Chapter 15: December 6th, 1963, 7:30PM || London, England

The rain pounded onto the pavement. Thunder was booming, accompanied by random flashes of lightning. I could hear my pulse thumping through my head as my father and I sprinted into the storm.

I looked right and then left, peering through the rain. My father ran over to a tan car parked on the curb. It was sleek, and it had a familiar classic-car-look about it that I was unable to place until I spotted the "Corvette" logo on the back panel of the car.

It was a 1963 Corvette Stingray. I wasn't very knowledgeable about cars, but I was knowledgeable about music. And that was the car that I had seen The Beach Boys with several times. Sleek and wet from the rain, this was by far the nicest car I had ever seen.

And my dad was breaking into it! The passenger-side window was rolled part way down, and my dad reached in and unlocked the door. He turned around and yelled to me through the roaring rain, "Penny!" he motioned.

"Penny, I need you to drive. Can you drive manual?" he said.

"Are you crazy? This is--this car is worth more than me!" I yelled over the thunder.

"So you can drive stick then? Get in!" he yelled.

There was no time to argue, I jumped over the hood--without falling, thankfully-- and opened the driver's side door as my dad unlocked it. He reached down under the car, and began tampering with the wires.

I slid into the driver's seat, throwing my bag into the back. I grabbed the gear shift and put the car in neutral. I pressed on the clutch and shifted, gently releasing the clutch. The engine roared to life. The car felt alive in my hands as I began to drive towards The Beatles' concert venue. I switched on the wipers to their highest setting, and the lights as I raced through the rain.

"You don't know how to drive stick?" I asked dubiously.

"Nope, never learned. I took public transportation most of my life anyway. I could barely drive the automatic car that I drove The Beatles in!" he laughed.

"Well that makes sense now, you were a terrible driver." I retorted.

"Hey!" my father interjected.

"It's your own fault for getting a job that you weren't qualified for in any way! Being a driver when you can barely drive!?" I exclaimed.

Crazy! This is absolutely crazy! The Beatles are going to die, and it's going to be my fault!

"Where am I going exactly?" I asked. I hadn't been paying attention when we drove to the theater the first time, since I wasn't driving, so I didn't actually know where I was going.

My dad gave me the directions to the theater. I swerved into the back parking lot, and as I parked and jumped out of the car, a clap of thunder boomed. Because of the weather, there was no security outside.

I guess they were too good to stand outside in the rain and protect The Beatles. Or Staples and Haus took them out. Regardless, the rain whipped against me, as I ran into the building, my dad on my heels.

The door flew open in the wind, and I had to force it back shut. My hair flopped around my face like a wet mop. I looked around at the corridor I stepped into. The hall was grey, and there appeared to be a couple of restrooms, as well as regular rooms. I began to wander, my father following me, towards the muffled noise.

The muffled noise of a concert.

But not just any concert: a Beatles concert. Which meant that I was following the sound of hundreds of screaming girls, and the faint thump of music.

I neared the sound, the voices of men and women shouting stage commands became clearer. Suddenly, I heard a nasally and taut voice from behind me,

"Who are you," the person asked.

Upon further inspection I realized that this was a lady that was somehow in charge. Maybe a stage manager or a manager at the auditorium. She had a bird-like face, with beady eyes and a hooked nose.

"I uh... um...we--" my father stuttered.

By a miraculous stroke of quick thinking, I yanked my shoe out of my bag and held it up,

"This is The Beatles' driver and I am their personal assistant. This," I shoved the shoe in her face, "Is Paul McCartney's lucky shoe!" I exclaimed.

The woman gave me a squint-eyed look over her nose, "Why would Mr. McCartney have a sneaker when his uniform is formal attire?"

"Well miss, Mr. McCartney must have his lucky sneaker in the auditorium where he is playing. It's a superstition thing, but would you really want to upset the Paul McCartney?" I instigated. "He would be very upset to find out that his lucky charm wasn't present as his concert!"

The woman's face dropped. I could tell at that moment that my charade had worked.

"Fine," she retorted.

We walked quickly past the woman and toward the music. The floor was a white tile and the walls were also a dull white. I could hear the rain and thunder along with the screaming of the audience, and the baseline of the Beatles' song.

I went us a small set of stairs and found a side door that appeared to lead into the auditorium, I opened it and creeped through, my father following close behind me. I became confused as I saw a dark and untidy space. I saw a reddish colored curtain, and realized that we were backstage.

I was backstage at a Beatles concert.

Quickly throwing the thought from my mind I tried to focus on how my friends were about to be murdered.

Yikes.

The stagehands were either running around or watching the Beatles perform, paying no attention to us. All of the security appeared to be out in the audience, so my father and I were safe hanging out. There was no sign of the two agents.

As the songs progressed, I felt more and more anxious thinking about the repercussions of this event. What will happen if the Haus and Staples find The Beatles? How are we going to stop them? What happens if, heaven forbid, The Beatles are killed?

I snapped back to my senses when I heard Paul announcing on stage, "Ladies and gentleman, we'll be taking a short break, we'll be right back!" and a loud screaming from the audience.

