Author's Note: Here's part two! Okay, so I'm a terribly lazy writer and I apologize for those long waits that occur. Sorry!

Also, thanks for the follows, favorites, and reviews! I appreciate every single person who leaves feedback, as well as those that simply read. I can't figure out what you guys like about these things I write for fun, but I'm not complaining! Thanks all!

Oh, and Warning for Language. I can't forget to add that warning in.

Part II: It's All Too Much

A few hours later, I was let out of the hospital with instructions to call immediately if anything went wrong. I assumed they meant medically rather than the problem of a perverted ghost hanging around.

"Where are you headed?" the ghost asked, his chilly voice tickling the side of my neck.

"The plan was to go back to school," I replied, not bothering to remind him about the concept of personal space. I had already tried to make him understand that. It hadn't worked. At least when he was nearly tied to my side, I knew he wouldn't jump out and scare me in some ghostly way.

"Art school?" he asked hopefully.

I laughed, couldn't really help it. "No, I wouldn't survive a day in those art classes with my art skills, or lack thereof. I'm going for Biology. Science."

"I know what biology is!" John shot back defensively, "Sounds right horrible."

I shrugged and kept walking. I liked it, and if he didn't, that was his problem. Although, after my short adventure with the less-than-living man, I wasn't sure if all the lectures on cells and matter would be quite the same.

"So, how did you... you know, become a ghost?" I asked, not really sure if that was a proper question to ask. But I was stuck in a car with him for a few more hours and wasn't about to sit in silence.

His tone grew immediately low and serious. "Shot. Four times. Bastard didn't even let me look at him, did it to my back," he growled, scooting over to his side of the car. He looked up for a moment, then slammed his fist against the window, streaking it.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I could see he was the kind of person that covered up tears with anger, but knowing that didn't make me any less concerned about my own safety. He had strangled me once.

He looked out the window. "Why?" he asked, not turning to ask it to my face, "It probably happened before you were even born."

I nodded. "Perhaps. But even if I'm not personally responsible for it, maybe someone of the living should apologize in place of whoever held the gun. Besides, I am sorry that it happened to you."

He snorted. "Says the bird I nearly killed." He finally looked back at me and sighed. "It is nice having a conversation with someone again. Especially someone who doesn't see me and scream for my autograph."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to feel really dumb after this, I'm sure, but who exactly are you?"

The man smiled weakly. "Just don't crash the car, okay?" he said. I promised I wouldn't. "Name's John, you know that by now. My, uh, my full name is John Winston Ono Lennon." He braced himself, probably for screams of excitement or something to that effect.

"Okay," I replied, mulling it over. John Lennon was in my car. No big deal, right? He had appeared in my hotel room. Creepy, but whatever. The famous musician had nearly killed me. That would make quite the story if anyone believed it.

He tensed up more. "Okay?" he echoed.

"Yep. Okay," I repeated, "You're John Lennon. From the Beatles and beyond. I can buy that. Now, why are you here?"

"Christ, I dunno," he replied, "To haunt your mortal soul? Is that what ghosts usually do?"

I chuckled and pulled over into a rest stop area. "Can't say I've met one before." As I turned the key, the car shuddered to a halt in front of the rest stop building. I calmly opened the door and stepped out of the car, walking to the restroom with purpose. John stayed behind in the car, half pleased and half disappointed with my reaction.

As soon as I insured the restroom was empty, I leaned against the wall and held my face in my hands. "Holy shit," I breathed, "John fucking Lennon is in my car. JOHN FUCKING LENNON!" I slid down the wall, murmuring to myself as I tried to regain control of the emotions I had kept hidden. There was no way I was going to freak out in front of Lennon, not a chance. I hugged my knees, eyes wide and staring as I tried to wrap my mind around the fact that John Lennon, born before my grandparents, was sitting in my Impala. And I had thought him cute.

I closed my eyes. "Hell, no, this isn't happening," I moaned. I hadn't even been a believer in spirits, much less expect to meet a famous one! Although I had nothing to be upset over, it was all too much for me to take.

For a long while, I sat there, eyes closed with my elbows wrapped around my knees and my hands holding my head, rocking back and forth. When I finally calmed down and opened my eyes, I jumped up in fright.

"John!" I yelled, scrambling to my feet. He was leaning against the wall near a sink, sad brown eyes on me.

His arms were crossed, his shoulders low and drooping. He stayed silent as I wiped my face in embarrassment, red flushing my cheeks.

"John, I... I just needed to get something off my chest and... and... How long were you standing there?" I mumbled, looking down.

"Long enough," he replied, "I didn't mean to cause you pain. Actually, if I could leave, I would. But for some reason, I can't."

I felt my body stiffen, wondering if he was admitting some kind of premature form of love that I had yet to feel. "What do you mean...?" I asked cautiously.

John uncrossed his arms and stood nearer to me. I widened my eyes as I felt my chest pound. "I mean, I physically cannot go far from your side. I'll show you. Outside." He led me out of the small, dingy rest stop bathroom and out into the cool air. Motioning for me to stay, he began to walk out in a straight line through the meadow of bronzed fall grass. I watched as he grew smaller and smaller. Then, he disappeared completely, not gradually as I expected, but his shape just vanished from the spot it had previously stood, mid-step.

