"Jesus, Mavis, I'm so fuckin' nervous I feel sick," John said miserably as he emerged from the bathroom.

She knew it was true; the sound of him vomiting his breakfast had been very clear.  Mavis finished dressing the baby and laid him in his bassinet, then turned her attention to John.

"Don't worry, baby," she said softly, adjusting the collar on his coat. "It will be fine. You didn't kill him on purpose; it was an accident, and you were only trying to protect me and Adam. The police will understand that. They just have to!"

"Yeah, well, we'll know soon enough, won't we?" he replied, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands. His face was pale and drawn after his sleepless night, and the flare from the match accentuated the dark circles around his eyes.  "They'll be here any time now. I hafta go out and get a bit o' wood for the fire. I'll meet ye downstairs as soon as yer done up here."

John went slowly down the stairs to the main room of the pub, automatically stopping to poke the fire into full life before going out to fetch more wood from the neat pile in the alley. As he selected an armful, he wondered what would happen to him once the detective from Scotland Yard arrived. He had sent a telegram there the day before and had received a reply later in the afternoon informing him that a detective would be sent to speak with him the following day, but no particular time had been specified. He just wished the man would hurry and arrive so that the whole matter could be over at last. To be honest, he hadn't had a decent night's sleep since the night of the accident which had taken the life of young Danny MacTavish.

John knew that the people of Harmony Island would all stand behind him and affirm that what had happened had most assuredly been no more than a terrible accident, but if he had to be completely honest, John had to wonder if perhaps there had been more to it than that. He'd been incensed when he found out that the boy had tied Mavis up and imprisoned her in the root cellar, and it had been a vicious blow he'd given the boy, fueled not only by fear, but also by a mixture of murderous rage and mad jealousy...IF he had to be completely honest. He told himself that he hadn't meant for the young man to die, that it was just a mistake, but when he searched his heart and really looked deeply into his own soul, he was tormented by the idea that he had experienced a kind of primitive exultation when he'd been told that the person who'd threatened the lives of his child and the woman that he loved had died at his hands. He'd felt...somehow elated for just a moment before his sense of remorse had kicked in.

Of course, John knew that he would never tell the police or anyone else outside of Mavis that he'd ever felt anything but grief and dismay concerning what happened. It would remain one of the many things that he'd already filed away in the back of his mind; things that lay still and quiet during the day when there were people about and only came to life to disturb his sleep and taunt him during the small hours of the morning when it seemed to him that there existed no one else in the world save himself.

At times like these, he would sometimes awaken Mavis and she would listen to him as he spoke of all the regrets he had over all his faults and sins, real or imagined. She would assure him that he wasn't a wicked man, as he sometimes imagined, and that he should really let go of all those demons that infested the corners of his mind. He would hold her close, make frantic and purging love to her, then allow sleep to overtake him once again, safe in the arms of someone who believed in his goodness and worthiness, who saw him even now as the man he truly longed to be.

He carried the wood out of the alley and balanced it as he opened the door, went inside, and kicked the door closed behind him a little harder than was really necessary. Mavis was in her chair by the fire and looked up to smile at him as he crossed the room and placed the wood beside the hearth.

"What did that poor old door ever do to you?" she asked.

John smiled in spite of himself and leaned to kiss her before removing his jacket. "I was just wonderin' when the hell that detective was gonna be showin' up," he replied, dropping into his chair beside her with a sigh.  "I was just goin' over what happened in me mind," he told her as he fished through his pockets for his lighter. "I was thinkin' that I might not be as fuckin' blameless as everyone thinks I am."

"Nonsense," Mavis told him, getting to her feet. "It was just an accident, John. Everybody knows that except, of course, for you. You're always too hard on yourself, love; you take the blame for everything that happens to anyone that you care about, but I know you, and I know you're not to blame. So do all your friends. You're the only one who thinks that you're even remotely responsible for Josh--I mean Danny's-- death. He brought it on himself. There was something wrong with him. It couldn't be helped, and you really must try to realize that."

She bent to kiss him and told him she'd go to the kitchen and bring him a cup of coffee.

"I'd rather have a whiskey, truth to tell," he replied. “But I know that’d be a mistake, so don’t worry; I won’t. I do wish the fella would hurry up and get here, though. Me insides are all in fuckin’ knots. When’s the next ferry due?”

“In about an hour, and then no more till tonight, so I’m sure he’ll be on that one,” Mavis called over her shoulder.

