Chapter 28: ’69 - Nice!

Someone is carrying me. And they are running. My eyes fly open, only able to see Elliot’s clenched jaw. He doesn’t look down at me, instead alternates between looking ahead and looking behind him. Wind brushes against my skin and Elliot speaks to someone.

“Max!” he shrieks before finally looking down at me.

“What is going on?” I ask.

He pants, glancing back behind us once more, “No time to explain. If I put you down, run for your fucking life.”

I start to reply, but he throws me onto my feet. I feel fallen leaves slipping underneath my feet. I’m wearing the worst possible shoes for this. Elliot is already yards ahead of me, so I don’t have time to take them off. These giant clunky boots could not be worse. To my left, Max catches up running for his life.

“What the fuck is going on?” I shout.

He glances back, so I do too. A blur of dark clothing is sprinting miles back. Max coughs, which slows him down a little. Elliot is still fairly far ahead of us. Real nice to leave us behind.

“Run from that person!” Is all Max musters out between pants. Elliot disappears suddenly, turning to his left. Once Max and I reach the same distance in the trees, I catch up with him. The end of a cliff appears rapidly. My feet fall from underneath me and I land on my butt, barley saved from falling off the cliff. My leg dangles off the edge barley. Max stumbles, but stops too.

Suddenly, something yanks my leg and pulls me to the edge. My finger sink into the dirt, but the soil is soft. Instead of clutching the ground, I end up dragging a handful of dirt. I shriek a bit and Max reacts quickly, in an attempt to catch me. Last minute, I drop my handful of dirt and bear-hug Max’s right calf. The force that yanks me down is stronger than Max.

Max accidentally elbows me on the way down. I’m certain we’re dead. I squeeze my eyes closed, prepared for the deadly impact of the ground. For a moment, I can’t breathe. The ground riffles through my back.

“Cassidy. Max,” Elliot murmurs. I open my eyes, Elliot smiles at me.

I try to sit up, still breathless, “Are we dead?” he laughts and shakes his head.

“No, Cassidy,” he tossles my hair, “Got the wind knocked out of you?”

I nod at him and sit up, looking around. The three of us sit on a platform, just below the edge of the cliff. It over looks a large forest. Max rubs the back of his head.

“Can we talk about what’s going on now? Who was that? Where are we?” I ask. Elliot glances at Max, who still stares blankly.

Without breaking his stare, Max says “We fucked up. That’s what happened.”

Elliot runs his fingers across the stubble on his face, “Yeah, we fucked up.” I stare at him, unenthused. He nods and turns back to me, “Last time, we ruined the recorder, right? Well, the Congressionalists figured out that we were up to no good and sent a soldier to kill me and whip y’all back into shape.”

“Oh, great!” I sigh. Max bites one of his finger nails. I turn back to Elliot, “Where are we?”

“The UK,” he says.

Max yanks out a paper from his pocket, “I woke up, first, with this.” I take the paper from him.

“Oh. My. God,” I mutter. Max nods, silently. Elliot’s now sitting down on the ground too, with his knees tucked into his arms. His brows are furrowed.

“So, they don’t suspect that we turned you?” I ask.

“Guess not,” Max mutters.

“What are we going to do?” Elliot asks. I shrug.

Max sighs, “We can’t run forever. They’re going to find us, eventually.”

Elliot rises to his feet. I look up at him. “I just need to turn myself in,” he mutters. I furrow my brow, trying to show some kind of discontempt.

“No!” Max blurts, “They’ll kill you.”

He nods, making eye contact with me. “What choice do we have?” he asks, “We can’t run forever. We’re stuck in the 1900s. Let them kill me, then at least you guys can get home.”

Max scoffs, “Yeah, that works real great until Cass and I continue to defy every order new solider gives us and then they kill us too. We have to stick together.” Max is right. We need each other. There must be some other way. Right?

“Cassidy’s scheming,” Elliot says, looking back at Max.

I nod, “I am scheming. I have a scheme, actually.” Max raises an eyebrow. Elliot squats back down, making eye contact with me. “We need to stick together, but in order to do that we need to separate. Max and I can find the new guy. Get him on side. If he sees you, Elliot, he’ll kill you on the spot. But, if Max and I can talk or threaten him alone, then we have better odds.”

Max grins at me, but Elliot seems unsure.

“We don’t know that there’s only one solider. What if we separate and someone else comes to kill me? I think that is risky. I also don’t think they would kill me in front of you two, right? I like the plan except for the splitting up aspect,” he elaborates. I teeter the idea in my mind.

