"Peter!!" Mike yelled. When Mike yells, windows shatter. It's impossible to ignore him. He gave me a Look and jumped on to the fire escape.
"Mike, don't, let him go," I called, but I knew he wasn't about to listen to me. I looked at Micky.
"This is your fault, you know," he said. I sighed and returned the Look he'd given me before.
Meanwhile, Mike was out, searching for Peter. He walked up and down the streets of California. Finally, he found himself lost in the so-called 'psychedelic' area of town. He searched for a landmark which could tell him where he was, but he was lost. The streets were covered with people who seemed to be in a very groovy state of mind. There were many buildings with signs that read such things as 'Take a Trip Here', 'Palm Readings', and 'The Pharmacy' lined the streets. Mike got very curious (well he is a Monkee!) and went to the palm reader. He went to the door and opened it.
"Um, Hello?" he called. He looked around and didn't see much of anything. The place was basically dark. All he could see was a small table with tarot cards, a crystal ball, and other such objects. He turned toward the door and was about to leave when a old lady called to him from somewhere in back of him.
"Yes sunny, come in, and I shall read your palm," the old lady called. She had a voice with a strange but obvious accent. Mike came in and sat down at the small table across from the lady, who looked at Mike. Mike had a grin on his face, wondering why he was doing this. The lady was old. Her eyes were deeply set, gray and mysterious. Her face had many wrinkles and showed her true age. She invited Mike to put his hands on hers. He complied, doing as she asked.
"Ma'am, I need your help. I'm lookin' for a friend a' mine, who has disappeared," he said, nervously. The nervousness was showing, because he couldn't control his accent. He was really laying it on, thickly. His eyes shone with sadness as the old fortune teller focused on his hands.
"Yes. I see. I see a dog?" She looked at Mike's face closely, studying him carefully. "You're friend is a dog?" Mike nodded yes, his eyes closed.
"Oh, I see, strange though, most people have humans as..." she paused in mid-sentence and looked into the crystal ball very closely. Her eyes widened, and she grabbed Mike's hands, digging her long nails into them. Mike's hands throbbed in pain at this.
"Ma'am, please stop, yer hurtin' my hand," he said, wincing in pain. The palm reader looked into his eyes and then stood up, angrily, and pointed to the door.
"You wolf! Just get out now and never return," she said, anger showing in her once gentle gray eyes. She yelled for her son Sergei, who came and picked Mike up by the arms. Mike struggled to gain his feet, as Sergei threw him out of the store, and Mike looked at the old woman sadly. She began to scream, a loud, piercing shriek that could be heard for miles, "There is a wolf in our midst, get out while you can!!" The whole neighborhood rushed with a flurry as they all closed up the doors, and left the buildings. Mike was left stranded in the middle of the road staring up at the half-moon. His brown eyes filled to the brim and a tear trickled down his cheeks. To avoid crying and express his frustration, he yelled at the top of his lungs.
"Peter!" he yelled, as the tears began to flow. He wasn't sure why, but he felt a pain in his side. He ignored it though, and started to sink to his knees in desperation. His knee hit a rock, and he put down his arms to catch the fall. Then, right before his eyes, he watched as his hands grew into the massive paws. Unaccustomed to this, he looked at them and then at the moon. Unlike the other times he changed form, he felt no physical pain and remained conscious. He completed changing and looked around. At first he merely was surprised. Then he remembered Peter and felt the emotions overflow again. Since wolves(and other animals), even half-wolves, have no tear glands, he chose the next best way to do express his distress. He threw back his head and howled at the half-circle of a moon in the sky.
Then, something clicked in Mike's head. He (or the wolf) sniffed the air, searching for a scent. It then ran off a few blocks. He was still in the psychedelic section, and people ran into the buildings in fright, but he didn't care. He ran down an alleyway. And the end of the alley lay a human being, cold, shivering, and naked except for a few shreds of what appeared to have once been clothing. The wolf went over and sniffed. It knew it was what he was looking for. Then, the person raised its head.
"Mike?" Peter asked. "Oh what have you done?" He rubbed the giant animal's ears and grinned. The wolf left for a moment. Peter was at first confused, but then, it found what he was looking for and brought it to Peter. It was some clothes. Peter put them on. "Thanks Mike," Peter said, scratching Mike's ears in return for this. Then Peter got up and limped, off with the wolf at his feet. "C'mon Mike, we've had enough fun for tonight," Peter said grinning.
