Red Sky, Take Warning, ch 6 by 
rose_of_pollux [The Monkees, Nocturne]
Title: Red Sky, Take Warning, Chapter 6: Today There is No Black or White
Author: Crystal Rose of Pollux (rose_of_pollux)
Theme: 9; Nocturne
Fandom: The Monkees (TV-verse)
Warnings: PG13
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, and the story is; also, these are the guys' fictional personas from the TV show and not the real ones.
Summary/Comments: Mike's troubles get even worse as the search for Rue continues; Peter struggles with Dr. Mendoza's order hanging over his head while Davy finally decides that he has to get away.
Cross-posted to fanfiction.net
Mike had to admit that he felt unexplainably satisfied having sent Mr. Zero off without succeeding. But that still didn’t change his current problem, he realized. Gathering everything he could, including the bud, he stuffed everything into a duffle bag. He then attempted to try to salvage his sleeping bag from the back room, but the ceiling further gave in, causing Mike to back off with a wince.
Diamond Jim, calm now that Zero was gone, paced the counter, watching Mike with curiosity, calling softly to him.
“I’m just… trying to… grab this…” Mike said, grabbing a broom handle to pull the sleeping bag away from the danger zone. “…There we go!”
He rolled the bag up and strapped it to the duffel bag.
“We can’t stay here—the way our luck is going, if we stay the night, that ceiling’s going to come down right on us. And we can’t have that.”
He swung the bags over one shoulder and offered his other shoulder for Diamond Jim to perch on. The bird took him up on it, and Mike headed outside, leaving what remained of the shop behind.
“So here’s what we’re going to do, my fine-feathered friend,” he said. “You and I are going to rough it out there—get all the berries we can from our thicket in the woods. And then, after dinner, we’re going to sell what we can—and then we’re going to spend it on non-perishable food to get us through until we can figure out what to do next.”
The prairie chicken blinked, but remained quiet as, slowly, they made their way through the outskirts of the city. Mike was so absorbed in his planning, he barely noticed a large, gray figure running off in the direction of the beach. By the time he did a double-take, the thing was gone.
He shook it off. Clearly, he must’ve been seeing things; for a moment, he thought he had seen an elephant out of the corner of his eye.
Mike continued on, softly singing bits and pieces of a song he wasn’t sure where he had heard before—something about listening to a band. His feet began to ache after the first couple hours of walking, but he ignored it; he was starving, and he knew that dinner would only be at the end of his walk.
Another hour went by, and then another. The summer sun’s rays made it even harder; Mike had to take his hat off after some time until he reached the edge of the forest, sighing as he passed beneath the welcome shade.
Diamond Jim now let out a few vocalizations as they passed a few flyers advertising a circus. Mike didn’t pay attention, though, not sure why the bird would be interested in that, of all things.
“Well, maybe if we don’t do so well selling the berries, we might try seeking employment there,” Mike conceded, when he did decide to take a look. “We’d have to come up with some kind of act, though. But never mind that; here we are!”
He threw the bags aside and headed into the thicket, searching for the berries. He quickly frowned; something was wrong. The berries that had been there only days ago—the last time they had been here—were now gone.
Diamond Jim squawked, scratching at the ground. Raccoon tracks were visible in the dirt, and it didn’t take Mike long to put two and two together.
“No, no, no!” he exclaimed, plunging headfirst into the thicket in the vain hope that the raccoons had left something. But the patch had been picked clean—and Mike’s long trek had been all for nothing.
The boy let out a yell of frustration, startling the prairie chicken as he emerged from the thicket. He now ran straight to the duffel bag, angrily pulling out the bud that Mr. Zero had given him.
“All right!” he yelled at the plant. “I’ll admit that my troubles are getting worse by the minute! So, you’re supposed to get rid of all of my troubles, aren’t you?! Or is this all a big joke, too?!”
Furious as he realized that yelling at this weird little plant would not do a thing for him, he angrily threw it down, turning away in disgust. He forced himself to calm down, trying to take deep breaths again.
I have to keep a cool head about this. This still isn’t the end of the world. This can’t be the only berry patch in these woods—there have to be other forms of nourishment in here. I just have to find it…
His thoughts trailed off as he felt something wrapping around his ankles and Diamond Jim started giving his alarm call again.
“What…?” Mike asked, looking down. He let out a yelp as he saw large, thorn-laden vines wrapping their way up his legs.
Mike tried to look behind him, and his eyes widened as he saw that the mysterious bud he had just cast aside had suddenly grown rapidly in size, and the vines were extending from the spilled potting soil the plant had been in.
Mike quickly bent down, trying to pull the vines off of him when two more vines suddenly snaked from the plant, wrapping around each of his arms. Now caught off-balance, Mike fell over, prompting another vine to wrap around his torso. Panic rose within him, but the more he tried to pull away, the tighter the vines gripped him.
Diamond Jim was positively screeching, and as Mike realized that struggling only made it worse, he took the bird’s example and started yelling for help.
“You can yell all you want to, Michael; no one can hear you out here,” Mr. Zero’s voice said, from behind him.
Mike tried to look over his shoulder, but couldn’t from his position; still, he knew that Mr. Zero was standing over him.
“What is this, Man?” he angrily yelled. “You told me this plant was supposed to help me!”
