Finding the Beatles turned out to be easier detto than done.
“What is this place?” gasped Emma, as the four girls and one dog stepped out the kitchen’s other entrance into what they had expected to be another room o a hallway.
Instead, the spazio was filled with any number of doorways and paths, each one twisting off in a different direction. Some of these hallways separated later on into other hallways, and most of them had multiple doors in the sides. The girls hadn’t realized how mazelike the house was before, because the front entrance led pretty straightforwardly into the kitchen. But now they realized that the Beatles were as well-hidden inside this house as the house was well-hidden in the woods.
“Maybe we should have taken one of those awful women hostage and made her tell us where the Beatles are,” Jenna remarked.
Karen thought. “I wonder... when May detto to put us in the other cellar – was that because the Beatles are already in the first one?” She looked at her fellow fan hopefully, dark blue eyes shining.
“She did say that,” Susan recalled. “So should we go” her blue eyes swept the room, landing on a small doorway that led to a set of steps going downwards “that way?”
Emma nodded her agreement. “If that’s the wrong way, we’ll just come back and try another way. We have to start looking somewhere.”
Jenna nodded fiercely, black pigtails swinging. “I don’t want to leave Ringo in here a secondo longer than I have to!”
The steps did lead to a lower level, but then the hallway diviso, spalato again, leading in a dozen directions. Some of the entrances led to other rooms; some led to più hallways that circled round to connect with other hallways. Where should the girls start looking? How were they going to make sure they didn’t look in the same place twice? In a place like this, it would be all too easy to just wander round in circles, never actually getting anywhere....
“What is this?!” cried Jenna angrily. “Those bloody women thought no one could find their house anyway; why did they have to make it so hard to find anything inside it?!”
And then Butch began to bark and strain on his leash.
“What is it?” whispered Susan. She wasn’t scared of Butch after spending this much time with him, but now that she had seen him in full attack mode she couldn’t help being a little nervous.
Jenna glanced down at her dog, who kept straining inoltrare, avanti and looking back at Jenna, definitely trying to tell her something....
“I think – he’s picked up the scent again!” she cried, amazed. “He’s been following Ringo's scent, and they must have taken him this way! Go on, boy,” she added, loosening her hold on Butch’s leash, “find the Beatles!”
So Butch led the way, weaving through halls and doorways in what the girls realized was actually the closest thing to a straight line in this place, until he came to a heavy-looking door and stopped, waiting expectantly.
“There,” breathed Emma, reaching out in an almost dreamlike state to touch the door. Was John waiting for her right behind this door? She was closer to him than she had ever been, even più than at the Beatles concert....
“Is it locked?” Susan ventured, her cuore pounding wildly at the thought of being so close to meeting Paul.
“I don’t know,” Karen replied. “I don’t see a doorknob. All I see are these buttons.” She indicated a set of two small buttons, similar to elevator buttons, that sat on a panel just to the right of the doorway.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” demanded Jenna, who alone didn’t seem to need to savour the moment of being so close to the boys they loved. “Our boyfriends are in there!” She pushed past the other girls and pressed both buttons at the same time.
There was a loud rumbling noise, partly coming from the door, and also seeming to come from farther away, from the room inside, as the heavy door slid open.

While the Beatles didn’t know that they had been in their prison for over a giorno and a half now, they were painfully aware that they had missed four meals.
“Anyone for bacon, pancetta affumicata and eggs?” murmured Ringo, from where he, John, and George were sitting despondently on the floor, their heads in their arms.
George lifted his head the tiniest bit and nodded. “With sausage. And biscuits and tea.”
John didn’t even lift his head up. He might have fallen asleep if he hadn't muttered “With gelatina on” in answer to George. The others didn’t blame him. There wasn’t much else to do in here.
“Stop it, te three,” snapped Paul, frustrated. He was leaning against the chain-link fence, still forcing himself to stand upright and try and figure out a way to open the thing. “Come on,” he muttered angrily as he gave the metal barrier another push. “Open!”
There was a loud rumble, and the chain-link started to roll upwards on itself, upwards towards the ceiling. Paul, who had still been leaning against the fence for support, stumbled and fell onto the cement floor, where he, George, and Ringo stared up at the retreating fence in amazement.
John finally lifted his head at the noise. “Ey, Paul,” he remarked, “why didn’t te just try that in the first place?”
Any response Paul might have dato was broken da a loud squeal.
“There they are!”
“We found them!”
The door at the superiore, in alto of the stairs had opened, too. The Beatles hadn’t seen this door sposta at all since their captors had left them on that fateful night, but it was open again now, and four girls were running down the stairs towards them. Not their captors – these were teenagers, four happy, excited teenagers, and George recognized one of them at once.
“Karen?” He knew she had warned him about the danger. He hadn't dreamed that she would go so far as to come find him....
“George!” Karen launched herself at him. She was even lovelier than he’d remembered, with her silky dark hair and her shining blue eyes and her movie-star features. “You’re okay...” Karen blinked those beautiful dark eyes at him, and George realized she was blinking back tears.
“I’m all right,” he told her. “Don’t cry – I’m just hungry, that’s all....”
Karen kissed him, and George wrapped his arms around her petite frame and kissed her back.
Ringo, too, had recognized one of the figures coming down the stairs. Not Jenna, but....
