"Do you think it could mean something, Pete?" I asked.
"It's got to," Peter said with determination. "A dream like that has to be important. Maybe it was sent to us."
"Sent? Telepathically? But who would send it?"
"I don't know. Maybe someone who knows what's gonna happen and wants to warn us."
Just then Micky came down the stairs. He motioned for us to follow him, and we did. We followed him back up the stairs. At the door of the bedroom, he paused and put a finger to his mouth in the universal gesture of silence. I nodded. He opened the door slowly. Inside, we saw Mike, sleeping peacefully, holding Micky's ragged stuffed puppy.
"Oh, Micky, how sweet," Peter whispered. He grinned happily, as if Micky had solved the issue of world peace. Micky looked at him oddly and then shut the door. Then, gesturing for silence again, he motioned for us to follow him down the stairs. We did so.
Once downstairs, I decided that I definitely wanted to know about Micky. But before I had a chance, Peter asked Micky about Mike.
"Micky, was he scared of you? " Peter asked. Micky shook his head no. "Do you know what he was scared of?" he asked. Micky nodded. "Can you tell us?" Peter asked. I wondered how he was going to tell us, since he couldn't talk, but I assumed that there had to be some way of communicating it. I was right. Micky stood up and began to attempt to act out what he wanted to tell us. First he thought for a minute. Then he looked at the ground.
"Something small?" Peter asked. Micky shook his head. Then he sat on the floor. He looked up at the spot where he'd been standing. "Something big?" Peter tried. Micky shook his head. Then he went to Peter and, taking him by the arms, stood him up. Then he left the room. I looked at Peter and he looked at me, equally confused. Micky re-entered the room a moment later carrying a stack of letters, papers, bills, and various other materials made of paper. He started to hand them to Peter. Peter just took them, and slowly but surely, the pile of papers was transferred from Micky to Peter. Micky left the room and returned with another pile of papers and transferred them to Peter again. He did this several times, and Peter was soon overloaded with so many papers he couldn't see. But Micky kept coming. Finally, Peter got frustrated. He dropped the large pile of papers.
"Stop already," he said, pleading with Micky. "I don't see what this has to do with Mike." Micky dropped the current pile of papers he was holding (by this time the floor was covered with papers) and looked at me for help.
"Wait, Peter, " I said. "That's what he's trying to tell us." I looked at Micky. "Right Micky? He's overwhelmed." Micky nodded, smiling happily.
"I don't understand," Peter said. "Overwhelmed with what?"
"Everything," I said. "Life, responsibilities, being worried about us. Especially about Micky. I think that just being under a lot of pressure just sort of, well, made him just want to escape. " I looked at Micky, who was nodding, happily.
"But how did you communicate that out of a pile of papers?" Peter asked. "See, you were really overwhelmed with all the papers, so eventually you just dropped them. See, the papers are kind of, to Mike, his responsibilities. Only he can't drop them. Understand?" Peter nodded.
"So he just tried to escape. Only the last time he tried to escape we went after him .... I went after him, and that caused more problems, so he decided to escape to the only place where none of us could follow him. His mind," Peter mused. I watched him, intrigued. Then he noticed me looking at him and stopped. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to ramble on like that. I wasjust thinking aloud. Did that make sense to you?"
I nodded. "Yeah Pete, that made perfect sense. You don't need to apologize. That's probably it." Peter looked happy with himself. Finally, I decided that I couldn't wait any longer. I had to know if Micky was back to himself. But how to ask? I assumed that because Micky knew why Mike was upset he understood. And if he understood did that mean he was normal again? I looked at Peter. Peter was lost in thought. I think he was thinking about Mike. Micky, assuming I suppose that his job for the day was done, went over to the television and started flipping through channels. I grabbed Peter by the arm and dragged him into the kitchen where Micky wouldn't hear us.
"What is it?" he asked, sensing the urgency of the moment.
"Pete, do you think Micky's back to himself?" I asked. Peter shrugged. "Because at the moment he could be either one," I said. Peter looked at me, confused.
"Well, Davy, if you really want to know, why don't you just ask him?" Peter said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
"How do you ask him something like that?" I asked. "Go up to him and say, 'Micky, I've been dying to know if you're back to yourself or if you still think you're two years old?'"
Peter laughed. "No, silly," he said. "Use your head. You've got this gift, use it." He smiled a large grin, imagining me asking Micky such a ridiculous question.
