The cold was biting that night. Tiny, shardlike bits of snow filtered down, caught in the wind and sliced into the exposed skin of a man who stalked along the deserted sidewalk. His overcoat flapped open with every long stride, and a thick grey woolen muffler was looped carelessly around his neck. The small orange glint of a lit cigarette could be seen in one gloved hand. A large sheepdog pulled on her lead ahead of him, whining ocassionally at her master's strange desire to be out in weather like this instead of curled in his bed.
But he couldn't sleep. Again. Another night filled with nightmares. Her face, her body, and her hands beckoning to him. Tormenting him still, even though she was dead. She was dead, wasn't she? He shook his head vigorously. Of course she was dead, he'd pushed her from that window himself. Seen her body, old, shiveled, revealed at the end.
He shuddered. Why couldn't he just get on with things, return to life the way it had been? Before her. Before she had.... Paul stopped under a streetlight, leaned up against it with one leg bent behind him for support. And sighed, running a hand through his already quite damp hair. He'd left the house without a hat this time.
He'd died. He was fairly sure he'd died after she shot him with that pistol. He'd bled, a lot of blood, and the world had faded away. Light? Had he seen some light at the end of some tunnel? He couldn't remember that. But he had remembered coming back into his body with a jolt, sickened to find himself sucking on her opened wrist, clinging to her as if starving for her blood. Her ancient evil. He took a final toke of his cigarette and flicked it away into the darkness.
He hadn't told his mates any of this. They had seen for themselves part of the monstrous thing she had been. He had resisted her. He knew he had kept her from getting his soul. But when she gave of herself to bring him back...he'd taken something of her into himself. And it made him scream aloud in his sleep and wake tangled and sweating to think he had something of Lucia in him.
Something to remember me by, darling! A laughing voice floated on the wind. Paul startled, glancing around and gathered his coat around his slender frame with one hand. Martha whined again at his feet, circling around him and almost tying his feet to the lamppost.
I like it when you're tied up, remember? came the sultry, teasing voice again. Paul covered his ears with his hands and shouted, "Leave me alone, you bitch! Get out of my head!" The sound spiraled away in the increasing noise of the wind now whipping leaves into the spray of ice crystals.
He was crazy. That had to be it. The experience had been too much for his mind and it had broken into pieces. Imagining her voice, smelling her exotic perfume on other women, leaving him stuttering in panic, backing away, almost fleeing in terror from them.
I'm with you, my love...forever!
"NO!" Paul howled into the wind and tried to run, but his legs were wound up in Martha's lead and he lost his balance, teetering in what could've been a rather comical moment except for the car speeding down the road, the driver intent on getting home and out of this weather.
Paul fell into the street, his head striking the pavement so all he could see was a flash of light. Or maybe that was the headlights of the vehicle bearing down on him.
Mine! the wind screamed triumphantly.
"Oy! Hey mister!"
Paul was literally yanked from the road by one arm as the driver of the car finally spotted him, a terrified expression on his face as he blared his horn and barreled past.
The force of the pull spun him around because his legs were still somewhat attached to the post. It also caused him to knock his already injured head against an inconveniently placed fire hydrant.
"Ah, fecking hell," he groaned as he felt a small trickle of blood start from the blossoming lump on his forehead. "Bloody hell."
"Oh my goodness, I'm sorry!" It was a definite female voice, sounding a bit alarmed.
He blinked up blearily through the freezing sleet, trying to see past Martha's large body hovering over him. He hauled himself into a sitting position and found himself beseiged by a lace hanky trying to blot his head.
He swatted it away rather belligerently. "I'm alright, get away with that."
"Well, that's some thanks for saving your life, isn't it!"
At first he could only see her in sillouette b/c she was standing in front of the lamp, but then she turned sideways to look up the street and her face became clear. A pretty little thing with blonde hair, curled into tumbling ringlets that were now bouncing violently in the storm.
"I'm sorry. I do apologize," he said formally, gathering his shredded dignity together as he reached down to untangle his legs from Martha's accursed lead.
She stood watching him as he got to his feet and shook out his overcoat. He held out his hand to her. "Thank you. For saving my life. That was a close call and would've been a bloody stupid way to die, don't you think?"
The girl laughed and took his hand, pumping it quite heartily. "You're quite right there..." Her voice faded as she caught a better glimpse of his face. "Why, you're..."
He finished for her, "Paul McCartney, yes. How do you do." He'd seen the same stunned look in many girls' eyes for years now.
"How'd y'do," she replied. "I'm Penelope, but it's a dreadfully stuffy name, so I go by Penny. Er, you'll pardon me, but you're about to drip."
"What?" Paul questioned blankly. Then he saw the drop of blood right in front of his eyes plop onto his white shirt. "Ah." He took the hanky she offered and held it to his head.
The shock of what had just nearly happened was finally starting to sink in. Paul released a rather shaky sigh. His obsession with the dead Lucia had almost gotten him killed.
"You look like you could use a good cuppa," Penny observed. "Why don't you come with me? I was just on my way to that all-night Italian bake shop down the street."
