PART TEN

If Peter hadn't been strapped down so tightly, he probably would have jerked upright in a mixture of shock and fear. He swallowed a lump in his throat, breathing deeply in and out. Sweat had formed on his forehead and it began to drip down the sides of his face as he moved
ever so slightly.

"How are you doing, Peter? Bad dream?" Ms. Bates approached the table. Peter was silent. "I'm sure you'd like to know how long I
intend on keeping you here. I haven't decided what I want to do with you yet. You know too much."

"Know too much!" Peter's voice squeaked as he said this. "How can I know too much when I know nothing?"

"That's for sure," she mumbled. "Look, the last thing I wanted to do was drag innocent people into this, but you obviously were not innocent. You were spying in my personal things."

"We were spying for the good of the people. You're not researching to help anyone; you're doing all this to harm people. You've already
hurt me and my friends so why not just leave us alone? You've done your damage."

"Not quite yet. I'd like you to tell me the extent of your abilities." Ms. Bates grabbed a pad and pencil, poised and ready to take notes.
"What?"

"Like what kinds of things you see in your dreams? Are your visions out right blunt or do you just get clues that you have to sort out?"

Peter's face twisted into disbelief as he stared at her. The authority and demand in her voice had completely dissipated and was left with a woman who was curious to learn more about something she had created herself. Peter figured if anyone could help him deal with this new thing, she could.

"I see flashes of different things. They don't connect and they don't make sense." Peter replied, "I'm always there just watching. Watching what's happening to my friends and there's nothing I can do to help."

"You only dream about your friends?" Ms. Bates asked.

"Well, so far I have."

"All right," Ms. Bates was about to continue, but Samson walked into the room making a loud entrance. "Samson, what are you-"

"There's an inspector here to see you. You might want to take care of him."

"Does he know anything?"

"No, he was just interested in everything the scientists were telling him so he wanted to talk to you." Ms. Bates nodded at Samson's report and exited the room. Samson smiled at Peter and scooped the notepad Ms. Bates had abandoned and sat on the stool with a look of
contemplation on his face. "So, tell me of your problems."

Peter chuckled, even though it really wasn't that funny. It was funnier when Micky tried to help him with his problems in that way.
Thinking of Micky brought a frown to his face.

"Seriously, man. I can see why you wouldn't want to tell the psycho woman, but to tell you the truth, I know more about this stuff than
Ms. Bates ever will." Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Samson interrupted, "I know you think I'm just a security guard. I'm not. I
started projects like this years ago and Ms. Bates discovered it and offered to bring it to new heights. She promised me glamour and all
that stuff and this is where I am. Disguised as a bodyguard."

"You should stop her. This is getting way out of hand."

"Nah, it isn't a big deal."

"Isn't a big deal? Don't you see what's happening? I don't even know what's happening."

"Why don't you tell me about your dreams. I won't tell her anything. Confidentiality all the way. I want to help you."

"Well, my first dream was just dark. There was laughing and everything was dark. It was really brief."

"I can't tell you much about that one because it's so brief." Samson and Peter shrugged simultaneously.

"My second one was about Davy. We were on the beach together and it was raining. He was crying, but I couldn't figure out why. I kept
trying to calm him down, but he wouldn't stop pushing me away from him."

"Did either of you say anything?"

Peter sighed, thinking. "Yeah, I was repeating over and over that it was me. You know, stuff like `You're OK, it's just me. It's me, Peter'."

"And he said?" Samson leaned forward on his elbows.

"Nothing. I couldn't hold onto him any longer. He ran away from me and I lost him."

"You lost him?"

"I had this feeling that he was gone. I couldn't really describe it. I just had this feeling. That was when the dream ended."

"So you want to know what's wrong with him?"

"Well, yeah! Do you have any idea?"

Samson nodded. "That night when you boys were here, Ms. Bates instructed me to give Davy a compound that in the end causes amnesia."

"What!" Peter tried again in vain to jerk himself up, but was once again stopped by his bonds.

"Every time he falls asleep, he forgets everything that happened after that Monday when you boys were here. To the moment when he woke
up that day. You see what I'm saying?"

"Sort of."

"He didn't remember being here in this room. The last thing he'll always remember is waking up that morning. As the day goes by,he'll
know what's going on. He'll be able to remember things like what he ate, where he went, and all that stuff. But when he goes to bed, all that happened during that day will be forgotten. He'll wake up the next morning, thinking it's Monday all over again."

"And this goes on forever? There's no way to stop it?" Peter attempted to bring his arms up to express his point further, but once again

"Do you want me to untie you?"

"That would help." Samson reached under the table, cutting the rope with his pocketknife. Soon, Peter was sitting up on the table,
stretching his sore limbs. "Now, go on. Tell me the rest."

"After one week of all this, he'll gradually begin forgetting more and more. He'll forget small details from his past, which can lead to
bigger details from his past. Eventually he may not remember anything about his childhood. As it all worsens, his memory will continue to
die off and he'll start forgetting things from his present."

"Meaning?" Peter was scared of the answer.

"He'll start to forget you."

"No," Peter breathed in desperation. "There's got to be a way to stop all this. I can't let this happen to him. Isn't there an antidote?"

"I'm afraid not, Peter. Ms. Bates wouldn't allow me to create any antidotes. She wants everything permanent."

"Does that mean you can, she just won't let you?"

"I can't. I'm sorry."

"What do you mean, you can't? You sit here acting all nice and understanding and then tell me you can't help me? She doesn't have to know. You can overrule her."

"Look, she'll probably be back soon. Don't you want to talk about your other friend?"

Peter nodded, thinking back to his dream. "Micky. I still don't understand where he stands in all of this. What I saw of him was
unbelievable."

"Go ahead. I'm listening."

PART ELEVEN

Mike sat leaning against the window, playing a soft tune on Peter's acoustic guitar. He missed him badly. It would ease him somewhat if
only he knew where his lost friend was and what danger he was in.

"Yeah, I know where he is," Mike said in dismay, his fingers ceasing at the strings. "I don't want to think about where he is." He bowed his head, holding back tears and letting a sob escape his lips.