“Compromise. You stay with us, but from a distance. You get somewhere that you can easily run, if needed, but stay close enough to have our protection,” I suggest. Max gives me a thumbs up, which makes me roll my eyes.

“Fine,” Elliot mutters. We all take a five minute break before hiking back up the mountain, waiting for our new solider target.

“We have to remember that he probably has a recorder. We take it before we say anything that could make us look guilty,” I remind. Max nods.

A crunch from ahead of us alerts me that we’re not alone. Blue fabric flashes, just for a split second, from behind the tree. Gotcha. I raise a finger to the boys and take off running to the tree. The figure is smaller than expected. I’m almost startled when I realize what I see.

. My jaw hangs open as I freeze in place. This just got a lot harder.

She smirks at me, “Cassidy. What a treat!”

I hold my breath, “Hi. Do I know you?”

Her smirk widens into a full smile, “No, but I know you. My name’s Donna, your new solider. Max told you about the letter we left him, right?”

“He did. I actually was wondering if I could talk to you, alone, for a bit,” I whisper. She scans me, but nods.

We find a quiet landing, I see Elliot and Max loitering a decent distance away. She leans against a tree.

“What would you like to discuss, Cassidy?” she asks. The way her lips curl, when saying my name, nauseate me.

“Don’t call me that. Cass is fine,” I scoff.

She half rolls her eyes, “Okay, Cass.”

“I have significant interest in learning what terrorist group Elliot has joined. Max and I find it very offputting that you’ve marched your way in here claiming to be some special solider and haven’t given a valid reason to remove Elliot,” I spit.

“I understand that you and Elliot have engaged in a relationship of some kind. Albeit, sexually, do you think the relationship may have blinded you from Elliot’s participation in terrorist activities?” she counters. I dig the heal of my shoe into the dirt.

“No. I do not think so. You seem to be ignoring the part where I told you that Max agreed. Max and Elliot have historically not gotten along. I see no reason that Max would stick up for Elliot, if it was not the right thing to do. So, I am waiting for you to give me a reason,” I say flatly.

She swallows, hard for a moment, “Okay. Look, Cass, I don’t know what you think I’m here to do, but I’m here to move the missions along. The last several have failed. I am getting you and Max back on track. I am making sure that no one else dies the way that Belle did.” I analyze her outfit. Where would the recorder be? My eyes had been trained to look into Elliot’s suit and pants pockets, but Donna wears a skirt. Where would it be in a skirt? A garter, maybe?

I cut her off there, “You do not get to talk about… or Belle’s death to your advantage. You were not there that day. You do not know what happened. Pick something else.”

“You’re making this much more difficult than it needs to be, Cass. I’m starting to sense that Elliot may have converted you to his terrorist ways. Is that the case, Cass? If so, I have a way to deal with both of you,” she threatens. Her leg is pressed to the tree. A small gush of wind reveals the outline of something. A box in a garter. I signal to Max that I need help.

He creeps up from behind Donna. His eyebrows raise as he approaches her. I pretend to itch my leg, hopefully clueing Max to grab the recorder there. He takes the hint, but tries to ask me a question. I have to stall the conversation.

“I’m sensing jealousy or maybe overconfidence,” I say with a laugh, “You know I run this team and you’re worried, aren’t you? I’m not trying to be difficult or fight you. I’m simply looking for a reason that I should trust you over someone who’s stayed loyal to me for this entire mission. Give me one good reason and I am all yours. The threats won’t work on me, darling.” I crack my knuckles, giving Max and discrete thumbs up, a yes, for his question. He leaps around the tree, just as Donna begins to answer my question. He skims her leg, yanking the garter and whatever was attached to it, immediately. The garter falls, rung around her ankle. The recorder flops on ground, which I scurry over to scoop up. I nab it before she realizes what’s happening. Elliot’s shifted to my left.

“Go long!” I shout, chucking the recorder as hard as I can toward him. Max already has a knife pinned to her neck. And, suddenly, there’s fear in her eyes. My heart still low in my chest, I smile.

“Okay, bitch, here’s how it’s gonna go. You’re listening to me, then you can ask questions, then you can make a decision: participate or die, mkay?” I say. She nods, quietly. A little too quietly. She’s scheming. I know that face. I pull out my gun. Max catches sight of it and tightens his grasp on her shoulders. “Sit down!” I order. She scoots down the tree. Max is able to rotate around the tree and keep her down more effectively. She’s still scheming. We cannot trust her. I try to read Max’s face, but something he’s gotten particularly good at recently is his poker face. I have no idea what he is thinking.

