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PART ONE
"Have you ever had a dream where you were an actual monkey?" Micky inquired to his three friends seated around the table.
"What?" Mike questioned, giving him a perplexed look in response.
"Have you ever dreamt that you were a real monkey? You know, like the animal." Micky said.
"Why you saying that? Did you dream that you were a monkey?" Davy said. Peter nodded in agreement to Davy's question, interested in hearing of this dream.
"Well, it wasn't as if I just was a monkey all at once. It was like this long transformation over time. You know what I mean? First, I started eating bananas all the time and the I'd start jumping around making all these weird noises." Micky explained.
"But Mick, you love bananas." Peter pointed out.
"And you can't deny that you jump around making weird noises all the time." Davy added.
"So what are you saying? I'm turning into a monkey?" Micky looked at Mike, Peter, and Davy horrified.
"Maybe we'll all turn into monkeys and people will understand us." Peter said.
"What do you mean?" Davy asked.
Peter went on, "Well, whenever we say that we're the Monkees, people look at us and make rude comments about us being crazy thinking we were monkeys."
"Yeah, and speaking of the Monkees, they're suppose to be playing right now." Mike cut into their little conversation. "Come on, break's over."
The boys made their way up to the bandstand and got ready to play. Peter looked up from tuning his bass, noticing a man wearing a suit and sunglasses walk in through the door of the club. The expression on his face portrayed that everyone belonged to him.
"Hey, Davy. Who's that?" Peter nudged him with his elbow, getting Davy's attention.
"Who's who?" he replied.
"That man over there that just walked in." Peter said, pointing to the man that was now walking towards the manager, John Wistcroft.
"I dunno." Davy answered.
"Then again, if it's not female, why ask Davy?" Micky interrupted, drumming out the rhythm, signifying that he had made a joke. Davy gave Micky a sour look only winning a smile from the drummer in return.
Mike noticed Peter's uneasiness about the shifty character that no one seemed to know. "Don't worry about it, Pete. strange people come in here all the time. Besides, it's Mr. Wistcroft's business, not ours."
Peter shrugged in reluctance as the four of them began to play. He couldn't help but concentrate on the engagement between the peculiar man and Mr. Wistcroft. He grew even more concerned when the latter became helpless and distraught, turning around and fleeing back to his office. He couldn't take his eye off the man as he exited the club, which earned him a menacing glare once the man realized Peter was staring at him. Peter quickly looked away, finally taking notice to the song being played, willing himself not to look back.
Once the song was over, it was Mike who initiated them being done for the evening. He made the annoucement and gently leaned his guitar against the wall. "Did you see what I saw?" Mike asked, referring to what Peter had seen himself.
"No, what?" Davy replied. He and Micky had taken no notice to what had been going on. Fortunately for Peter, Mike decided to take action. He led the four of them back to Mr. Wistcroft's office. He layed a heavy knock upon the door, hearing a very weak 'come in'.
When they walked in, they saw the middle-aged man running frantically around the room, putting things into a box.
"What's going on?" Micky looked around the office in confusion, seeing everything disappear so quickly.
"Yeah, Mr. Wistcroft. Why are you packing all your things?" Peter asked.
"I've been shut down, boys. The club is closing." Mr Wistcroft replied, his frenzy not decreasing in the least. Shouts of protest and anger came from Micky, Peter, and Davy who were all saying in their minds that this would not happen. Mike took a step closer to Mr. Wistcroft and put a hand on his shoulder.
"What do you mean shut down? How can they do that? It's not like you get no business, the place is always packed." Mike reasoned. He couldn't understand why anyone was closing them down.
"This group...of scientist. They need a lab to conduct all their experiments." he explained.
"But they can't just barge in here and demand to take it from you!" Micky protested. "That's just not right. There are plenty of other places."
"Well, apparently they are very crucial experiements. He told me once everything was complete I could have it back. But who knows how long that will be. Months, maybe even years." Mr. Wistcroft settled down into his chair, taking a break from all his packing things. "I'm sorry, boys. I know this affects your job and I wish I could still pay you, but-"
"Job, nothing." Mike interrupted. "We don't care about our job. There has to be some law against this."
"Yeah, why don't you call the police and check it with them?" Davy suggested.
"It's no use. He showed me the permit, they are allowed to do this to me. They even got a grant from the city." he said.
"Well, you can at least check." Peter persisted.
"What experiments are so important that they can take over a successful place like this? Why not somewhere that's closing down anyway?" Mike asked.
"I don't know." Mr. Wistcroft was at a loss. "You better get your instruments and leave. After I close up for the night, their whole crew is coming to get things ready for them."
"Tonight?" Micky marveled. "Why so soon?"
"He said effective immediatly. I have to finish cleaning out my desk. Once again, I'm terribly sorry boys."
"It's all right. It's not your fault." Mike replied. He turned around and motioned for Peter to open the door since he was closest. The four of them filed out sadly.
PART TWO
"There's got to be a way to get the club back from those scientists." Mike said, pacing around their living room.
"Forget it, man. Why get ourselves involved with something that doesn't involve us? We'll only make things worse." Davy
advised. "Besides what can we do?"
"Maybe if we went down there and talked to them. Maybe find out what kind of experiments they're doing." Micky suggested. "And hey, if we make nice with them and be their friends they might cut us a break. You know, hurry things along."
"It's a thought. You guys want to go down there now?" Mike asked. Immediatly on instinct, Micky, Davy, and Peter shook their heads in unison. "C'mon, it's not like their evil. They're not going to kill us for walking in on them. We can pretend to be interested."
"I'm not going down there." Davy decided, firmly. He crossed his arms over his chest, convinced that wasn't moving.
"I'll go." Micky volunteered. "Someone has to go with you to...well, as a matter of fact you don't need anyone, Mike. You're good on your own." Micky smiled sheepishly as Mike grabbed the back of his shirt and drug him to the door.
"We'll be back later." Mike informed Davy and Peter as the door shut behind them.
"Maybe we can do something too." Peter said, turning to Davy. "I feel kind of useless just waiting around here."
"Like what?" Davy questioned.
"I dunno. We could go down to the police station and ask them if there's anything they can do." Peter offered.
"You heard what Mr. Wistcroft said. It's no use talking to them; they gave the scientists the permit in the first place. We'd only make fools out of ourselves by going there." Davy replied. Peter stood up and walked across the room to sit in front of Davy.
"Can't we at least give it a shot? Maybe the permit's fake; maybe they aren't issued to do this. And if it is, can't you imagine how happy Mike and Mick will be when they get back that we didn't just sit here doing nothing?"