“Ah, I never said that,” Mr. Zero said. “What I did say was that it would rid you of all of your troubles.”
Mike’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what Mr. Zero meant.
“That’s right,” the Prince of Darkness said, smirking at the dawning comprehension on the boy’s face. “The dead have no worries… well no Earthly worries, that is—no worrying about where the next meal will come from, or what they can do when they don’t have any money…”
“Call this thing off!” Mike ordered. “I didn’t want this! I wasn’t going to give up that easily!”
“Of course; you’re a fighter,” Mr. Zero said, sounding bored as he paced the area, not even bothering to help Mike. “You’ve been fighting me, haven’t you? I told you, I needed your signature for my victory.”
“You can’t mean…”
The pen and contract appeared in Mr. Zero’s hands again.
“Sign it, Michael, and I will, as you requested, call the plant off.”
Mike’s mind was racing. He had to get out of here, and yet… he knew that signing that contract would be something horrible.
“I… I…”
“You need more time to think?” Mr. Zero scoffed. “Very well; I’ll return later tonight and see if your mind has changed at all. You have until midnight, Michael—four hours from now; the plant will wait until then. And so will I.”
“Yeah, but I won’t! I’m going to find some way out of h—”
Mike was cut off as the next vine covered his mouth, wincing as a thorn gave him a small cut on the lip.
“I’ll see you later,” Mr. Zero said.
And he vanished as quickly as he had arrived, leaving nothing but the ensnared boy and the panicked prairie chicken.
********************************
“You’d think it’d be easy to track an elephant, wouldn’t you?” Peter mused aloud, as he and Micky searched for signs of the pachyderm’s presence. “Especially in the sand…”
“When they want to get moving, they can get moving,” Micky said. “What I want to know is why Rue seemed to be heading here—to the beach.”
“Well, there aren’t any big buildings out here; maybe Rue thought he’d be safer out here,” Peter offered. “The only building I saw was that beachhouse over there.”
Micky took a look, stopping in his tracks for a moment as he saw the shabby-looking building. Peter saw the look on his face—it had been nearly identical to his own when he had been staring at the place, too.
You feel it, too, don’t you? he silently asked Micky, not wanting to ask it aloud due to how awkward it sounded.
Micky now turned back to Peter, slightly stunned, as Emerald barked, staring at the beachhouse, as well.
“That’s… an interesting place,” Micky said, not sure what to say. He had felt something, but that didn’t make any sense. Why would the sight of a shabby, little beachhouse affect him so much?
“Isn't it, though?” Peter asked grinning. “We can take another look at it after we find Rue.”
“Yeah,” Micky agreed, turning his attention back to his conundrum. He led the way down the beach again until he happened upon a long piece of string—part of a net that someone had left behind. “You know, if I had some food for him, I could probably tie it to that string; he’d smell it out and come back for sure!”
“…I’ve got a peanut bar,” Peter offered, pulling it out of his pocket. “Well, half of one, anyway—I got a little hungry and ate some of it earlier.”
“Hopefully, that’ll work,” Micky said, tying it to the string and swinging it in circles over his head. “Come on, Rue! I’ve got a little snack for you!”
He and Peter walked a little further down the beach, still swinging the peanut-bar-on-a-string. At last, he heard a familiar trumpeting.
“Rue!” Micky exclaimed.
The pachyderm had been lounging in a tidal pool, finally calm now that the earthquake had long since passed; it had taken quite a bit of time to get that calm, though. Hearing Micky’s voice now caused him to get up and head in that direction, and the boy grinned in relief to see him safe and sound, heading their way.
“He’s safe,” the younger boy sighed, as the dog and elephant greeted each other surprisingly warmly. “And so is my job.”
“You need an elephant for your job?” Peter asked, as the elephant deftly picked the peanut bar with the tip of his trunk and gulped it down.
“Yeah; I work at a traveling circus,” Micky explained. “We’re in a field just outside of Malibu. Rue ran off because of the earthquake, and… well… my boss sorta told me that if I didn’t find him, I’d be history.”
Peter winced, reminded of his own dilemma.
“Well,” he said, trying to put on a happy face. “I’m glad you managed to save your job!” I just wish I could’ve been as lucky…
For the briefest instant, he considered the possibility of asking Micky to come back to Dr. Mendoza’s lab. The idea fizzled away more quickly than it had arrived, and it left Peter feeling more disgusted with himself than ever before.
This did not escape Micky.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I’m the worst,” the blond muttered bitterly kicking a small rock—imagining it to be himself.
“What brought this on?” the younger boy asked, stunned.
Peter looked back at Micky, briefly, his own guilt increasing as he saw Micky’s look of genuine concern.
“…I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hushed from shame.
“For what?! What did you do?!” Micky asked.
“It’s nothing I did—it’s… it’s what I was thinking of doing,” Peter said, furiously kicking another rock. “My job’s in trouble, too—but I… I work for a scientist who specializes in mental research—with human experimentation. He sent me out here today to find him a new guinea pig, and… well, for a moment there, I thought…” He trailed off, unable to continue the thought. “Oh, Micky, I’m so sorry!”
He was about to kick another rock, but froze as he felt Micky’s hand on his shoulder.