Meanwhile, back at home, Micky and I were worried. It was rather late now, and they hadn't returned. Mike and Peter I mean. I paced by the door, depressed. Then, the door opened. The first thing I saw was what I thought to be Peter. "Peter!" I said, looking down. I noted that Peter's color was all wrong. And then all of a sudden I heard Peter's voice.
"Um, Davy, I'm up here," Peter said, from in the doorway. He looked at me, confused. I looked back, equally confused.
"Who is that, then?" I asked, pointing to the animal now sitting on the floor of our living room.
"Mike, of course," Peter, said, grinning. "Yeah, I know what you're thinking," he said.
"You would," Micky said.
"I do," Peter said, grinning. This was our Peter, no doubt about it. Peter looked at Mike. "C'mon Mike, change back now," he said. Mike just looked confused and tilted his head to the side. "Mike, what's wrong?" he asked. He knelt down on the ground and looked in to Mike's eyes, to try to find out what was wrong. He got up, with a sad look in his eyes. "Mike's not in there, he's not responding," he said, sadly.
"You mean it's not Mike at all?" Micky asked.
"No, but the wolf side of him has taken over," Peter looked at me. "Isn't that right, Davy?" he asked.
I looked at Mike. Nothing. Whenever I looked at Peter, Micky, or anyone else, I got some sort of feeling or image in my head. But when I looked at Mike I got nothing. "You're right," I said. "I'm not getting any response. It's like he's not there."
Peter sat down on the couch and put his head in his hand. "Oh, God, it's happening to Mike," he moaned.
"But how, why?" Micky asked, looking at Peter worriedly.
"I don't know. I think it has something to do with how he changed. "
"You know, Pete, you're right," I said. "Tonight wasn't the full moon."
Micky seemed to understand, too. "Oh, I get it," he said.
"Micky, I said it once, I'll say it again. That's my line!" I said.
"Yeah, whatever, Dave," Micky said. We all looked at Mike, who'd made himself comfortable on the couch, and was starting to sleep.
"Maybe by morning he'll change back," I sighed, forgetting to be mad at Micky for calling me Dave.
"Morning Mike," Peter said, going to Mike's bed, which he'd relocated to last night. A low growl came form the bed. We all jumped at the noise. Apparently Mike needed to catch up on his beauty sleep.
"God, no, you can't do this to Mike," Peter said, looking up at the ceiling. "Please. He doesn't deserve this. Maybe I do, but not him. He's got to much to live for." As he spoke, his blue eyes began to fill with tears, and a tear trickled down his face. Behind him, Mike (the human) sat up in bed and looked at the spot on the ceiling that Peter seemed to be focusing on.
"Peter, what in Sam Hill are you doing?" Mike asked. He got out of bed. Micky and I were overjoyed to see him, and hugged him, happily. Peter was still in something of a trance, and looking at the ceiling.
"Trying to get Mike to change back, Mike...Mike? " he looked down at where Mike was standing next to him. He grabbed him and hugged him so he could barely breathe.
"Ugh," Mike said. "Um, Peter, could I first put my shirt on?" he asked. Peter nodded, and Mike did so.
"Mike, I thought you were a goner," Peter said, hugging Mike twice as hard as before.
"I don't understand," Mike said. "Peter, what the 11:34 is going on?"
Micky and I looked at each other. "11:34?" we both mouthed.
"Mike don't you remember anything?" Peter asked.
"Well, the last thing I remember is feeling deep emotional distress, and looking at the full moon shouting your name, but after that, nothing. Oh and by the way, nice to have you back to normal Peter," A grin appeared on Mike's face.
"What is happening to this band?! What am I, the only normal person in this band?" Micky as usual always ruined the good scenes, but then again he was only there for the jokes.
"Shut up Mick!" I said this knowing full well that I myself was also normal. Or so I thought. "Micky I'm normal!"
"No. People your height aren't normal at all. Very rare are midgets in California."
"Whadya mean by that?" Micky and I continued to quarrel, and we didn't even notice when Mike and Peter went downstairs.
"Pete, you ever think they'll get along?" Mike asked.
