"So..." Lucy giggled as they hurried down the street, "are you excited for your date with George?"

"Of course I am.  He's hot as hell and can play the guitar.  That's always a good sign." Layla said, smoothing her hair.  It had got a bit frizzy as they ran down the avenue in the rain.  "I just hope you're excited to see Paul." she smirked.  

Lucy's eyes went wide.  "Why did you-"

Finding a haven from the rain, she demanded to know the truth.  "Admit it, Lucy. Paul is the most attractive boy you've ever seen, and I know you'd snog him senseless if you had the chance.  He wants you too.  You've just got to go up to that boy, say what he wants to hear and bang!  Instant steady."

The younger girl sighed.  If only it were that easy.  Paul had broken up with a girl that he had been dating for awhile, telling her that he was sorry, but someone else had "caught his eye."  That night he talked to Lucy for hours over the phone, and the next day Catherine, Paul's ex-girlfriend, began to get angry with her.

Layla didn't understand why Lucy was so scared to tell Paul she wanted him and him alone.  As soon as Jackson was out of her life, she was thrilled to see George as more than a friend.  Though she didn't like to believe in love at first sight, she knew George and her could become something special.  And by the way Lucy looked at Paul, she could tell Lucy had so much to say but didn't know how to say it.

But then the younger of the two said, "Have you snogged George senseless, Layla?"  

She smirked.  "What do you think we do on our dates?"

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It had been a month after the funeral and burial, and Paul and George would wake up in the middle of the night to go see their graves.  Sometimes they woud pass each other, other times they would miss each other completely.  However, one night, Paul went to see Layla instead of Lucy.  

"I...I feel a bit strange talking to you...but you knew Lucy better than anyone."  Paul sat on the cold grass.  "Today I was looking through Lucy's journal again, and saw that she had papers glued to the pages in the back.  They were letters and notes on scraps of paper.  They were from..." he started tearing up.  "Lucy never told me Catherine was teasing her.  She always told me everything, but I'm starting to wonder if my Lucy isn't truly mine.

"I couldn't help it," he whispered.  "I had to read some of the letters.  She was angry with her for dating me.  And what's worse was I remember the days we went on dates, and those letters had been delivered to her house on those days.  As soon as she got home, she read those horrible words.  You knew Lucy was insecure, and I tried my best to make her realize how beautiful she really was, but...why did she keep the letters?  Catherine teased her weight, her body and about how awkward and scared she got around me.  Lucy was shy, but I liked that about her.  I should have known, Layla.  I shouldn't have done what I did."

Then another memory hit him.  

"You and George were out one night.  On holiday.  Lucy was sick at her parents' house.  I would have visited her but we had a show coming up and she didn't want me to get sick.  I went out to a bar with John...oh, why didn't I listen to him?  He even tried to stop me from doing what I did.  We both were hopelessly drunk, but that's still no excuse."  Paul was miserable, wiping his runny, cold nose on his jacket sleeve.  "Catherine was there.  She came up to me, and started chatting me up.  I don't know, Layla.  Maybe I still thought she was attractive when I was dating Lucy, or maybe it was the alcohol.  But even though John kept telling me about poor Lucy sick in bed and that I should be visiting her...I ended up snogging Catherine at the end of the night.  The girl who was breaking Lucy's heart.  The journalist in the newspaper.  And she never knew.  It happened a few times after that, and now that I know that she suspected it, I feel so...despicable."

And then in a quieter voice, he said, "Are you...are you both alright?  Wherever you are?  Is your baby safe?"

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George, like Paul, decided to go visit his girlfriend's best friend.  Paul had been laying flowers each night he came, so the perimeter of her grave looked more like a garden than what it actually was.  It was beautiful, but he couldn't help but think how sad he must have been doing such a thing.  

"Hello, love," he said, quietly.  "Paul misses you...I miss you too.  I...I just wanted to talk, and I know that you probably can't hear me but Paul doesn't even know what I'm going through.  The press are starting to figure out about the baby, and they keep asking me questions.  Brian just wants me to push through them but there are so many things I do want to tell them.

"Layla's sister...she came to my door the other day.  She's flirting with me, but teasing me at the same time.  But I suppose I deserve it.  If I wasn't such an ass, she might not have left that night."  George spoke quietly, as if someone would hear their conversation.  But all the people who surrounded him were dead.  George felt like joining them.  "Did you and Paul...ever want kids?  Did you ever want to get married?  Is...is my baby with you and Layla?"  George tore a blade of grass from the ground, mindful that it wasn't off a grave.  "I'm never going to have another child, Lucy.  Not ever.  How can I trust myself with something so little and precious when I couldn't even talk to Layla without yelling?  I would have wanted to know what it would have been like to be a father, but...but what if I had hurt her?  What if you both were destined to die, but being in the car crash was only one way to go?  What if she had died during childbirth?  If you had survived, and then...what if it was I who...ended her life?  I don't know...but I don't want to know.  I want to think I'd never hurt her...but I already did, Lucy."  