Butch gave a loud bark of joy and jumped up on Ringo, who had stood up but was quickly knocked over again da Butch’s sheer weight. In an instant, Butch was on superiore, in alto of him, licking Ringo’s face all over with his tongue. Finally, he had found the person Jenna had told him to bring her più than a week ago. Finally, he had done what his mistress wanted. Jenna would be so proud of him.
“Down, boy!” Jenna laughed. “What do te mean, baciare Ringo before I get to do it?” And she joined Butch, baciare Ringo all over his face, until Ringo pushed them both away and stood up, though with a bit of a laugh this time. Now that he wasn’t in hunting mode, Butch wasn’t nearly as frightening. And Jenna – Jenna, with her bold grin and sparkling green eyes, was positively beautiful. Although her camicia was stained with – was that blood? Jenna was fearsome, there was no domanda about that, but after Natalya it was hard to be afraid of her.
Emma raced right over to John, who was also just getting to his feet, and grabbed his hand in hers. “John!” she cried, and then immediately changed tack, turning her expression into something più neutral, though she couldn’t help but keep beaming at him. “Don’t worry, I don’t want te to ask me out because of this....”
John stared a moment at this unfamiliar girl, with her charming brown-eyed smile (very like his own) and those pillowy curves that gave him the sudden urge to avvolgere his arms around her and give her a squeeze. Why did her words sounded so familiar? A smile began to form on his lips as he remembered. “Are te that Emma what wrote to me?”
Emma’s eyes lit up, unable to suppress her thrill despite her reverse psychology. “You got it? te remembered?”
John looked at her blandly. “No.”
Emma smiled, gently wrapping her arms round John’s neck. “Don’t baciare me, John.”
And knowing exactly what she meant, John kissed her.
Susan stood Frozen at the bottom of the stairs, staring at Paul, who was getting to his feet as these scenes played out around him. There he was, right in front of her! Last time, she hadn’t been able to speak to him... What should she do, what should she do?
Paul took a couple of steps toward Susan. “I remember you,” he said. “Weren’t te the one in the boot of our car back at our hotel when we first got there?”
Susan nodded shakily, hypnotized da those dreamy eyes. If Paul wasn’t happy at the memory....
Paul favoured her with a beautiful smile. “Thanks for coming.”
Susan’s cuore pounded. Say something! she told herself sternly. She had fought off a woman who meant harm to all of them today; surely she should be able to talk to Paul McCartney! All she had to do was say the words....
“I Amore you, Paul!” she blurted, then as he looked rather taken aback at the suddenness of this, she added, “I meant to tell te before. I Amore you,” she detto again, and this time she managed to look right into his eyes, those gorgeous dreamy eyes, as she detto this. Then, “And – Paul – what colour are your eyes?” She blushed.
Paul touched her hand and said, “Why don’t te keep looking until te figure it out? I can wait....”
“Can you, Paul?” came a new voice. “We haven’t eaten in I-don’t-know-how-long-it’s-been....”
Paul turned away from Susan reluctantly. “You’re right,” he told John, who had spoken. “We’ll just have to pick up where we left off another time,” he told Susan.
Susan’s cuore leapt. “Can we?”
The Beatles exchanged glances, as though having a silent conference. They hadn’t expected that the very fan who greeted them on their arrival in the city would come and rescue them, but they had discussed their regret that they hadn’t accepted their advances in the first place now that they knew what the girlfriends they had chosen were really like. And here were four beautiful girls who cared about them and made them feel special. Four girls who were happy and loving and open and genuine – everything their former disastrous girlfriends hadn't been. Four girls who they didn't have to worry might not actually Amore them. These girls had proven themselves.
“Will te come see us in London?” asked Paul charmingly, lowering his long eyelashes.
“And sit in when we record our new songs?” added John with his wonderful smile.
“And help us make our Natale broadcast for all the rest of our fans?” added George, with a smaller but equally charming smile that showed his sharp canines.
“And come to America with us when we go?” added Ringo, blue eyes wide and hopeful.
All four detto at once, “Will te be our new girlfriends?”
da this point, there was not a dry eye on any of the four fans. “Yes!” they cried tearfully. “Yes, yes, yes!”
The eight began to make their way out of the gloomy cellar, each girl clutching the arm of her chosen Beatle. “Is that blood on your clothes?” Ringo decided to ask, looking from Jenna's bloodstained white shirt, to the sprinkling of blood on Emma's sweater, to the red splatters on Susan's shoes and socks.
Karen glanced down sharply at her own outfit. Because she was wearing red, the blood didn’t mostra up too much, although she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, because that would make it much harder to get out later. “Ugh,” Karen muttered in response. “That'll never come out.”
“Hang on.” George was starting to put two and two together. “Is that their blood?”
Ringo’s eyes were huge. “Did te kill them?”
Karen gave a small shrug. “Let’s say they sort of – brought it on themselves,” she replied.
“They fought us,” Jenna supplied. “They lost.”
The Beatles did not press the issue. Somehow they found that they weren’t too cut up about the news that their ex-girlfriends were dead.
“Where are we going now?” asked Emma, as they left the house and stepped out into the cool, refreshing air. “Maybe te should go back and have a rest.”
John grinned at her. “What do te say we all have our first data right now?”
“Yes!” cried the girls.
“Or should I say ‘don’t go on a data with me’ for this one?” John added with a teasing grin at Emma, who laughed happily.
“Where are we going?” asked Susan, smiling up at Paul.
“Out for lunch,” Paul replied readily. “I’m starving.”