~*~
With his jeep and the streets mercifully clear of traffic, Davy made it back to the Pad in fifteen minutes. Peter was sitting stiffly at the kitchen table as they entered; his jaw dropped in horror when he saw Mike.
“Easy, shotgun,” Mike said, holding out his uninjured arm to halt Peter’s mad dash toward him. “I’m all right . . . just got jumped on.”
Davy fought a sense of nauseating deja-vu as he helped Mike to the chaise. Mike couldn’t suppress the groan that forced its way from between his clenched teeth as Davy and Peter carefully peeled off his denim jacket and shirt.
“M-Mike,” Peter moaned, tears filling his eyes and spilling onto his cheeks.
“Peter, it’s okay,” Mike said as Davy ran to the bathroom once more. Davy listened, barely holding back his own tears, as Mike recounted what had happened to him, pausing occasionally when Peter’s sobs grew too loud.
I’m gonna find who did this, Davy swore to himself. No matter what it takes. He grabbed whatever first aid items he could find and hurried back out to tend to Mike.
Mike was slumped over on his side, his eyes closed tight as Peter held a towel to his side. The towel—a medium blue that had paled to a sky color—was already stained dark red.
“D-Davy,” Peter said, his face a chalky gray, “I th-think this is gonna need more than a-a Band-Aid.”
The items in Davy’s hands slipped from his suddenly nerveless fingers and crashed to the floor; the iodine bottle broke, sending sprays of dark liquid and glass over the carpet, the sound rousing Davy from his state of paralysis. He ran to the phone, his fingers slipping over the dial several times before he managed to get his finger into the right holes. He hopped from foot to foot as the phone rang.
“Hello?” came the slightly ragged voice. With an awkward twinge Davy realized it was late and he’d probably awakened their doctor.
“Doctor Mann? This is David Jones.”
“Who? Oh . . . The Monkees, right?” The voice was not the cheerful masculine chirp of the veteranarian Dr. Mann—Julia Mann, a human doctor, was his sister, and based on the odd recommendations of her equally odd brother, had agreed to become their collective physician.
“Yes. Please—could you come over? Mike’s been hurt.”
“Hurt?” The voice on the other end raised with alarm.
“Yes. His side’s cut open and he’s bleeding pretty bad.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end. “He should go to the hospital then, David.”
“He says you should go to the hospital, Mike,” Davy said.
“No!” Mike barked loud enough to be heard by Mann. “I’m stayin’ here!”
“He won’t go, Doctor. Please—we can’t take care of this ourselves.”
A sigh. “All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Davy hung up the phone with a relieved sigh. Things were going to be okay.
“Davy?” Peter said, his voice only slightly steadier than it had been before.
“Yeah, Peter?”
“What about Micky?”
The relief vanished. Micky. He’d forgotten about Micky.
“What about Micky, Peter?” Mike asked.
“I mean, first me, then you . . . Micky’s next,” Peter said, his voice strangely hushed. “It’s not just a coincidence anymore.”
On any other day Davy would have shaken his head and said “Oh, Peter,” along with the others. But Peter was right. Whoever was out there was stalking all of them, attacking Mike, Peter, and now Micky physically, and attacking Davy mentally, making him watch his friends’ pain and fear through the eyes of the one inflicting it.
“Pete, don’t you think you’re jumpin’ to conclusions here?” Mike said.
“No, Mike . . . he’s right. Micky’s next. I can feel it.” Davy was already edging towards the door. “Where’d Micky go tonight?”
Peter looked to Mike. “He was gonna take Monica to the Cassandra.”
“Okay—Peter, you stay here with Mike. I’ll be back as soon as I can. With Micky.”
Mike tried to push himself upright. “Wait. Davy—I’m comin’ with you.”
Davy stopped. “No, Mike. You’re not. You’re hurt and you need to wait for the doctor. I’ll be okay, and so will Micky.”
On to Chapter Five
Back to Chapter Three
Back to Non Series Main Page