Donna still smirks, acting unphased by Max’s knife and my gun, “Aren’t you gonna talk?”

I roll my eyes, “I actually have some questions for you first.”

“Might not answer ’em, but go ahead,” she scoffs. Max shoots me a look of uncertainty. They picked her well. She should’ve been their choice to begin with. Much stronger than Elliot. No shot that I would’ve turned her orginally.

“Who do you work for?”

“So generic. The CIA. Move on,” she spits.

“Yeah, I don’t think so, Donna. Try again,” I counter. Max tightens his grip on her shoulder. She must be squirming. Her left hand barley twitches, just enough reason for me to justify a restraint. I rush towards her and tighten my hand around her wrist. I shove her onto her stomach, Max taking her right hand. He removes his tie and I fasten it tightly around her wrists. “Stay on your stomach and answer the question.”

She grunts, “The. C. I. A., what the fuck did Elliot do to you two?” Max holds her neck down, her face flat against the dirt.

“You really believe that? You really think you work for the CIA? ’Cause I know you don’t. New question. Were you aware that you work for the Congressionalists? Or did they lie to you too?” I ask, as she tenses up under the dirt.

Through a grit in her teeth, she says, “Don’t spew that bullshit that Elliot taught you. I work for the CIA.”

I shake my head at Max, who pipes in, “No, you don’t. They lied to you. It’s a terrorist organization. What happened? They promised you that you were CIA material just months after you started at the FBI? And what, officially trained you, never giving you official paperwork? ’Cause that’s what happened to Elliot.”

She squirms a bit, “Who told you that? You’ve clearly been brainwashed. I work for the CIA.”

I make eye contact with Max, “Sit her up.” he helps me lean her back against the tree, she glares at me.

“You think she’s being truthful?” Max questions. I give him a soft nod. She glances at me. For the first time, I see a tinge of fear in her eyes.

“You don’t work for this CIA. And, I know that’s the truth, because I work for the CIA,” I explain.

She clenches her jaw, “They told me you were a diplomat.”

“You really think a diplomat would’ve tied you down to a tree like this?” Max butts in. I can’t help but chuckly, lightly, at his dig. She chews on her lip, looking at me.

“A terrorist group, called the Congressionalists, recruited Elliot and you by lying and pretending to be a branch of the CIA. They recruited loyal, well-trained agents from the FBI and convinced them to participate in this mission. Meanwhile, the actual CIA, whom I’ve worked for for 2 years placed me undercover to infiltrated the Congressionalists,” I continue.

She shakes her head, “That’s not true. None of it. Let me go!” she violently shakes from her restraints.

“It is true,” A voice booms from behind me. I turn my head to look at the speaker, Elliot. I glance over at him. He walks towards us, making eye contact with Donna. She holds her breath, staring right at Elliot. I’m nervous about him being so close. We haven’t turned her yet. I see her hard swallow.

Her eyes widen as he comes closer, “Elliot, it is you after all,” she mutters. Elliot grazes my back with his hand before approaching even closer. He squats down to Donna’s level.

“Still think we’re all brain washed? Or do you trust it from my familiar face?” he asks. She furrows her brow, looking sad almost. How does he know her? I glance at Max, who still keeps her pinned to the tree. He shrugs at me.

She releases the breath she’s been holding, quietly. Her face softens, “How are you doing now?”

“Donna, I’m actually doing really great. You know, other than the whole Congressionalist thing. How’s that West Coast thing treating you?,” he says, smiling wide. Are they friends? Old FBI partners?

She blushes a bit, “Didn’t work out. Ended back up in Virginia at Quantico a couple months ago. I guess we could’ve worked things out, after all.” My stomach drops. Donna. That Donna. Ex-girlfriend Donna. I catch that Elliot’s still smiling which makes me even more nauseous. Max makes eye contact with me. I can tell from his face that he looks concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Max mouths, quietly. I just shake my head, paying special attention to Elliot and Donna’s conversation. Sweat dampens my entire body. My hands are clammy.

“Maybe we would’ve,” he mutters, before nervously glancing back at me. That makes my stomach wreck. Some kind of heartburn fluid floods into my mouth. Gross. He turns back to her, “Too bad time travel’s not real.”

She laughs and nods at him. “So, you going to tell your goons to untie me or no?” her smile makes her face extra punchable. He shakes his head.

“I don’t run this pack. You should’ve gathered that by now. Cassidy?” he asks.