"You've never been much of a crier." Micky placed his elbows on the banister, speaking loudly to Mike. "I'm seeing a side of you I've
never seen before."

"I don't know what to do anymore, Mick. Peter's missing and Davy's strange." Mike waved his hand in defeat of describing Davy's condition. Micky grinned, sliding down the banister to join Mike by the window. "It's late, you shouldn't make so much noise."

"Who really cares? Besides, you woke me up. You shouldn't be so noisy."

Mike turned to look at Micky incredulously. "I'm just scared."

"You worry too much."

"Excuse me?"

"You do. Seriously, Mike. This is us we're talking about here. We've gotten through lots of weird things before and I don't doubt we'll
get through this." Micky said.

"You're crazy. Where's this coming from?" Mike asked. Micky ignored his comment.

"Besides, man. Can you honestly say you miss Peter?" Mike's jaw dropped after Micky said this. "Don't get me wrong. Peter's a great
friend and he can be really smart once and a while, but I tell you, if he never came back, I think I could get on without him."

"Micky! How can you say that?"

"Look, I'm tellin' you. If you try and imagine life without Peter, you'll see it's not that bad. You're sitting here near tears because
you think you should be. Peter's your friend and you feel obligated to worry about him." Mike shook his head at this. "All right,
but don't say I didn't try. You'd be sleeping like a little baby if you'd take advice from Micky."

Micky walked back towards the staircase as he spoke, disappearing back up into the upstairs bedroom.

Mike sighed. "Why do I get the feeling things just got worse?"

________________________

"We were at home, you know, and Mike and Micky were in an argument." Peter began. Samson nodded, taking glances back and forth from the
door to Peter.

"Do you know what it was about?"

Peter shook his head. "No, not really. Micky was just yelling about how he was sick of Mike being the `do-gooder'. I have no idea how
that got started. The weird thing was, Mike wasn't even responding much to all of this. Normally, when he's mad, he yells and screams,
and gets his point across. But he just stood there, taking it."

"This seems more about Mike than Micky." Samson pointed out.

"No, the yelling is different for Micky. It's like they were acting like each other. Like their minds are switched or something. Is that
possible?"

"Honestly, I don't think so. We don't have anything like that. No one's even touched your other friend, Mike."

"That doesn't mean they won't, though. This is a vision. It's about the future, am I right?"

"You're right, but I don't think they switched minds. No,whatever is weird with Micky was in the drug he was administered with earlier.
When they came after you."

"Well, what was it?"

"I don't know." Samson shrugged, not expecting the outburst he received in return.

"You don't know! After all this, you don't know?"

"Calm down, I can find out. I think I might have an idea of what it is. Was there anything else in your vision?"

Peter nodded. "Oh, yeah. This was the part that freaked me out. When Mike didn't answer to all of Micky's insults, he just kept getting
madder and madder. Finally, he just snapped," Peter paused. "He hit him."

"What?"

"Micky. He hit Mike."

"Like how?"

"What do you mean, like how? He brought his arm back and punched him. Then the image left and I woke up."

"And you're telling me that Micky would never do this? Ever?"

"No, never. If he were to ever hit someone, it wouldn't be one of us. No matter how angry he was at Mike, he would never hit him."

"Hold that thought. I think I might know." Samson arose from his seat and briskly walked to the other end of the room, running his finger over different bottles. He shook his head as he passed each one. He turned to another rack, looking some more and snapped his fingers as he found what he was searching for. Upon hearing his snap, Peter hopped off the table to join him.

"Well?"

"X715. It's another one of our concoctions."

Peter let out a sigh of discouragement. "What kind of potion is this one?"

Samson laughed at the fact he had called them potions. In a way, they kind of were. His giggles instantly stopped when Peter glared at him.

"Sorry, X715 enhances something in a person that is opposite of what they are."

"Right, so Micky's normally very easy going and nice and now-"

"Now, plain and simple, he's mean. What's ultimately going to happen is that each relationship he has with the three of you is gonna falter and die. It may start out with a snide remark or a casual insult, but eventually it will turn to hate. And your vision proves
that in a nutshell. He hates Mike."

"Ms. Bates is out to kill us all." Peter shook his head. "But that doesn't mean I can't stop her from doing something to Mike. I can protect him."

"I don't know. Your vision doesn't show you what could happen; it shows you what will happen. You can't change the future."

"Like hell I can't. She's gone too far. I'm going to keep an eye on Mike and you'll work on creating counter potions to all this stuff.
Right?"

"Peter," Samson gestured towards the door. "Ms.
Bates."

"Screw Ms. Bates. You can say I broke out and you couldn't stop me. Just let me go. You've helped me so much tonight. You can't turn on
me now."

Samson sighed. "All right. Go. I'll think of something to tell her."

"Thank you so much!" Peter hugged the man on instinct. "Don't worry, one day you can use your knowledge of all this stuff for good.
I'm sure of it. Thanks again."

Peter headed to the door, hearing Samson utter a few last words.

"You'll be hearing from me."

PART TWELVE

It had been almost two hours later and Mike had yet to move from his spot by the window. No one had passed by it being so late at night which made him wonder what he was still doing up. He sighed heavily, rising from that spot to at least attempt sleep. He stretched out the
limbs that were sore from disuse and rubbed his eyes, walking towards the stairs. As he put his hand on the railing, he was startled by Peter entering the Pad very loudly.

"Peter!"

Peter smiled at Mike's reaction and accepted the hug he received in return.

"You look well, you look pretty good. I wasn't expecting this. What happened?" Mike asked, pulling Peter down onto the couch with him.

Despite the situation, Peter managed to muster a laugh shaking his head as he sat down.

"I found out a lot."

"Where were you?"

"Well, I was taken to the lab and Ms. Bates wanted to use my gift to figure out how successful she's going to be. And then Sa-"

"Gift? What gift?" Mike spat out. He hadn't meant it to sound so rude, implying that Peter had no talents, but he couldn't think of
anything Peter knew how to do that would help her.

"Oh, right, you don't know. I'm psychic now, thanks to all their potions." Peter said in agitation.

