Hello! Before you get into this next chapter, I want to let you know that I know that the Beatles Apple Corps didn't move to 3 Savile Row until 1968, but for the purposes of this story, I changed the date to 1967. Sorry about that, guys! Anyhow, on with the story!

"Is the seatbelt supposed to be this tight?" I asked, pulling at the strap that was crushing my chest.

"Yes, it is. The ride's a bit bumpy, especially when you're going pretty far back." Uncle Frank replied.

"It could be tighter, you know." My father chimed in.

He joined us in the family time machine and fastened the belt tighter around me. My breath hitched.

"I think I'll be okay." I hissed.

Dad gave me a look and then both him and Uncle Frank left the machine. They swung the door shut behind them and walked over to the control panel on the far side of the room. All was quiet where I was until I heard a voice come from a speaker above my head.

"Please make sure all luggage is secure under your seat." A pleasant female voice said.

I pushed my suitcase below me with my feet. My father's voice came from the overhead next.

"Remember, Olive, read the file as soon as possible, get into the Beatle's inner circle, and find Rosanna. You got all that?"

I nodded and gave a thumbs up in their direction.

"Good. Make us proud!" He said, and then everything went black.

After a solid three minutes of darkness, colored lights began flashing throughout the machine. The speaker crackled to life again.

"Ready to depart in five…."

Oh, God, was I ready for this? Could I really stop Campbell?

"Four…"

How was I going to get into the inner circle?

"Three…"

The vessel began shaking and the colored lights flashed violently, making me feel sick.

"Two…"

This was it.

"One!"

I felt as though I were punched in the chest. An icy blast of air enveloped me. My head was pushed so far back into the headrest of my seat that I feared it would become one with my skull. My arms and legs were pinned in their position. The suitcase Uncle Frank had packed for me rattled crazily underneath me.

I felt the machine spin a few times and then hit some things that were beyond my line of vision. The lights continued to make themselves known in periodic bursts of neon color. What I thought were rocks pinged against the outer, iron layer of the time machine. As we hit a particularly rough bump, a thick, cherry scented haze swept over me, so sweet smelling I could have hurled.

A loud crash sounded out around me and everything went completely dark once again. Not a second later, my suitcase and I were unstrapped from our places and flung out into a bright light.

I was ejected onto some rough pavement in an alleyway. I skidded on my knees, feeling tiny pebbles pierce the skin there. As soon as I picked myself up off the ground, I threw up behind a Dumpster. I felt blood trickle down from my knees and looked down to see them badly scraped and ugly. Any Beatle would want to talk to me, I thought as I wiped my mouth with one hand and attempted to pick out rubble from my knees with the other.

I shakily stood and looked around for my suitcase. My clothes were strewn everywhere; my panties out for the whole of England to see. The suitcase itself was in the Dumpster I'd recently acquainted myself with. I fished it out and discovered it was caked in a green slop and completely reeked.

I quickly shoved clothes into the case. My gun was on the other side of the alley, as was the file. Papers were fluttering in the breeze. I let out a shriek and hunted every page down, carelessly stuffing them back into the folder. I grabbed the page that had my apartment's address scrawled on it and stuck it in my pocket. The file and gun found a home in the suitcase amongst my crumpled socks.

I hobbled out onto the street. I wasn't sure where exactly in London I was, but I had to have been dropped off somewhere near my new apartment. I grabbed the paper out of my pocket and reread the address: 10 Savile Row. Where the hell was that and how was I going to get there?

I looked around for something that would tell me where I was. A street sign, a bus with an advertisement on it, anything! The buildings around me were all white, brick, and tall. Shops lined the sidewalks and fancy cars bordered the road. I was in a swanky neighborhood, and I certainly didn't look as though I belonged. Every person that passed me was dressed as though they worked at a law firm; neatly pressed suits and tailored skirts. A very professional crowd hung around here.

Only when a man with a briefcase plowed me over did I realize I was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking the path.

"Oh, I'm sorry miss, I thought you…" He began.

The man gave me a once over, taking in my messy appearance and delightful Dumpster/vomit aroma.

"Bloody hell! Take a bath, you filthy hippy!" He shrieked and continued on his way, nose upturned.

I looked around once more and realized that more people were noticing the clothes I wore. I was still dressed as though I were from 2014.

"What sort of fashion statement are you trying to make, love?" A nicely dressed woman muttered to me as she passed by with her group of equally chic friends, all snickering at me.

"Excuse me!" I called after her. The whole group turned to look. "Where am I? Y'know, what street?"

She huffed. "Savile Row. There are tons of shops on this street, why not buy yourself something decent to wear?"

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks."

The ladies were still gossiping about me as they continued on down the sidewalk. So I was already dropped on Savile Row, all I had to do was locate the apartment.

As I walked, I carefully counted down the building numbers. Buildings four, five, six, and seven passed by in a blur. By the ninth building, I was so ready to give up and sleep on the stoop of the building. I definitely looked like a stoop-sleeper, that was for sure.

Building ten was the same as all of the other buildings on the block; white lower half, brick on top. The floor that was level with the street was a small men's clothing store, specializing in the custom tailoring of suit jackets. There was a white door next to the entrance of the shop. I figured this had to have been the place, so I opened the door and found myself face to face with a set of stairs. As I climbed them, I took the paper out of my pocket again and read. Apartment No.5, key under the mat. When I reached the top, I found my apartment instantly. Brown door, golden number five nailed to it. I picked up the newspaper that was sitting on the welcome mat and then kicked a corner of the mat up with my foot. Sure enough, there was the key as promised.

I quickly unlocked my door and stepped inside. There was a gray couch in the middle of the room. The walls were papered in a modest floral print that complemented the white carpeting. I set my suitcase and the newspaper next to the small, wooden coffee table that sat in front of the couch. I had a window that looked out onto the street, but no television. I figured I had to pay extra for an apartment with one.

I found the kitchen to my left. It was nothing special; a small dining table, navy and white checkered floor, butter yellow refrigerator, and some bedroom and the bathroom were down a hallway that went off of the living room, and that was the extent of my living quarters.

I brought my suitcase into my bedroom and started putting my clothes in the drawers, my gun buried underneath my bras. Once done, I leapt onto my bed and began to read the file.

The first page contained the information my father and uncle touched on before my departure. Flipping through the rest of the file, I found some detailed descriptions of Campbell as well as his…colleagues, and the address of Apple Corps. Simply put, there wasn't much I didn't already have knowledge of. I put the papers away and wandered into the living room, hoping to find something to do. I had only been in the sixties for the extent of an hour and was already bored.

I picked up the newspaper I brought in and read. Weather report, weird classifieds, not-so-funny comics…and the Help Wanted section. Out of all the ads looking for nannies and secretaries, only one caught my eye.

Apple Corps. Searching for Secretary.

Must be well organized, able to file, and accustomed to hard work.

If interested, please drop by 3 Savile Road.

I knew then that I'd found a way to get to Paul McCartney.