“You didn’t go through with it,” Micky reminded him. “You didn’t even try it.”
“But I thought about it—that’s bad enough,” Peter said, bitterly.
“I understand why you’d feel that way, but…” Micky shuddered—not at the thought of Peter trying it, but the fact that someone was manipulating him to do something so terrible. In fact, it made the boy angry that someone could ever try to take advantage of Peter like that—though he certainly couldn’t explain the source of his anger. “I know… something tells me that there’s no way you could’ve ever gone through with it.”
Peter paused to consider this.
“Well, I haven’t so far…”
“See? Listen, Man, you’ve got to tell the cops about this nut! You can’t let him continue to do these things!”
“…But if I go to the cops… they’ll blame me for helping him all this time. I mean… I never did any experiments or got any of the guinea pigs yet, but… I didn’t stop him. I should’ve stopped him, but how can I stop scientific progress?”
“Scientific progress…!” Micky repeated, now grabbing Peter by both shoulders. “He’s been messing with your head without even experimenting on it!”
Peter blinked, staring at Micky in surprise. Micky’s concern was so genuine—but why would he be so worried about someone he had only just met?
But something in Micky’s words had given him an idea.
“I know what I have to do,” Peter said, softly. “I can’t let him hurt any innocent people anymore.”
“That’s right,” Micky encouraged, not knowing what was on Peter’s mind. “I know you’ll do the right thing.”
“I hope so,” Peter said. He shook Micky’s hand. “Hey, thanks.”
“For what?” the younger boy asked. “You were the one who found my elephant, after all; I owe you.”
“Well… thanks for just being here,” the blond replied. “I’m really glad I got to meet you.”
“Same here,” Micky said. “Will I see you around?”
Peter hesitated as looked back into Micky’s eyes.
“I don’t think so,” he said, honestly. And it tore him up to say it; these past several hours he had spent with Micky had filled that void in his heart from earlier. But now that he probably wasn’t going to see him again, well… that void was starting to come back.
Judging by the look on Micky’s face, he was feeling the same disappointment.
“Well,” the younger boy said. “I’m glad I got to meet you, too, Pete.”
“Thanks, Mick,” Peter said, giving him a wan smile.
Micky’s heart twisted a little more upon hearing him say that, and as Peter called for Emerald (who seemed just as reluctant to leave) and walked away, waving goodbye, Micky found himself blinking back tears as he waved back.
“Who was he, Rue?” he wondered. “And why did I feel like I knew him so well?”
Rue let out a little vocalization, sounding upset at seeing Peter and Emerald leave. And it was then, as Micky moved to lead the elephant back to the circus, that he heard a voice in his head.
Don’t lose him.
Micky whirled around, just barely discerning Peter and Emerald walking up the boardwalk; they would soon be out of sight.
“Peter, wait up!” he called, running after him, with Rue cantering behind him. “Hey, Pete!”
But Peter was out of earshot, and Micky’s voice was lost in the sounds of the ocean breeze and the crashing waves; between the distance, the noise, and the heavy troubles weighing on the older boy’s mind, he wasn’t aware of Micky’s calls. Micky paused, slightly disappointed, but knew he had to keep going.
Somewhere, a clock tower chimed ten times; the whole day had gone by, and Micky hadn’t even noticed—all that concerned him now was that he did not lose track of Peter. He had found something precious upon finding the older boy… something he couldn’t explain. And that was why he didn’t care about his aching feet or the pain in his side from all the running he was doing just trying to keep Peter in sight.
“Pete…!” he wheezed, but he was breathless from running; there was no way Peter would’ve been able to hear him, even if he had been within earshot. Nevertheless, Micky continued to follow all the way back to Rosebud Lane. Realizing that Peter had reached his destination—and the likely abode of the madman he had been talking about—Micky led Rue to an approach from the side so that they would remain out of sight.
It had been a wise decision; Dr. Mendoza himself opened the doors, looking at Peter with a frown.
“I thought I told you not to come back here without a guinea pig for me!” the doctor chided.
“I’ve taken care of that,” Peter said. “You’ll have your guinea pig. But I’m not going to allow you to experiment on innocent people anymore, scientific progress or not!”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Dr. Mendoza said, waving a hand in dismissal. He would have the boy singing a different tune once food and shelter were on the line, he knew. “Now where is the guinea pig?!”
Peter drew himself up to his full height, looking the mad doctor squarely in the eye.
“You’re looking at him,” the blond said. “If it’ll stop you from hurting people who never did a thing to you, then I’ll take their place.”
The doctor looked on in stunned surprise. And, yards away, poor Micky’s mouth fell open in silent horror.
********************************
The remainder of Davy’s day was, in his mind, beyond intolerable. True, he had felt rather unnerved by the fact that some strange man had managed to find his way in and out of his room, but Creech had seen it as nothing less than the fact that the entirety of Hagglethorn Hall was under attack, and that Davy was the one the encroachers were after.
All of Davy’s appointments that day had been canceled or postponed, with the doors and ground-floor windows all locked and bolted. Creech had even ordered the drawbridge over the castle’s moat pulled up, effectively sealing the place off.