"Potions?"

"Gotta call them something."

"You've officially confused me. Start from the beginning again."

"All right, Ms. Bates wanted to use me to tell her if I saw any kind of vision for her future. To see if any of her experiments would be
successful." Mike nodded, signifying he understood. "OK, well she had to leave and I was left alone with Samson. That security guard
guy."
Mike nodded again, signifying he knew whom he was talking about. "Turns out he had more to do with the experiments than Ms. Bates did. He pretends to be a guard so no one is suspicious. Well, he's really smart and all and he explained everything to me. What's up with Davy and Micky, and-"

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down there, shotgun. What's wrong with Micky?" Mike furrowed his eyebrows in bafflement.

"You mean, you haven't noticed anything weird about him?" Mike shrugged in response to Peter's question, recalling the exchange they
had had earlier. "He's gonna end up hating us. That stuff is making him act the opposite of how he normally does."

"You're kidding."

"No."

"How do we stop it?"

"Well, Samson is working on creating antidotes for all this stuff. I feel so helpless. I mean, they got to me too, but I'm perfectly fine.
If anything, being able to tell the future is an advantage." Peter froze, remembering the vision he had earlier about Mike and Micky and
what Samson had said. "Look, you can't leave."

"What?"

"They're gonna get you too. You can't ever leave here; I have to protect you."

"Peter, I can take care of myself. And I have to leave eventually." Mike suddenly stiffened, closing his eyes in reluctance.

"What, what is it?"

"Micky got us a gig. It's tonighter, tomorrow."
Peter groaned, disbelieving Mike was even considering it. "C'mon. We need the money we have to go. The manager of the club is depending on us to entertain."

"We haven't played since we left Mr. Wistcroft. We've been a little preoccupied."

"So we'll have to practice. Since you're back, we'll have all day tomorrow. We can just pretend like nothing's wrong and do our best."

"You're acting awfully cool about this," Peter pointed out.

"Well, I kind of have to. I am Mike, after all."

_______________________________

Micky grew frustrated as Mike stopped in the middle of the song once again. He hadn't wanted to practice in the first place and now he was
being forced to play the same part over again. Mike turned to face the rest of them.

"I'm sorry, guys. Something isn't sounding right at the beginning of the chorus." Mike said.

"Yeah," Micky began, "For some reason, the song keeps stopping abruptly just as the chorus approaches."

"I'm just trying to get it right." Mike replied. "It's probably you that's off."

Micky glared. "I don't notice nothing. Davy and Peter don't notice nothing. What makes you think anyone else will? Maybe you're off, ever think of that Mr. Perfection?"

Mike was near breaking. That was the fifth time Micky had snapped at him during their rehearsal. "Mike, just cool it." Peter whispered to him.

"Easy for you to say, he's not doing this to you."

"I'm not provoking it; neither is Davy. Just relax and ignore him." Peter paused, raising the tone in his voice. "How about we take
it from the top and go through the entire thing without stopping?"

"What a wonderful idea," Micky looked to Mike in sarcasm. "Maybe you should let Peter be the leader of the band. At least he cares if we
make it through the song."

Mike instantly went to stare at Peter who stifled a laugh under his gaze. "I'm taking a walk."

Peter sighed shaking his head. Davy, still oblivious to what was up with Micky, dropped his tambourine and went to follow Mike outside to talk to him.

"Davy, wait. Just leave him be." Peter advised. "He's fine."

"Nah, Pete. I think you should let the shrimp leave. You honestly think we need him?" Micky grinned, abandoning his drum set to get
something to eat from the kitchen. Davy looked down to the ground in defeat. Peter appeared next to him.

"Hey, he doesn't mean it. Don't let him get to you. Trust me." Davy didn't respond to Peter's words of encouragement. He only stepped off
the bandstand, walking to his bedroom to be alone. Peter collapsed in a nearby chair, placing his head in his hands.

Meanwhile, Mike kicked at the sand beneath his feet on the beach. His hands remained stuffed in his pockets. He sighed, releasing one hand
to pat down his hair, which was blowing furiously in the wind. As he did so, he turned his head behind him in curiosity.

He could have sworn he'd heard someone.

PART THIRTEEN

Mike stepped inside the Pad, feeling very dazed and confused. He glanced around the room, first seeing Peter walking towards him.

"I think the key to all of this is just keep quiet. If we don't say anything, we can't give him anything to feed off of. I know that's
going to be hard for you, but-"

"OK." Mike interrupted Peter before he could finish. Peter brought his head back, perplexed that Mike had agreed to this so easily.
Normally Mike would refuse to do this and fight back when he was being insulted. "Where's Davy?"

"In the bedroom." Peter answered.

"There you are. You have enough time to cool off so we can actually practice? Maybe get through one song?" Micky called from the kitchen, noticing Mike now standing on the bandstand with Peter. Mike didn't reply. Instead, he stepped down, heading towards Davy and Peter's room. He knocked on the door, but was soon jerked aside by Micky. "Are we gonna practice or what?"

"I was just getting Davy." Mike said with a bit of hesitance in his voice.

"Oh geez. You're apparently the musical expert, aren't you? Do we really need a tambourine? It just adds extra noise, don't you think?"

"I don't know."

"Don't try and get out of it now. You think you know what you're doing in the music business then get rid of Davy. God knows he's useless in the band. You want us to be so perfect then get rid of who really holds us back."

"I can't."

"Oh, so I see. Now you're trying to be the perfect friend by not ditching the midget. Why do you always have to be perfect? If it's not the band, it's our bedroom. Always yelling at me to pick up my clothes. They're my clothes, I'll put 'em wherever I damn well please! You can stop stepping all over Micky Dolenz. 'Cause he's angry!" Micky argued.

Mike was silent. Peter glanced at him, but he was prominently surprised when Micky fired back his answer, which made no sense considering Mike had said nothing.

"You just keep pushing and pushing, Mike. You think I have no serious or angry bone in my body! I'm all about the laughs, well here's
laughing at you, Nesmith! You're always trying to go against everything I say."

"He's not trying to go against you, Mick. He's trying to make things right. You know that." Peter assured him.