At first I was puzzled. "What are you talking about?" I asked. Peter just shook his head and laughed.
"You know, Davy. Don't be so naive," he said, and refused to go further into the explanation. I thought about what he said for a while. He'd said to use my head. I'd thought that meant to think. But maybe he didn't mean it that way. Maybe he meant something else. But what could he mean? I left the room and headed in to see Micky. I looked at him for awhile. He was sitting in the large reclining chair and watching TV. There didn't seem to be much of interest on, because he was flipping through the channels. He was immersed in it, though, because he didn't notice me when I walked in and stood behind him as he watched. I sat down on the floor next to him and looked at him, hoping to find some sort of clue in his behavior which could tell me what he was thinking. Then it hit me. I understood what Peter had been trying to tell me. Use my head, he'd said. He'd said that I had a gift. I didn't need to think about how he might be thinking, I could use my head and hopefully figure it out. No wonder Peter had laughed at me. It was right in front of my face.
I looked at Micky and concentrated. Nothing happened. I concentrated harder. Still nothing. Why wasn't this working, I wondered.
"Micky," I said. He looked at me, questioningly. "Let me see your eyes," I said, wondering how strange Micky must think this request was. "Please," I added, for good measure. Micky looked confused for a moment, and then seemed to understand, and smiled. He moved his brown eyes so that he was looking right at mine and I looked deep into them. Now it was working. I felt the change immediately.
"Tell me what happened, Micky," I said. Immediately I was overwhelmed by a flood of emotions and images in my brain. I struggled quickly to sort them out. I shut my eyes and held on to the quickly moving emotions and pictures in my brain. I sensed fear, confusion, sadness, and anger all at the same time. There were a hundred different pictures and images in my brain. I somehow managed to sort them all out, thought I don't know how long it took. When I was finished, I read the emotions and pictures, and finally got the whole picture and understood Micky's basic story.
It must have taken me awhile to figure it out, because when I returned to the world it was getting dark out. I felt my stomach growl with hunger, and realized that I hadn't eaten anything all day. I somehow found that, since such a use of this 'gift', it was really enhanced. I found myself aware of the whole house and the emotions taking place in every room. From up in the bedroom, I sensed fear and a little bit of frustration, confusion. I felt the fear getting stronger, and I rushed up the stairs to see what was causing this fear.
When I reached upstairs, I understood why I'd felt the fear. In the bedroom were Mike and Micky. Peter was nowhere to be seen. Mike was hiding underneath his blanket, and Micky was looking very distressed. It would have been obvious to anyone that they were scared. "What's wrong?" I asked. Mike poked his head out from under his blanket.
"Scared," he said, and pulled the blanket back over his head. I looked to Micky.
"You too, Micky?" I asked. He nodded. "What are you scared of?" I asked, directing the question towards anyone who was willing to answer. I looked at Micky, then at Mike, and then back again. Micky shrugged.
"Ghost," Mike said, this time without taking his head out from under the cover of the blanket. I looked at Micky, who nodded.
"A g-ghost?" I asked, feeling their fear start to go through me. A chill ran down my spine. "Where?" Mike and Micky both shrugged. "Where's Peter?" I asked. Micky shrugged.
"Ghost take Peter," Mike's muffled voice came from underneath the blanket.
"Ghost take Peter?" I asked, then corrected myself. "The ghost took Peter? Where did it take him?"
"Don't know," Mike said. "Scared gonna take me," he added. He momentarily poked his head out from under the blanket. I saw that his normally sleepy brown eyes were wide open and scared. I felt myself drawn to them. After a moment I found myself feeling his emotions. Mostly fear. Incredible fear. I shook my head and told myself to snap out of it. I looked at Micky. From him came the fear also.
"Okay, guys, listen," I said. "I'm going to find Peter."
"NO!" Mike wailed, using his full lung capacity. But it was more than the usual childlike wail. It was almost a howl. And the volume of it made my ears hurt. "No go!" he said. He looked at me again, his brown eyes wide open and now beginning to fill to the brim with tears. I looked at Micky. He was just looking at the ground.
"Okay Mike, I won't go," I said. "But don't you want me to find Peter?" I asked. Mike stopped wailing and crying. He wiped his eyes.
"Yeah," I said. "But then ghost gonna get me."
"Come with me," I said. "We'll go look for Peter together. All three of us."
Man, This is stupid. Take me home.