Furthermore, Creech had instructed that someone stand guard outside Davy’s room at all times and accompany him at all times if he went anywhere else. Had it been up to Creech, he would’ve had someone standing guard in Davy’s room, but the young Englishman vehemently drew the line at that.
And even then, with his room being his only refuge and means of privacy, it was still too much. More than once that day, Davy had been driven to the point that he wanted to just scream in utter frustration, but just barely managed to compose himself.
Creech knew that Davy had become even more upset than he had been earlier, but insisted that this was for his own safety. Still, between the constant guards, the multiple food tasters, and the sheer sensation that the castle’s stone walls were all but closing in on him, Davy could not bring himself to appreciate it one iota.
Day turned to evening, and evening turned to night as Davy continued to pace his room like a caged cat. Creech looked in on him, inquiring as to what time he intended to turn in. Davy’s reply was unintelligible, but there was no mistaking the frustration in his voice. Creech was apologetic, but knew that words wouldn’t help.
It was after Creech left that Davy realized that if he was to keep his sanity, he would have to escape—get as far away from Hagglethorn Hall as possible. It would break Creech’s heart, he knew; the majordomo pretty much lived to serve and protect him. But Davy couldn’t take anymore of this.
The grandfather clock in the hall chimed eleven, and the sky outside was dark and moonless, dotted with stars that wouldn’t do much to cast any light below. Now would be the perfect time, while the sentries’ rounds were taking them to the other side of the castle.
Davy ran to his closet, grabbing an assortment of clothes, the leftovers from dinner, and a few pocketfuls of cash and stuffing them into a small bag. He also hastily placed a penlight into his pocket before pulling all of the sheets off of his bed and proceeding to tie them into a rope. Yes, it was a clichéd means of escape, but given his current situation, with the doors locked tight, it was his best bet for success. Hopefully, no one would notice the rope of sheets from the window until morning—and, by then, Davy hoped to be far away.
After testing the makeshift rope several times, Davy tied one end of it to one of the posts of his canopy bed and successfully clambered down until his feet hit the ground. He sighed, pleased at his success so far, but then realized he had another problem—getting past the moat somehow.
He stood there, looking around as he pondered before his eyes fell upon the stables and the grounds. Hugging the shadows of the castle, he crept towards the stables. Saph turned in his direction as he entered, nickering softly.
“Shh,” Davy instructed, petting the blue roan. “Saph, we’re getting out of here—you and me. We need to be quiet, and we also need to ford the moat.”
Saph seemed to understand, and was perfectly silent as Davy got on his back and slowly and quietly rode him out of the stables. The horse didn’t even make a sound as he trudged through the murky moat water.
“Good boy,” Davy whispered, patting him on the neck.
Once they had crossed the water, Davy urged the roan to move faster, not even looking back as they left Hagglethorn Hall behind them. Davy’s spirit was soon soaring again as it had in the morning, and he urged Saph into a gallop, feeling the welcome night air swirling around him as they charged ahead down the trail in the woods.
This is what I’m meant to be, he silently declared. Free.
His thoughts were eventually halted by the strangest sound he had ever heard, just barely audible over the sound of Saph’s hooves.
“What is that…?!” he asked aloud.
Saph slowed down to a stop, his attention turned towards the sound, as well. It sounded like the calls of a bird, but they were quite frantic.
“Never mind it, Saph,” Davy said. “It’s just a bird.”
But Saph did not continue; he attempted to head off of the trail, trying to slip through the trees towards the source of the sound.
“What are you doing?!” the boy chided the stallion. “We need to be far enough away by morning!”
But the horse, for the first time, was not listening to Davy; he pressed on towards the frantic bird calls, despite Davy’s loud protests.
It was then that Davy heard something else—a human voice… or it seemed to be a human voice, at any rate; Davy couldn’t tell, but it sounded as though the voice was muffled, as though gagged.
Davy now got off of Saph’s back as the trees grew thicker.
“Hello…?” he called, hesitating slightly as he moved forward. “Is anyone out there? Can you hear me?”
The bird calls stopped, leaving the unmistakable sounds of a human voice—indeed, the voice was garbled.
Davy pulled his penlight from his pocket, hoping vainly that the light would somehow catch whoever was out here.
“Where are you?” Davy asked. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
The muffled replies were getting louder; Davy was definitely heading in the right direction, but the tiny penlight beam couldn’t properly illuminate everything he needed to see. More than once, Davy walked headlong into a tree trunk. Biting back a curse each time it happened, he pressed onward.
The sounds were now quite loud—he must be close! But he still couldn’t see a thing in the darkness.
“Hello?” he called again.
Before he could receive the next garbled reply, Davy tripped over something, falling smack on his face—hitting something solid on the ground before turning over. This time, he did let out a quiet curse, for something had given him a small cut on his face.
And then he heard the muffled voice, right beside his ear—close enough to discern that whoever it was pleading for help. And for the briefest instant, Davy recalled the voices from his dream—for one of them sounded… exactly like this voice, albeit clear and not garbled.
Slowly, Davy reached a hand out. His fingers came into contact with hair and fabric—wool, was it? Yes, a wool hat. His heart in his throat, Davy aimed the penlight straight ahead, the narrow beam barely illuminating the face of a boy a few years older than him, framed in dark hair and a wool hat. But what horrified Davy was the look of fear and panic in the older boy’s eyes—to say nothing of the painful-looking thorn-filled vine covering the boy’s mouth. A quick sweep of the penlight revealed that the boy was completely wrapped up in similar vines, unable to move, and that a panicked bird—a fowl of some kind—was by his side.