"John?" I called out nervously.

With a start that made me jump nearly a foot in the air, I heard his voice from behind. "I'm back to just a few feet from you."

I spun around to see him standing not a foot behind me, eyes lowered. He still had stray bits of field grass stuck to his pants. I had an urge to slap him, but restrained myself. "That wasn't funny," I said with a slight growl.

John rolled his head, in what I assumed was an attempt at rolling his eyes. "If it were, I'd be one hell of a comedian. But that's what happens. When you went to the hospital, I was suddenly forced to appear at your side. I don't get it."

I shook my head in wonder. "Sounds like a terrible soap opera," I joked drily.

"Great, I suppose the kissing scene is next?" John added in a similar tone, "And then someone's ex shows up."

I raised half my face into a smile. "I think this love story needs a new writer. Or someone to pull the plug on production!"

John laughed. "Maybe they'll kill off the male lead roll." He paused for effect, then stated, "Oh, hold on a tic, they already did!"

I grimaced at the dark joke. "Yeah... well, let's be off, then. I do actually have to be back at college sometime today."

He nodded and we climbed back into the car. The rest of the ride was filled with pleasant small talk and the radio's choice tunes.

John lived with me in my college dorm room, unnoticed by my roommate. He was forced to stay near as I ran Cross Country practice and attended lectures he found absolutely boring. To make up for it, I would often sit outside the arts center to do homework, where he could wander and look at abstract art as well fiddle with some of the instruments in the building. It worked out pretty well, if not a bit awkwardly, and time passed in the way it does. About two months into the school year, I had a thought.

"John," I whispered, too quiet for my classmates in the lecture hall to hear. John heard, though, and peered over my shoulder into my notebook. We had perfected a means of communication that wouldn't arouse suspicion by any of my classmates of my sanity. I would write down what I wanted to say, and John would simply reply back with no one else hearing his voice.

"Have you been listening?" I had written.

"To this bloke? Not a chance!" he responded loudly.

I picked up my pencil. "You should have been. He's a firm believer in ghosts. Says he knows more about them than anyone else."

"I doubt that," John replied.

I scribbled out more words. "Worth a shot, though, don't you think?"

I could feel him move as he chuckled, his chest pressed against my back. He still hadn't learned a thing about personal space. "Sure, let's see what the daft old man knows!"

Class ended and the other students picked up their bags and headed out the door. I stalled in my clean-up efforts until everyone else had gone. Then, I walked up to the professor. "Excuse me, sir," I said to get his attention, "I have a few questions about today's lecture."

He turned around with a big smile. "You actually paid attention? I appreciate it! What is it I can help you with?"

John sat comfortably on the chair behind me, sprawled out.

"Well," I said, unsure how to start, "About the spirit part... What would you have to do in order to... I don't know... unchain them from something they can't leave?"

The professor looked curiously at me. "Are you talking of a poltergeist?"

"Uh... Not really," I say, "I mean, I guess I don't know much about it..."

John snorted. "Please, as if I were a simple poltergeist, knocking vases over and flickering the lights. OooooOOOOoooo!" he said in a mock-ghost voice. To everyone's surprise, especially John's, the lights did flicker then.

The professor looked warily at me. "This isn't hypothetical, is it?"

I shook my head and gave a weak smile. "No... Not really."

He sat down and ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. "Okay, tell me about this spirit of yours, then."

I told of John, starting from the hotel room, mentioning the inability for him to leave, and ending with our jointed life in college. John sat behind me, adding his own details and comments whenever he could. Which, was always, since he had no qualms about interrupting me. Of course, the professor had no clue he was adding his two cents.

When I had finished, I waited nervously for a response. I hadn't told anyone, just attempted to live my life normally with a ghost John Lennon at my side.

"Nice try," John said with a sigh, "But I think you stumped him."

That was the least of my concerns. I figured he would soon call up a doctor and have me taken away to an asylum for hallucinations and delusions.

But no. "Well... That's quite the tale," he said slowly, "And quite the spirit. I'm thinking poltergeist, but you say he's not violent or angry?"

"No," I said, then thought back, "Well, I shouldn't say that. He did accidentally come close to killing me. Other than that, no violence."

The old man scratched his chin. "Right, and that's the only thing that doesn't fit. You see, usually with poltergeists, the easiest thing to do is pacify them by destroying an object they're connected to. Sometimes, it's a whole house, other times a small object. Now, this case is different. He seems, from what you told me, to be connected to you. First off, we're not going to destroy a person. Second, I don't think violence and the destruction of something will work on this one... If he isn't a violent spirit, violence will not be pleasing."

"Please please me," John commented.

"So, if that won't work," I said, "What will?"

The professor shrugged. "I'm afraid you'll have to get to know this spirit better in order to find out. This is quite the unusual case. He's here now, you say?"

I nodded and gestured to the chair John was sitting in. "He's been the peanut gallery of this conversation."

The professor stared hard at the chair, then shook his head and sighed. "I suppose I'll have to take your word for it," he said sadly, clearly desperate to catch a glimpse of John.