"I don't think so. They fight as if they were lovers," Peter said, as the two of them sat down to watch TV. There wasn't anything good on, but they flipped through the channels, anyway.
All of the sudden the door opened, and three men with Russian accents came in. One was tall and dark-haired, the other two were short and blond. All were dressed all in black and carried guns. One of the short ones carried a small black bag.
"You!" the tall man said, pointing at Peter. Peter pointed to himself as if to say 'me?' The man looked at Peter again. "Yeah, you!" He turned to the shorter men. "Yeah, he's the one the boss wants." Then, the two shorter henchmen grabbed Peter by the arms and started to push him out of the door. Mike was not about to allow them to do that, and he got up. They grabbed Peter and tried to get him out the door, but Mike struggled to get him free. He valued his freedom, and was not about to let them take Peter's. The taller man grabbed Mike in by the arms.
"No! You can't take him!" Mike outstretched his arms as if to say 'mine.' Then Mike practically fell to the ground taking the tall man with him as he let out a moan of pain. "Augh. No!" he cried, moaning in pain. Peter looked at Mike.
"No, Mike don't. You can't. They'll never know unless you do!" Peter realized what had triggered Mike's last change and didn't want Mike to change at the moment. "Mike hold it back, don't, you can't!" Mike nodded and then jumped up knocking over the man who held him. Peter was taken out the door. Mike started to go after him, leaving the man behind him. However, at this point the man reached for the black bag which the other man had left on the floor, pulled out a needle, stood up, and shoved it into Mike's arm.
Micky and I heard all the noise over our own shouting and decided to go to see what was wrong. When we ran down the stairs we saw Mike lying on the ground, his eyes blood shot, and a tear forming itself in his eyes. He muttered something.
"Guys...they...took...Peter..." he said. He was straining to get the words out before he lost consciousness. Then his eyes closed, and it was too late.
"Oh my Gosh!" Micky's eyes widened . "Davy, they took Peter!"
I ignored Micky's outburst. "I heard him, Micky," I said, calmly. I went to Mike. "Mike, who? Who took Peter?" I shook him, but he was out cold.
"Is he...you know?" Micky asked, showing the first sign of emotion I'd seen in a long time.
I looked at Micky. His big brown eyes had opened and I could tell he was dangerously close to tears. He was seriously concerned. "Dead?" I asked. "No, he's not dead." I looked at Micky. "Thank God," I whispered, barely audible.
About three hours later, Mike awoke. He was kind of groggy. Micky and I stayed in his bedroom to have lunch. I don't think Mike really realized how worried Micky and I were about him (Though if he reads this, he'll know) . We hadn't had an argument since we'd found him on the floor of the living room. Throughout the lunch, Micky remained quiet (unusual for Micky). I tried to figure out who had taken Peter and why they did it. Mike didn't know anymore than I did, except that he had seen the guys. That wasn't any help, however, since he didn't know the guys. After lunch, Micky and I took the dishes downstairs, leaving Mike alone to think, as he'd asked.
Downstairs, Micky and I were washing the dishes. Then, Micky stopped what he was doing and left the room.
"Micky?" I asked. "Where are you going?" Micky shrugged and pointed to the stairs. "Don't bother Mike," I said. I was careful not to start a fight. Micky had been quiet for three hours, and though I missed the old Micky, I didn't want to start a fight. Micky nodded.
In his room, Mike was sleeping. He was having a dream in which he was running after Peter, trying to get him. Then Peter disappeared. However, his voice continued to run through Mike's head.
"Mike...Mike...Mike..." the voice called. Mike looked around. All he saw was darkness.
"Peter?" he asked, whispering. "Where are you?"
"Mike...Mike...Mike..." Peter's voice continued. Mike could barely hear him now.
"Peter!" he called. "Don't leave me again. Where are you?"
"Mike," the voice called. "The butterfly post. I am where the butterflies land on the hardwood post. The quietest place in town." The voice faded off.
"Peter," Mike said. "Are you alright?" But the voice was gone. Mike awoke with a start. He laid in bed and thought about what Peter's voice had said. Then it occurred to him.
Micky, meanwhile, was headed to see Mike. He was walking quietly, so as not to let me hear him. He crept behind the door and was about to open it when it flew open and hit him in the nose.