The band filed backstage, and I ran to them. George saw me running toward them first.

"Penny!" he shouted. "Where have you been, I've been worried sick! Hey, isn't that the cabbie!?"

"Well, see, the thing is--"

"Let's get back to the dressing rooms before any rogue fans jump us. You can explain there." Paul interrupted.

Breathlessly, I kept explaining as we were walking, "Listen, you have to call your security, all four of you are in danger! My dad and I were kidnapped--"

"You're father? Is this him? Is your father the cabbie? Why didn't you tell us?" John cut in.

"Weren't you listening, they were kidnapped!" Ringo exclaimed with an exasperated sigh.

"Listen!" I almost shouted, eliciting a wide eyed look from John, and a few glances from the stagehands, "You're in danger. The men who kidnapped us were on the way to kill you. They're probably somewhere around here now. They are dangerous!" I was panting heavily.

"Okay Penny, calm down," Paul said, pushing open the door to the dressing room marked "Beatles" with a star next to the title.

We filed into the room, the boys sweaty and warm from their show on the stage, and my father and I still damp and breathless from our rush to the auditorium. I was about to continue my story, when I looked into the room and saw Staples and Haus staring right back at me.

"It's them!" I shouted. I had been standing right behind Paul and yanked him back. As I did so I heard a yell from one of the agents, and a gunshot go off through the wall.

"Run!" I yelled, slamming the door.

We sprinted for the exit, as fast as our legs could carry us, when we were stopped by Brian.

"You're on now!" he exclaimed, pushing the boys toward the stage.

I series of "but"s and "um"s ensued, but Brian had none of it. The boys walked out onto the stage, and began their performance. Suddenly, Staples and Haus ran up behind us.

Brian looked appalled, "Who are you three?!"

Before I could say anything I could feel Staples come up behind me, pressing to cool metal of his handgun to my back. "We're Patty's--er Penny's uncles!"

"Y-yeah, uncles," I stuttered.

Brian furrowed his brow, "Hm... I'll allow it," and strutted off, probably back to his balcony seat.

My father, Staples, and Haus stood there, frozen.

"Alright you little brat, and you too old man. We can't move because you and I both know that there are too many people roaming around back here. We're going to wait here until those idiots get off of the stage, and we're all going to go out to the back lot, nice and easy, got it?" he threatened.

I nodded my head slowly. We stood and watched the concert for thirty minutes. I was terrified. I nervously looked around up at the rafters, and immediately had a light bulb moment.

As if my adventure couldn't get anymore cinematic, I once again remembered the beloved Back to the Future Part II.

"Hey," I whispered sharply.

Staples only responded by shoving the barrel of his gun deeper into my back. Haus was doing the same to my father, who gave me a wide eyed look.

"Hey!" I whispered, sharper this time.

"What!?" Staples grumbled.

"I have to pee!" I explained.

"You think we're going to let you go to the bathroom by yourself, you'll just run away!" Haus bumbled.

"I really gotta go!" I insisted.

Staples thought for a moment, "We really don't need her anyway..." he pondered a second more, "I'll cut you a deal, you can go to the bathroom, but if you call for help, or run away, I will kill your dad, and I will kill your friends without hesitation."

"Okay, I promise I'll come right back. Please don't hurt my father," I pleaded, grabbing my dad's hand and making eye contact. I quickly nodded my head upward.

Staples shoved me sideways, and I retreated further behind the stage.

It was go time. I launched my plan into action, running over to the ladder that lead to the rafters above stage. I dropped my bag onto the floor and started climbing. By a sheer stroke of luck, I had noticed that there were sandbags for the curtains right above where the agents and my father were standing.

I was going to get those agents. Marty McFly style.

I crawled across the rafters, toward the rope holding the bags. I was right above my father and the agents, untying and gripping the rope connected to the sandbags. I let out a sharp whistle, and all three of them looked up. My father elbowed Haus and dodged out of the way as I dropped the heavy bags onto the agents.

"What the--OOF" was the last thing I heard out of Staples that day.

"Yes! I whooped." It was then that I remembered that those sandbags were actually connected to the curtains. One of the curtains behind the main curtain in the back fell lopsided onto a couple of stagehands. The Beatles kept going, even though I had just partially wrecked the stage.

I climbed down, grabbed my bag, and ran over to my father. I saw a security guard walking towards the exit, and stopped him.

"Sir! These men are armed and dangerous, they threatened the lives of The Beatles!" I exclaimed.

Looking shaken, the young man ran over and searched the agents, disarming them. He called to the other guards, and hauled the men off.

I looked out at the stage to see the boys bowing and waving. There was thunderous applause and shrill screaming from the audience.

The concert was over, and The Beatles were safe. 

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Hey all! Don't worry this is not the end of the story! I know I haven't posted in a while, but I am really determined to finish this fic! I'm going to try really hard to finish it up over break, I have most of it figured out, already. There's only a couple of chapters left, and the last full chapter has already been written. This story is coming to an end soon, and I just want to say I'm so grateful to those who have read and liked it :) Have happy holidays full of music, peace, and love!

-M