The blood rushes back into face and my vision focuses, as if waking up from a dream. I glance at Max, who only waits for my response.

“No, I actually had a few more questions,” I say.

She squints at me, “You don’t trust me yet?” she looks at Elliot as a plea for help.

“She doesn’t trust you, I don’t trust you,” Elliot says, still chuckling. He obviously does trust her, which only makes me trust her even less.

I stretch my arms, “Donna, now that you’ve learned that you’ve been fooled, tricked, whatever you want to call it, what’s your plan? I untie you, and then what’s the next thing you do?”

She glances at Elliot, but he keeps his eyes on Max. Turning back to me, she answers, “Well, I… I would probably let Elliot look at the papers they give me to see if they mean anything. Then, I’d probably find a way to go home. Leave this shitshow for you three.”

I nod, semi-agreeing with her plan. I turn to Elliot.

“Take all her weapons. She can earn them back,” I say. He nods at my command and starts patting her down at the ankles. I watch as his hands crawl up near her upper thighs. He takes two knives out of her left pocket. And, from her right, several pieces of paper and a canister of lipstick, which I assume is just a discrete tazer. He continues up her stomach, his hands grazing each rib. His hand slips up her shirt, removing a mid-waist holster. He returns to patting above the fabric of her blouse, avoiding her breasts. She laughs a little.

“Go ahead and pat down my breasts, Elliot. You act like you’ve never fucked me before,” she says bluntly, making hard eye contact with me. A wave of jealousy runs up my body, hard enough to take my breath. Elliot goes red in the face. Max’s jaw hangs open. Max mouths something at me, but I just look towards the sky. Elliot instructs Max to roll her over onto her stomach, where Elliot begins to pat down process all over again. She continues to laugh, “Yeah! Grab that ass just like you used to.” I grit my teeth, reminding myself that she’s only saying these things to get under my skin. He hurriedly clears two final items — a can of pepper spray and a few rounds of ammo from her back pockets. My only relief is that this pat down was evidently necessary. His face is still flushed in red. Max bites his lip, as if to contain his laughter. I almost see a hint of a smile under his cheeks.

“Clear?” I ask, eyeing the pile of removed items. Elliot nods at me. I instruct Max to untie her. She pops up, onto her feet. She reaches down for the letter, but Max stops her.

He takes the letter from the ground, “Allow me.”

“I got more questions,” I spit.

Donna toughens up her stance, “Hit me.”

I take the letter from Max, glancing over the lines myelf. “So, when it says here that you were to take care of Elliot, what did that entail?”

She takes a couple steps over to Elliot and pats him on the back, “Supposed to kill him.” he takes a step away from her. “I’m not going to actually do it, you don’t have to step away from me, Ell.” he winces at the pet name, but doesn’t stand up to her. It’s starting to make me angry.

“Okay. And, to make it clear, we are not listening to you. You’ll be listening to us,” I state. She rolls her eyes, which only makes me stare at her.

“Talk about a bitch,” she mutters.

Elliot lets out a massive scoff, “You don’t talk to her like that, okay?” he says, sternly. She seems almost taken aback.

“Wow, look at you being defensive. Turns me on,” she rasps. I notice Elliot’s hands are balled into fists. His knuckles are white from the tension. He seems ready to explode at her, but gives me a look first, requesting my approval. I shake my head, no.

“Can you not take a hint? He’s not interested, Jesus Christ,” Max jumps in, almost as fired up as Elliot is. I give Max a quiet thumbs up behind my back. Donna rolls her eyes, but stays quiet.

I clear my throat to give everyone’s attention. As I glance at the last item on the paper, I ask her to define the ‘goals.’

“Well, they weren’t super specific, but they want you guys to be subordinate, which obviously Cass over here isn’t capable of. They didn’t mention specifics, just to have you on good terms with the CIA upon ending the missions,” Donna explains. I think it’s too vague. There has to be more to the story, but I’m done bothering with her.

I flip to the second page, which Max didn’t read outloud. It’s just a repeat of the remaining missions.

“This is a joke, right?” I stutter, reading our current mission. The other three look at me, silently. “Our mission is to prevent the Beatles from breaking up. What does that have to do with anything?”

Max giggles a little, “I love the Beatles!”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with the Congressionalists?” Elliot asks.

I shrug, “Off we fucking go!”

