Micky was still lying on the couch in the same position he’d been in that morning, with one exception. His eyes were open.
“Micky?” Mike asked, walking over to him.
Micky blinked slowly, looking around the Pad as if he’d never seen it before. “What . . . happened?” he asked, his voice so hoarse it was barely recognizable.
“We were hopin’ you could tell us.”
Micky tried to sit up, releasing a pained groan when he realized his body wasn’t going to move the way he wanted it to. “How long?”
“Five days,” Mike said softly.
“Five days!” Micky croaked. “Shit!”
Davy brought him some water. Micky drank it slowly, wincing as it slid down his dry, bruised throat. “Five days,” he moaned after swallowing.
“What happened, man?” Peter asked.
Micky closed his eyes, slowly and painfully relating what had happened. “The last thing I remember is getting a boot to the ribs. How’d I get here?”
Peter’s gentle voice belied the fury in his eyes as the story had unfolded. “You showed up on the doorstep like this.”
“I did?” Micky asked, genuinely surprised. “I don’t remember that.”
“I found you,” Peter whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Micky whispered. “I’m sorry, guys. I don’t mean to be such a pain.”
Davy gave him some more water. “Then why are you?” he asked in a semi-joking way.
Micky just shook his head. Mike was alarmed to see tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, hey, it’ll be okay.”
“No it won’t!” Micky said, a touch of the old ferocity returning. “I messed everything up! I don’t deserve to be a Monkee any more!”
Mike squeezed his shoulder. “This isn’t about deserving, Micky.”
“It’s about forgiveness,” Peter said quietly. “You made a mistake like we all do. And as far as I’m concerned you’ve paid for it several times over.”
“Same here,” Mike said.”
“I’d say they’ve got it about right,” Davy added.
Mike smiled at him. “Hey, we’ve all done stupid things.”
“When have you ever done something stupid, Mike?” Micky asked, the tiniest hint of a smile appearing through the tears.
Mike grinned. “Oh, gettin’ mixed up with a low-class music publisher for one . . . ”
“Oh, right,” Micky said, giggling. “I forgot about that.”
“And my dancing lessons,” Peter grinned.
“And my . . . well, I’ve never done anything dumb,” Davy said with a grin.
“Uh-huh, right,” Mike chuckled. “One word, Davy—Fern.”
Davy chuckled, grabbing a throw pillow and hurling it at Mike.
Mike caught it. “Sheesh, you and Peter with those pillows!”
“They’re the only weapons we can safely throw without the loss of life or limb,” Micky giggled. “Mike, can you help me sit up?”
“Sure.” He supported Micky until he was sitting upright.
Micky sucked in a few painful breaths as his body adjusted to being upright. “How . . . bad am I hurt?”
Peter answered, “Knife cut to your left upper arm—we cleaned it out and stitched it up—took about ten stitches. No real broken bones, but you’ve got several bone-deep bruises and moving’s going to be a lot of fun for a while.”
Micky groaned. “Yeah . . . great for me. Guess I deserved what I got.”
Nobody said anything to that.
“Like I said, Mick . . . you paid for your mistake several times over. We’re not gonna keep beatin’ you up over it, but somethin’s gotta change. Before you get yourself into a situation you can’t escape from,” Mike said.
Peter and Davy nodded, and Peter turned to Davy. “You’re getting better, but you’ve still got to learn, too.” Davy opened his mouth to protest, then wisely shut it.
“So,” Peter went on, turning to Mike. “What do you have in mind?”
“Putting some of those things I wrote down in that book to good use.”
Peter smiled his full grin. “I’ll go get it.”
“Book?” Micky asked. “Do I want to know?”
Davy grinned and sat beside him. “I’ve been wanting to see it too. Mike made a list of some things while you were out of it, and he wanted to wait till you were better before he showed it to us.” He gave a mock scowl. “As secretive about it as he is about his music, he is!”
Mike came back over, a glass of orange juice in his hands. “They’re some things that we’ve been missin’. Things we shoulda had ‘fore we went off with these abilities.”
Peter returned with the notebook. “See, we have the knowledge but not the experience. These are some things he’s found that might be of help.”
“Things like what?” Davy said, craning his neck to get a better look at the notebook.
“Bushido,” Mike said quietly, handing the juice to Micky.
Davy blinked. “That’s the strangest way of saying bullshit I’ve ever heard.” Peter whapped him on the head with the notebook.
Micky giggled. “It’s the Japanese code of honor governing samurai, Davy.”
Mike gaped at the drummer. Peter’s double take was so fast his hair whipped around his face. Micky took a long drink, licking his lips. “Don’t look at me like that, guys. I might be a hothead but I’m not stupid. You’re not the only one who did some reading, Mike.”
Mike and Peter began to smile. Micky slowed trailed his finger along the condensation on the outside of the glass. “I thought maybe it’d help. Maybe I’d find the secret . . . in the next book, or the next. Y’know . . . the thing that would cure my temper.”
Peter sat down beside him. “So you knew you had a problem all along,” he said gently.
“Yeah. I just . . . figured it was MY problem. I didn’t want sympathy and I didn’t want to get chewed out. So if I could handle it myself it’d be fine, you know?”
Peter squeezed an uninjured shoulder.
“We wouldn’t have chewed you out, Micky,” Mike said, his voice quietly stern. “And we wouldn’t have pitied you, either. We’re here to help each other, man.”
“Exactly,” Davy said. “Whether we like it or not!” Mike reached out and swatted him over the head. “HEY!” Davy protested with a laugh.
On to Five
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Back to Secrets and Lies Index