***

As Mavis had predicted, the detective arrived on the afternoon ferry.  Even though he was expecting the man, John had to dash to the downstairs bathroom to vomit when he saw the stranger coming up the street toward the pub.  When he emerged from the bathroom, Mavis was talking to the detective, and John squared his shoulders and approached them, making his face look relaxed and calm.

"Hello, sir," he said softly. "I'm the one yer lookin' for."

"You have information regarding young Master MacTavish?" asked the detective. He was a man of perhaps thirty, pale and thin, with a struggling, pencil thin mustache. His eyes were a deep, warm brown, and just now his brows were arched quizzically.

"Yeah--I mean, yes, sir," John replied. "C'mon and sit down at the bar, and I'll tell ye all about it."

"Very good," the man said, following John and seating himself beside him.

"Fancy a drink?" John asked, and Mavis felt that his tone was decidedly hopeful.

"Not while I'm on duty, thank you, but I smell coffee, and I'd love a hot mug of that, if you'd be so kind, madame," the policeman replied, shrugging out of his overcoat. He folded it, laid it across the bar on the other side of him, and turned his attention to John.

"Well, y'see, sir, Mavis an' I were takin' a little ride about the island...this was several months ago, mind-- and we saw someone lyin' alongside the road on the other end, by the beach. He was soakin' wet an' didn't seem to be in such good shape. We tried to wake him, but we couldn't get a rise outta him at all, so we loaded him inta the wagon and brought him home with us."

He paused as Mavis brought the officer's coffee, then lit a cigarette and continued with his story.

"Anyroad," John continued, "Mavis and I got him out o' his wet clothes an' settled in an upstairs room and piled blankets on top o' him until he began to get warm, The doctor wasn't around just then, but he came along in a while and looked him over good."

"What is the doctor's name?"

"Doc Fenity," John replied. "I dunno his first name, that's what everybody calls him. Well, the doc told us that he seemed none the worse for all his experiences, and asked us to call him back when the lad awoke. The trouble was that once he did, he couldn't remember anything about who he was and where he'd come from."

"How did you come to realize his identity?"

"I saw him in the newspaper a week or so ago. It said he'd run off from school and was bein' looked for by his mum and dad. But since he didn't remember who he was, we just sort of called him Joshua."

"I see," said the policeman, writing something down in a little notebook he'd taken from his pocket. "And do you know where Joshua is now?"

John looked down at the bar sadly. "I do," he replied. "He's lyin' in the graveyard at the southern end of the island, dead these past two weeks."

"And how did he die?"

"It was an accident," John said, taking a deep drag on his cigarette and forcing himself to meet the policeman's eyes. He looked directly into them and added, "It was me who killed him, but as I said, it was an accident. Y'see, he kinda took a shine to me Mavis, and one day when I was away he sort of kidnapped her."

"Kidnapped?"

Yeah, well, it's a small island, so he didn't go far... I doubt he really understood the gravity o' what he was doin'. He had her tied up in the root cellar out back, an' she was pregnant--ready to deliver. All the things that happened to her made her go inta labor, and by the time I found her, she was havin' the baby. Young Joshua--that is to say, Danny--was at the top o' the root cellar stairs, and he was sayin' somethin' to Mavis. I came up behind him and hit him in the back of his neck with a piece o' wood, and he went sprawlin' down the stairs. I was a bit cabbaged because he'd drugged me earlier, but I swear it never entered me mind that he was anythin' more than sparkied. I went past him and helped Mavis deliver the baby, then I tied him up and went to fetch the doc. Once he came, Doc Fenity told me that the lad was dead.

Since no one had any clue as to who he actually was, we buried him on the far side o' the island in the cemetery. It was a couple weeks later that I saw him in the paper and realized who he was, but I figgered it was best to let the holidays pass with the lad's folks havin' the hope that they'd see their son again."

"Why didn't you notify the Yard as soon as the boy arrived here, or at least once you found out that he was dead?" asked the policeman, watching John's eyes.

"Well, we thought he was of age; he seemed at least twenty, and other than that, it just didn't occur to us."

"We'll be exhuming the body as soon as we can," the officer said after a short pause. "Thank you for coming forward, Mr.--what was it your last name was, did you say?"

John hesitated. He felt it would be wrong to give a false name to a police officer, but he didn't want the world to know that he was still alive. The detective's mouth twitched at the hesitation, and he allowed himself a smile.

"Never mind. I've been a particular fan of yours for some time, and I know who you are. Perhaps, though, you would be kind enough to tell me why it is that you've allowed the entire world to believe that you've been dead for more than two years now?"