We all march out of the woods, to discover that we’re in the U.K. in March. No wonder it’s so cold. We wander through town, looking for some kind of clue. Donna situates herself next to Elliot at all times. I trust him, though. And, I can tell he’s trying to stay near me. I find his shoulder pressed against mine way more frequently than normal. But, I don’t trust her or her egotistical smirk. And that makes me anxious.

“So, to be clear,” Donna says, “The note says to prevent the Beatles from breaking up, but we’re not going to do that?”

“Correct.”

“So, what the hell are we doing here, then? In our timeline, they break up. Shouldn’t we just fuck off?” Donna suggests. Irritation runs up my body.

I clear my throat, “So, we’ve changed a lot of history already. We simply cannot expect that the original timeline with play out if we don’t interfere. So, we must step in and convince them to break up.”

Donna remains silent, turning her focus elsewhere. Max overhears a couple of girls talk about the Beatles. One says that she saw some people taking their equipment into the Apple Corps building a few minutes ago. Another gossips about an possible impromptu concert in a few hours. New mission: Figure out what time it currently is and where the hell this ‘Apple Corps’ is at. It’s also ridiculously cold outside.

Elliot suggests that we stop at a local record store and ask for directions. The four of us wander into the shop, a thankful breath of warmth out of the cold. Donna waltzes up to the front counter and immediately speaks to the guy. I cringe at her horrible British accent attempt.

“Foreigners, huh?” The counter employee says, with a laugh, “Apple Corps is two blocks north and five blocks west. You got tickets?” Donna glances back at us, but I merely roll my eyes at her.

Max jumps into the conversation, “No, we don’t. Didn’t know we needed any. Think we can still get in?” The man at the counter raises a finger before crouching under the counter. I inhale nervously. Elliot’s hand reaches for mine. I let him graze my wrist before taking a step to the side. His facial expression falls into drooped, sad eyes. He nods quietly, just as the counter guy pops up.

“They’ve been sold out for hours. We had someone waiting in the box office line for 3 full days. But, you’re in luck. I’ve got 4 general admission tickets for a small mark up of 7 euros each,” he says, flashing just one ticket.

Donna beams from ear to ear, “Only seven dollars each? We can do that!” I make eye contact with Max, who chuckles.

“Give us a few minutes to get enough?” Elliot asks. The employee nods, but threatens that he’ll only hold them for 30 minutes.

Donna turns to us, “No one has like thirty bucks?” The other three of us glance around at each other. Finally, Max cracks into a laugh, prompting Elliot and I to snicker too. “You are that broke?” she picks.

“You got thirty euros?” I ask. She shakes her head.

“I mean, it’s not that much. I’m sure if we panhandle enough we can make that in like 15 minutes,” she suggests. Elliot sighs, one more time.

“Now, I don’t know the Euros conversion, but it’s 1969. Thirty dollars in 1969 is at least $200 adjusted for inflation. Not to mention it’s in Euros, which have always been worth more than US Dollars. I’m guessing we’re not going to just panhandle and end up with three-fucking-hundred dollars in 15 minutes, are we?” he snaps. Max gives him a subtle fist bump from behind.

I glance over to a haggle of well-dressed college-aged men standing on the street corner, smoking. An idea.

“I got a suggestion, but, you’re not going to like it,” I say, pointing at Elliot, “And you’re really not going to like it,” I add, pointing at Donna. All three of them raise their eyebrows at me.

“See those men over there? I think that they are fairly wealthy, based on their clothing. Donna, you and I can go over and chat with them. Ask for $30 in exchange for….” I start before Elliot cuts me off.

“No, no, no. You are not doing that,” he shakes his head, “What if you get some kind of disease?”

I glance at him, “How did you think I was going to finish that sentence? I’m not a fucking prostitute,” I mutter, “I think we should ask two of them to take us to the concert. Donna and I will hang out with them for the next few hours before the concert. I promise, we’ll keep things above the level of a prostitute, Elliot. Then, on the way in, you two can mug them for their tickets and let us keep ours.”

He makes burning eye contact with me, but nods. Max encourages us to have fun, so Donna and I set off to the group of young men. She doesn’t speak a word to me as we cross the street. One of the men glances up at us. I decide that he’ll be my personal target. As we step onto the sidewalk, he smirks at me, briefly.

“Want a smoke?” he asks us, the man next to him already making googly eyes at Donna. The other man extends her a cigarette, but she waves it away.

“Oh, I’ve never smoked before!” she says, innocently. I roll my eyes and take the first man’s cigarette. He raises an eyebrow, surprised that I’m taking it. I press it to my lips, as he laughs.

“So, you do smoke. Not so common to see a lady do,” he flirts.