"Fine, we can go." Davy stood up, tossing the magazine he had been reading down on the couch. "But don't get your hopes up, it's likely we won't find anything."
"I'm willing to take that chance." Peter decided, tossing Davy his jacket as they too left the Pad.
--
"What is this?" Mike frowned as they reached the entrance to the newly claimed laboratory. The doors had been closed off with metal barriers and a security system had been installed. "They've really got a handle on things. We were just here last night."
"They must have been anxious to start their experiments. How do we get in?" Micky asked. Mike shrugged and rapped his knuckles on the steel door, creating a dull pain in his hand. He shook it to free away the hurt he now felt. "Do you think they heard that?"
Micky's question was answered by the door opening and a man in a black suit stood there, an eyebrow raised in interest. In fact, it was the same man who had appeared at the club the night before with the announcement.
"Can I help you boys?" The man inquired.
"Uh...yeah, you can help us. We...umm," Mike began, stuttering nervously. "We heard that...uh...some experiments were being done here and we...well, we wondered if we could...watch."
"Watch?" The man looked at them suspiciously.
"We're studying in college." Micky lied, the pitch in his voice rising a bit. "To be scientists just like these guys in there and we just wanted to check things out see what exactly it takes to get into the...the business." Mike nodded in agreement to Micky's fib.
"Huh," he didn't look convinced, but surprisingly so he welcomed them in. "Well, here, let me get out of your way. Come on in."
Mike and Micky exchanged glances of shock, but followed the suited man inside the lab.
"Here, put these on." The man handed them each a white lab coat and a pair of goggles. "For safety reasons, you have to wear them."
"You're not wearin' em." Mike pointed out, but the much taller man scowled down at Mike.
"I'm the security guard. I don't hafta. Now you can look around, but don't break nothing."
"Oh, well thank you...uh," Micky began, but realized he didn't know his name.
"Samson." The man finished.
"Samson." Micky cleared his throat when his confirmation came out squeaky. "What a nice...name...for a security guard. You should-"
Mike elbowed him in the stomach and pulled him along with him to gaze about at different scientists' lab stations.
"That seemed too easy." Mike declared. "You'd think they'd have more protection than that."
"Who cares? We're in and that's all that matters." Micky stopped in front of a woman who was instructing the people who were running all over the place. "You've really got control over these people." he said to her.
"Who are you?" she demanded. "Why aren't you working?"
"Oh, we're not scientists, ma'am." Mike was quick to explain. "We're just...well, we're tourists. Just looking around at the stuff here. Trust me, we don't know the difference between," Mike strugged to come up with something. He waved his hand aimlessly waiting for something to pop into his mind.
"Well, you see that? We're so unfamilar with it, we can even think of the right terms." Micky filled in the space as the woman glared at them.
"Just as well, who let you in here?" she asked.
"Uh, that would be Samson." Micky pointed to the security guard. "We're, you know, we're best buds with Samson over there."
"I'm sure. Look, I'd rather you not be here unless you plan to contribute in some way. I'll have to talk to Samson about letting in strangers."
"Oh, but we're interested in knowing what it is you're doing. What kinds of experiments are you doing?" Mike asked in mock interest.
"I'm afraid that information is confidential."
"I see, well maybe you guys could use some help down here. To do, ya know, non-scientific stuff." Micky suggested. "Like moving tables or equipment. Well, you know we're your guys."
"I'm not too sure about that. We could use some...extra help, I guess you could say. But I'm not sure I trust you. You're with the authorities aren't you?"
"Authorities? That's ridic-" Mike stomped on Micky's foot before he could finish.
"If we were with the police, why would that be a problem? I thought you guys were allowed to do this. You shouldn't be worried about the police at all, right Mick?"
"Right, but why'd you have to," Micky gestured to his aching foot, finally regaining his balance.
"Why won't you let us help? We're strong guys and we'd be learning a lot from you. We want to be as good as you guys at all this scientific stuff." Mike persisted. "You said that you needed the help."
"That's why we have the ad in the paper. I'm waiting for people I can trust to help. These experiments are very confidential. We don't want rumors breaking out. It will only pressure us into completing everything." The woman adjusted her glasses and shook her head. "I'm sorry."
"Why don't you trust us?" Micky asked.
"You've been asking too many questions. When I hire people, I won't let them ask questions. Understand? Now, get out." she ordered.
"Now, wait a second," Mike started, but the woman held her hand up signaling him to stop. She pointed towards the door.
"If you don't leave, I'll call Samson to take care of you." she threatened.
"Go ahead, call Samson! See if we-" Mike slapped a hand over Micky's mouth and smiled nervously at the woman.
"We'll be going, now." Mike eventually removed his hand from Micky's mouth once they were outside the building.
"Why didn't you let me do something? I could have-"
"I know what you could have done. There's no sense if letting them defeat us. If we get angry, she's just gonna distrust us even more. We have to figure out what's going on." Mike reasoned.
"Well, there's got to be another way to get in there and get a peek at all their stuff."
Mike looked up thoughtfully, with a finger to his mouth in concentration. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "C'mon Mick. Let's get home, I've got a plan."
PART THREE
"So they didn't have the permit?" Mike inquired. The explanation he was given from Peter and Davy was confusing him to say the least.
"Oh, no. They have the permit, all right." Peter confirmed, nodding his head. "We asked how and why, but all they said was that it was confidential."
"That's what the scientist told us." Micky said, pointedly. "She doesn't trust us, so there must be something strange goin' on."
"But they're hiring. You know for help moving stuff. I'm guessing assistant work." Mike said.
"We tried to get her to hire us, but she doesn't trust us." Micky added.
"So when you guys go down there, make sure you don't ask any questions." Mike advised.
"Woah, woah, woah." Davy held a hand up. "Who said we're going down there?"
"I did." Mike pointed at himself.
"You have to get jobs down there. So you can figure out what's going on." Micky told him.
"No, I'm not dragging myself further into it." Davy stood firm.
"But Dave, you gotta." Micky begged.
"Why can't Peter do it?"
"Peter is doing in. So are you." Mike said.
"No, I'm not. I don't appreciate you telling me to do it either. Maybe if you would have asked-"
"Will you go get a job down there?" Micky asked, cutting Davy off.
"No." Davy shook his head.
"What? But I asked." Micky protested.
"I said would have asked. Past tense. You can't just ask now to make up for it."
"C'mon, man. Listen." Mike took a seat in front of Davy and forcefully turned his head towards him. "Something weird is going on here. The only way we'll find out what it is is to have you and Peter work down there. Besides, without our jobs, we're going to need some kind of money. Please?"
Davy stared at Mike's face in thought. He had never seen Mike so pleading and persistant. This was obviously very important to him. Davy sighed.
