in and lay down with a sigh.

"C'mere, love," he said to Mary. "I need t' hold ye, baby."

Mary crawled into bed beside him and he took her into his arms and held her close.

"Ye did a brilliant job, gurrl," he said, and his lips against her ear made Mary shiver. She tipped her head back and kissed him. John moaned softly and took her mouth, moving to cover her body with his own. When he finally broke the kiss, Mary was breathing heavily.

"Are you sure you're up to this, baby?" she asked.

John took her hand and put it on himself under the blanket.

"I'm up to it, all right, see for yerself," he said with a wicked grin. "An' I want ye here an' now."

"Lie back," Mary told him, "And let me do the work. You've been through a lot."

John released her and lay back happily. "Get on it, lass," he invited.

Mary moved down and bent to take him into her mouth.

"Aahh, yeah, that's nice," he whispered, and he tangled his hands in her hair and let her take him where she would. Once she could feel that he was getting close, Mary released him and climbed astride him. She raised herself enough to guide him into her body, settling down to take his full length. John groaned and gazed up at her; she looked beautiful to him, framed in the light coming from the open bathroom door behind her, her thick, deep brown hair tumbling down over her shoulders and breasts. He put his hands at her waist and held her tight against him, keeping himself inside of her as he turned them both so that he was on top and looking down at her. The maneuver took a lot out of him and he kept still for a moment, just looking down into her face. Her eyes were shining with love for him, and he bent to kiss her again, drawing her tongue into his mouth, twisting his own around it as she responded to his kiss with passion. When he finally drew his head back, her breasts! were heaving and her eyes glittered feverishly.

"Baby, don't keep me waiting," she whispered. "I need you now!"

"Yer gonna get me now," he replied in a sensuous growl. He began to move, slowly at first, enjoying the hot, lush softness of her body and the look of hunger on her face. She pushed up to him, grinding herself tight against him, searching for more, until he could finally wait no longer.

He slammed into her, ignoring the protest of his aching muscles, all pain gone for now, overshadowed by the depth and intensity of his desperate need.

"I'll--show--ye--what--I'm--up--to," he told her, every word emphasized with a deep thrust into her body. Mary cried his name out and gripped his shoulders, loving the feel of the muscles there moving smoothly and powerfully beneath her fingers. He pounded into her madly, knowing that she was nearly there and wanting beyond all reason to finish.

Mary arched violently up against him and he felt her inner muscles contracting, squeezing him rhythmically as she came with a wordless cry. He nearly lost consciousness when he finished--it was nearly a full minute before his body was able to stop moving and he finally collapsed on top of her, covering her face with frantic kisses as she breathlessly whispered his name again and again.

***

Once they had recovered, the sun was up and Mary opened the window to let some fresh air into the room. She returned to her customary place in John's arms; he was smoking the first cigarette he'd had in two days, and he was relaxed and happy.

"Looks like 's'gonna be a beautiful day," he said. Sunlight was streaming through the window and the curtains fluttered in the light, sweet breeze.

"A nice day to hang a wash out," Mary agreed.

"Bugger that," John said with a chuckle. "I was thinkin' more along th' lines of a nice drive in th' country with th' kids. Ye cn' do a wash tomorrow." He gave her an affectionate squeeze and she lifted her face for a kiss.

"We'll ring Ritch up in a bit an' tell him we'll come over t' pick 'em up on our way out of town," he told her. He crushed out his cigarette and turned to pull her closer against his body.

"Oh, an' Mary," he added, his lips against her ear, in her hair, "let's get rid o' them fuckin' ties, I never wanna see another as long as I live."

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