"What happened?" Mike asked again.
Micky spoke first. "I, um, dropped the glass," he said.
"I can see that Micky," Mike replied. He looked at Peter. "Pete? You okay?" he asked. Peter swallowed and nodded. He was obviously trying not to cry. Mike went to Pete and saw that his hand was bleeding. "Pete?" he asked again.
"Excuse me," Peter said, attempting to pull himself together. He swallowed a gulp of air and hurried out of the room. Mike looked at me.
"I don't know," I said. "Micky dropped the glass, and Peter yelled, and I.." I stopped, realizing that I didn't know myself. "I don't know," I repeated.
We both looked at Micky. Micky looked at us. "I didn't mean to," he stammered. "It was an accident. Really. " Now Micky looked as though he would burst into tears.
"Micky, " Mike said. "Tell us what happened."
"Peter?" he asked. From inside the room there was no response. "Pete?" Micky repeated. "I'm sorry. Are you okay?" Still nothing. Micky looked at Mike and I. "Now what?" he asked.
Mike and I glanced at each other. "Peter," Mike called. "Are you in there?" He knocked on the door. There was still no response. "Peter?" Mike called again. "Are you alright? I'm gonna come in, Peter. " He paused. There was still no response. He turned the knob. The door was unlocked, and he entered the room. Micky and I followed. We looked over the room. All the beds were there, unmade, and the room looked about the same way we'd left it that morning. There was no sign of Peter.
"Great," Micky said. "You mean I was standing there talking to the door?" He looked around the room. "He's not even here. Where'd he go?"
Mike looked at Micky and I. "I don't know guys," he said. "But I don't think Peter's normal."
"Mike," I said. "Look at that." I pointed to the window, which was wide open. We all went to the window. Outside was the fire escape, but still no sign of Peter. Micky went out on the ladder. He climbed down to the ground and looked around.
"No sign of Pete," he said. He turned and headed down the alleyway next to the house. Mike and I could hear him calling Peter's name. I climbed out the window and down the fire escape. I went down the alleyway on the other side of the house. Then, I heard a noise. It was the smoke detector going off. My soup! I looked up towards the window to tell Mike, but he wasn't there. I ran up the stairs and into the house. Then I ran into the kitchen. Mike had turned off the soup. It had splattered all over the kitchen and the chicken was burned to a crisp.
"Tell me, Dave," Mike said, as he turned off the smoke alarm. "How do you feel about McDonald's tonight?"
Micky ran into the house about an hour later. "Did Peter come back?" he asked. I shook my head, no. He sighed. "Oh well, I didn't find him either. " He sniffed the air. "What's that smell?"
"Burnt soup," I replied. "Have a Big Mac?" I held out a hamburger.
"'K," he replied. He took the burger and stuffed it into his mouth. Then he gulped down a gulp of soda. He reached for a fry. "Where's Mike?" he asked, stuffing another bite of the two all beef patties in his mouth. I could barely understand him.
"He went to look for Peter," I replied. "Micky, please try to eat like a normal, um, well, semi-normal human being." He responded by rolling his eyes and stuffing more of the Big Mac in his face. I turned away, disgusted.
Micky took all of about two minutes to polish off the burger and coke. He was just beginning on the fries when there was a sound from outside. We turned to see what it was.
It was Mike. He came into the house, looking upset. "Any sign of him, Mike?" I asked. Mike shook his head.
"Just this," he said, holding up some beads. I recognized them. They were Peter's. I took the beads from Mike and looked at them.
"Peter's not human," I said. It came to me as easily as the time in Alaska when I found out Fiona had a twin. This time I got a picture in my head of a blondish-colored dog wearing the beads. Not just any blond dog. Peter.
Micky looked at me. "How do you know?" he asked. I shrugged.
Mike gave me an odd Look. "Davy, this is like the time you knew that Fiona had a twin. How do you do that?" I shrugged.