"I'll do it." Peter and Micky cheered simultaneously. "But," Davy added apbrutly. "If nothing good comes of this-"
"Relax, man. What could go wrong?" Micky asked, leaning back nonchalantly.
--
"OK, now you remember what Mike said. Don't ask questions." Davy reminded, grabbing ahold of Peter's arm as they waited outside.
"I can't ask any questions? I can't even ask what someone's name is?" Peter questioned in response.
"Well, I'm sure that'd be OK. Just don't ask any questions about the experiments. They're very protective of that."
"Right." Peter agreed. The two of them looked up as the door opened. Samson appeared before them.
"May I help you?" Samson crossed his arms and leaned back against the door frame.
"We're here to apply for jobs. We saw the advertisement in the paper." Davy began.
"OK." Samson replied, making no movement to show them in or to get somebody.
"Umm..." Davy took a step forward. "Aren't you...aren't you gonna get somebody to interview us?"
"I can interview you right here." Samson shifted to his other foot. "Where else have you worked?"
"Well, uh... we don't really have steady jobs. Never have really. We just do different things."
"So you have no real profession. You're not smart boys."
"Now, wait just a minute-" Peter stomped on Davy's foot before he could continue.
"I thought no experience was necessary." Peter said, stepping in front of Davy.
"No, inexperience is required. Apparently you qualify there. My next question is, are you aware of what you'll have to do here?"
Davy peeked around Peter's shoulder, "What do you mean?"
"I mean, do you know what your jobs are going to be around here?" They nodded. "And you still want to do it."
Peter and Davy exchanged glances and then both replied in unison, "Yes,"
"Good, you're hired. Come on in."
Samson handed them lab coats and goggles similiar to those Mike and Micky were given the day before.
"I'll show you where you'll be working." Samson guided them to the center of the lab, stopping in front of a woman. "Ms. Bates?"
The woman turned, a gentle smile on her face. "Yes, what is it, Samson?"
"Ms. Bates, I just hired these boys to work for you." Ms. Bates raised an eyebrow in question. "They're clean, don't worry."
"All right then. That'll be all, Samson. Thank you." Samson turned to go back to his post. "Hello, boys. I'm Angela Bates. You can call me Angela or Ms. Bates. Either of the two. And what are your names?"
"Davy Jones." Davy replied, "and this is-"
Angela held a hand up, "I think the boy can speak for himself. What's your name, honey?"
"Peter. Peter Tork."
"All right. You boys wait right here. I'll be back." Angela disappeared within the crowds of scientists.
"What'd you think?" Davy whispered.
"She seems nice." Peter shrugged. Davy was about to speak more, but Angela came back with a man next to her.
"This is Mr. Johnson P. Flemming. Peter, you will be working with him." Angela introduced.
"Nice to meet you, Peter. You can call me John." Johnson shook hands with Peter and patted him on the shoulder. He then led Peter off over to his station.
"What about me, Ms. Bates?" Davy asked.
"Oh, you, Davy? You'll be working with me."
PART FOUR
"Peter, what would you say if I told you I'd found a cure for the common cold?" Johnson spun around in his chair to face Peter.
"I'd say you were like all the other scientists, and I bet you failed," Peter replied in a dignified voice.
"No," Johnson shook his head, "Peter, my boy, this pill will completely rid you of any cold symptoms within four hours, and they won't come back!"
"Wow, if only I had a cold right now we could try it."
--
"Mr. Johnson, Sir, can I come back in now?" Peter wrapped his arms around his bare chest and peeked inside the back door of the lab.
"Petah, what're doing out here with your shirt off?" Davy appeared from behind the door with a large bag of trash.
"I'm getting sick so Mr. Johnson can test his cold remedy on me," Peter explained.
"Oh," Davy frowned, "Well, at least you get to do important things. Ms. Bates treats me like her housekeeper. All I do is clean her office."
"I'm sorry, Davy. Look at it this way, we probably won't be working here that long anyway."
"To be perfectly honest, I don't see what Mike and Micky were on about. Everyone here seems like normal people just doing their jobs. No one really looks suspicious," Davy observed, staring through the window at the scientists, running around frantically.
"But I thought they were doing "important" experiments. A cold cure really isn't important. We don't need it," Peter pointed out.
Davy nodded in agreement, "You're right. Maybe they're just covering up the real experiments. Or perhaps there aren't any experiments at all. Maybe it's just a big controversy."
"What should we do?"
"Let's just finish off this day like we suspect nothing. Can't give them any reason to fire us on the first day.
"Boys, c'mon now. We're not paying you to," Ms. Bates paused at the door, trying to phrase what it was they were doing. "Well, we certainly pay you to work so let's go."
"Ms. Bates, I'm suppose to be here," Peter explained.
"Oh, I see. Davy, we had a minor explosion, but it made a pretty major mess so get in here and clean it up," Ms. Bates turned around and went back inside.
"What'd I tell you? Cleaning, it's all I'm good for," Davy muttered. He frowned, whipping out a rag from his back pocket, and proceeded inside.
--
"Where are they, Mike? Where are they?" Micky paced back and forth in front of Mike, who was calmly reading the newspaper.
"Micky, would you cool it? They're fine. They'll be home in a few minutes."
"Are you sure this was a good idea? I mean, maybe we shouldn't be meddling in their business. They're scientists, they have power."
"Am I sure? Of course I'm sure, and up until a minute ago, I thought you were too. You're Micky; you live to meddle," Mike folded the paper in half and tossed it aside, leaning back on the couch.
"I do not live to meddle," Micky objected, only receiving a knowing smile from Mike. "OK, maybe I enjoy meddling, but I don't live to do it."
"Right, you live to be annoying."
"You think you're so clever, don't you?" Micky smiled, shaking his head slowly as he spoke, "Well, Mike, on a scale of one to ten you're about an nine point nine-nine right now. I'm trying to talk to you seriously, and you're not listening."
"Seriously? What is so serious? We've done nothing wrong," Mike chuckled at Micky's expense, "Peter and Davy got jobs down there. Any two guys could have done that. Any two."
"Hey guys," Peter opened the door and slipped in, greeting the two of them while taking off his jacket, pausing while he sneezed.
"Hey," Mike and Micky replied in unison, glancing towards each other in question. They stood and walked over to the door where Peter stood.
"So, how was work?" Micky asked, trying to make it sound as normal and every day as possible.
"OK, I guess. Except," Peter was interrupted by yet another sneeze.
"Why do you keep sneezing?" Mike said.
