Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Two

George gave me a hat to wear out to the car. I've always loved George. His music was great, and he was described as quiet and kind. He gave me a small smile, even though I could tell he was quite confused about me.

I pulled the hat down so it covered my eyes, trying to avoid John's gaze. I was worried that we were going to be mobbed by paparazzi, because of what I had seen in my time. But we weren't. They hurried me into the car. 

"Don't worry," Paul said, pulling my hat up slightly so he could see my eyes. "Manager isn't going to see you."

I touched his hand lightly, just ensuring me that this was real, he really was Paul McCartney. He looked surprised for a moment, and then smiled.

Was it me, or was just John looking at us like he was jealous?

Nah, it was probably just my imagination. 

"So, Elle?" George asked. "What year are you from?" He looked as though he didn't realize that he said that until it came out of his mouth.

"2013." I said. "It's so cool in this time though. Did you guys know that you'll become world-famous?"

All of their eyes wide. "Really?" They all said at the same time.

My eyes widened too. I really needed to stop talking about the future.

"Yes," I said, guiltily. "You're going to be amazing. Major heart-throbs."

They all beamed. I put my head in my hands, blonde hair streaming down my face. What if by telling them that, something will change in the future? What if they won't do as well as they did?

"You alright, Elle?" Paul said, putting a hand on my shoulder. 

"Yes, I'm fine."

John stared out the window like people did in movies when a sad song played. Why wouldn't he look at anyone?

It was strange to look at him now. In my time, he was dead. Shot by Mark David Chapman. He was a dead man walking, even though he had no idea he would be dead.

Same with George.

We arrived at Paul's house on Forthlin Road. All the others looked tired, but they came in with us.

Once we arrived in the apartment, I drew the line. 

"All of you are incredibly kind, but I need to find my way home." I said, not meeting any of their eyes. That is, if I could get home. 

"Don't be absurd," Paul said. "You must stay here. You'll be much safer."

"I'm so sorry, but I really can't."

"We insist," John and Paul both said at the same time. They both looked at each other like they couldn't believe the other spoke. 

I sighed and nodded. My fan-girl side got the better of me. I mean, come on. How could you resist the Beatles?

Paul let us in. All of them lounged on the couches and chairs. George insisted that I sat next to him, but it just didn't feel right, so I sat on the floor. 

"So, Elle, you've got a home, eh? What's it like?" Ringo said. Suddenly, the floor got very interesting.

"My...my parents fight a lot." I began. I figured that this was most likely a hallucination, so I'll spill my guts. "They're at each other's throats each night. Dad has a drinking problem. I've tried to stop them before, but..." I blinked tears out of my eyes. 

Once, Dad had Mom pinned against the wall. I kicked the back of his knees so he would fall. But then he got up and held me against the wall by my neck. I remember that moment vividly. It was that feeling that you have when you're so close to dying, where your heart is nearly bursting out of your chest and adrenaline overpowers you. It blocked out my vision, and screamed in my mind. 

Then my mom pulled him off of me. At least that's what I think happened. I blacked out.

I still have ugly purple bruises on my neck from his hands. I always tried to cover them up. 

I wasn't going to tell them that part, though.

John's monotone expression changed immediately. His milky brown eyes were filled with an extreme concern. "I'm so sorry, Elle."

"It's not really a big deal. All parents fight, right?" I said, trying to dull down the situation. They all mumbled under their breath, and Paul wouldn't take his eyes off me. We all sat there for awhile, trying to decide what to say. 

Ringo and George engaged Paul in a conversation about the songs they were planning on recording. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I jumped.

It was John, and he sat down next to me. His eyes weren't hard and piercing anymore. 

"I was thinking about how we could try to get you home," He said quietly. "If you are dreaming, and we're just a figment of your imagination, what if you need to fall asleep again?" He paused for a moment, biting his lip. I had to admit that he looked cute when he did that. "I-I mean, if you want to go home. I'm sure that if you wanted to stay one more night Paul wouldn't mind." We both smiled shyly at each other.

I thought, since this was one of the only nights in my life where I wouldn't fall asleep to the sounds of my parents' screams, that it might not be a bad idea to stay for the night. Just until tomorrow.

I laid my hand on John's shoulder, and for a moment he was surprised, but then he relaxed. So did I, and soon I found myself in the wonderful place between sleep and dreaming.