"But look," I said. "These are Peter's beads, and look, these hairs. They're like Peter's. But shorter. Sort of like the length of a certain blond puppy dog's hairs." Mike and Micky looked at each other and then at me. I knew what they were thinking. Most likely that I was insane. But I had a point. I watched their faces. Finally, Mike sighed.
"Ok," he said. "You've got a point. But now what. Where do we find Peter? There must be a million blondish colored German shepherds in this town. "
"German shepherd?" Micky asked. "I thought that he was a golden retriever. "
"Well, I don't think that it really matters which kind of dog he is, just that it will be very difficult to find him," Mike pointed out.
"Difficult?" Micky asked. "No, I think it will be impossible to find him."
"Exactly," I said. "And that is why we're going to begin looking right away. "
About three hours later, we all returned to the house. We had split up to look for him. I entered the house after walking what must have been several miles. I was exhausted. I shoved open the door to find Mike and Micky collapsed in various contortions around the living room.
"Any luck?" I asked, gasping for breath as I collapsed into the large reclining chair.
"Nope," Micky replied.
"And you know what guys? Even if we were to find Peter, how would we even be sure if it was Peter. I mean, I didn't see a single dog that could have resembled Peter, or any humans, either, but if I did, how would I know if it was Peter?" Mike asked. Micky and I were too exhausted to bother replying.
Since it was by this time about ten o' clock at night, we were all exhausted and decided to go to bed. I don't know about Mike and Micky, but I couldn't sleep. When I finally did fall asleep, it was a restless sleep and I was disturbed by dreams of Peter, crying out to me. Once, I was awakened, around midnight, by Micky's screams. He had another nightmare. Once again, he couldn't remember anything about it except that it was terrifying. I went back to sleep and continued to have dreams about Peter. Then, around two in the morning I awoke again for another reason. I felt something wet on my face and awoke with a start. I was about ready to scream, when, through the dark, I saw a glimpse of a furry face.
"Peter?" I asked. I looked at him. How he got into the house I may never know, but there he was. Somehow, despite Mike's worries, I had no doubt that it was Peter. I was about to yell out and wake Mike and Micky, but something stopped me. I got an image in my head of Peter being locked in a room. I began to feel claustrophobia taking over me. I looked at Peter.
"You understand this, Pete?" I asked. He just grinned a doggy smile at me. I opened my mouth and yelled for Mike.
Across the room I heard a moan. "Okay, fine," I said. "Peter, I guess that Mike doesn't care to see you." I got a response from that comment.
"Peter?" Mike mumbled. "Peter?" he asked again, more awake now. He got up and turned on the light. I blinked as the brightness practically blinded me.
"Augh. Is it morning already?" Micky mumbled.
"No Micky, it's only two. " I replied. "I would think you'd like to see Peter, though," I added.
"Peter?" Micky and Mike came over to my bed. "Are you sure it's Peter?" Micky asked, looking into the eyes of the blond fur ball that was sitting on my bed.
"Yea, I'm sure it's Peter," I said.
Mike gave me a skeptical look. "How can you be sure?" he asked.
"I just know," I said.
"Davy, how is it that all of the sudden you just know this stuff?"
"I don't know."
"And how did he get in here?"
"I don't know."
"You expect us to believe that you woke up and he just happened to be sitting on your bed?" Mike asked.
"Yes. That's what happened. Why is this suddenly turning into an interrogation of me?" I asked.
"Well Dave, you have to admit it looks kinda weird," Micky said. I glared at him. "I mean, how do you know it's Peter?"
"Just trust me, guys, it's Pete. How would you like me to prove it to you?"
"It's Peter," Mike said. I looked at him. He had an odd look on his face, of confusion and happiness.
Micky looked at Mike, then at me and then at Peter. He sighed and fell backwards on to the bed. It was an obvious display of confusion. He sat up. "All right," he said. "I'm going back to sleep." he stood up and headed back to his bed.
I looked at Mike. He didn't respond. He was just kind of sitting there, staring at Peter with that same odd look in his eyes. "Mike?" I asked.