John exhaled slowly; it was actually a relief to have his secret out to someone other than Mavis, Linda, and his three ex-bandmates.

"Don't worry," the officer continued. "If this was all an accident as you say, and I'm inclined to believe that it was, your secret will be safe with me."

"Thank ye, sir," John said with heartfelt sincerity. "I was afraid for me wife and family. After I was shot in New York, I was terrified that the American government had been behind the whole thing. Me phones had been tapped, and I felt as though I was bein' watched. Once I was shot, it seemed sensible to let whoever was responsible believe they'd been successful so that they'd forget the whole thing and leave me family alone."

"I see...and what of your wife and son in America?"

"She's with someone else. She's gone on with her life, and as long as I stay dead, the two of them will be safe. In the meantime, I've been here with Mavis, and we've built a life of our own here together on the island."

"Does anyone else know that you're still alive?"

"Yeah, well, me friends Paul, George, and Ritchie--ye know of them, I'm sure-- and Paul's wife Linda. I was with Paul in Scotland when Mavis was taken."

"I'll be speaking with him," the detective said, rising to his feet and gathering his coat. "In the meantime, I'll be needing a room for a day or two. I need to speak with some of the villagers, and the doctor, of course."

"That's fine," Mavis said, relief in her voice and upon her face. "And it'll be on the house, of course. Stay as long as you need to. I saw what happened, and it was just as John told you. It was all an accident."

"I believe you," the detective assured her. "Still, I need to finish my investigation before I can close the book on this incident. I'm sure you understand."

"Yes, of course. The doctor's office is just down the street a bit on the opposite side. We'll see you later, Officer, for supper."

***

As soon as the detective left, John turned to Mavis. "How d'ye think it went?" he asked, lighting what was perhaps his tenth cigarette in the past two hours.

"Pretty well, I think," replied Mavis, gathering the coffee mugs to take them into the kitchen for washing. "He seems to like you a great deal. I'm sure he believes you."

"Did ye catch his name at all, then, Mavis?" John asked, following her into the kitchen. He sat on the edge of the counter and watched her was out the cups and start a new pot of coffee.

"No...I don't think he ever said what it was. I'll make a point to ask him when he comes back later, though. Why don't you go up and check on the baby, sweetheart? He should be awake any time now. I really feel as though I need to nurse him."

"Will do, me gurrl," he said agreeably. He hopped off the counter and went to check on the baby. He seemed much more himself now that the worst of it was over.

***

"Remarkable community you have here," said Detective Douglas (this was his name; he had shared that information with John and Mavis over supper earlier in the evening). He was sitting in John's chair in front of the fire, while John sat cross-legged on the floor at Mavis' feet, rocking the cradle to lull the baby to sleep. Mavis was knitting a sweater for John, listening to the two men as they spoke.

"I think so too," John replied. "I bought this island to build a retreat back in the late 60s, but at the time, I decided that a warmer climate would be nicer and never built it. Instead, I signed the land over to a bunch of hippies to build a commune here, and as ye can see, they've done a bang up job of it. Mavis here has lived on Harmony for most of her life."

"Does your whole family live here, Miss?" asked the young policeman, turning to Mavis.

"They did," she replied, "But my mother died when I was quite young--she had cancer-- and a few years ago my father was killed in a storm while he was out on a fishing expedition. My da left this place to me, and I've always been happy here, so there was never any reason to leave. Then two years ago, John came, and after a while it became clear that we belong together."

"You make a lovely couple. John, no one I spoke with today seemed to have any idea about who you really are. Do you ever plan to let anyone else in on your secret?"

"Probably not. I really do appreciate yer keepin' it for me, too, Officer Douglas. I want ye to know that."

"Please, call me Robert," replied the gentleman with a warm smile. "I've been a fan since I was a wee lad, and it's been a pleasure meeting you. Both of you. I'm terribly glad to learn that you're still alive, even though I can't tell everyone I've met you."

"Will you be speaking with Paul, Robert?" asked Mavis.

"Yes, but I'll keep his name off the record. You seem happy here, John. You look well."

"I never saw meself livin' in a place like this," John said, "But yer right; it's a remarkable place and I don't believe I've ever been happier. I am sorry about what happened to young Danny, though. He seemed a nice enough lad, but summat must've gone wrong in his head those last couple of days. I knew he had a crush on Mavis, but it never entered me head that he'd ever do anythin' to harm her."