"That's all he is, Peter. He's a do-gooder. That'll never change." Micky shouted in reply to Peter's weak attempts.

Peter looked on in shock, witnessing his vision live. The second the word "do-gooder" left Micky's mouth, he knew to butt in. It was a
vision, though, right? The future. You couldn't change the future, could you? Peter was going to try. He went to step down from his
position on the bandstand, but sure enough, as his foot hit the edge, he went tumbling over having stumbled going down. He hit the floor
with a resounding "boom". Peter brought his head up to see Mike lying on the floor as well all the way across the room. He pushed himself
up, surveying the damage done.

Not only had Micky punched Mike, he had now begun disassembling everything in sight. He was angry and he wanted to take it out on something. Peter rushed over to him, and cautiously reached for him. He pulled back instantly when he was struck on the corner of his jaw. He looked around the room, realizing Mike was a tad bit...out of comission for now. He saw Davy had now joined them, standing in the doorway of their bedroom.

"Davy, don't just stand there! Help me control him!" Peter shouted. Davy didn't seem to acknowlege Peter's voice. He stood, observing the scene in awe. He'd never seen Micky act that way and it scared him. Peter gave up on Davy's help and resumed attempting to subdue Micky. He eventually got ahold of his wrists, pulling him towards him resulting in the two of them falling to the floor. Peter rolled on
top, pinning Micky to the ground, but he still thrashed violently.

It wasn't until this point that Davy decided to lend a helping hand. He snapped out of his shocked trance and started over towards Peter
and Micky, but before he reached them, Peter did something that froze his steps once again. He was beginning to lose Micky, almost tossing
Peter off his back like a wild bull so Peter did the only thing he could think of. He reached for a plate sitting on the corner of the counter, and grasping it in his hands smashed it over the top of Micky's head.

Micky's struggles instantly ceased as he sagged against the floor.

_________________________________________________________

"Do you think that'll hold him?" Davy asked Peter, hesitant as he spoke. Peter frowned at Davy and then glanced back at the bed where
Micky lie, ropes coming from his wrists and ankles and looping around the bedposts.

"For our sake, I hope so." Peter responded.

"Peter, can I ask you something? Why do we have to tie Micky up like this? What's going on?"

"He thinks he hates us. He doesn't. You know that and I know that. But he's convinced that he hates us so he'll leave if we don't strap
him down. We have to keep him here until Samson can get things back to normal."

Peter led Davy out of the bedroom so they could talk. They had also gotten Mike into bed so now both him and Micky were sleeping soundly. Once Peter shut the door, he proceeded in trying to explain things to Davy.

"The scientists gave something to Micky that's making him act violent like this. He doesn't even really know what he's doing. Samson is
trying to create something to counteract it."

"Samson?"

"The security guard. C'mon, Davy, you know who I'm talking about. He's actually a scientist too and he's trying to help. He's trying to
help you too."

"What's wrong with me?"

Peter observed Davy's look of anxiousness and decided against telling him. What was the point? He'd only forget by morning.

PART FOURTEEN

Peter sighed, collapsing into a chair near the bandstand of the Pad. He hadn't been run so ragged ever. For the time being, he was the
only one who was able to take care of them. It was a weird feeling for him because he wasn't use to having this responsibility. Normally
if something was wrong, he was concerned about it, but it wasn't in his hands. Mike handled it, but him? He wasn't the leader-type.

"Guess I have to be." Peter muttered, taking his hand from his lips. However, he hadn't realized how much he really had changed in the
past few weeks. Whether it be the drug or his own personal growth, Peter had changed.

The sharp ring of the telephone interrupted his silence, startling him. He swallowed in exhaustion, reaching over to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"May I speak with Peter?"

"Uh, this is him. Who is this?" Peter bent over, flipping on a nearby lamp.

"Peter, it's Samson. I've got some not so good news." Peter remained silent. Things were already bad from his side. How could it possibly get worse? "When Ms. Bates found you gone, she sent people over to your house."

"What?" Peter looked around. He expected to see someone pop out from behind a curtain or something. "How long ago?"

"Hours ago." Before Samson could continue, Peter jumped in with his conclusions.

"Hours ago?" he repeated. "If it was hours ago then where are they? Are they hiding here somewhere?"

"No! Calm down. They've already come and gone. They were going to break in, but they said they saw someone exit the back so they went after him."

"Out the back?" Peter whispered to himself. It suddenly dawned on him. He gasped, "Mike!"

"Excuse me?" Samson asked.

"Mike! He and Micky were fighting before and Mike stormed out. When he came back, he was acting really out of it."

"You don't think-"

"I know. It was just like my vision. I'm such an idiot!" he paused. "What did they do to him? Another drug?"

"You kidding? Of course. Those things are like her only line of defense. Someone screws her over she turns to the drugs. Without those, she's nothing," Samson observed.

"Then why don't you take them from her?"

"I can't take everything from her, Peter. She'd catch me."

Peter sighed, "Well, what am I suppose to do? Do you know what they gave to Mike?"

"Yep." Samson nodded, even though Peter could not see or hear it. "Same thing they gave to your other friend. Micky."

"It can't be! He barely talks, he doesn't respond to Micky, he acts helpless..." Peter trailed off, realizing he had just described the complete opposite of Mike. "What am I gonna do?"

"I'm working on figuring something out. In the meantime, don't go anywhere. Stay right where you are and don't take your eyes off of either of your friends for a second. I'll call back later."

"But I-" Peter cut his own voice off, glancing towards his and Davy's bedroom where Mike and Micky slept. He hung up the phone quickly and
barreled through the bedroom door, stumbling with his momentum. As he regained his balance, he surveyed the room.

Mike had fallen out of bed, or was pushed out of bed; Peter couldn't tell. The ropes that had once held Micky were now thrown all over the
room as well as the blankets from both beds. But what caught Peter's eye was the fact that Micky was gone and the curtain was blowing in
the wind through the open window.

____________________________

The lights were on at the club when Davy pulled up in the Monkee Mobile. Peter had sent him out to look for Micky even though that was going against Samson's advice. Davy hadn't really expected to see Micky while he was at the club, but he felt he owed it to the owner to explain that they were not going to be coming in to play.

