MARGO

"Mother-"

"Don't you 'Mother' me, young lady!" My mum interrupted. "I've been worried sick about you!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't have much time-"

 "Don't give me any excuses! You just run off and fly to another country, and you don't have the decency to call!""

"Mother, I'm calling you right now, aren't I?" I looked around the lobby. A child, sitting next to a man who I assumed was his father, was staring at me. He held his arm, which was wrapped in gauze, tight to his chest. I gave him a reassuring smile, and he looked away sheepishly. "I'm alright. It was an emergency-"

"And who do you call if there is an emergency? Your own family! I was calling for hours, and you didn't pick up! I was ready to run right over to your place and knock the door down! I nearly called the police!"

"Mum, it's been very hectic around here! I'm sorry I couldn't call before, but Paul was in danger and I had to get to him! He's very important to me, you know! It's just- aargh!" I shouted, and a few waiting patients stared at me. The little boy's wide eyes spun to me, and I quickly lowered my tone, my cheeks heating up.

"Mother, I'm really sorry, it's just... there's been no time.... I was worried about Paul...." I trailed off, and tears sprung to my eyes.

"I know, darling, I know," Mum's voice softened. "I was also very worried, about the both of you."

"He's not going to tour for a while," I said quietly. "Maybe never."

"Oh, Margo, don't worry. Paul is a strong, fine young man. He'll be better." My mom spoke with confidence.

"I hope so." I sighed, and looked back at the child with the injured arm. He was staring at a nurse with his big eyes, listening to her explain something to him. I turned back around. "Thanks, Mum."

"No, problem, dear. Just make sure to call me when you can."

"Alright. I'll talk to you when I get the chance."

"I love you, sweetheart."

"Love you, Mum." I clicked the phone down and turned around. The child was being escorted away by the nurse, the father following.

"Good luck!" I shouted to the boy. He looked at me and smiled shyly.

A small smile crept onto my face as I began to walk back to the room. Paul was going to be alright, I thought. Any doubts inside me had flown away as soon as the little boy flashed his smile. Everything was going to be fine.

I turned into the room, and stopped abruptly. Paul was still asleep. Ringo was too, in the chair.

George was sitting against the wall, his head thrown back, eyes half-closed, mouth open.

"George? George!" I said in a shouted whisper. His eyes shot open, and he stared at me.

"What?" he said, his voice slightly shaky. "What, is everything alright? Did something happen?"

"Everyone else is fine," I said, slightly softer. "Are you alright?"

"Me?" George blinked, and looked round the room. Then he stared down at his hands. I looked at them as well. His fingers were fidgeting, playing out guitar chords and melodies in the air. It was something he did when he was upset. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "You don't seem fine."

George kept looking down at his hands, weaving imaginary songs with his fingers. He looked up at me.

"Are you staying here overnight?"

I hesitated, surprised by the change of subject. "Uh... yeah, I wanted to. Why?"

"I'm going to go. John's been alone all day. I should go see him." He stood up quickly, brushed his pants off, and turned to the door. He paused in the doorway.

"If Paul and Ringo wake up, will you let them know I've gone?"

"Yeah, sure." I walked to him. " But I can come with you if you want-"

"No, no, you should stay here with Paul." He looked back at me, flashed a quick, false-assured smile, and said, "'Ta, then. Goodnight."

"...Goodnight."

And he left. I turned around to find that Ringo had awoken, and was staring past me at where George had just been.

"Everything alright?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"I've noticed that we ask that question a lot lately," I replied, as I leaned back against the wall.

Ringo chuckled, and nodded in Paul's direction. "D'ya know when he'll be kicking again?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "But hopefully soon."

"Yeah," Ringo answered, settling back in his chair, arms folded. "Hopefully."

GEORGE

"And now, we have the Beatles with the latest, 'A Hard Day's Night!' Hit it!"

I turned the corner and drove onto the freeway. The headlights of my car illuminated the dark road in front of me.

"It's been a hard day's night,"

"It really has, hasn't it?" I chuckled to myself, trying to create a joyful air, but failing miserably.

"And I've been working like a dog."

A car whizzed by me, and I jumped. Letting out a nervous laugh, I stared down the road and gripped the steering wheel tighter. Cars sped by on both sides; red in one lane, white in the other. 

"It's been a hard day's night,"

The white markings on the road slid under the car, growing closer and closer until they disappeared.

"I should be sleeping like a log."

Why was I so shaky?

Because I needed a ciggie?

No, that's not it.

Because I was driving in the dark?

That isn't it either.

Because my best friend was lying in a hospital, threatened with retirement from the one thing he knows and loves to do, and my other best friend was lying in a hotel, beaten to a pulp and worrying about the threat of retirement of his band, and my third best friend was watching all of this and worrying about all the threats of retirement, and my friend's girlfriend had to watch all this lying and worrying and threatening and retiring without being able to do much about it, and I had to be part of all this watching and lying and worrying and threatening and ending and hurting and just worrying and worrying and worrying and there's a deer on the road. There is a deer on the road.