"Ow!" Micky yelled, the first words he'd said in several hours. Mike looked at Micky but continued to run down the stairs. "Yeah, it's no big deal Mike, I forgive you," he yelled, sarcastically.
"Sorry Micky, but I've got to go somewhere," he said, running down the stairs.
"Mike, what are you...?" I asked, as Mike ran out the door. Micky ran down after him. "Micky, what's going on?" I asked, but Micky ran out the door, too.
"Oh, don't worry, Davy, we'll be back later," he called, running out the door. I just stood there, confused.
Mike went to the library. Outside of the library were a few posts. Hardwood posts with butterflies on them. Exactly as Peter had told him in the dream. But he didn't see Peter.
"Must be a secret door somewhere," he said, thinking aloud. He looked around. Finally, he found a door, well hidden, in the back of the library. It was wooden, but painted to look as though it was brick like the rest of the wall.
Micky, who had followed Mike there, watched from behind a bush. It was a terrible place to hide, but Mike wasn't really even looking for him. Mike took a few steps back and then rammed down the door. (okay it wasn't locked, but it just sounds better the other way ) He crept through the door and found a very dimly lit tunnel, heading to the basement. There was a burning torch next to the door. Mike grabbed the torch and quietly crept down the tunnel. At the end of the tunnel there was a flight of narrow, dark, winding stairs. Mike went down the stairs. At the bottom there was a large wooden door with bars in it instead of a window. Mike stood on his toes and looked through the bars. On the other side stood one of the Russian guys who had taken Peter. Mike thought for a second and then blew out his torch. He opened the door. It opened to the outside, and the man on the other side turned around to see who was there. Mike stood behind the door. The man came out and walked around to the other side of the door, in search of who had opened the door. Mike took the now dimmed torch and hit the man over the head, hard. He fell to the ground, unconscious.
Mike had now lost his only source of light, but he didn't need it now because the room he entered into was lit with electricity. There were brick walls. There was also a narrow window which let in light from outside. Looking through the window, Mike could see the sidewalk and some people's feet walking past. He could see, also, one of the hardwood posts with butterflies on it. He looked around the room. In the corner was a small cell; a cage. Inside was a dirty, dusty figure. Mike went over to the cage and looked in.
"Peter!" Mike said. Peter was lying on the hard, cold wooden floor of the cage. "Peter, are you alright?" he asked. Peter didn't respond. Mike looked into Peter's eyes and saw nothing but his own reflection. He deduced that Peter had most likely been drugged. Mike looked around the room. There was a large wooden table a few feet away, and many flasks, test tubes and various potions. There was also a bunch of hypodermic needles. One of them was filled with some red stuff which looked like blood. It was also labeled 'Blood'. Mike suspected that it was Peter's. He looked at the walls and at the cage, but he didn't see the keys anywhere, and there was no other way to get Peter out of the cage. He decided to go home and get Micky and I (not knowing Micky had followed him) and we would all come and try to get Peter out. He went back to the cage and looked in. Peter was still lying on the floor. His eyes were wide open, but didn't seem to see anything.
"Don't worry Peter," he said. He doubted Peter could hear him. He hoped that Peter was alive, since he couldn't reach far enough to get a pulse. "I'll be back, pal," he said, gripping the bars and looking in. "I promise. I won't leave you here." He knew he had to go, he didn't want the Russian men to catch him there. He turned, and ran up the stairs and out the door. As he ran down the street, he passed the other shorter Russian, and hid his eyes so the man would not notice him.
Back at the library, Micky did not notice the other Russian. He saw Mike go out and, against what would have been my better judgment, he headed through the door and into the basement. He groped along the stairs, feeling his way along the wall. There was absolutely no light and Mike had taken the only torch. When Micky reached the door that led into the room that held Peter, he stepped carefully over the unconscious man on the floor. He went in and looked around for Peter and spotted Peter.
"Hey Peter, I'm gonna get you outa there..." he said, gripping the bars in the same way Mike had. He tried to reach Peter, but he was too far inside the cage. Then, Micky heard footsteps somewhere behind him. The other short man who Mike had passed on the street was entering. He had discovered the other man that Mike had knocked unconscious, and was assisting him. Quickly, to avoid being caught, Micky dived under one of the tables and hid there. The two men came in, and Micky watched their feet. They walked over and stood in front of the cage that held Peter.