"Yeah, that was the "except" part. I got a cold and Johnson's medicine stuff didn't work. So now I'm sick," Peter trudged over to the couch and collapsed on top of it. Mike and Micky joined him as he continued, "Johnson is the guy I'm working for. He's been experimenting with this cold cure and he sent me outside without my shirt to get me sick so he could try it. Well, it didn't work."
"That's ridiculous. What right do they have to make you sick just to test something on you?" Micky said.
"Apparently the same right that they have to do the experiments in the first place," Mike said, "Did you find anything weird or unusual while you were there?"
"No, not really," Peter replied, "Except," he sneezed.
"Why, Pete? Why do you always sneeze after the "except"?" Micky demanded, as Peter chuckled, recovering from the sneeze.
"Except, what, man? What's going on?" Mike prompted. Before Peter could explain, Micky looked around, finally noticing the person who was absent from coming home with Peter.
"Where's Davy?"
PART FIVE
Davy pushed open the office door, instinctively glaring down at the woman before him. His harsh look went unnoticed by her as she continued to scrawl quickly on a piece of paper.
"Ms. Bates?" Davy leaned against the doorframe, waiting for her to finish writing. When she did, she glanced up at him with a calming smile.
"Davy, how many times do I have to tell you? Angela, not Ms. Bates," Ms. Bates rose from her chair, stretching her tired limbs above her head.
"You said either one when I first met you. You're my boss, I call you Ms. Bates out of respect," Davy explained, "May I leave?"
"Not quite yet, Davy. I have some files I need you to organize for me. Each file has a month in the corner. I want them arranged chronologically," she said, slipping a key into her file cabinet and pulling open the drawer to reveal what looked to be hundreds of envelopes.
"Ms. Bates...er...Angela. It's almost ten o'clock at night. I've been here all day long. Can't I do it first thing tomorrow morning?" Davy pleaded with her. She paused at her position, shuffling through the multiple files.
"If you'd like to show me respect then you'll stay and finish the work you've been assigned to do. Never mind calling me Ms. Bates. Get to it, David." Angela snapped, grabbing a portfolio from off of her desk and marched out, shutting the door behind her.
"Well, that was odd." Davy shrugged, pulling out a heavy stack from the filing cabinet and slamming them down onto her desk. A look of wonder crossed his features as he stared down at the folders on the desk. The answers to everything lying beneath that thin layer of material. The thousands of papers, which probably contained all the information they were looking for.
He narrowed his eyes, sliding his finger between the first slip of paper and the edge of the folder. Davy spied the door once more, before flipping the top cover of the envelope over, revealing the first page of what looked to be a letter.
"A letter?" he thought, reading the contents of the letter. His eyes moved to the date at the top; it was postmarked three weeks prior. Most of what was said referred to frustrations the sender had with "the program" and how his future plans would most likely revolutionize their studies. However, what baffled Davy the most was the last line of the letter.
We are ready with the victims.
--
Mike sighed as he ran inside the Pad, swiftly shutting the door behind him, and heading towards the downstairs bedroom where Micky and Peter were waiting. He pushed open the door, Peter immediately applauding at his arrival. He stopped mid-clap as he began coughing. Micky stood up from his chair, approaching Mike at the door.
"So you got the right stuff?" Micky asked, reluctantly. It was the third time Mike had been sent back to the drug store to get "the right stuff". Peter had requested a certain kind of medicine to get over his voluntary cold.
"For my sake, I hope so," Mike replied. He reached into the small paper bag and produced a small bottle containing purple
liquid, rather than pink. Micky snatched the bottle out of Mike's grasp, and moved over to Peter's bed.
"Is this it?"
Peter peered from underneath the covers, one eye open, and furrowed his eyebrows, "I suppose."
"What?" Mike then proceeded to enter the room further upon hearing Peter's comment, "What do you mean, you suppose?"
"Mike, c'mon man. He's sick. He has the right to get the kind of medicine he likes," Micky intervened.
"How the hell am I supposed to get the kind of medicine he likes if I have no clue what it is? Do you have any idea how many cold medicines there are in that drugstore?"
"Let me go; I'll go," Micky volunteered, accepting the keys that were dropped in his hand. He left without a word, and also with no clue which medicine was the right medicine.
"You feelin' any better?" Mike pulled the chair Micky had been sitting in further back from the bed. He then slid into it, perching his feet at the corner of Peter's bed.
"A little; I'm sure I'd feel better if I had my medicine," Peter said. Mike felt the urge to blow up at his friend, but his face softened as he let out a low snicker.
"Man, I think I finally get this. You don't want to take the medicine, but you know if you refuse to, you won't be able to complain because we'll all keep on telling you to take something. So you send me, and now Micky, on this wild goose chase to find a special kind of medicine that doesn't even exist? Am I getting this straight?"
"You couldn't be further from the truth, Michael," Peter muttered, his eyes remaining closed. Mike shook his head, letting his feet drop to the floor. He stood up.
"I'll get you some soup," he declared, exiting the room. He heard a soft `thank you' as he left.
As Mike was letting the soup warm, the door burst open. Mike looked up, expecting to see Micky back from his trip at the drugstore, but instead saw Davy rushing over to him.
"Hey, man, where you been?" was Mike's greeting, but Davy completely ignored it.
"They have victims."
"What do you mean, they have victims? Who?"
"Them! The scientists. I was reading this letter and it said, the victims are ready, or something like that. Mike, they have victims," Davy repeated.
"I heard you the first time. Victims of what?"
"Well, I don't know. I was going to read further, but Ms. Bates came back and never left. So I couldn't read anything else, but it has to be bad. Peter and I have to quit! They've got victims; who knows what kinds of things they are doing?"
"After one day? Boy, won't that look suspicious," Mike frowned with sarcasm.
"Mike!" Peter called from the bedroom.
"I'm coming, hold on a minute!" he shouted back. Mike then turned to Davy as he poured the soup into a bowl, "Just forget it for now,man. Peter's sick; we've got to take care of him."
Davy followed Mike into the bedroom. He stopped at the doorway and leaned against the frame. He regarded Peter for a moment before shaking his head, "Oh, come off it Petah. You're not sick. Not that sick, anyway."
"I'm back!" came Micky's yell. He appeared next to Davy, holding another brown paper sack.
"Micky, the have victims!" Davy instantly said.
"Man, I told you to shut up about that," Mike warned, taking the bag from Micky.
"What's up?" Micky inquired to the exchange between Mike and Davy.
"I don't get this. Davy's always wrong," Davy said, referring to himself in third person, "Davy says this is a bad idea to begin with, he's wrong. Davy finally tries to help by getting some evidence, but once again, he's wrong?"
"Right, Davy. You are always wrong," Micky confirmed.
"Glad we got that cleared up," Mike added, "Peter, is this-"
"Nope," Peter interrupted before Mike could ask the question.