I exhale, rolling my eyes, “Ever see a lady do this?” I say, before inhaling more smoke, and puffing out a smoke ring. Haven’t done that since high school. The ring floats upwards, as the man smiles.

“What’s your name anyway, Miss Free Spirit?” he asks. I debate my opportunity for a new name, but fear that Donna will spoil things.

“Cassidy,” I say, secretly hoping he’ll call me Elliot’s special name in front of him. Make him feel all the jealousy that I have been feeling.

“I’m Paul,” he says.

I smile, “Like the Beatle!”

He cocks his head, smiling, “Big Beatles fan, huh?”

I nod my head, “I am. We came all the way here from the US to see them live. No tickets yet, though.”

He drops his cigarette on the ground and puts it out with his foot. His hand extends to take mine, as he nods towards the left. I put out my cigarette and take his hand.

“I’ve got something to show you,” he whispers, as he hurriedly takes me away from the sidewalk. I glance back to see Donna, looking at me confused. I turn back to Paul and keep walking with him. After maybe three blocks, I start to get worried. Were there any charming British serial killers named Paul in the 60s?

“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to sound less terrified than I actually am.

He squeezes my hand, “I’m taking you to see the Beatles.” Definitely a serial killer, right? No way that he’s not. I glance to my left and see Elliot and Max drinking outside a pub. Please save me. Max and I meet eyes briefly. He smacks Elliot’s arm and they both fly out of their chairs. Meanwhile, Paul picks up speed and we are sprinting through London. I can’t look back for the boys anymore, but I pray that they’re running just as fast behind me.

I’m jerked to the right, into an alleyway. Definitely getting murdered. I try to recall if my gun is in my left or right pocket. Instead of stabbing me, he pulls me up a fire escape. Is this worse? At the top of the fire escape he lets go of my hand. I think my heart stops. Surely I’m getting pushed off or stabbed or shot in the next 30 seconds. I watch his hands slip around my waist.

He leans into me and presses his lips into mine. And there is way too much tongue. Really, any tongue from a stranger is too much. But, this is particularly bad. Even Elliot would get smacked if he used that much tongue. I feel like he’s trying to lick my esophogus. I cautiously pull away, acknowledging that he still has the full power to absolutely shove me off the fire escape.

“Are you excited?” he asks. I smile, a bit.

“Yeah!” I say, still wildly confused. This has got to be some kind of horrible scam.

He turns to the brick building wall behind us, pushing himself up onto the railing of the fire escape. Just barely balancing on it, he stands up. His right arm stretches to grasp the top of the roof ledge. He slowly raises his body up to the top of the roof top, hoisting himself over the ledge. He disappears over the wall for a moment, before popping back onto his feet. Leaning down, he reaches for my arms.

“I got you,” he says, his British accent sultry. I climb onto the railing and take his hands. He pulls me onto the ledge. I land awkwardly on top of him. He runs his hands through my hair, smiling, “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met.”

I laugh and give him a gentle peck on the cheek. His hug is warm compared to the rooftop’s bitter wind. I stand up and look off the rooftop. There’s an amazing view from here. I glance down and see Elliot and Max on the street. Max points up at me, to which Elliot flips me off. I laugh, as Paul appears behind me.

“You know that guy?” he asks.

I shake my head, “Not well. I think he might be jealous though. Met him in the airport on the way here.”

Paul puts his arm around me, “See that building to your left? Apple Corps is there. I haven’t heard anything about a concert there tonight. But, if there is one, like you say, we’ll be able to hear it from here.”

I watch Elliot and Max walk around the corner. I wonder what happened to Donna. Actually, I don’t wonder. I truly do not care. As Paul and I take in the view, he chats me up about other music. Which I was royally screwed for. I know absolutely nothing about 1960s music. I try to recall the music my older family members spoke about, but I’m not left with much. He leads most of the conversation, going on and on about the music he likes. I shiver into his jacket as we wait and watch the concert.

“I want to meet them,” I say to him.

He nods, “You might be able to jump over while they’re playing. If they’re inside, you go could in through the window there. Probably won’t be as many people watching once the show starts.” I smile at him. Four men walk out through the doors to the rooftop, next me. The Beatles. My jaw drops, as they each collect instruments and begin playing. The people on the street point and cheer. Soon, the rooftop is flooded with people.

After the cheering closes, they begin to play their first song. After turning to Paul and thanking him for getting me up here, I crawl onto the ledge. He wishes me well and asks if we can meet in the future. I tell him to find me tomorrow morning, but of course, I won’t be here then.