There was something else Davy was feeling, too—an ache within him that grew the more he looked at that face. It was as though he knew this person, but that couldn’t be possible… could it?
“Just… just hold on,” Davy said. “I’ll get you out of this… somehow… I promise; I won’t leave you here.”
But things suddenly got worse. A far-off clock struck midnight, and, suddenly, the captive boy’s eyes widened in pain. The vines around him started writhing, and Davy realized, shocked, that they were getting tighter and tighter—forcing the older boy’s breaths to become more and shallower.
Davy gasped in horror, vainly trying to pull on the vines to stop them. It was a fruitless effort—Davy only succeeded in giving himself more cuts from the thorns, and the captive boy’s skin was getting noticeably paler.
The unfortunate captive let out a quiet, muffled sound—it sounded like an… apology. Davy’s eyes widened again; the other boy was losing his battle.
“Keep fighting it!” Davy ordered him, now trying to bite the vines with his teeth out of desperation. He could not let this paradoxically familiar stranger die—he could not! “You can’t give up now!”
But the captive’s eyes started to go out of focus—a sign that unconsciousness was rapidly closing in on him.
“No!” Davy cried, trying to pull the older boy up by his rapidly-slacking shoulders. “You have to keep fighting! You have to stay awake, or else the vines will get tighter! Come on, fight! Fight!”
Davy shook the older boy’s shoulders, and though the unfortunate captive tried his best to stay awake, it was also fruitless, and he slumped over against Davy, out cold, his borrowed time now even lesser than it was before.
And Davy couldn’t hold back a tear as he sunk into despair.
Author: Crystal Rose of Pollux (
rose_of_pollux)Theme: 9; Nocturne
Fandom: The Monkees (TV-verse)
Warnings: PG13
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, and the story is; also, these are the guys' fictional personas from the TV show and not the real ones.
Summary/Comments: Mike's troubles get even worse as the search for Rue continues; Peter struggles with Dr. Mendoza's order hanging over his head while Davy finally decides that he has to get away.
Cross-posted to fanfiction.net
Mike had to admit that he felt unexplainably satisfied having sent Mr. Zero off without succeeding. But that still didn’t change his current problem, he realized. Gathering everything he could, including the bud, he stuffed everything into a duffle bag. He then attempted to try to salvage his sleeping bag from the back room, but the ceiling further gave in, causing Mike to back off with a wince.
Diamond Jim, calm now that Zero was gone, paced the counter, watching Mike with curiosity, calling softly to him.
“I’m just… trying to… grab this…” Mike said, grabbing a broom handle to pull the sleeping bag away from the danger zone. “…There we go!”
He rolled the bag up and strapped it to the duffel bag.
“We can’t stay here—the way our luck is going, if we stay the night, that ceiling’s going to come down right on us. And we can’t have that.”
He swung the bags over one shoulder and offered his other shoulder for Diamond Jim to perch on. The bird took him up on it, and Mike headed outside, leaving what remained of the shop behind.
“So here’s what we’re going to do, my fine-feathered friend,” he said. “You and I are going to rough it out there—get all the berries we can from our thicket in the woods. And then, after dinner, we’re going to sell what we can—and then we’re going to spend it on non-perishable food to get us through until we can figure out what to do next.”
The prairie chicken blinked, but remained quiet as, slowly, they made their way through the outskirts of the city. Mike was so absorbed in his planning, he barely noticed a large, gray figure running off in the direction of the beach. By the time he did a double-take, the thing was gone.
He shook it off. Clearly, he must’ve been seeing things; for a moment, he thought he had seen an elephant out of the corner of his eye.
Mike continued on, softly singing bits and pieces of a song he wasn’t sure where he had heard before—something about listening to a band. His feet began to ache after the first couple hours of walking, but he ignored it; he was starving, and he knew that dinner would only be at the end of his walk.
Another hour went by, and then another. The summer sun’s rays made it even harder; Mike had to take his hat off after some time until he reached the edge of the forest, sighing as he passed beneath the welcome shade.
Diamond Jim now let out a few vocalizations as they passed a few flyers advertising a circus. Mike didn’t pay attention, though, not sure why the bird would be interested in that, of all things.
“Well, maybe if we don’t do so well selling the berries, we might try seeking employment there,” Mike conceded, when he did decide to take a look. “We’d have to come up with some kind of act, though. But never mind that; here we are!”
He threw the bags aside and headed into the thicket, searching for the berries. He quickly frowned; something was wrong. The berries that had been there only days ago—the last time they had been here—were now gone.
Diamond Jim squawked, scratching at the ground. Raccoon tracks were visible in the dirt, and it didn’t take Mike long to put two and two together.
“No, no, no!” he exclaimed, plunging headfirst into the thicket in the vain hope that the raccoons had left something. But the patch had been picked clean—and Mike’s long trek had been all for nothing.
The boy let out a yell of frustration, startling the prairie chicken as he emerged from the thicket. He now ran straight to the duffel bag, angrily pulling out the bud that Mr. Zero had given him.
