Escape of the Nerk Twins

Chapter XIX

A/N: Lots, lots, lots of announcements:

1) It seems that there has been some confusion regarding the last chapter. Oops, my bad! It all made sense in my head, but most of that apparently didn't make it onto the page ;0)

So, to clarify: Paul being sick is not a new rumor. Back in chapter 4, on the bus outside the gas station, Brian came up with the plan to tell the press that John is taking care of sick Paul in the hospital. This is the plan that backfired in chapter 10, when George and Ringo couldn't remember what to say in the press conference because they were too tired, and instead said they didn't know anything. (Remember the bit about farming carrots?) Apparently, while George and Ringo were in jail Brian fixed their mess-up and told the press that Paul is ill. Now, somebody on the television appears to be Paul; Paul is supposed to be ill by the press because they've been told that he is by Brian.

Hope this clears up the mess!

2) Wow, we're really nearing the finish line now! Just the dramatic ending and then the epilogue left. Then we're on to Murder Most Discreet, which'll be a whole lot darker than this one. (Bonus points in the future for anybody who remembers some foreshadowing stuff I've done in this fic, though :0)  Also, here on WattPad in the "media" section we've got a rough draft of something I'm sketching for Murder Most Discreet.

3) Major changes: the organization Critics United have stopped me from posting Beatles stories on FanFiction. However, I'm still on WattPad, AO3, and FictionPress :0) Some of my wonderful reviewers from FanFiction have also had to relocate to WattPad, so welcome, guys!

4) The usual thanks to my wonderful readers, especially the last batch from FanFiction: WattPad: Macca40, Marvel_is_best, PurlyandGirly, cityofstarlight, and NJ2001; FanFiction: ThisBirdHasFlownToRhye, Macca's Little Teddy Bear, Swimmer girl 17, omgringo, and leah9712

Just as the reborn sun cleared the pink edges of the hills, the breeze picked up where it had left off during the night. It gusted across the top of the tower, carrying with it the ghosts of arrows and spears. Driven away by the onslaught, John and Paul retreated down the narrow spiral staircase to the back room. They bundled their comic books and snack food into their sleeping bags and carried the bundles through the drafty great hall and into the starched morning sunlight. John's untied shoes crunched on the grass, which was coated thinly with frozen dew.

As the shining Ford Anglia gathered speed on the grey road, John rolled down his window, twisting the hand-crank as quickly as he could. He pushed out his torso, gripping the frame with his hands, and waved goodbye to the crumbling castle, which loyally stood guard over the gently rippling, shimmering loch. For a moment, John imagined he saw someone else wave back, leaning out one of the upper windows. Her long blonde hair glittered in the crisp, pale sunlight.

And then the road curved back around the purple-brown hill into an evergreen forest, and the castle vanished.

"Where are we, John?" asked Paul, glancing in his rear view mirror at the black car tailgating their Ford Anglia.

"Scotland," replied John, continuing to scribble in his notebook.

Paul rolled his eyes as the black car passed them and barreled on down the lonely strip of concrete. The wind whooshed around the vehicles and continued across the green-brown hills, toward a white farmhouse just visible in the distance.

"I meant more specifically," said the bassist pleasantly. "Get the map out of the glove box and find out where we are, you lazy git."

John groaned theatrically and tossed his notebook into the backseat. He pulled open the glove box and pulled out the map. He unfolded it with a flourish, the large sheet of paper slapping Paul's face. The driver pushed the map out of his vision as the car swerved a little.