"Today the new group the Monkees announced that their tour would be postponed after the disappearance of Davy Jones. After the incident that occurred a few weeks ago, officials wonder if the two are connected. Police have no leads, suspects, or motives at this time. We'll keep you updated on whether or not he is found. Until then, the Monkees' fans are kept waiting and hoping that Davy is alright."
With a satisfied smile she shut off the radio and smiled. Davy was hers. But now that she had him in her clutches, she couldn't just kill him. No, he had to be tortured. And the best torture was waiting. Grinning with an evil smile, she carried the radio down to the basement where he lay waiting.
Micky rolled over and blinked his eyes. The sun was shining in the window brightly and he blinked. A tall, skinny girl with auburn hair stood over him, and he was startled for a moment.
"Layla," he realized, gasping and sighing as his heart returned to its normal speed. He sat up, realizing he'd fallen asleep on the couch. "You scared me half to death."
She smiled, and he grinned back. He could see what Mike saw in her smile. "Sorry," she replied. "Didn't mean to. Will you recover?"
He sighed, standing up and fixing up the couch. "I suppose," he replied with a mischievous grin. "You looking for Mike?"
"Yeah, I was. Is he around?"
Micky shrugged. "Probably," he replied. "I'm not sure, I was sleeping," he reminded her with a smile.
"I heard the news," she told him. "Any word on Davy?"
Micky shook his head, sadly. "No. Nothing. I'm getting a little worried. We haven't heard anything from him. Usually, he would contact us. But no one's heard anything. Nothing."
Layla nodded sympathetically. "It's not like him at all," she agreed with a sigh.
The front door opened and Peter entered. "Hey Layla," he greeted. "Mike's next door if you're looking for him."
"I was actually," she replied with a smile, heading for the door. "Thanks, Pete."
"Sure," he replied. He and Micky fell silent until she'd left the door. "Any word?" he asked.
"Nothing here. Anybody else?"
Peter shook his head with a sigh. "I wonder what's happened."
"Me too, Pete. Me too," Micky replied with a sigh.
The radio had been playing songs non-stop for the past half-hour. Finally, it stopped, and the news came on. Davy was grateful for the diversion. Silence would have driven him crazy.
The news came on, and the announcer went dutifully through reports of robberies, murders, and the war. Davy only half-listened. He was close to drifting off into sleep, and the news wasn't what he wanted to hear.
"And there is still no word on the missing David Jones on this, the third day of his disappearance. The tour of his group, the Monkees' has been postponed until further notice, and police still have no leads or clues. Meanwhile, sales of their first album have gone up since his disappearance."
Davy groaned. What a time for this to happen, he thought to himself. The day before the tour was to start. And no way to contact the others. He sighed.
His stomach began to rumble, longing for food, and he sighed. Three days, the announcer had said. He'd been here for three days. The police weren't helping at all. With a sigh, he laid down and let himself drip back into a restless, dreamless sleep as a slow love ballad began to play on the radio.
Light flashed in Davy's eyes, and he blinked. Light wasn't something he'd seen lately. He squinted, looking past the light, and saw a figure standing there.
"Who are you?" he asked the figure, but it didn't respond. With the light shining in his eyes, he couldn't identify any facial features at all. "What do you want with me?"
The figure still said nothing. It moved its arms and placed a tray in front of him. On the tray was food. Relieved, Davy moved to eat it, but hesitated. There was a piece of unrecognizable meat, some bread, and a glass of water. His stomach craved food, but he wasn't certain if this could be considered food.
"Go on, eat it," the figure commanded, speaking at last. Davy didn't recognize the voice, but it sounded vaguely familiar. It was also definitely female, and he sighed.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because if you don't eat it, you won't live."
"I have a funny feeling you aren't going to let me live very much longer anyway," he replied cynically.
The figure shrugged. "It's in your best interest to eat it," she informed him. He sighed, reaching for the water. His throat was as dry as a bone, and his stomach craved food. He reached for the meat and the bread. It was tasteless, dry, and did nothing to calm his appetite. At least it would ease his stomach pains.
The figure stepped forward, and Davy saw it was carrying a hypodermic needle. He shied away, moving as far as the chains would allow him.
"What is that?" he asked. "What are you doing?" The figure didn't reply, only stepped forward. Davy winced as the needle was shoved into his arm, but resistance would do nothing for him. He looked at the figure. "What is that?" he asked.
The figure once again offered no answer, but instead laughed slightly. "Revenge for the past," she replied. "Justice."