I fly over the gap and land uncomfortably on the concrete. I twinge of pain sores through the skin of my knee. I tilt my head over to look at my knee and see red, everywhere. My pale blue go-go boots are stained in red. Oh, god. I sit up for a moment and look at the rest of my body. The elbow of my wool jacket is ripped, but otherwise things are okay.

A man steps out from the curtain in front of me, coughing. I push myself up, onto my butt. I give an awkard smile as he looks in my direction, putting down the glass of water he walked back here to get.

“Need some help up, love?” he asks. I make eye contact with him. The glasses on his face look just like John Lennon’s. And, so does his hair.

“Are you John Lennon?” I ask.

He laughs, “That would be me.” I suddenly notice his extended hand. I hastily accept his help up. I can’t help but stare at him: John Lennon, my grandmother’s teenage crush, who died way before I was born. He tilts his head at me, “Starstruck?”

I blush, “A little.”

“How did you get back here, anywho? And all scraped up like that, doll?” he inquires.

I glance down at my profusely bleeding knee, then back behind me to cement wall. I bite my lip, but decide to tell the truth. I admit to him that I hopped over the wall, quite ungracefullly. This makes him laugh, which I suppose is a better reaction than calling security.

“You didn’t need tickets? This was an impromptu event. You could’ve just walked up the stairs to get up here, like everyone else,” he says, laughing.

I shake my head, “Fucking scammers.”

He cocks his head at me, “I don’t know what that means.”

I cringe, and nod, “American slang. Uh, for someone who lies to get money. Someone tried to sell me fake tickets to this show for a lot of money.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t pay. Maybe you should slip out to the crowd before anyone finds you back here,” he suggests. I inhale. This has to be the moment that I get us in.

I swallow, “I have a question first.” I see irritation on his face, but he allows me to ask the question, “I have very important information for you. That’s why I am here. I know that this is your last ever performance because you’re all going to break up. I know that you’re marrying Ono Yoko in 2 months. I know that you’ll be murdered in your home in 1980, in New York City. Please, listen to me. I need to speak to all of you later. Meet me here, at the end of the show?”

Color drains from his face as he shakes his head, “Leave before I call someone to kick you out.” he hurries back onto stage, for which the crowd cheers. I slip out from behind the stage and merge into the crowd. The open wound on my knee stings. I feel a trace of sticky blood on my socks. I work my way to the outer portion of the crowd. I’m not leaving. Someone grabs me from behind. I instinctively elbow the stranger in the gut.

“Woah, Cassidy, it’s just me,” Elliot voice says from behind me. I twirl around and sigh at his familiar face. I almost pull him into a hug, until I see Donna standing right next to him. He slightly raises the hem of my long coat, “What happened to your knee?”

I sigh again and tell the story: fom the rooftop to seeing Lennon. His face looks at me disappointed, but nods. Donna just stares at me like some kind of demon. Elliot tells me that Max is outside, by the backdoor waiting for the Beatles there. He suggests that I wait at the stage, but that he and Donna will clear away. I agree. The music courses through my body. They play some of the songs more than once. A few I haven’t even heard before. They announce a second rendition of “Don’t Let Me Down.” I cautiously listen to the lyrics, this time.

I feel burning in my chest. Hope or anger or sadness, I don’t know. My mouth smiles, but my eyes water. Elliot stares straight at the band. Donna sways from side to side, her hand on her heart. I swallow the lump in my throat, staring at Elliot.

He runs his hands through his hair. He doesn’t dance or smile or sway like the people around us. He looks straightforward, still as a statue.

A cough of air escapes my throat. He glances over at me, right as I look at him. I know he can see the water in my eyes, because I can see the water in his.

He glances away, for a second, as the next song begins. The crowd goes wild around us. I tunnel my focus onto him. He makes eyes contact with me.

“I love you,” I want to say. I can’t do it. Is this even what love feels like? Donna pulls him to her. He nearly falls over, but turns around right as she plants a kiss onto his lips. I close my eyes and exhale through my nose. I reopen my eyes and stare at them. Elliot’s shaking his head. Donna sandwiches his right hand between hers. He pulls his hand away and turns back to me, just as the Beatles begin the next song. Police march in from the rooftop’s doors.

“I’m going to the front,” I say, loudly. He reaches for my hand, but I move away before he can get to me. I wipe a final tear from my cheek before approaching the stage. I shove through the front of the crowd, just as they cheer for the last song, which is being cut off by police. Eventually, the room empties and I stand, alone. Elliot and Donna have left, together of course. My chest is full of regret. Ringo wanders off stage and approaches me.

