RINGO STOOD awake that night, not being able to even get a blink of sleep.

"What the fuck were you thinking, you bloody idiot?!" He whispered to himself, dragging his hands down his face.

It was a well known fact that Paul Mccartney was a well-known killer, and the way he touched him a while ago scared the fuck out of him. The way his nails brushed against his skin---

'Stop!' His mind screamed. But he couldn't. Not with the man who reportedly killed dozens of prostitues in one month sleeping downstairs with one of his spare blankets. With George's shirt, nonethless.

He shivered, tugging his childishly-decored Disney blanket up to his chin.

And Ringo thought he knew serial killers. But he guessed that not everything was accurate on television. No matter how hard they said it was "based on a true story".

And Ringo prayed he'd be alive long enough to tell the tale.