George took in a deep breath, but let out a sob instead.  "Robert is getting better.  Paul...he visits him whenever he can.  Your parents are happy he still wants to see him."  He sat up, wiping his eyes.  "I...I was going to go visit Layla.  I'll be back sometime soon.  I promise."

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Paul woke up in the cold, wet grass, snuggled up next to Lucy's headstone, buried in flowers.  His suit was soaked with sweat and dew, but he didn't care.  He couldn't recall how he got to Lucy's grave, for he had intended to visit Layla.  But he was there, and he didn't feel like he could move from his place.  

Hours had passed when a voice began to call his name.  At first it was soft and quiet.  It sounded like her.  "Lucy..." he whimpered.  

"Paul."  And then she was next to him, stroking his wet, dirty hair and kissing his grassy cheek.  He was a bit muddy, but she didn't seem to care.  He wanted to ask her if she was alright, but he couldn't speak.  She looked beautiful.  It was a stormy, overcast day, and she seemed to...glow. 

Lucy took his hand and kissed it, looking up at him with her pearly blue eyes.  She then brushed her gentle fingers across his forehead, and pressed her lips to the soft skin.  Paul whispered her name once again, and reached out to touch her.  Only to touch air.  

"Paul!" someone shook him.  "Snap out of it!"  John yanked him to his feet, dizzying the younger boy.  As soon as he was orientated again, he mumbled, teary, "She was here.  She was...she was touching me.  Please...I don't want to go."  Then Paul started to struggle against him.  "No!  John, she was here! Let me go!  Leave me!" he cried.  

But John shoved him into his car.  "Look, I know you're angry, but the police want you to meet someone."

"How did you know I was there?"

"Where else would you be, mate?  Paul...the girls were hit by a drunk driver.  And they found him.  He wants to apologize."

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Ringo dragged George off to the police station.  He didn't want to see the man.  As much as he wanted to blame the drunk, he couldn't help but blame himself.  George and Paul just wanted the man to go away, whether it was being locked up in prison or set free, so long as they never saw him again.  

Two policemen were waiting in the room with the driver, who was handcuffed to his chair.  When George and Paul entered the room, two more guards were added.  

"Mister Harrison and Mister McCartney, this is Jacob Ryan.  He is the man responsible for the deaths of Lucy Anne Rydell and Layla Jean Wynette."  Paul winced, even though he tried to look serious.  Why did he have to say their full names, and that he was responsible?

George rested his hands calmly on the table.  "Can we have a few minutes alone, please?"  

The men murmured in disagreement, but Paul, George and Jacob both knew that they would be watching and listening.  As soon as the door clanged shut, Jacob's gaze fell to his lap.  

"I know you hate me for what I did, and I'm sorry.  I'm not just saying that because I'm going to jail either.  I really am sorry."  

None of the boys spoke for several minutes afterwards.  They weren't going to forgive Jacob.  They didn't know how.  But the two Beatles knew that the boy was indeed sorry.  George suddenly blurted, not caring that the police would hear, "She was pregnant."  

Jacob looked up at them, trying to figure out which boy said it.  George sat up.  Paul had to look away from the two of them.  

Then George suddenly felt a strange sensation on his leg.  It was as though someone was sitting on his lap.  And then a body fit the feeling.  Layla sat there, looking down at him, and her stomach had gotten a significant amount more swollen.  She wanted to touch his hands and place them on her abdomen, where the baby was growing, but she couldn't reach him.  Her hands passed through his.  

Paul or Jacob couldn't figure out what he was looking at.  

George suddenly looked down at the ground, saddened at the untouchable apparition before him.  Tears filled his eyes.  "Layla...I can't."

She just smiled, and leaned towards him, and he felt the smallest amount of heat on his nose as she touched hers to his.  Her lips were centimeters from his, but he couldn't reach them.  "I can't!" he suddenly shouted.  Pushing back in his chair, a guard immediately opened the door for him to leave.  Paul followed, having no words to say to the man.

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On the way home, when John and Ringo drove, Paul said, "You felt her, didn't you?"

George nodded slightly, making sure the two oldest Beatles couldn't see.  "When I was at the cemetery last night, I fell asleep at her grave.  When I woke, she was there, touching me, kissing me.  She's haunting me.  But I don't know if I'm going insane, or if she's actually there."

When they were dropped off at their separate houses, George didn't bother undressing as he fell into bed.  The only thing he took off were his shoes, jacket and tie.  It was too cold in the house, too empty to remove anything else.  Tears burned his eyes as he tried to fall asleep.  

"What a party," Layla said, falling back onto the bed where George was laying, almost asleep already.  "John really knows how to throw them.  Poor Cynthia.  Lucy said she'd help clean up the mess tomorrow."  Disappointed that George didn't reply, she changed in the bathroom and crawled into bed next to him again.  She reached over him to flip off the lamp.  

She kissed his neck, and wrapped her arm around his chest, resting her hand on his shoulder.  He sighed softly, which made her smile.  But then she realized that she was breathing down his neck.  Though Layla never really felt insecure, she said, "Do you...do you mind if I do that?"  

He shook his head.  "No.  I like to know you're there."

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