When Peter awoke it was nearly night again. He started to sit up, but found his head hurt too much, so he collapsed again. He looked around and wondered what had happened to Micky. He was nowhere to be seen. Then, a light came on, and the secret door opened. The tall, dark-haired man entered the room. He glanced at Peter and saw that he was awake. He went over to the cage. Peter, afraid of what the man would do to him, backed up to the opposite side of the cage. The man had no desire to hurt him, however. He opened the door to the cage and placed a tray of what looked like a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of some odd liquid inside the cage. Then he shut the door.
"Go on, eat it," he said, waiting to see what Peter would do.
Peter was confused. He hadn't eaten for about a day, and he was hungry, but the mush didn't seem to be very appetizing. He crawled over to the tray and examined the mush. He looked at it carefully and then picked up the bowl. He put it near his nose and sniffed. It smelled odd. It wasn't oatmeal, but he wasn't sure what it was. Peter gave the man a quizzical look. The man just glared at him again and said:
"Go on, eat it." Peter still didn't make any move to eat the mush. "If you don't eat that, there's nothing else." Peter sighed and picked up the bowl. There was no spoon, so he dug one of his hands into the mush and stuffed it into his mouth. After eating it, an odd look came on his face. He wasn't sure if he liked this mush. Then, he remembered Micky, and asked the guy:
"What did you do with Micky?" The man looked at Peter in the same quizzical look that Peter had used. He didn't know Micky's name. Then he remembered.
"Oh, so that was his name," he said.
"Was?" Peter asked. "What did you do to him?" He was beginning to get scared. But the man only grinned an evil grin and let the room, leaving Peter to wonder about Micky's fate. Peter began to think. What had they done to Micky? Was he even still alive? And if he was, what sort of evil experiments were being done to him? He remembered that he'd tried to send a message to Mike. Did Mike even get the message? Then he remembered. Mike had, and Micky had followed him here. He tried to think of what Mike would be doing at that point. He figured that Mike had probably figured out that Micky had followed him here. And he was almost certain that Mike was, at that very moment, trying to devise a plan to get them out. But Mike couldn't be sure that he and Micky were even alive. Right now, he couldn't even be sure about Micky. He decided that he somehow had to get Mike (and I) a message. But he'd need some strength. He sighed and looked back at the bowl of mush. He sighed again and began to eat the mush again.
Back at home, I had managed to recover miraculously from my sore throat, and was feeling normal again. I decided that the reason for my illness was just because I didn't know what I was doing when I tried to get that image. I really wished that I had someone to help me figure out how to do it. But there wasn't anybody. Mike and I just sort of moped around the pad the whole day. Sometime around five or six in the evening, I discovered that my throat was healed, and I went to tell Mike. I ran down the stairs and into the living room, where Mike was sitting on the large reclining chair, his chin resting in his hands. He was thinking, I could tell. Probably devising a plan.
"Hey Mike," I said. "What're ya doing?" I went over to him and looked at him. He looked up at me. "I got my voice back. My throat doesn't hurt anymore," I said, in response to his confused look.
"That's great, Dave," he said, not sounding too enthusiastic about it. "I'm just thinking about Peter. And Micky," he added, answering my question. He turned and looked at me. "Davy, do you remember anything else about the image that you got? Anything at all that you didn't mention?"
I closed my eyes and tried to remember. "Nope. Nothing," I said.
"Davy, I hate to ask this, because of how you got sick the last time, but...well, could you try again? To get an image, I mean. You don't have to if you don't want to, but I'm worried about them, and I don't want to try to attempt a rescue or anything if they're already, well, you know.." He looked at me with a very pleading look.
"I don't know, Mike. I mean, I want to, but I'm afraid that I'll get hurt or something," I said.
"Well, this time I won't interrupt you in the middle of it," he said. "Would that help? If I not try to jolt you out of it before you were finished, like I did last time, maybe that will help, " he suggested.
I sighed. "Alright, Mike, I'll try," I said. Mike looked at me with a sad smile.
"Thanks Davy," he said. "I really appreciate it."
"Don't," I said. "I want to find out about Peter and Micky, too." Mike got up off the chair and offered it to me. I sat down. I looked at Mike. He looked back at me with anxious, worried eyes. I sighed , took a deep breath, and closed my eyes. I pictured the room that I'd seen before. I was able to see it much more clearly now. Then, I saw Peter. He was sitting in the cage, and looking directly at me. I was too startled to talk. I looked at Peter. He smiled back. Then, I thought of Micky and looked around the room. There was no sign of him. I looked back at Peter. He just looked at the floor. His eyes were very sad. I sighed and smiled back at Peter. At least he was alive, I thought. Then I shut my eyes again and thought of Micky. Next thing I knew, I was in a small room similar to the one that Peter had been in. I looked around. In the center of the room was a metal table. On the table was Micky.
I went closer to him, to see if I could tell if he was alive or anything, but something stopped me. I couldn't get any closer. I tried to go back to Peter, but I couldn't do that, either. I stood and looked at Micky, hoping he'd do something to confirm that he was alive. But he didn't move. I looked around the room and saw that it was fading. I decided that I was loosing the image. Everything was very foggy. I looked at Micky and sighed. I didn't want to leave him, but I couldn't stay. I sighed again. I'd have to leave. But how? Last time I'd stopped because Mike had shook me out of it. But Mike had said that he wasn't going to do that this time. How would I get back? I began to panic. Then I stopped myself. Panicking wouldn't do much. I took a deep breath and tried to picture Mike's face. Slowly it came in to focus. Then I felt myself slip back into myself. Mike's face came clearer into focus, and I opened my eyes. I blinked a few times and tried to focus. Slowly, his face came into focus. Then, I felt it go out of focus.
"Mike," I said. "Say something. Please. Anything."
"Davy?" Mike said. "Are you okay?" His eyes came clearer into focus.
"Yes," I said. "Keep talking. I need you to bring me out." He shifted out of focus. "Talk to me!" I said. He got even more blurry.
"Davy?" Mike said. "I know I said I wouldn't do this, but I'm gonna bring you out, okay?" He grabbed my shoulders and I felt him shaking me. "Davy? C'mon pal, c'mon. Come back." I kept staring at his face as he came more and more into focus. Eventually he was clear.
"Thanks Mike," I said. He just looked happy, and I felt his arms go around me, and I had the life squeezed right back out of me (only kidding, of course). He let go of me, and I looked into his eyes. He looked worried.
"Did you see anything?" he asked. "Are they alright?"
"Well," I said. "Peter's fine." He looked immediately relieved. Then it clouded again.
"What about Micky?" he asked. "Is he alright?"
I sighed and explained to him about Micky.
"Well," Mike said. "Seems somebody's gonna hafta rescue them."
"But it can't be you," I pointed out. "They'll recognize you right away and then there goes the plan." Mike looked at me with a very strange look. "What?" I asked.
"Oh, nothing," he replied. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. It's just that you read my mind."