“John said you needed to speak to us?” he says. I nod quickly. He turns around, and I follow him off the rooftop. After a moment, we meet up with the other three Beatles.

There’s evident tension between them. No one speaks as we walk down the flights of stairs to the ground.

I pipe up, “My friends also know what I do, I think they may be able to help me tell you everything.”

No one says anything, as Paul pushes open the door to leave. I follow behind the four men. Max awaits, I nod for him to join in. Max and I could do this alone. That would be good. I honestly hope Elliot and Donna get lost. We walk through the alleyway with the men, before a black stationwagon approaches. John talks to the driver, then we all get in. Max and I cram into the rear seats. I have no idea where the car is taking us.

Max gently taps my arm to get my attention, “What happened in there? Your leg looks awful and you seem sad.” I look over at him, his face softened.

“Jumped over a roof, cut my leg. I’m mad at Elliot, tell you later. The Beatles know we’re able to see the future, so we’re good to tell them everything that happens,” I elaborate. Max just nods, solemnly.

The stationwagon parks in front of a small cottage after what I guess to be a 15 minute drive. I’m surprised that there aren’t poparazzi or security guards here. I’m more surprised by the fact that the cottage is smaller than my childhood home. You would think a Beatle in the peak of their career could be better, right?

Max and I get out of the vehicle just after the band does and they led us into the cottage. It’s eccentrically decorated, in true Beatle fashion. It’s also not hard to notice the smell of marijuana in the home. And, a quick glance around identifies some other questionables items: needles, bongs, a plate of powder… I glance at an oblivious Max, just as the Beatles sit down.

“So, John told us you were timetravlers? If I was sober, you probably wouldn’t be here, but thankfully I am not,” Ringo says. I glance at Max, who looks at me, waiting, I clear my throat, just as George, gives me a silent stare.

“So, this concert needs to be your last,” I say. George continues to stare, as Paul and John whisper to each other. “We’re here, because if you don’t break up, then John, you will be murdered in New York City in 1990 because of your World Peace efforts with your future wife. And, George you die at just 58 from lung cancer. Ringo and Paul, if you keep the band togther, you’ll both die in a plane crash,” I blabber. Max was nodding up until the end. George crosses his arms and shakes his head. I look over and notice that John isn’t in the room anymore.

Ringo adjusts himself in the chair he’s sitting in, “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

I hear Max take a deep breath. I join his breathing, before finally answering, “Because I know John’s doing herion right now. Go see for yourself.”

All three of them glance at each other and Paul quickly gets up. George and Ringo follow him, less enthusiastically. Alone now, Max whispers in my ear, “How did you know that?”

“Lucky guess… or at least I hope it was lucky,” I mutter. The clock behind us clicks. Tick…tick…tick…tick. Cuckoo! I flinch, almost launching myself out of my seat. Max yelps a little. I glance and make sure none of the Beatles saw our startle.

Max laughs, “Sorry, that scared me. No reason it needs to be this quiet in here.” I close my eyes and focus on getting my heartbeat down. After a few more minutes, all four of the Beatles walk back in together. George looks like he’s seen a ghost. John is evidently on something. The others may be high on pot, but John has a crazed look. Herion. I’m certain that I was right.

I swallow, “So, I was right?”

George, Ringo and Paul all glance at eachother and nod. I catch Max smiling out of the corner of my eye. He gently pats me on the shoulder.

“So, I’m encouraging you to breakup because, if you do break up, you’ll all have really successful careers. And, if not, the band will fall apart anyway,” I add.

“We’ll see,” Is all George says.

Ringo turns around and grabs a different bong than the one I noticed when we waked in. I glance at Max, but he stares off into the distance, chewing his thumb nail. Ringo turns back around, lighting up. The smell is making me nauseous. What kind of lightweight has this mission turned me into? After each of the Beatles has gotten their fill, they offer it to Max, who takes it quickly. I turn it down, but the second-hand smoke may be getting to me. I try to ignore my tossing stomach as my thoughts begin to be soothed.

I’m not even sure how long we’ve been here. Paul and Ringo are dancing when I feel Max tap my shoulder. I look over at him and he pulls me into a soft kiss. I almost enjoy it for a second before processing what just happened. I pull away, slower than I should have, and shake my head.

His eyes bugle, “I’m so sorry.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, “We need to go.”

He giggles, “I don’t think I could walk at this point.”