"Did you even look at it? I did very good." Micky took the medicine from Mike and sat down on the bed. He removed Peter's covers in an effort to get him to look at the bottle in his hand, "See? It's good!"
"My medicine is pink."
PART SIX
Upon walking into the laboratory, Peter sought out Johnson Flemming, as Davy went back to Ms. Bates office. He pulled his lab coat on over his clothes and approached Johnson who was concentrating on the task in front of him.
"Morning Mr. Johnson," Peter greeted, with a slight hand wave. Johnson looked up and smiled at Peter's presence.
"Good morning, Peter. How are you today?"
"Well, I'm feeling a bit better thanks to my friends, but I've still got a cold," Peter replied.
"Right, I'm really sorry about that. I was sure it the medicine would have worked. I never would have gotten you sick if I had been almost sure, but I was pretty sure."
"Doesn't pretty sure mean the same thing as almost sure?" Peter asked.
"Uhwell, I'm not sure."
"You're pretty not sure? Or almost not sure?"
"Just forget it, Peter. Please. I've made some adjustments to the formula so why don't you try it again?" Johnson handed Peter a small beaker with a dosage measured out inside.
"Does it taste better than last time?"
"I'm not su," Johnson stopped to correct himself, "I don't know. I didn't know what it tasted like in the first place."
Peter shrugged and titled the beaker back, letting the distasteful liquid slide down his throat. Johnson noticed the look on Peter's face and handed him a glass of water. Peter took it graciously.
"I am sorry about all of this, you know. I didn't really want to work on this assignment, but Ms. Bates obviously doesn't think I'm qualified to work on the crucial experiments. I'm "in training" as she says," Johnson said.
"What do you mean by crucial experiments?" Peter asked, out of pure curiosity, not just because of the situation, "I mean, what is considered crucial and what isn't?"
"I don't know. Whenever someone asks about the crucial experiments, she gets really nervous and just says that it's confidential. She's a strange lady. I don't think she makes a very good boss," Johnson paused, "Don't tell her I said that."
"I won't, don't worry," Peter assured him, "Do you think she's dangerous in any way? Should my me and my friends even be messing with her?"
"I don't know about dangerous, just weird. It's not just me either. Everyone here thinks so. Well, except for Samson, that security guard. He also defends her when he hears people talking about her. I think he has a thing for her or something."
"Hmm, interesting," Peter droned, his eyes moving Ms. Bates office where Davy had just disappeared, "Would you excuse me for a minute?"
"Yeah, sure."
Peter hopped off his stool and started in the direction of the office. He could hear Johnson's shouts of protest from behind him, but he didn't really care. He knew Johnson didn't actually know why he was going back there and he knew he wasn't doing anything wrong. He reached the door and knocked on it gently. He heard Davy usher the words, "Come in," and he did just that.
"Where's Ms. Bates?" Peter asked, seeing her nowhere in the room.
"I don't know. She'll probably be here in a few minutes. I was thinking of getting another look at her files, but I wasn't sure when she was coming back," Davy explained.
"I was talking to Johnson and I found out that she's doing some different experiments that no one knows about. Everyone here thinks she's crazy because she won't talk about them."
"Well, at least now we know that something is going on. Before it was just as assumption," Davy said.
"Yeah, wait `til-" Peter stopped abruptly as he leaned against a wall and it gave away beneath his weight, "What the?"
"This just keeps getting weirder and weirder," Davy concluded, walking over to the wall that Peter had just leaned against, "It's like a secret passageway. I wonder if Mr. Wistcroft knew this was here,"
"Maybe the scientists just built it in," Peter said.
"Nah, in three days? I doubt that. Should we?" Davy gestured towards the long narrow hallway leading down.
"Are you crazy? Of course not. Who knows what's down there!"
"Exactly. So we go down there and find out."
"What if Ms. Bates is down there?" Peter asked.
"Be realistic."
"I am being realistic. She's not here; she's not out there. Most likely, she's down there."
"Come on, man," Davy grabbed Peter's arm and drug him down the stairs. Peter extended his hand, feeling the wall of the stairwell all the way down in the complete darkness while Davy led the way. Up ahead a green light was shining in from the great room at the bottom of the stairs. They came out, squinting at the bright glowing rays that enlightened the dark room.
"Well," Peter began.
"I don't see her here anywhere. We're fine." Davy pushed away from the stairwell, and went to explore the newfound addition to the club they thought they knew so well, "What is all this stuff?"
"If only I had my camera," Peter said. Davy chuckled at the comment, stopping in front of a table with various jars of liquid in them.
"I half expected to see brains and stuff floating in all these containers. What do all these say? I can't read them,"
"Davy, I didn't know that. How come you never told us? I can hel-" Davy shook his head and interrupted him.
"No, no, it's too dark. I can't see the labels on them."
"Oh, let me see it," Peter took one of the jars and walked over to one of them green lamps, holding it up to read it, "It says," he paused, reading the label, "A bunch of letters and numbers and then in parentheses it says," he paused again, squinting. But soon his eyes widened as he ran back over to Davy, "Oh my God."
"What? What?"
"It says, it says," Peter stuttered.
"It says what? It says what?"
"Mind control," Peter said, his eyes still wide.
"Mindmind control?" Davy started laughing, "That's ridiculous. Now I know she's crackers."
"We should probably get outta here. We might get caught," Peter warned, "I wonder if there's a back door or something?"
"I dunno. I think I'll just go back the way we came in. Since I have to go back to her office anyway to wait for her because she's late."
Peter nodded as he came across another door, "You don't think an alarm will sound or anything do you?"
"Just come up with me. Who knows where that door leads?" Davy suggested. Peter shrugged and followed Davy back up the stairs. When they reached the top, their worst fears came true.
"Well, well, well. Hello, Mr. Jones," Ms. Bates crossed her arms over her chest. Davy instinctively backed up, causing Peter to be visible as well, "And Mr. Tork. Why what a surprise!"
"I think we omitted one tiny, little detail," Peter commented, as Davy stood frozen in front of him.
"Lock the door." Samson obeyed the woman's strong command and locked the door of her office. "I'd turn right back around boys because you aren't going anywhere."
"Petah, turn around. Do what she says, Petah. Turn around and walk," Davy pushed back against Peter who slowly turned around, "Better yet, run, Petah. Run."
Ms. Bates and Samson came to the stairwell and began shoving them down. Samson stayed behind, closing the door of their secret passage. Davy and Peter walked back down the familiar stairway, coming out in the room with the glowing green lights. Ms. Bates walked to one side of the room, flipping a switch to brighten the room with normal colored lights, the green lights growing dim.