Paul was about to decline, with Martha again winding around his legs, even as he unwound her, but he suddenly felt he at least owed her a cup of tea for saving his skin. And the wind was chilling him to the bone, the icy snow finally turning to fat, wet flakes that were plastering his hair to his scalp and straightening the flirty curls in Penny's hair, even though she wore a charming little plaid wool cap.
"Sounds good, actually," he said, stuffing the bloodstained handerchief into his pocket.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There were two other people sitting in the aromatic bakery, staring out into the snowy night. Either insomniacs or night workers, Paul thought. Penny looked down at Martha sitting quietly at their feet under the table.
"Are you sure the owner won't mind a dog in here?" she asked.
At that moment, Tony, the night manager came charging out of the bakery to shake Paul's hand and clap him soundly on the back, clicking his tongue at the sight of his bruised forehead.
"Ah, mio Dio!" His deep Italian voice rolled out like sweet bread dough. "What-a have-a you done to yourself?"
"Ciao, amico" Paul smiled back. "Non importa."
Penny gave Paul a reproachful look as Tony went to get their coffees. "You might've told me you knew all about this place."
Paul gave her a pleasant little smile. "Sorry, come here quite often. Why are you out on the streets on a night like this?"
"My roommate staggered in with another one of her loverboys," Penny rolled her eyes. "Our agreement is I split the pad when she brings one home. So here I am. What about you?"
Paul's eyes shifted to the tabletop and he shrugged. "Eh, I have trouble sleeping."
"Oh, that's right! I read about all that..." She paused and took in his uncomfortable air. "Sorry, guess you can't believe all the rot you read."
"No, that's ok. I did go through a rather nasty experience." That's putting it lightly, McCartney, he thought to himself.
"Well, let's not talk about that then, shall we," Penny said brightly as Tony placed two delicate espresso cups before them along with two generous and unrequested slabs of Italian pastry.
Penny noticed Paul didn't touch the dessert. He sipped the strong coffee absently, cupping his hand around the heat it gave out. She had to admit that the photos she'd seen of him really didn't do him justice. Ah, he was cute in them, but in person, moving and talking, he was absolutely gorgeous, even with his hair slicked back and soaking wet as it was now. He tapped a cigarette out of a pack he'd dug from his coat pocket and offered her one, which she accepted with a nod.
"I'm sorry," he said, leaning over to light her cigarette and giving her an apologetic smile.
"For what?" she questioned, blowing smoke sideways from her mouth.
"For not being very good company."
It was Penny's turn to shrug. "Don't always have to be the life of the party."
"Yeah," Paul sighed. There were deep purple shadows under his eyes, which were focused on some inward thought.
"Maybe you should talk about it," Penny ventured, propping her head on her elbows and leaning forward.
He looked up at her, his expression at once wary and hopeful.
"Sometimes it helps," she continued. A strand of dark hair fell over the lump on his forehead and she reached out to carefully lift it away with a finger.
He looked bemused for a moment and tapped his cigarette into the ashtray. "You're not a shy thing, are you?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, drawing back. "It isn't any of my business, of course."
"No," Paul said almost urgently, grabbing for one of her hands. "It's not that. I didn't mean it in a bad way at all. You're...." He paused, groping for the right words, "....helping." He said it in a surprised tone.
His dark eyes were staring into hers and his hand, with lean, strong fingers, was warm on her own. She felt her heart take a jump and found she wouldn't have left that table even if a double decker bus decided to drive right through the window.
"I've been out so many nights lately, just wandering around in the dark with poor Martha here," he continued, the words suddenly pouring out. Martha perked up her ears at the sound of her name and let out a quiet "wuf."
"It's nice not to have to be alone tonight," he said. He let go of her hand and sat back, left leg crossed over the right at the ankle. "I can't get what happened out of my head."
Penny quickly recalled all that she had heard on the telly and in the papers. Some of it was pretty fantastical, but the common theme was that Paul had been kidnapped, threatened and injured by a crazy woman who had ended up falling to her own death.
"I wouldn't wonder why," Penny said, with a little shudder. "It must've been awful for you."
"Your friends must be helping?" she said with a question in the statement.
Paul took a long drag on his cigarette before answering. "They don't understand," he said quietly. "How could they? It was me in there with her," he said dully.
They talked quietly, not noticing people coming or going around them, or Tony serving them a second, then third cup of coffee with a smile. They didn't realise the sun had come up and yawning people were coming in to get their morning dose of caffeine before work.
Then Martha laid her head on Paul's lap and he suddenly saw the sun streaming through the window and the people bustling about on the snowy sidewalk outside.
"Oh wow," he said goofily, "It's morning." He'd gotten through another night, only this time it had been surprisingly pleasant.
Penny glanced around and jumped up. "Oh no!" she cried, "I'm going to be late for work! I"ve got to go!"
She whipped around and shook his hand. "Thanks for the coffees and the wonderful company," she said. "Maybe I'll save you again sometime."
Paul smiled and touched her cheek. "My lucky Penny," he said gently, "Thank you."