When he walked in, he noticed the stage was already set up for them, and the only music that was playing was on the jukebox. It was
obvious the owner had been excited to have them since he had placed a banner across the front of the stage with their name in the familiar
Monkees logo. Davy smiled walking towards it.

"That is so cool," he commented to himself, observing the logo. He was soon turned around by someone pulling on his arm.

"You're Davy, correct? Where's the rest of the band?" The voice belonged to a tall man with a mustache who happened to be the owner.

"Did you do this? This is so groovy looking." Davy pointed to the logo, still not being able to take his eyes off it. The man's question finally registered in his mind. He turned around to face him. "Oh, well we actually can't play tonight and that's why I came here to tell you that. You know, so you'd know and could find someone else."

"Find someone else? You gave me no notice. It's past seven and you were suppose to be here at six-thirty."

"Well, I'm sorry. You're lucky I came in at all. We've been busy."

"You're right, I am lucky. The Monkees will never play in my club again!"

"Pardon me, sir. But technically we never played here to begin with so how may we play again if we didn't do it this first time?" Davy said. The club owner grunted, pulling at the banner resulting in it tearing in half.

"Hear this ladies!" the owner shouted, "The Monkees will not be playing here tonight or ever because they're a bunch of jerks."

With that said, the owner stormed back to his office.

"Wow, what a baby," Davy muttered.

"Davy!"

Davy jumped as a girl latched onto his arm. He spoke hesitantly to her, "Um...hi?"

"Davy, it's me. Tiffany. Haven't seen you since you got kicked out of your last job. What have you guys been up to?" the girl called Tiffany asked.

"Oh, you know. This and that, nothing special."
"Well, I'm sorry you won't be playing here. I was looking forward to hearing you guys play again." Tiffany sighed.

"It's a shame as well, you see. This guy drew up this cool little thing; you see that?" Davy bent down, picking up the torn shred of paper with their logo on it.

"Don't be silly, he didn't draw that."

Davy frowned, "He didn't?"

"No, of course not. Micky did. Remember? Back when you guys first got together, and Micky took his drum in to be customized. Didn't know
what to put on it, so he drew that up. You don't even remember?" Tiffany said.

"Oh, sure I remember. I just...you know, haven't seen it in a while. I face the crowd, not Micky's drums."

"Oh."

"Speaking of which, have you seen Micky? I can't seem to find him."

"No, sorry. I haven't. Is he missing?"

"Yeah, actually...hey wait! Isn't that him?" Davy took a step forward to approach the man, but Tiffany held him back.

"That's not him," she said.

"Isn't it, though?"

"No. For pete's sake, Davy. The guy has blonde hair."

"Doesn't Micky have blonde hair?" Davy asked.

Tiffany stared at him in disbelief. "Are you feeling OK?"

"Yeah, fine. Why?"

"If you're feeling so fine then why do you think Micky has blonde hair?"

"Because he does."

Tiffany frowned, grabbing onto Davy's wrist and pulling him outside. She dragged him to her car, where she reached in the back seat,
bringing out a picture of the four of them that she had been given.

"See, I told you." Davy pointed at the picture. "Micky. Blonde hair."

Tiffany glanced down at him, "Davy, that's Peter."

PART FIFTEEN

While Davy was out looking for Micky, Peter remained at the Pad taking care of Mike. It was about an hour after Davy had left that Mike finally awoke, meeting Peter's inquistion.

"I want you to tell me exactly what happened on the beach earlier. Everything. Don't skip a detail," Peter demanded. Mike, of course, complied without hesitation.

"I was down there walking and I thought I heard someone following me. The next thing I know, I was pinned to the ground and they gave me this shot. Then, they left and I came back up here," Mike explained.

"So, wait a minute. You were still conscious after they gave you the injection? How is that possible?"

"I dunno, but I was," Mike paused, "Has...has Micky come back yet?"

"Not yet. Davy's out looking for him," Peter replied. He turned his head towards the living room when a knock sounded on the front door. "I'll be back."

Peter rose up from the bed Mike was lying in and shut the bedroom door behind him. He cautiously looked through the peephole, seeing
Davy standing there with a woman. Peter groaned, thinking 'Now's not the time to bring home a date, Davy'. He opened the door, smiling at the young lady.

"Peter, we need to talk," she said, skipping the introductions and greetings.

"You and me?" Peter asked in a puzzled way. He didn't even really know this person.

"You and me, or me and Mike. I don't care. I need to talk to one of you." Tiffany persisted.

"Well, Mike can't right now." Peter said. Tiffany grabbed his wrist in the same way she had grabbed Davy's earlier and pulled him aside where Davy couldn't hear.

"What's going on?"

"What do you mean? I don't even know-"

"My name is Tiffany. I'm a fan of yours, especially of Davy's. Something is wrong with him, and I'm concerned."

Peter inwardly rolled his eyes. He had a feeling she wasn't genuinely concerned and that she couldn't care less what happened to Davy as long as he remained good looking and she got to see him everyday.

"Why do you think something's wrong with Davy? He's fine," Peter said.

"Fine? I showed him a picture of you guys and he thought you were Micky. He saw someone with blonde hair and thought that it was Micky," Tiffany recapped what had happened.

"Oh, he was just goofing around," Peter lied. In all honesty, he wasn't feeling half as positive as his voice sounded. This worried
him tremendously. According to Samson, he wasn't suppose to start forgetting them, his friends, until later on.

"Really? You know that stupid guitar thingy on Micky's drums? Well, he acted like he'd never seen it before in his life. Care to explain
that one?"

"Look...Tiffany, right? We've been going through a tough time and with Micky gone, Davy feels he has to be the comedic relief. I'm
sorry if he's not that funny."

"You're trying to fool me, huh? Well, you're not. Something is obviously wrong with him; he's hit his head or something and you're not doing anything about it. I'll take him home with me if I have to." Tiffany said.