“All right!” he yelled at the plant. “I’ll admit that my troubles are getting worse by the minute! So, you’re supposed to get rid of all of my troubles, aren’t you?! Or is this all a big joke, too?!”
Furious as he realized that yelling at this weird little plant would not do a thing for him, he angrily threw it down, turning away in disgust. He forced himself to calm down, trying to take deep breaths again.
I have to keep a cool head about this. This still isn’t the end of the world. This can’t be the only berry patch in these woods—there have to be other forms of nourishment in here. I just have to find it…
His thoughts trailed off as he felt something wrapping around his ankles and Diamond Jim started giving his alarm call again.
“What…?” Mike asked, looking down. He let out a yelp as he saw large, thorn-laden vines wrapping their way up his legs.
Mike tried to look behind him, and his eyes widened as he saw that the mysterious bud he had just cast aside had suddenly grown rapidly in size, and the vines were extending from the spilled potting soil the plant had been in.
Mike quickly bent down, trying to pull the vines off of him when two more vines suddenly snaked from the plant, wrapping around each of his arms. Now caught off-balance, Mike fell over, prompting another vine to wrap around his torso. Panic rose within him, but the more he tried to pull away, the tighter the vines gripped him.
Diamond Jim was positively screeching, and as Mike realized that struggling only made it worse, he took the bird’s example and started yelling for help.
“You can yell all you want to, Michael; no one can hear you out here,” Mr. Zero’s voice said, from behind him.
Mike tried to look over his shoulder, but couldn’t from his position; still, he knew that Mr. Zero was standing over him.
“What is this, Man?” he angrily yelled. “You told me this plant was supposed to help me!”
“Ah, I never said that,” Mr. Zero said. “What I did say was that it would rid you of all of your troubles.”
Mike’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what Mr. Zero meant.
“That’s right,” the Prince of Darkness said, smirking at the dawning comprehension on the boy’s face. “The dead have no worries… well no Earthly worries, that is—no worrying about where the next meal will come from, or what they can do when they don’t have any money…”
“Call this thing off!” Mike ordered. “I didn’t want this! I wasn’t going to give up that easily!”
“Of course; you’re a fighter,” Mr. Zero said, sounding bored as he paced the area, not even bothering to help Mike. “You’ve been fighting me, haven’t you? I told you, I needed your signature for my victory.”
“You can’t mean…”
The pen and contract appeared in Mr. Zero’s hands again.
“Sign it, Michael, and I will, as you requested, call the plant off.”
Mike’s mind was racing. He had to get out of here, and yet… he knew that signing that contract would be something horrible.
“I… I…”
“You need more time to think?” Mr. Zero scoffed. “Very well; I’ll return later tonight and see if your mind has changed at all. You have until midnight, Michael—four hours from now; the plant will wait until then. And so will I.”
“Yeah, but I won’t! I’m going to find some way out of h—”
Mike was cut off as the next vine covered his mouth, wincing as a thorn gave him a small cut on the lip.
“I’ll see you later,” Mr. Zero said.
And he vanished as quickly as he had arrived, leaving nothing but the ensnared boy and the panicked prairie chicken.
“You’d think it’d be easy to track an elephant, wouldn’t you?” Peter mused aloud, as he and Micky searched for signs of the pachyderm’s presence. “Especially in the sand…”
“When they want to get moving, they can get moving,” Micky said. “What I want to know is why Rue seemed to be heading here—to the beach.”
“Well, there aren’t any big buildings out here; maybe Rue thought he’d be safer out here,” Peter offered. “The only building I saw was that beachhouse over there.”
Micky took a look, stopping in his tracks for a moment as he saw the shabby-looking building. Peter saw the look on his face—it had been nearly identical to his own when he had been staring at the place, too.
You feel it, too, don’t you? he silently asked Micky, not wanting to ask it aloud due to how awkward it sounded.
Micky now turned back to Peter, slightly stunned, as Emerald barked, staring at the beachhouse, as well.
“That’s… an interesting place,” Micky said, not sure what to say. He had felt something, but that didn’t make any sense. Why would the sight of a shabby, little beachhouse affect him so much?
“Isn't it, though?” Peter asked grinning. “We can take another look at it after we find Rue.”
“Yeah,” Micky agreed, turning his attention back to his conundrum. He led the way down the beach again until he happened upon a long piece of string—part of a net that someone had left behind. “You know, if I had some food for him, I could probably tie it to that string; he’d smell it out and come back for sure!”
“…I’ve got a peanut bar,” Peter offered, pulling it out of his pocket. “Well, half of one, anyway—I got a little hungry and ate some of it earlier.”
“Hopefully, that’ll work,” Micky said, tying it to the string and swinging it in circles over his head. “Come on, Rue! I’ve got a little snack for you!”
He and Peter walked a little further down the beach, still swinging the peanut-bar-on-a-string. At last, he heard a familiar trumpeting.
“Rue!” Micky exclaimed.
The pachyderm had been lounging in a tidal pool, finally calm now that the earthquake had long since passed; it had taken quite a bit of time to get that calm, though. Hearing Micky’s voice now caused him to get up and head in that direction, and the boy grinned in relief to see him safe and sound, heading their way.