"But when I get home to you, I find the things that you do,"

I slammed on the brakes, and spun the steering wheel to the right. The car spun around wildly, and I was thrown to the left window, my seat belt pulling me back and stinging my shoulder.

"Will make me feel alright."

The sound of screeching tires pierced the night, and the back of the car hit something. The vehicle stopped with a jolt, and shook back against the force, swinging me with it.

".......been....a h........y's nigh......."

All was still, except for the grainy sound of the radio. I realized my eyes were squeezed shut, and I slowly opened them. I was now facing the other way; the white lights of the cars were heading in my direction instead of being on the opposite lane.

"....ve be........king li......dog......" 

There was no deer in sight; the bugger must've run off. I let out a shaky breath as cars drove past me.

"Jesus," I breathed.

"It.......en a har........ight......."

I tried to move my legs, then my arms, down to my trembling fingers, and ended with my neck. Everything seemed in working order, no broken bones. I tried to get the car working, and it started up, a miracle of miracles.

"....shou.......eepin......ike a l......"

I reached for the button, and clicked off the radio. I pushed the gas pedal, and the car moved forward smoothly, but I felt a wave of fear crawl through me, and I quickly pressed the brake. The car stopped abruptly, and my shoulder pressed against the seatbelt, releasing pain that felt like a bruise.

"Great," I muttered, a shiver in my voice. "How am I going to get back now?"

A car drove by, but then stopped, and reversed back to where I was. Once it was near my car, the passenger's door opened, and a young lady came out. She ran to my side of the car, going around the front. In the headlights, I saw her figure: a small frame, long hair and a dress on.

She quickly got to the driver's side, and tried to open the door. It was locked, as it always was, so I shakily pushed a button to open it.

Her big eyes gleamed in the dark, and her long brown hair floated on the night breeze. Her face was twisted in worry.

"You have to get out of the car!" She said, her American accent thick.

"The car is working," I said, with all the strength I could muster, which wasn't a lot. "I have to drive it to the hotel."

She blinked, noticing my Scouse dialect, then regained her urgent attitude. "You can't drive! You are in no condition to! Please get out of the car!"

"I-I can drive, please, don't worry-"

"Please." Her voice was calmer; she was using a new tactic to persuade me. "You're in shock, your pupils are dilated. You're trembling. You can't be out on the road like this."

"But I have to get back to the hotel..." my voice trailed off. How was I going to do that? I had attempted to drive, but I couldn't. "I-is there any way....?"

The girl understood what I was trying to ask. She stood, thinking for a minute, then looked at me.

"I'll be right back," she said, and ran back over to her own car, where she leaned into the window to talk to the driver. After a few minutes of this, she quickly came back over.

"I'll drive you to the hotel, in your car, okay?" Her face was set in serious determination.

"Really? You don't have to go to the trouble-"

"Ah, don't worry about it!" she said, cheery now. "I need some driving practice anyway, I got my license a week ago." Her face looked sheepish for a moment. "Not that I haven't had enough practice already."

I smiled, and unbuckled my seatbelt. "Thank you so much," I said. "You sure your buddy over there doesn't mind?"

"No, no, he doesn't. When a person is in need, we are glad to help." I shuffled over to the passenger seat, wincing in pain at my shoulder. The girl noticed, and pulled down the top of my shirt.

"Excuse me, madam, but I never gave permission," I said, swallowing the pain and chuckling a bit.

"Climb it, Tarzan," she replied with a smirk. "Your shoulder is bruised; doesn't seem to be much more than that. You'll be fine."  She released my shirt, and buckled up. I did the same, and soon enough we were back on the road.

"My name's Angie, by the way," she said.

"George," I answered, before realizing that she might recognize me and go berserk. You never know with birds like her. I cringed, waiting for a squeal or a slam of the brakes, but it never happened.

"George," she said calmly. "Nice name."

"Thanks," I replied. "And thanks for the drive."

"Don't mention it. Which hotel should I be taking you to, by the way?"

"Um.... the Plaza Hotel."

"Fancy," Angie said with a smile.

Only the best for the Beatles, I thought.

I stared out the window, but all those cars flying by sent a shiver up my spine, and I turned away.

Deep breaths. In, out, in out. My fingers were fidgeting; I wasn't sure what song they were playing.

"What? You okay there?" Angie didn't take her eyes off the road, but she noticed my discomfort.

"Yeah......" I kept staring down at my hands, not finding the strength to look up at the road. "D'you have any ciggies?"

"Uh, ciggies?" she asked, confused.

"Cigarettes," I explained.

"Oh. No, sorry, I don't smoke."

I nodded, and continued looking at my hands, playing a complicated solo that I still couldn't figure out.

Angie glanced at me, and then turned back to the road. "How about we stop at a gas station? I'll fill up the car, and you'll buy yourself whatever you need. Alright?"

I looked up at her gratefully. She was staring at the road, but a smile was on her face.

"Good," she said assuredly. "If you're tired, which you probably are, why don't you go to sleep."

"Thank you," I said, and she nodded back. I closed my eyes, shutting out the red and white lights, and the whoosh of cars skidding by, and fell asleep.