"Huh?" he asked. "Oh, right. I guess I'd better go back to bed, too. " He got up and headed to his bed. "Davy," he added. I looked at him. "I think I get it now." I nodded.
"Good night, Mike, " I said, as Mike headed off to his bed. I looked at Peter. "Now what?" I asked. He just looked at me. I sighed and laid back down. "I'll tell you now what," I said. "I'm going back to sleep." I pulled the covers over me and rolled over, pulling a spare pillow over my head. Peter didn't budge. He just laid down and fell asleep next to me.
The next day began pretty much normal. Micky got up and was making breakfast when I awoke. Peter had moved sometime during the night, and was sleeping at the foot of Mike's bed. Mike was still asleep. I left them alone. I was about to get up and go eat breakfast when something stopped me. I had an incredible urge to lay down and go back to sleep. I shook my head and fought it off. Then, despite the urge, I went downstairs. I had an odd feeling about Peter.
It had been 3 weeks since Peter turned into a dog, and he hadn't changed back. Mike and I attempted to find out what was going on. Every time I looked at Peter I just got a feeling of immense claustrophobia. It scared me. Mike found it a little easier. Peter seemed to be able to send him actual words and sentences, where with me it was usually an image or a picture.
Mike sat down on the floor in front of Peter and fixed his eyes on him. "Peter, we need you back," he said. "I'm begging you, man. What kind of band would we be without a bass player?" Peter seemed to smile at this. As I watched, I felt that same claustrophobia, but also a feeling of hopelessness. I felt a bit depressed, also. Mike continued to stare at Peter. "Oh Peter, I'm sorry, it's all my fault. I never should have gone to Alaska." He then continued to look at Peter. I could tell they were carrying on some sort of conversation, so I left them alone.
**** "Mike, don't be sorry. It's not your fault," Peter communicated. "I went to Alaska for a reason other than to find you. I knew you'd come back on your own. But I had other reasons for going to Alaska. I knew part of my destiny, of our destiny, would be found there. Not just yours and mine, but Micky and Davy's, too. Think how different these last few months would be if neither of us had gone to Alaska. It was destiny."
Mike looked back at Peter. "I know, I'm not entirely sure why I went there, either. I mean, if I wanted to get away, I could have just gone to a motel. I guess I just feel guilty. " *****
After leaving Mike I went into the kitchen. Just then, Micky came in through the back door (didn't know we had one of those, did ya?) waving a piece of paper.
"Hey Mike, Peter, guess what?" Micky ran into the room where Mike and Peter were. I followed him. "I got us a gig!" Peter looked at him. Micky ignored him.
"Don't worry, Peter, it's not until next month," I said, apologetically. Peter's blue eyes looked into mine, and I felt his thoughts in mine. The hopelessness, coupled with a feeling of eternity. He was afraid he'd never change back. That he'd be this way forever. "Peter! Negative thoughts aren't going to help you at all!" It seemed as if everyone was looking at me. They were, actually. I never should have said a word.
"Davy! What nerve! That was mean!" Mike was angry at me. It was obvious I never should have opened my mouth. "Davy, please apologize to Peter" he said, sternly, as though he were my father.
I looked at Mike and then at Peter. "I'm sorry Peter, I..," Before I could finish, Peter turned and ran up the stairs.
"Davy, look what you've done," Micky said. I felt absolutely horrible. "Let's go upstairs and you can apologize." I felt terrible. It felt more like Mike and Micky were my parents then my friends. I sighed and nodded, and we all went upstairs. When we reached the bedroom, I knocked once and then opened the door.
"Oh my God. Peter, he's, he's gone." Micky cried. He was overreacting, of course. But correct. The room was empty. The window was open, though.
"Oh no, not again," I said, once again regretting that I'd opened my mouth, as Mike and Micky gave me a Look. "Sorry," I said. We all went to the window. There, on the ground, was a certain blond puppy-dog running away from the house. Peter.