“He’s safe,” the younger boy sighed, as the dog and elephant greeted each other surprisingly warmly. “And so is my job.”
“You need an elephant for your job?” Peter asked, as the elephant deftly picked the peanut bar with the tip of his trunk and gulped it down.
“Yeah; I work at a traveling circus,” Micky explained. “We’re in a field just outside of Malibu. Rue ran off because of the earthquake, and… well… my boss sorta told me that if I didn’t find him, I’d be history.”
Peter winced, reminded of his own dilemma.
“Well,” he said, trying to put on a happy face. “I’m glad you managed to save your job!” I just wish I could’ve been as lucky…
For the briefest instant, he considered the possibility of asking Micky to come back to Dr. Mendoza’s lab. The idea fizzled away more quickly than it had arrived, and it left Peter feeling more disgusted with himself than ever before.
This did not escape Micky.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I’m the worst,” the blond muttered bitterly kicking a small rock—imagining it to be himself.
“What brought this on?” the younger boy asked, stunned.
Peter looked back at Micky, briefly, his own guilt increasing as he saw Micky’s look of genuine concern.
“…I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hushed from shame.
“For what?! What did you do?!” Micky asked.
“It’s nothing I did—it’s… it’s what I was thinking of doing,” Peter said, furiously kicking another rock. “My job’s in trouble, too—but I… I work for a scientist who specializes in mental research—with human experimentation. He sent me out here today to find him a new guinea pig, and… well, for a moment there, I thought…” He trailed off, unable to continue the thought. “Oh, Micky, I’m so sorry!”
He was about to kick another rock, but froze as he felt Micky’s hand on his shoulder.
“You didn’t go through with it,” Micky reminded him. “You didn’t even try it.”
“But I thought about it—that’s bad enough,” Peter said, bitterly.
“I understand why you’d feel that way, but…” Micky shuddered—not at the thought of Peter trying it, but the fact that someone was manipulating him to do something so terrible. In fact, it made the boy angry that someone could ever try to take advantage of Peter like that—though he certainly couldn’t explain the source of his anger. “I know… something tells me that there’s no way you could’ve ever gone through with it.”
Peter paused to consider this.
“Well, I haven’t so far…”
“See? Listen, Man, you’ve got to tell the cops about this nut! You can’t let him continue to do these things!”
“…But if I go to the cops… they’ll blame me for helping him all this time. I mean… I never did any experiments or got any of the guinea pigs yet, but… I didn’t stop him. I should’ve stopped him, but how can I stop scientific progress?”
“Scientific progress…!” Micky repeated, now grabbing Peter by both shoulders. “He’s been messing with your head without even experimenting on it!”
Peter blinked, staring at Micky in surprise. Micky’s concern was so genuine—but why would he be so worried about someone he had only just met?
But something in Micky’s words had given him an idea.
“I know what I have to do,” Peter said, softly. “I can’t let him hurt any innocent people anymore.”
“That’s right,” Micky encouraged, not knowing what was on Peter’s mind. “I know you’ll do the right thing.”
“I hope so,” Peter said. He shook Micky’s hand. “Hey, thanks.”
“For what?” the younger boy asked. “You were the one who found my elephant, after all; I owe you.”
“Well… thanks for just being here,” the blond replied. “I’m really glad I got to meet you.”
“Same here,” Micky said. “Will I see you around?”
Peter hesitated as looked back into Micky’s eyes.
“I don’t think so,” he said, honestly. And it tore him up to say it; these past several hours he had spent with Micky had filled that void in his heart from earlier. But now that he probably wasn’t going to see him again, well… that void was starting to come back.
Judging by the look on Micky’s face, he was feeling the same disappointment.
“Well,” the younger boy said. “I’m glad I got to meet you, too, Pete.”
“Thanks, Mick,” Peter said, giving him a wan smile.
Micky’s heart twisted a little more upon hearing him say that, and as Peter called for Emerald (who seemed just as reluctant to leave) and walked away, waving goodbye, Micky found himself blinking back tears as he waved back.
“Who was he, Rue?” he wondered. “And why did I feel like I knew him so well?”
Rue let out a little vocalization, sounding upset at seeing Peter and Emerald leave. And it was then, as Micky moved to lead the elephant back to the circus, that he heard a voice in his head.
Don’t lose him.
Micky whirled around, just barely discerning Peter and Emerald walking up the boardwalk; they would soon be out of sight.
“Peter, wait up!” he called, running after him, with Rue cantering behind him. “Hey, Pete!”
But Peter was out of earshot, and Micky’s voice was lost in the sounds of the ocean breeze and the crashing waves; between the distance, the noise, and the heavy troubles weighing on the older boy’s mind, he wasn’t aware of Micky’s calls. Micky paused, slightly disappointed, but knew he had to keep going.
Somewhere, a clock tower chimed ten times; the whole day had gone by, and Micky hadn’t even noticed—all that concerned him now was that he did not lose track of Peter. He had found something precious upon finding the older boy… something he couldn’t explain. And that was why he didn’t care about his aching feet or the pain in his side from all the running he was doing just trying to keep Peter in sight.