"Samson, strap Peter up. Prepare him for the C511," Ms. Bates demanded. Samson grasped a hold of Peter's arm and began pulling him in a different direction. Davy reached out towards Peter, but Ms. Bates forcefully turned him towards her.
"What does that mean? The C511?" Davy asked, shooting glances at Peter who was being tied to a board.
"It's a code we use so no one knows what we're talking about," Ms. Bates stopped, putting a hand on Peter's chest, "But I
wouldn't worry, Davy. It's not like C511 is fatal." She then began laughing.
"That's just a trick, right? To throw me off! Laughing like you did," Davy concluded. "There's nothing wrong, you're not gonna do anything to him."
"Oh, aren't I?" Ms. Bates raised a syringe and began filling it with a liquid; the C511. Davy's eyes widened.
"But you can't!" Davy said.
"I wanted employees I could trust!" Ms. Bates sneered. "But you! You just meddle in my business, trying to find anything you can get your hands on. Well, I won't have it. No one is going to find out my plans."
"Oh yeah? What do you think I'm gonna do? Keep this all to myself?" Davy said. "The minute I get out of here, I'm going to the cops. And you will pay!"
"That's what I thought you'd say," she replied. "But I have news for you. You won't remember any of this."
Ms. Bates approached Peter who was now securely strapped up and couldn't move. His sleeve had been rolled up, ready to receive the injection. Davy took a step forward, but instantly Samson grabbed both his arms, holding him back.
"Let me go! Petah!" Davy shouted. He fought against the strong binds holding him, but to no avail. All he could do was watch helplessly as the needle pierced Peter's skin.
PART SEVEN
Davy groaned, letting his eyes slide open. He sat up slowly, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. Peter lie still in the bed next to him. Davy sighed, getting out of the bed, feeling extremely tired and sore. Walking to the living room, he was noticed by Mike and Micky.
"It's about time you got up," Mike said.
"Yeah, what happened to you and Peter last night?" Micky
added. Davy stared at the two of them, his confusion increasing three-fold. He shook his head, pulling out a chair from underneath the kitchen table and sitting down.
"What do you mean?" Davy asked.
"We waited until one o'clock in the morning for you," Mike recalled the night before in which he and Micky waited and worried for them to get back. They both ended up falling asleep on the couch. Mike had woken up, checked the bedroom and seen that Davy and Peter were sleeping soundly and decided to ask in the morning. So, he asked. "Well?"
"Umm, would you believe that I don't have an answer for
you?" Davy cringed as he received the look he did from Mike. He was quick to explain, "I don't remember. Honestly, I can't remember a thing that happened last night,"
"How?" Micky asked.
"Morning," Peter walked out of the bedroom and joined them in the kitchen for breakfast.
"Here we go, Peter. What happened last night?" Mike said,
turning to Peter. He hoped for a better answer than he got from Davy.
"Well, you see. We had some problems down there. We lost our jobs," Peter said, with absolutely no hesitance and no reluctance towards Mike.
"You lost your jobs? How?" Micky marveled over this new
discovery.
"Davy and I found this secret pas" Peter trailed off, as
his eyes wandered and his hand went to his head in pain. He winced; shaking his head as if it would clear the hurt he was suddenly feeling.
"Hey, Pete, what's wrong?" Micky tilted his head as he spoke. Mike stood up and walked around the table to Peter's side.
"You all right, shotgun?" Mike placed a hand on Peter's
shoulder as Peter nodded faintly.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a headache is all," Peter answered,
finally bringing his hand down from his head, "Where was I?"
"You were explaining why you and Davy got fired," Micky
reminded him.
Peter nodded in recollection as Mike went to sit down, his eyes never leaving Peter's face.
"Johnson was having me mix this formula thing for him and I
screwed it up and lots of stuff blew up so I was fired. Then Davy went to my defense and he got fired too," Peter explained.
"OK," Mike and Micky bought the fib, Peter's sudden headache making them forget what Peter had begun to say seconds earlier. Mike continued, "But why doesn't Davy remember any of that?"
"Yeah, why is that?" Davy wondered himself.
"Well, you seeuh, you see, what happened wasumm," Peter stumbled, retracting his gaze to the ground, feeling it more comfortable to not look into their eyes. Especially Mike's, whose stare was burning a hole into his heart.
You're stuttering, why are you stuttering? You have nothing to hide. Tell them. Tell them what you know.
The voice in Peter's head was so clear and crisp, his head
snapped up, looking around to find its source. This sudden action caused the others to question him more. He couldn't handle the pressure. It felt as if hot lights were pouring down through his skin and deep into his soul. His breathing sped up and he broke out in a light sweat. All the while, three sets of eyes bore into him stronger and stronger
with each passing second. He couldn't handle the pressure.
Think before you speak. If you speak wrong, regret isn't all you'll feel
"No!" Peter shouted. He turned, very quickly, shunning away
from their eyes. Those staring eyes that made the voices in his head persist. Peter ran to his room, shutting the door loudly, and sliding down the wood to the floor. He held his head in his hands as the headache worsened.
They're growing suspicious. Give them an answer. Give them the one they want to hear.
"They want the truth!" Peter yelled in return.
But you don't know the truth. Why does Davy not remember? Why are you arguing against the very sound of my voice? Tell me, Peter. Do you remember?
Peter urged himself not to answer. He tried to convince himself that the voice didn't exist. That it was all in his head. However,that was just it. The voice was in his head.
The knock on the door startled Peter and he lifted his head, realizing he was leaning against the door. The interruption was enough to stop Peter's thoughts, but he was not anxious for the interrogation he knew he was about to receive.
Peter rose from the floor, grasping the doorknob. He knew if he were to refuse to open the door, the suspicions would just increase. He sighed in relief as Davy walked through the doorway, although he didn't really want to talk to anybody. Once the door was shut,Peter started with a question that was making him curious.
"Davy, tell me you were just pretending out there. You do
remember what happened, right? You just don't want to tell them." Davy was silent. "Putting all that pressure on me wasn't very nice. I don't know what to tell them."
"Neither do I," Davy finally spoke. "I really don't remember."
Peter shook his head, doubting every word, "Pretending it
didn't happen isn't going to make it go away."
"You're not helping."
"Me? You're the one who's playing dumb and acting like a
clueless idiot! At least I'm accepting it." Peter pointed at Davy accusingly. He then sighed, "If what you're telling me is the truth, then tell what the last thing you remember is."
Davy paused, considering the question. "When I woke up yesterday. In fact, I thought I was dreaming waking up yesterday and that today were actually yesterday. If that makes any sense at all."
