"You'll go home eventually," Micky said. "I promise you that." I nodded, wiping the tears away for the millionth time in the past few days. I couldn't keep my emotions in me, and I couldn't keep the tears in my head. "We're all friends here, and Peter and me won't hurt ya," Micky said. "Right Pete?" he said.
"Right," Peter said. "You'll get home. And we won't hurt you." I wiped away the tears, beginning to relax. I could see that they wouldn't hurt me. I was still scared. I don't know why I trusted them, but something deep inside me told me that they were friendly.
Peter left the room to go and get some food. Micky stayed behind. For the first time, I felt bold enough to ask him a question.
"How did I get here?"
Micky appeared shocked for a second, but recovered quickly. "Pete and me, we found you on the side of the road, hurt bad," he said. "We decided to bring you back here, and try to fix you up." I nodded.
"So, it's only you and Petah living here?" I asked.
"Well, no. Usually, it's me, Pete, Mike, and um..David. But Mike and David went to visit some friends in..um...Arkansas." "Arkansas?" I asked. He nodded. Something inside me told me that he was only telling a half-truth. But I didn't pressure him. "What do you fellahs do for a living?" I asked.
"Well, we're a band," he said. I opened my eyes wide.
"Really?" I asked. "Wow. Mum would never let me join a band. She even gets mad when I wear beads or listen to the Beatles."
"Listening to the Beatles makes her mad?" Micky asked, confused. He shrugged, an odd thought in his head. He shrugged. "She must be strict." I nodded.
"A friend of mine, by the name of Conrad, wanted to start a band once. His mum was so upset, she wouldn't let him even consider touching a guitar. "Micky's eyes opened wide. "She burned the one he had."
"Wow," Micky said.
Just then the door opened and we were interupted by Peter entering the room.
(Later that night.....)
"Micky, why did you have to tell him that story?" Peter asked.
"Because I had to tell him something. I couldn't tell him nothing," Micky said. He sighed. "Any word from Mike?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Nope," Peter replied shortly. "No word. I'm really getting worried about him." Then his face brightened as if he had an idea. He perked up. Then he closed his eyes tightly, concentrating. Micky looked at him for a second, then got an idea of what he was trying to do, and watched carefully.
A few minutes later, Peter emerged from his trance like state. "Anything?" Micky asked, anxious. He shook his head.
"Davy's a lot better at this then I am. Less confident, but better. All I can get is some sort of a sense of him being okay. But that's it. " Micky nodded.
"Well, at least we know he's okay," Micky said, trying to sound happy. But he didn't say what he was thinking, and what he thought that Peter was probably thinking, also. That if Davy was okay, he could find Mike, and assure them that he was okay, and ease their fears. But neither of them spoke this.
The next morning, I awoke to find the sun shining brightly through the window. I squinted in the light and got up to shut the shade. I looked at the clock near my bed. 7:30 am. I sighed. This was a little too early to wake up, especially for someone who didn't have anything to do or anyplace to go. I yawned, knowing that it would be useless to go back to sleep now. I looked around the room. Micky was sleeping, his curly hair popping out from under the covers. Peter was also sleeping, the familiar smile on his face even as he slept. Why did this seem so lost? Why did I feel as though I hadn't been here in a few months? Then my eyes moved to the last bed. It was empty. Where was Mike, I wondered. I assumed that he'd gone downstairs to make breakfast. He'd been doing that lately. But when I went downstairs and into the kitchen, I saw that he wasn't there. Something inside me told me that something was wrong.
"MICKY! PETER!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. I felt the rising panic in me, and I felt something beginning to go terribly wrong. "MICKY! PETER! WAKE UP!"
Upstairs, Micky rolled over and moaned, still half asleep. "What was that noise, Micky?" Peter asked.
"Just Davy, telling us to get up," Micky replied sleepily.
Peter moaned, still half asleep also. "What time is it?" he asked.
Micky opened a sleepy eye and looked at the clock. "7:30," he replied.
Just then Micky and Peter both sat up in bed, abruptly, the realization showing on their shocked expressions. "DAVY?" they both asked in unison.
As the realization hit them, they both barreled down the stairs, still in their pajamas, and practically fell over each other as they nearly slid into the kitchen. Peter recovered first and looked at me.
"Davy?" he asked tentatively, as though he hadn't seen me for a few days. I looked at him. I would have looked at him very sternly if not for the fact that he was quite a bit taller, and it is difficult to look sternly at someone several inches taller than yourself.
"Something's weird here, Peter. I can feel it. " To his puzzlinglooks I replied: "First of all, I feel like I haven't been here in a few days. And second of all, where's Mike?" Peter glanced at Micky, who returned the concerned glance. "I can tell something's wrong with Mike. Where is he?" I demanded.
Micky began to explain the story, with Peter cutting in every so often to correct a few things. The entire telling of the story took a half-hour. While they were telling it, I listened intently. I won't bore you with Micky and Peter's side of the story. When they'd finished, it everything made sense. All those weird memories in my head were now explained for. And so was Mike's disappearance. I took a moment to digest all the information that had just been shoved at me. To file it, store it inside my memory, understand it, process it.
"Davy is something wrong with Mike?" Peter asked. I thought for a moment.
"Not that I can tell. It seems that the initial feeling I had that he wasn't okay was just feeding off the vibes you two left in the room. But I'll check." As I saw Peter's face lighten up, I warned cautiously, "But I won't tell you where he is. I want to respect his need for privacy. So I'll just try to see if I can tell if he's alright, without searching for his actual location." Peter nodded, unable to repress the grin on his face. Micky also looked happy.
"Well," Micky asked. "What are you waiting for?" I looked at him.
"You to make me some breakfast. I'm starved. I can't do this search if I'm being stared at like a freak show," I said. I regretted saying that, recalling Micky's unamed surprises in culinary arts. "Micky," I called as he headed into the kitchen. "Just plain bacon and eggs'll work, please." He nodded.
