Yesterday - A Beatles Fanfic

Chapter The Twenty-Third

"Alright, that's enough YouTube for now," Jessie said, prising the mouse from George's hand.

Three of them groaned in unison, but John nodded, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, it's makin' me eyes go funny."

"Hey, you wanna know another thing that's improved with the times?" Jessie said thoughtfully, walking across the room to a narrow bookshelf.

"Definitely not music," George shuddered.

She turned around, bearing a large box. "Monopoly!"

"No way!" John's eyes lit up as he eagerly grabbed the board game.

"Here and now, the world edition." Ringo read over his shoulder.

"But I thought poor Johnny-boy needed to rest his eyes?" Paul asked with mock concern.

"As long as this time we don't end up havin' to race around makin' beds, I'm in," George said.

"Do they still have the doggy piece?" Ringo suddenly asked, eyebrows drawn together anxiously. It was his favourite playing piece and he hated when it was taken.

"Yes, Ringo," the girl laughed. "It's still there."

"In that case... Bring it on."

Before long, the floor of the living room was strewn with paper money and cards, and filled with the sounds of laughter, grumbling and gloating. John had still made it his mission to get his hands on the two best properties - in this edition they were Montreal and Riga. Ringo had immediately chosen the dog playing piece and was still happy, even though he didn't have many properties.

"Hah!" George crowed. "That's my hotel again! Pay up, Macca." He rubbed his fingers together gleefully.

"But I can't!" Paul protested. "This is all the money I have left!" He waved two single notes in the air.

"Well, y'know the deal," Jessie said.

Paul looked sadly at his collection of properties. With a loud sigh, he pushed everything he owned over to George's side.

"One down, three to go," George said smugly, reorganising his assets.

Paul stood up and sat down at the piano. "I don't care who wins, so long as it's not that traitorous pig." He glared at George, but his lips still twitched involuntarily into a smile.

As the game resumed, Paul's eyes glazed over and he stared vacantly at his reflection in the shiny dark wood of the piano. He knew in appearance he was seven years older, but there seemed to be little difference. What interested him most was the fact that a scab he'd had on his elbow back in 1965 was now healed without a trace. And the annoying spot on his chin had cleared up too. A thought sparked in his mind.

"Hey, Jess," he turned around suddenly. "Hold yer hands up?"

A little puzzled, the girl put down the dice and held her hands out. Then she caught on to what Paul had noticed. Gasping, she ran her fingers over her left palm. The cut was no more than a thin scar across her hand. With the events of the last couple of days, she hadn't even realised.

"Yer hand!" Ringo said, astonished. "It's fixed!"

John examined his own arm. "I actually had a bit of a rash before we got here, now look." He stretched out his arm, showing the smooth pale skin.

"Eh, Rings, there still that sore on me lip?" George opened his mouth. "I 'it it t'e o'her day," he spoke, holding his lip out.

"Nope." Ringo shook his head. "S'nothing there."

* * *

Devon ran through the golden, waist-high grass as fast as his legs could carry him. One boot was long gone and part of his trousers flapped in tatters against his calf. The teen was by no means an athletic boy, but with the fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins, he had the speed of an Olympian. The guitar was slung over one shoulder and he gripped it like his life depended on it. Well, soon enough that could possibly be the case.