"What's happening to us?" Peter asked, simply. He suddenly bought the `story' Davy kept insisting were true.
"I'm sorry that I don't remember. I wish I did so I can feel your pain, Petah. This all has affected you so much; you're acting so differently."
"Am I?" Davy merely nodded. Peter winced, laying his forehead into his hand.
"Headache again?"
"Yeah," Peter paused, "It's nothing."
PART EIGHT
When afternoon came, the door of the Pad burst open as Micky returned home from shopping. Mike stood up with a finger to his lips.
"Mike, guess what!" Micky shouted, while Mike persisted in hushing him.
"Would you be quiet? I finally convinced Peter to take a nap," Mike said.
"Sorry," Micky paused, "Why does Peter need to take a nap?"
"Because he was acting weird. Every now and then, he would say he had a headache and then the next second he would say he was fine."
"Oh."
"Souh, what were you yelling about?"
"Oh, yeah, I got us a job! Isn't that great?"
"What? Yeah, Mick, of course that's great. Where at? What kind of job is it?"
"It's at this club downtown. All thanks to Mr. Wistcroft. He felt bad about us losing our job so he made some phone calls and viola!"
"So technically, you didn't get us a job. Mr. Wistcroft did."
"Well, yeah, but he told me about it. I could have just lied and said I was the one to do it all. At least I gave him credit." Micky said.
"Yeah, right. Well, at least with us getting this new job, we can put all of this behind us."
"I wouldn't count on that." Mike and Micky turned towards Davy, who was leaning against the doorframe of his and Peter's bedroom.
"What do you mean?" Micky inquired.
"It's Peter. He just had a nightmare," Davy said, solemnly. Upon hearing this, Micky rushed into the bedroom to check on him. Davy was about to follow in suit, but Mike put a hand on his chest.
"What about you? How are you doing?" Mike asked.
"Me? I'm fine. Why do you ask?"
"Do you remember what happened last night?" Davy shook his
head. "Then you're not fine. I'm gonna get to the bottom of this."
"How?" Davy asked. Mike paused a long time before answering.
"I'm going down there. And I'm not leaving until they answer my questions."
"No!" Peter staggered in from the bedroom, looking worn-down and exhaustion.
"Pete," Micky started, coming in behind him with a hand on his shoulder. Peter cut him off before he could continue.
"You can't go down there, Mike. We have to forget about it. Act like it never happened."
Mike stared at Peter, trying to find the feelings in him. There was something very different about his attitude and behavior. It wasn't just Davy who noticed it.
"You're the reason I'm going!" Mike shot back. "I'm doing this because the two of you are lying to our faces! You expect me to just let it alone and not do anything about it? You keep getting headaches, and now you're having nightmares! Davy can't remember squat, and I'd bet on my life that all of this has to do with those scientists!"
"Michael, you're shouting," Peter stated, calmly.
"Yeah, I'm shouting!" Mike yelled. "I have good reason to! If you don't start explaining things to me now, I'm walking out that door and I'm going to the lab and make them tell me."
"Mike," Davy stepped in.
"You be quiet." Mike replied.
"No, listen to me. You think you're going to get any information from them?" Davy said. "Even if they did do something, you think they'd own up to it? They'd probably end up doing something to you. Don't do it, Mike. Let's just do what Petah said. Forget about it."
"What? Now you're doing it too? Micky, you want to join in on this `gang up on, Mike' deal?" Mike looked at the three of them in disgust and raced out the door before anyone could object.
"If you ask me, I think he has problems," Peter said.
--
As Mike approached the lab, he noticed it was heavily guarded. More security than they had previously. Realizing he wouldn't be able to get through, he darted behind a car, hoping to think of a plan.
"C'mon, Mike," he coached himself, "You're smarter than those stupid guards. Think." Mike put a hand to his chin. "Need a diversion."
He spotted a payphone a few feet away on the sidewalk along the street. He slipped his hand into his pocket, but found zero loose change. He muttered a soft curse. "Maybe I can create my own distraction."
"I'd rethink that if I were you." Mike froze, feeling the barrel of a gun against his neck. His mouth went dry; his bottom lip quivering in fear. "I think you'd better come with me."
"What are you talking about? I was just looking for my keys."
"Yeah, sure. In this parking lot? I don't think so." The man pulled Mike up the collar, pushing him towards the entrance of the lab. Before he knew what was happening, he was presented to Ms. Angela Bates.
"He was spying, Ms. Bates," the guard spoke, his hand still on Mike's collar.
"I was not spying. I was looking for my car keys and this goon of yours picked me up!" Mike raved, hoping she would buy it.
"You seem familiar to me. I feel like I've met you somewhere before." Ms. Bates trailed off, trying to place his face. "What's your name?"
"Uhmy name? Right, my name. It'suh,"
"Aha, that proves it! If you were confident you didn't know me then you would have just said it. You're stuttering, therefore you do know me!" Ms. Bates stood up from her desk as she spoke, walking around towards Mike. "Who are you?"
"Mike Nesmith." Mike prayed that she didn't know his name. He couldn't remember if he had told her on their first meeting. "I stuttered because you're making me nervous. I swear, I was just looking for my keys."
"Why would your keys be in our parking lot?" the guard barked at him.
"Henry, Henry. Remain calm," Ms. Bates said. "Mr. Nesmith, I hope you'll forgive us. You see, we run a very tight ship around here. We can't let anyone through."
"So I can go?"
"No, of course not!" she replied. "I apologize because I'd like to keep you in our custody for a few hours just to be on the safe side. Once we've given you a couple tests to see if you're telling the truth, you're free to go."
Mike gulped loudly, but it went unnoticed. He knew he was lying and he knew the penalty for lying would be unpleasant. But he couldn't even imagine what the penalty would be for his attempt at breaking in.
--
It was about an hour later when Ms. Bates exited her office, only to be met with Samson bumping into her. She scowled, placing her hands on her hips.
"Excuse me, Ms. Bates," he apologized quickly as his anticipation increased, "We got him. We got the one you asked for."
"Good work, Samson. Where is he?"
"Downstairs."
"Good. Send everyone home and lock all the doors. Keep three guards at every entrance." Ms. Bates paused. "We can't take anymore chances."
Mike leaned against the wall, sighing heavily. He brought his hand up to his forehead, wiping away the perspiration that had conspired on his skin. The room he had been placed in was extremely hot. Mike eventually assumed that the reason was to make their victims talk.
Victims.
Mike thought back to when Davy had pushed and persisted about the victims that the scientists were hiding. He cursed himself for not listening. Now, who knew what they were in for? He sniffled, resisting the urge to cry very hard. He couldn't let himself shed his tears.
"No," Mike thought, "I'm not giving up. Not yet."
