Yesterday - A Beatles Fanfic

Chapter The Fifteenth

They followed her into the spare room. It was primarily used as her Aunt's office space, but it had once been her son's bedroom. There was still a wardrobe full of his old clothes in the corner. This wasn't the first time Jessie had claimed her cousin's clothes as her own - most of her t-shirts and jeans had been fished out of that cupboard and given a new life.

The three Beatles looked curiously around the spacious room. They had no idea what half of the odd machines and devices did, and had no intention of messing about with them. Then Jessie started rifling through the wardrobe and tossed items of clothing behind her. "Take your pick," they heard her muffled voice. "Your jeans should be fine, but the shirts have gotta go."

John picked up a crumpled black t-shirt off of the floor and held it up. "What's AC/DC?" He asked.

Jessie shut the wardrobe door, armed with more accessories to their disguises. "They're a rock band." She explained. "You'll have to wait for the seventies."

John shrugged and turned away, quickly taking off his shirt and pulling the band shirt over his head. "They as good as us?" He winked.

"That would be telling!" Jessie smiled. "Personally, I like you guys better... But they're pretty good."

"How's this?" Paul asked, striking a pose. He'd decided that his own grey t-shirt was fine, and had picked up a large blue pullover. "Hmm," he mused, shoving his hands in the large front pocket. "Comfy!" Then he flinched as Jessie pulled the hood up, covering his hair. "Christ!" He gasped, startled. "A little warning next time?"

Jessie laughed. "Now it's good." Then she picked up a loose woollen beanie. "Sorry guys, but you gotta hide the hair. It's the biggest giveaway."

John took the beanie and pulled it over his head, tucking in some of his light brown locks. "Like this?"

It took all of Jessie's willpower to prevent her heart from imploding, and breaking into a fit of adoring squeals.

"Erm, Jess?" Ringo coughed politely. "Do ye' perhaps have anything a little..." Paul and John looked at each other and grinned knowingly. "...smaller?"

"Oh, Ringo!" Jessie chuckled. "I'll be right back. She walked out, leaving the lads.

"Aw, poor little Ringsy!" John cooed. "Can't fit the men's clothes!"

"Hey!" Ringo pushed John. "I'm older than you!"

Paul had gathered up the discarded clothes. "Hey," he said, holding up a shirt. "These lads look awfully familiar."

John swiped the shirt from Paul. "Christ! I think it's us!" He exclaimed. "Yeah, that's definitely you, Paulie!" He jabbed a finger at the picture.

"Lemme see!" Ringo said. "Good grief! George is Jesus!" He laughed. "And John... Ye' look like a lion or somethin'!"

"Why are we walkin' across the street?" Paul wondered aloud. "And where's me shoes?"

Ringo studied the t-shirt again. "I think I look pretty good!"

They all jumped and turned around guiltily as Jessie returned. "What's that?" She asked.

Paul's hood had fallen back, displaying his tousled dark hair. He handed her the shirt. "We was just lookin'!" He smiled sheepishly.

Jessie shook her head slowly, suppressing her laughter. "Here, Ringo." She tossed him a bundle of clothing. "Try this."

It was a leather jacket that she hardly ever wore. Ringo's face lit up as he pulled it on over the large white t-shirt he'd found. "But what about me hair?" He asked.

Jessie picked up a cap and shoved it firmly on his head. "That'll have to do for now," she told him. "We'll just have to hope people don't look too closely."

Ringo put his hands in his jacket pockets. Surprised, he withdrew his left hand, bringing out a pair of mirrored sunglasses. "Now I'm done!" He smirked, putting them on.

Looking at Ringo's disguise reminded Paul of something. "Hey John, ye' should wear yer glasses!" He suggested. "It'll make ye' look different... And ye' might actually be able to see George if we come across him, y'know?"

John groaned. He did have his glasses in his pocket, but he was usually reluctant to wear them in public. Paul was right though, it was the best thing to do. Pulling them out of his pocket, he said, "But only if you wear yours!"

Paul held his arms wide, flat palms facing up. "I don't have them with me!" He protested. "Besides, I happen t' be able t' see me own hand in front of me face!" He grinned cheekily.

"Hey, so can I!" John insisted. "I'm nearsighted, ye' know that!"

Paul snickered. "Whatever."

* * *

George cracked his knuckles and waggled his fingers. Let's give it a shot then! He tapped a key. 'S' appeared in the search bar. This is easy! He thought smugly. Let's see... S-a-n-d-w-i-c-h... he typed slowly. "Now what?" He muttered to himself. "Maybe... This?" He clicked on a small magnifying glass icon. A page of results popped up, including an extensive gallery of mouthwatering sandwiches.

It works! He thought in amazement. But does it know me? He cleared the search bar and started typing again, getting the hang of it now. G-e-o... Geordie Shore? No. George Clooney? Nope, who's he!? The Beatle ignored the list of suggestions. ...r...g...e...H..."Well, look at that." He murmured to himself. "I am here!"

Sure enough, at the top of the page were several photos of himself, and a short paragraph about him.

George Harrison, MBE, was an English guitarist, singer, songwriter, and music and film producer who achieved international fame as the lead guitarist of the Beatles.

But George hardly read past the top line.

One word was echoing through his head.

Was... Was... Was...

"Was..." George whispered. "I... I'm dead ?" Sadly, it was true. He would hardly live to see the twenty-first century.

With a heavy lump of dread in the pit of his stomach, he clicked on the page. He scrolled down, eyes skimming back and forth. George didn't particularly want to know how his entire life turned out, but he wanted to know how it ended. As he read, he remembered a short conversation he'd had with Jessie the other night.

George stood on the back porch, staring out into the night. He took another long drag of his cigarette, slowly releasing a puff of smoke. It was late, but he couldn't sleep. He turned around suddenly at the sound of a small voice behind him.

"George, why do you smoke?" Jessie was in the doorway, a small figure standing in the shadows. Her eyes reflected the pale moonlight outside.

The youngest Beatle shrugged. "Why not?" He replied. "Everyone does. Besides, it's not like it'll kill me."

He saw the girl shake her head sadly and turn away. As she left him, he heard her say softly, "But it will, George. It will..."

Now, as George sat in front of the computer, he realised with horror that she'd been right. He was aware of the lighter in his back pocket. It suddenly felt a lot heavier than it had before.

"L-let's look at something else..." He murmured shakily. Looking beside him, he saw the old woman wearing a pair of headphones, apparently watching a video. He snuck a glance at the address bar. Well, let's try YouTube then...