"OK, it's sweet and all how you feel you're Davy's biggest fan and you have to take care of him, but give me a break. Just leave." Tiffany shook her head. "You're fine, aren't you Davy?" he asked in a louder voice.

"Of course, Mick. I'm fine." was Davy's response.

Tiffany gestured a hand pointing at Davy, telling Peter to listen to what Davy had just called him.

"Just leave," Peter repeated. "I'll take care of it. We've got it under control."

Peter backed her up against the front door, but she held her own, refusing to leave. She pushed back, sending Peter backwards into Davy. It was then that Peter's prayers were answered as the front door opened very forcefully, the edge of it striking Tiffany along the head. The force of it knocked her over into a table, completing her head injury, which resulted in her being unconcious. It was Micky who had flung the door open and who was now laughing hysterically at the young woman. Peter glared at him, but soon felt a smile creeping at his lips. It was funny.

Davy, however, did not find it so funny and was immediately by her side trying to wake her up.

"Davy, don't," Peter stopped him. "Take her home before she wakes up. We don't need her interrogating us more."

Davy sent both Peter and Micky evil looks as he carried Tiffany out to the car to take her home. Peter's smile disappeared, realizing it
wasn't suppose to be funny. They were still in a bad situation.

Once Davy had left, Peter turned on Micky.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Excuse me? I don't have to tell you where I went," Micky retorted, now very angry. "Mike was just really bothering me, that's all."

"Mike was sleeping!" Peter shouted. "How can he bother you when he's sleeping?"

"He was breathing too loud," Micky said.

"Breathing too loud? Mick, what are you-"

"I wanted to take a walk, but I didn't have anywhere to go. So I came back here, hoping everyone would be asleep. Obviously, I was wrong."

"Can we talk?"

"Talk? About what? You wanna talk about Mike? I'd love to." Micky said.

"No, I don't want to talk about Mike. I want to talk about you. Are you even aware that you're under the influence of some kind of drug?"
Peter asked.

"C'mon, Pete. Just because I'm mad doesn't mean I'm high."

"Not that kind of drug. I guess I should worded it differently. Well, you know those scientists we've been dealing with, right?" Micky nodded in annoyance to Peter's question. "Well, they did something to you that makes you act like this. That makes you hate us."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. You guys think you're all so likeable that someone has to be tripped up on drugs to
not like you? Get real."

"I'm just saying to think back to a few days ago. You weren't like this. You use to love us and then...this happened. Think about it."

"I am thinking about it. I was stupid if I ever loved you, especially Mike. Now, I'm going to bed...in my own room. You better think twice
before sending either Mike or Davy up there to sleep in there. One of you can sleep on the floor for all I care." Micky turned and walked
away from Peter, going upstairs and slamming the door behind him.

Once Davy had gotten home and gone to bed, Peter spread out on the couch, planning on sleeping late into the next afternoon. He was so exhausted and hadn't been able to sleep well in days. When he finally did awake, it was almost noon. It wasn't as late as he had planned, but he did get the chance to catch up on sleep.

Peter stretched his arms, rolling off the couch. He wound up on the floor, feeling really weak. Not only that, he had a major headache.

"Man," he mumbled to himself. "I haven't had a headache like this since..." Peter thought back, trying to remember the ending to that
statement. He realized it was the night after all this had begun and he had had flashes of headaches that entire day. And the voices, how
could he forget those? It had probably just been a side effect since it only lasted that one day. But now that excrutiating headache had returned.

He glanced up the stairs, deciding against checking in on Micky. If he had left, he was sure to come back. Micky had said it himself, he had nowhere to go. So instead, he entered his and Davy's room.

"G' mornin', Pete," Mike greeted, already sitting up in bed.

"Oh, you're up. Good morning to you too, Mike. How are you?" Peter sat on the edge of his own bed.

"Good. You?"

"I'm fine. Before you ask, Micky is home. He came in last night."

"Is he still mad?"

"Yeah. I tried talking to him, but he didn't want to listen. We'll just have to wait for Samson. Whenever that'll be. I uh...I was
wondering if I should tell you this. About Davy, I mean."

"What about Davy?" Mike sat up quickly. Peter noticed that even though Mike was now different, he was still the biggest worrier of
them all.

"His memory just keeps fading. He thinks I'm Micky now," he said. Peter was unaware of the fact that he had neglected to tell Mike what
was wrong with Davy exactly. All Mike knew about his memory was that he couldn't remember that one fateful night. Mike caught on relatively quick, though.

"That's not good," Mike stated simply.

"No, it's not good," Peter repeated, sarcastically. "I mean, he-" Peter stopped, now noticing the other bed was empty. "Where is Davy?"

Mike shrugged, "I don't know. He wasn't here when I woke up."

"Oh geez," Peter jumped up, running out of the room. He ascended the spiral staircase, thinking he might have been in Micky and Mike's room, but the only person there was Micky, who was still asleep. It was obvious Davy wasn't anywhere in the Pad so he stepped outside,
hoping to find him there. He sighed in relief when he found him hunched over on the beach. "Davy, thank God I found you."

Davy didn't move or even acknowledge his presence.

"You can't run off like that, man. Not with the way things are now," Peter said, but received no response. "Davy," he began, but soon felt
a raindrop fall from his nose to the ground. "Great, now it's raining. Davy?"

Peter attempted to get his attention a little while longer before he realized it just wasn't working. So he decided to just sit with him.
In the rain. A few minutes had passed before he heard Davy sniffle and turned to look at him. He couldn't tell if he was crying or if his face was just wet from the rain. His conclusion was that the wetness was tears.

"Davy?" Peter scooted closer, laying on a hand on his shoulder, which Davy quickly rejected, "Davy, you can talk to me. What's wrong?"

After Davy heard that, he collapsed into sobs. He brought his head down to his knees as he let his anguish and distress leave him.

"Davy, it's OK. It's me, Peter. Don't you remember me?" Peter tried once again to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Davy pushed it off, scooting away from him. "C'mon, babe, it's just me," Peter reassured him. This time when Peter tried to touch him, Davy wasn't so polite about it. He brought his head up and forcefully grabbed onto the hand that was trying to touch him. From there, he shoved
Peter hard enough to knock him over in the sand. When Peter sat up, he saw Davy walking away from him. "Davy, wait!"