He stood, squinting in the darkness. He could barely see a thing; he was blindfolded when he was brought in and then they turned the lights off. They must have been hiding something in there. Mike put his hands up against the wall, feeling around for something that would give him a clue as to what they were hiding. It was then his hand stumbled upon a piece of the wall that caved in. He felt the
material beneath his fingers and realized it was fabric!
A small smile crossed his face as he yanked the fabric down, revealing a small window. Instantly, the moon lighted the room. He hadn't known that night had come and he had been gone that long. He shook his head, knowing they were probably worried about him. But now he had a way out.
With little light, it was hard for Mike to see exactly where the window opened so he began pulling and pushing every which way to get it open. When he finally succeeded in opening it, it took a lot of pushing and pulling on himself to get through the tiny opening. For Davy, it would have been a snap, but not for Mike.
By the time he had squeezed himself through, he was panting, trying to catch his breath. The window had been up high so he had also been concentrating on keeping himself elevated, which had exhausted him. Mike briefly wondered why he wasn't guarded closer, but figured they had more on their minds than babysitting him. If only they knew who he really was.
Thinking no more of it, Mike raced home.
--
Ms. Bates descended the stairs of her secret passage, Samson following close behind. She smiled when she saw the blonde haired man strapped to a table, unable to move.
"Why, Peter. We meet again!" she shouted in mock enthusiasm. She moved her finger up and down his chest with a smug smile on her face.
"What do you want with me? I did nothing to you."
"Well, you see, you've helped us with our experiments. That
stuff we injected you with was just to get even, but if it really works then we need you," she explained.
"All I know is that `stuff' you injected me with has caused me a lot of pain. I hate you for doing it!" Peter shot back.
"That's inevitable, Peter. I knew you hated me. You've been having a couple nightmares lately, haven't you? Care to tell me what happened in them?"
"No, I'd rather not talk about them," he replied. Especially to you!"
"I see. Now, let me ask you something. Have you heard the saying that dreams become reality? I hate to break it to you, baby, but-"
"No!" Peter shouted, already getting ideas of what she was
saying.
"Those dreams you've been having were not nightmares. They're visions, Peter. You are psychic. Tell me, isn't this what your first dream was about? Me standing here interrogating you? It came true, just as your second one will."
"No, they can't be true! You're lying!" Ms. Bates grew nearly satisfied at watching him suffer. Her ears perked up as she heard his whisper, "No, Davy."
"Davy? Ah, so is your second vision about Davy? Give me details, honey." Ms. Bates sat herself down on a stool, her brown eyes boring into his.
"What did you do to him? What was the stuff you gave to him?"
"That's my little secret. But I think you can figure it out, what with you dreaming up the results of what we gave him. Now, as I was saying. We need you and your visions. To tell us if we will succeed in our experiments. If we'll gain the success we want. Well, at least if I gain success from it."
"Why not just use it on yourself?"
"I'm not risking my life. Yours, I don't mind risking. So
spill, tell me what you know."
"I haven't had any dreams about you. Why would I want to?"
"That's just it. You don't dream what you want anymore.
Your visions are only of bad things, Peter." Ms. Bates paused, rising from her seat. "You let me know if you see me in your dreams."
--
It took about fifteen minutes for Mike to make it all the way home and when he finally did, he was not prepared for what he would find. He opened the door of the Pad, being met with even more darkness than he had outside.
"Micky? Peter, Davy? Where are you guys?" Mike reached over
towards the light switch, pausing long before he dared to flip it. If the lights were off and the door was unlocked, he didn't want to know what would lie before him.
As the light illuminated the room, Mike squinted at the sudden brightness. As the spots cleared from his vision, the first thing he saw were the prone bodies of Micky and Davy lying on the floor. He slammed the door shut behind him and went instantly to their sides.
"Micky, c'mon. Wake up! Davy?" Mike reached one hand out
to each of them, shaking them simultaneously. "What the hell? C'mon, guys. Where's Peter? Wake up!"
Mike instantly stopped his shaking when he heard Micky groan. He forgot about Davy at the moment, and focused intently on rousing Micky.
"Mick, Micky. Wake up. Please, wake up." Mike pleaded,
watching Micky's eyes closely, begging them to open.
"Peter" Micky muttered, finally coming out of his drug-induced sleep.
"It's me, Mick. It's Mike."
"Peter, where is he?"
"I dunno, man. I just got here. What happened?" Mike asked.
Micky groaned even more as Mike attempted in getting him to a sitting position. "Take it easy, you're fine."
"Shut it, Nesmith. Do I look fine?"
Mike was taken aback by Micky snapping at him, but then realized he was pushing the explanation way too much. "I'm sorry. You tell me when you're ready."
Micky took several deep breaths, swallowing a lump in his
throat. "These guys came," he paused, "Looking for Peter,
and I asked `em what they wanted, but they just pushed me away. There were four of them."
Mike listened intently, hoping some of this would clear up the confusion in his head as Micky continued, "One of `em grabbed me and one of `em got Pete. The other twothey got Davy and drugged him. Then, they went after me. That's all I remember."
"All right, you relax. I'm gonna see what I can get out of
Davy." Mike said. Micky nodded, letting his eyelids close as sleep claimed him. Mike sighed, rising to his feet and stepping over to where Davy was lying. He resumed his shaking, this being the only method he knew on waking them.
It was about a minute before Davy stirred, opening his eyes hesitantly. A very small smile crossed his face when he saw Mike hovering over him.
"Are you OK?" Mike asked. He wasn't going to make the same mistake he made with Micky, assuming he was fine when he had no idea how they felt. Davy nodded at his question, although he wasn't so sure himself. "What happened? What all do you remember?"
"About what?" Davy mumbled, his eyes remaining closed as he
spoke.
"About what happened. Here, a while ago. These guys came in
looking for Peter and they got you and Micky. They drugged you. Do you not remember any of that?"
Davy shook his head, "No."
"Well, what's the last thing you remember?"
"Waking up. This morning." Mike frowned at Davy's response. However, he was oblivious to the fact that Peter had received the same answer when he had asked.
"You don't remember anything that happened today?" Davy
shook his head. "What about yesterday?"
"Sure, I do."
"Even what happened to you and Peter? At the lab? You remembering this now?"
"At the lab? We work there, yeah."
Mike's frown deepened. "Davy, what's today?"
"Today's Monday, silly." Davy chuckled. His eyes had
stayed closed the entire time he had been talking to Mike, but he managed to remain conscious until that moment. As Davy fell asleep as Micky had, Mike rose from the floor, the frown still apparent on his face as he spoke to the empty room.
"But it's Tuesday."
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