"I think he just couldn't think of any other way to get me all to himself," Mavis offered, laying her work aside and bending to take the baby from his cradle. He was awake and beginning to fuss.

"Let me get him for ye, darlin'," John told her. He lifted the child and laid him in Mavis' arms.

Officer Douglas averted his eyes politely as she opened her blouse and began to feed Adam. She covered her breast with a soft towel. "How long do you think you'll be staying?" she asked.

Officer Douglas turned back to her. "I'll be going back tomorrow to make my report," he replied. "But I'll be back in a few months to oversee the exhumation after the ground has thawed."

A couple of fishermen came in and sat at the bar, and John rose to draw their pints.

"How's it goin', Johnnie?" asked one of the men. "Got everythin' all settled regardin' young Joshua?"

"Yeah, I've explained the whole situation to Officer Douglas there, and I guess they'll be movin' the lad in the Spring so that he can be buried in his family plot."

"Hmmm...well, too bad about the boy, but ya didn't mean to hurt him, John, we all know that. If there's anything I can do for ya--anythin' at all, you'll let me know, won'tcha?"

"Me, too," said the second man.

"Yeah, I will, and thanks, lads. I appreciate it. Can I get you anything else?"

"I wouldn't say no to a sandwich," replied the first man.

"Comin' up. Ye'll both have one on the house--am I right, Jerry?"

"Sure, I'll have one too, thanks," said the second man.

After the customers had gone, John brought in a last load of wood and locked the front door. Mavis had excused herself and had taken the baby upstairs to go to bed, so John sat in her chair beside the young policeman.

"You've made a lot of good friends here, haven't you, John," said Robert, stretching his feet towards the fire.

"Yeah, they're great," John replied. "No one here worries about much of anything, money's not really important, and it's more like bein' part of a big, extended family than a village of unrelated folks. Everybody knows everybody else, and everyone pitches in."

"Lovely. A great change compared to New York City in America, I daresay."

"Oh, yeah--worlds apart-- I used to miss it sometimes, but not anymore. This is more the way a man was meant to live, I think."

“You’re a lucky man, John, but I’m sure you’re well aware of that.”

“Definitely. Well, if ye’ll excuse me, Officer—I mean, Robert—I think I’ll be bankin’ the fire and headin’ off to bed. Yer room’s the first on the left at the top o’ the stairs, whenever yer ready to turn in. Breakfast is at seven, and mornin’ comes early here.”

“Very good. Thank you, John, and goodnight. I believe I’ll sit up just a bit longer. I’ll see you in the morning.”

***

The next morning, Officer Bob, as John had renamed him (a sure sign that the young policeman was now considered a friend) ate breakfast with John and Mavis, spoke to the fishermen who came by for the morning meal, and finished his tour of the island. John took him to the cemetery and together they stood over the grave marked simply, JOSHUA.

“Ach, the poor lad,” said Robert sadly. “I don’t look forward to having to tell his parents what’s become of him.”

“Yeah...he just sort of went off his head there toward the end,” John replied. “Maybe it had to do with whatever made him lose his memory in the first place.”

“Could be. Well, at any rate, I’m convinced that it was all just an accident.” The young officer looked up at the steel gray sky; snow seemed imminent.

“Guess I’d best be I’ ye to the dock,” John said at last. “The afternoon ferry’s due in an hour or so.”

“Right,” Robert answered, turning to go back to the wagon. “I’m already packed. It’s been a pleasure spending the last couple days with you. I’m a bit sorry to go.”

“Yeah,” John said with a smile as they climbed into their seats. “This place has that effect on ye.”

***

John saw the young officer off on the ferry, and he and Mavis resumed their quiet lives...for a few days.

They had just opened for lunch that Friday when the grocer came running up with a telegraph message for John. The smile died on his lips when he scanned the paper. Mavis watched him thank the grocer, then cross the room and drop into his chair, a stricken look upon his handsome face. She hurried to him.

"John," she said softly, "What is it?"

John handed her the message, his face white, his fingers shaking.

"It's from Paul," he replied , his voice quiet and tight with pain. "Something's happened to Yoko. She's been taken to hospital--she's been shot."

Angel Godiva was actually was given that nickname by John Lennon, whom she met in L.A. in 1974 on her 21st birthday. She had yards of hair back then.  She lives in Northern Connecticut with her second husband, and has been a Beatles fan since 1964, when she was 11.  The high point of her life was meeting and getting to know John (though she never saw him again after he returned to NYC).  She also writes poetry, and is currently working with an editor friend on her first novel.