As soon as Peter had said this Davy broke out in a run, frantically trying to get away from him. Still, he had said nothing. When Peter
finally caught him, he tackled Davy to the ground trying to hold him there. He knew Micky was one who was prone to escaping and running
away, but now Davy too?

"Davy, just calm down. You're fine. I won't hurt you, it's just me. Peter."

Davy wasn't convinced. With one last ounce of energy, he elbowed Peter in his ribs distracting him enough to run away.

Peter rose up quickly, taking off after him. But with every step he took, the headache he had increased. The pain had become so intense
that he eventually had to slow.

"No, Peter," he cursed himself, "You have to keep going. You can't let Davy go."

It was no use. He let out a cry as he collapsed to the sand. The figure of Davy running away grew blurry and eventually faded to black.

PART SIXTEEN

Samson stood outside Ms. Bates office, his hands sitting in his pockets. He wore his signature guard sunglasses and dark black suit, trying not to attract attention. It was after hours; Ms. Bates had come home. As far as Samson knew, he was the only one there. Well,
besides the entire reason he was there to begin with. As soon as he was sure the coast was clear, he disappeared into the office, shutting the door behind him.

He used a flashlight to navigate through the room. He didn't want to turn the light on in fear someone would see through the window and
know he was there. So he kept low to the ground, until he reached the wall that swiveled with his touch.

When Samson reached the bottom of the stairs, he felt a smile creep up on his lips when he saw Peter stirring on the table. "Hey, how are
you feeling?"

Peter gave him a blank stare in response and then looked down, noticing he was strapped on the table again. He groaned, letting his head fall back down on the table.

"You're alright. Trust me," Samson assured him, placing a hand on his chest. "I called you, but no one answered so I decided to come over to tell you the news. And when I found you on the beach, I brought you here."

"Wow, you're nice," Peter replied in a delirious way. Samson chuckled.

"Your friends are here too. The news I wanted to give you when I came over was that I had done it. I got the antidotes."

Peter brought his head up, looking around the room for the others. Sure enough, they were all lying on the floor feet away. Obviously, a
laboratory didn't have the proper accomodations for people to sleep.

"Does that mean you fixed them?" Peter asked.

Samson nodded, "Yes. I have to warn you though, some things may not be completely back to normal."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the people you knew as Mike and Micky might come out every now and then. Davy probably won't have that great of a memory. It won't be as bad as before, but he'll be pretty forgetful."

"That is normal," Peter muttered, shrugging as best he could. "What about me?"

"I figured since you were the only sane one of the bunch, I should let you decide if you want me to take it away. Do you?"

Before Peter could answer, the door of the secret lab was forced open. In the doorway stood a crazy, satanic woman.

"Samson, what the hell is going on here?" Ms. Bates pushed her way passed the three prone bodies by the door and stepped right up to
Samson. "You better start explaining."

"You wanted me to catch the boys, didn't you?" he asked.

"I didn't think you'd single handedly get them," Ms. Bates replied. "How?"

"I pretended to help them so I could get them here for you. I made them trust me," Samson said, removing his sunglasses. Peter looked
alarmed, but a quick wink from the large man eased him.

"Oh, well. Good. It's a shame we don't need them anymore. We've gotten plenty of test subjects that we can keep captive here. These
four have caused us too much trouble."

"What are you saying?" Samson raised an eyebrow.

"I'm saying we're done with them." she said.

"Oh, shall I let them go then?"

"No! We can't risk them going around blabbing all about us. I want you to kill them."

"Kill them? I can't!" Samson shouted in protest.

"Why not?" Ms. Bates crossed her arms, wondering why he was so defensive over them.

"It's just...well, I'm sorry Ms. Bates. I don't kill people."

"Honestly, Samson. What is it you think we've been doing with these experiments? Now, if you don't kill them, I will," she threatened.
Staring long and hard at Samson, she nodded. "I'll be back. And don't even think about leaving."

After she disappeared, Samson looked down at Peter. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

"I'm not worried," Peter said. "Before I woke up, I had a vision. We were all in it; we were at home. I'm not dying tonight and neither are they."

"You trust me then, don't you? You seem very sure of yourself," Samson observed.

"Of course, I am."

"All right. I have a plan. I'll go up and distract Ms. Bates for a while. You get your friends up and get out of here. Use the back
exit," Samson instructed while he untied Peter.

"What?" Peter looked at Samson in disagreement. "I can't do that. This has to end tonight. We escape and she's just going to send more
people after us. I thought when you brought me here tonight, you intended on ending all this. I don't want to get by again. I want it to be over. Everything can finally go back to the way they were if this ends. You should call the police while she's gone. Not sneak us out."

"The police will arrest me too. Peter, I don't mean to sound selfish, but I don't want to go to jail. Just trust me. You will never see Ms.
Bates again. I promise. Just get out of here while you can."

"Sams-"

"I thought I was being smart bringing you here. Everything I needed was here. I thought it'd be easier. I didn't think she would come. I thought the place would be empty all night long."

"Stop stressing about this. It'll be fine. Call the police. If it matters so much, I'll clear your name of any charges. You helped us. You saved us."

"Of course it matters! Would you want to spend the rest of your life in prison? I'm sorry, I can't do this. Just trust me. Trust me like
you've never trusted before. I know that sounds corny, but I'll protect you boys. I'll protect everyone that will be harmed by this. I'll end it myself. Now get out."

Peter couldn't stop him from leaving. He was already gone. The only way Peter could see to get out of this was to call the police himself. However, he couldn't help but get an irking feeling that he should trust Samson. The man's done so much for the four of them. Even so, how would he get himself and his three friends out. Thinking about this, he slid off the table.

"Guys?" he said, "Hey, wake up. Any one of you. Just get up."

Peter sighed, stepping over to Mike. He looked at him thoughtfully, before kicking him lightly on the leg. "Hey, Mike?"

Mike responded how Peter had hoped. He kneeled down next to Mike as he moved, opening his eyes. Immediately, his arm went to cover them;
they were burning from the brightness of the room.

