Chapter Five: But As The Words Are Leaving His Lips, A Noise Comes From Behind
For the third time in one night Davy raced into town—this time in the opposite direction from where he’d gone to rescue Mike. He willed the visions to keep at bay, not to force him to watch something equally horrifying happen to the fuzzy-headed drummer who was his best friend.
He reached the club and parked his jeep, leaping out and running for the welcome sight of the front door. The doorman knew Davy on sight, and he waved the musician in with a smile and a nod of his bald head.
The music was particularly loud as another band wailed away on the stage that the Monkees more often than not occupied. Though normally he would have paused, casually gauging their performance and automaticaly comparing it to the Monkees, tonight there was no time for such luxury. He scanned the packed club, trying to find that infuriating head of curly hair.
“Micky!” he shouted, even though he knew that with the noise there was slim chance that Micky would hear him. He skirted the edge of the club, his neck tingling with the knowledge that whoever was stalking them might be in amongst the crowd, waiting.
Though he’d hoped and prayed that the visions would keep away, he found himself wishing they’d appear. At least then he could home in on Micky’s position . . . and maybe even catch the villain in action.
“Davy! Hi!” Davy spun around—directly into the arms of a cheerful blond girl who quickly enveloped him in a near crushing embrace.
“Stella,” he said, trying to extricate himself from the arms of Mr. Nathanson’s daughter. “I’m sorry—I don’t have time right now. I’m trying to find Micky.”
Stella’s full lips sagged into a pout. “Micky? But I thought you came to see me!”
Uh oh, Davy thought. You’d better work quick, Jones, or it’s time to find another girlfriend. Though not exactly a daunting task, Davy didn’t want another girl just then. He liked Stella; she was fun.
“Um, I did, but . . . look, I have to find Micky. Mike got hurt, and . . . I have to tell him or else he’ll worry.”
“Oh,” Stella said, nodding. “I’m sorry about Mike. That’s awful; is there anything I can do?”
Davy nodded. “Have you seen Micky?”
“He’s here somewhere. He came with a girl but she left a little while ago; he stayed. Want me to help you find him?”
Davy was about to accept her offer when images once again started to flash across his eyes. “N-no, that’s okay. Listen—I’ll call you tomorrow. I’m not . . . feeling so good. I’m gonna find Micky and then go home.”
Stella stared at Davy for a few moments, looking as if she was about to argue. Davy hoped she wouldn’t—the images were coming faster and faster, and if Stella kept him any longer she’d know something was wrong. He didn’t want her involved in any of it—and most of all he didn’t want her to be hurt. He shuddered inwardly at the thought of having to watch something happen to Stella the way he’d had to watch Mike and Peter.
“Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Davy.” She leaned over and gave him a slow, sensual kiss that on any other day would’ve made him forget about any other obligations he had.
Today, however, was different.
He said goodbye to Stella and found a distant corner where he could hide as the visions overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes and found himself on the other side of the club, slowly panning across the dancing couples. He heart nearly thumped its way out of his chest when ‘his’ gaze finally settled on a seated figure near the stage who was happily keeping time with the drumbeat.
Micky.
Davy’s eyes snapped open and he tried to see through the double-vision to the stage, but the imposition of both sets of images made focusing impossible. There was no way he could stop seeing what the hunter was seeing, and this time he wasn’t willing to wait for the visions to stop. He shut his eyes again, reducing his vision to one pair of ‘eyes.’ Now the person was reaching into his pocket, withdrawing a slim, ivory-handled switchblade. Panic of an intensity Davy had never felt before surged through him and he lunged from his hiding spot, his eyes still closed. He had to find some way of warning Micky—and fast.
He then remembered that the fire alarm was right behind him. He turned and lurched for the wall, his eyes still closed; his knee smashed into it before he found the lever. He yanked on it with all his might, covering his ears as a loud siren overpowered the music, which stopped abruptly.
He could still see through the eyes of the hunter, who had stopped his stalk towards Micky. Davy could see Micky stand up, then he was lost in the rush of people flooding for the exits. The visions stopped and Davy opened his eyes, leaping forward and heading for where he’d last seen Micky. He found the drummer on the floor, curled into a little ball. Davy dropped to his knees.
“Micky! Micky, are you all right?”
Micky uncurled. “Yeah. Some idiot knocked me down! Where’s the fire?”
“There is no fire, Micky! C’mon—we gotta get out of here!”
He hauled Micky to his feet, ignoring the drummer’s protests. The one hunting him could still be out there, in amongst the crowd, waiting with his knife for the right moment to strike . . . Davy propelled Micky to the exit, not pausing to take a breath until he and Micky were safely in the jeep and heading back to the Pad.
On to Chapter Six
Back to Chapter Four
Back to Non Series Main Page