"Heya Mike," Peter repeated, this time more cheerfully, "How you feel?"

Rather than answering verbally, Mike shrugged with a dismissive look on his face. Peter held a hand out for him to take, but Mike waved him off gaining footing on his own. Peter inwardly chuckled, knowing Samson really had fixed things.

"I'll explain later. Right now, we have to get Micky and Davy and get out of here."

"Do we have a car or anything?" Mike asked. He realized the seriousness of the situation in Peter's tone and knew he'd regret it if he took the time to ask questions.

"I'm not sure, I don't think we do."

"All right," Mike grumbled, stepping over to where Micky was lying leaving Peter to tend to Davy. As Mike was getting him to a sitting
position, Micky started to come around. He smiled when he saw Mike's face.

"Just like old times, huh?" Micky commented very groggily.

"Good to have you back. We missed you," Mike replied. "You think you can stand up? According to Peter, we have to get out of here."

"Peter and Davy?"

"Yeah, they're both here." Mike nodded, "C'mon now. Let's get you up."

Micky held onto Mike as he was assisted to his feet. As the weaker of the two attempted to walk, it was Mike who reached out hurriedly to
catch Micky before he fell down and hurt himself.

"Really like old times, huh?" Micky repeated. He grinned at Mike, forcing a smile out of him.
"Just keep telling yourself that. Peter, you ready?"

Peter stood by the doorway, his hand on the knob. Davy was alongside him, with his head leaning on Peter's shoulder in exhaustion. He
didn't need the support that Micky did, but he, like the others, was very tired.

"I'm ready when you are," Peter replied. Mike held his hand out towards the door. Peter let it open as the four of them walked out.
Unfortunately, their car wasn't there. They'd have to withstand the walk home.

As they neared the end of the parking lot, Peter stopped. He turned around, looking at the window where light was illuminating from. He
figured that's where they were. A saddened expression came out his face as he remembered Samson had never given him his antidote. He
would still have visions and frequent headaches. He sighed, thinking the whole thing was stupid. What bad had any of it done him? He knew what would happen and attempted to stop it. He wasn't always successful, but at least he knew. Micky, Mike, and Davy had all
mentioned that he had changed since then. In a good way. As he thought more about it, he realized that if he had had the choice, he'd keep it.

"Peter?" Mike called.

Peter snapped his head towards the three of them who had paused along the sidewalk, waiting for him. He resumed the walk, slipping his
hands into his pockets.

The still silence of the night was quickly interrupted as the sound of glass breaking filled all four sets of ears. It was Peter, of
course, who turned back. The window he had been looking at had been shattered. Then, without mistake, a gunshot was heard.

Dozens of thoughts ran through Peter's head, a mile a minute. Should they go back? Should he go back and make them stay? Was it Ms. Bates
who had been shot? Was it Samson? But he couldn't. Not after what he had promised to Samson. He said he would leave, no matter what
happened. If it was Samson who had lost his life that night, Peter would be drug back into it along with Micky, Mike, and Davy. If it
was Ms. Bates...well, Peter couldn't help but think, good riddance.

In the end, Peter pushed them along, ignoring the gunshot.

____________________________________

"Hey, fellas. Listen to this," Davy said. He was holding the newspaper in his hand, beckoning the three of them into the kitchen
of the Pad, "Experiments Ended: As of Thursday evening, the scientific experiements, which were being conducted in an old club owned by John Wistcroft, have been discontinued. The woman in charge of the experiments, Ms. Angela Bates, was quoted to say "We just didn't find what were looking for"."

"Wait a minute," Peter said. "They quoted her, that means she's not in jail. They didn't mention anything about them being illegal
experiments?"

Davy skimmed through it one more time and shook his head, "Nope."

"Nothing about Samson being involved with it?" Peter asked, receiving the same response. "This is ridiculous."

"Peter, man. It's over. Just forget it," Mike said, snatching the newspaper from Davy. He flipped the page over to read a different
article.

"Forget it? Listen, I know you guys didn't know as much about this as I did so I can see why you don't care, but forget it? She's still out
there, conducting those experiments. She's probably moved to another city by now to do the same thing to them," Peter persisted.

"What about this Samson guy? Do you think that's the gunshot we heard?" Micky asked.

"I'd almost bet on it," Peter said. "Why did we leave? We should have stayed, but no, I had to trust him. I shouldn't have trusted him. I
should have called the police when I had the chance to. This isn't over. It's starting all over again."

"It is not," Mike rolled his eyes. "Can't we just get back to our normal lives without all this talk about the experiments? We're
innocent people, now, Pete. She can't touch us."

"Sure she can. She knows that we know everything about her. What makes you think she'll leave us alone? She'll come back for us, I'm sure of it. She probably killed Samson and buried him underneath the building," Peter said.

"Hey! Like that story!" Davy piped in.

"What story?" Peter asked, not really interested in discussing literature at the moment.

"That story where the guy buried the dead man underneath his floor." Davy explained with an overuse of enthusiasm.

"Yeah, I've read that!" Micky added. "And he keeps hearing the heart beating over and over again. Kind of funny. What was the name of that one?"

"Please!" Peter shouted.

"Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe," Mike replied to Micky's question. "And it wasn't suppose to be funny. It was suppose to be
dramatic."

"Well, gee, aren't you the expert," Micky said in sarcasm. Mike sneered at him.

"You guys are impossible!" Peter shot up from his chair, causing it to knock over. He went to his room, slamming the door.

"What's up with Pete?" Micky asked. Mike shrugged, turning the newspaper back over to take another look at the article concerning the experiments.

"Hmmm," Mike drawled.

"What is it?" Davy leaned forward in interest.

"Well, it says here Mr. Wistcroft is getting the club back within the next couple weeks as soon as the scientists clear all their stuff
out," Mike said.

"Meaning...?" Micky asked.

"Meaning maybe we'll get our job back?" Davy tried, receiving a nod from Mike. "You think he'll hire us back? We did screw up that one
job he got us. Maybe he doesn't trust us anymore."

Mike shrugged. "Only time will tell."