“Pete…!” he wheezed, but he was breathless from running; there was no way Peter would’ve been able to hear him, even if he had been within earshot. Nevertheless, Micky continued to follow all the way back to Rosebud Lane. Realizing that Peter had reached his destination—and the likely abode of the madman he had been talking about—Micky led Rue to an approach from the side so that they would remain out of sight.
It had been a wise decision; Dr. Mendoza himself opened the doors, looking at Peter with a frown.
“I thought I told you not to come back here without a guinea pig for me!” the doctor chided.
“I’ve taken care of that,” Peter said. “You’ll have your guinea pig. But I’m not going to allow you to experiment on innocent people anymore, scientific progress or not!”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Dr. Mendoza said, waving a hand in dismissal. He would have the boy singing a different tune once food and shelter were on the line, he knew. “Now where is the guinea pig?!”
Peter drew himself up to his full height, looking the mad doctor squarely in the eye.
“You’re looking at him,” the blond said. “If it’ll stop you from hurting people who never did a thing to you, then I’ll take their place.”
The doctor looked on in stunned surprise. And, yards away, poor Micky’s mouth fell open in silent horror.
The remainder of Davy’s day was, in his mind, beyond intolerable. True, he had felt rather unnerved by the fact that some strange man had managed to find his way in and out of his room, but Creech had seen it as nothing less than the fact that the entirety of Hagglethorn Hall was under attack, and that Davy was the one the encroachers were after.
All of Davy’s appointments that day had been canceled or postponed, with the doors and ground-floor windows all locked and bolted. Creech had even ordered the drawbridge over the castle’s moat pulled up, effectively sealing the place off.
Furthermore, Creech had instructed that someone stand guard outside Davy’s room at all times and accompany him at all times if he went anywhere else. Had it been up to Creech, he would’ve had someone standing guard in Davy’s room, but the young Englishman vehemently drew the line at that.
And even then, with his room being his only refuge and means of privacy, it was still too much. More than once that day, Davy had been driven to the point that he wanted to just scream in utter frustration, but just barely managed to compose himself.
Creech knew that Davy had become even more upset than he had been earlier, but insisted that this was for his own safety. Still, between the constant guards, the multiple food tasters, and the sheer sensation that the castle’s stone walls were all but closing in on him, Davy could not bring himself to appreciate it one iota.
Day turned to evening, and evening turned to night as Davy continued to pace his room like a caged cat. Creech looked in on him, inquiring as to what time he intended to turn in. Davy’s reply was unintelligible, but there was no mistaking the frustration in his voice. Creech was apologetic, but knew that words wouldn’t help.
It was after Creech left that Davy realized that if he was to keep his sanity, he would have to escape—get as far away from Hagglethorn Hall as possible. It would break Creech’s heart, he knew; the majordomo pretty much lived to serve and protect him. But Davy couldn’t take anymore of this.
The grandfather clock in the hall chimed eleven, and the sky outside was dark and moonless, dotted with stars that wouldn’t do much to cast any light below. Now would be the perfect time, while the sentries’ rounds were taking them to the other side of the castle.
Davy ran to his closet, grabbing an assortment of clothes, the leftovers from dinner, and a few pocketfuls of cash and stuffing them into a small bag. He also hastily placed a penlight into his pocket before pulling all of the sheets off of his bed and proceeding to tie them into a rope. Yes, it was a clichéd means of escape, but given his current situation, with the doors locked tight, it was his best bet for success. Hopefully, no one would notice the rope of sheets from the window until morning—and, by then, Davy hoped to be far away.
After testing the makeshift rope several times, Davy tied one end of it to one of the posts of his canopy bed and successfully clambered down until his feet hit the ground. He sighed, pleased at his success so far, but then realized he had another problem—getting past the moat somehow.
He stood there, looking around as he pondered before his eyes fell upon the stables and the grounds. Hugging the shadows of the castle, he crept towards the stables. Saph turned in his direction as he entered, nickering softly.
“Shh,” Davy instructed, petting the blue roan. “Saph, we’re getting out of here—you and me. We need to be quiet, and we also need to ford the moat.”
Saph seemed to understand, and was perfectly silent as Davy got on his back and slowly and quietly rode him out of the stables. The horse didn’t even make a sound as he trudged through the murky moat water.
“Good boy,” Davy whispered, patting him on the neck.
Once they had crossed the water, Davy urged the roan to move faster, not even looking back as they left Hagglethorn Hall behind them. Davy’s spirit was soon soaring again as it had in the morning, and he urged Saph into a gallop, feeling the welcome night air swirling around him as they charged ahead down the trail in the woods.
This is what I’m meant to be, he silently declared. Free.
His thoughts were eventually halted by the strangest sound he had ever heard, just barely audible over the sound of Saph’s hooves.
“What is that…?!” he asked aloud.
Saph slowed down to a stop, his attention turned towards the sound, as well. It sounded like the calls of a bird, but they were quite frantic.
“Never mind it, Saph,” Davy said. “It’s just a bird.”
But Saph did not continue; he attempted to head off of the trail, trying to slip through the trees towards the source of the sound.
“What are you doing?!” the boy chided the stallion. “We need to be far enough away by morning!”
But the horse, for the first time, was not listening to Davy; he pressed on towards the frantic bird calls, despite Davy’s loud protests.
It was then that Davy heard something else—a human voice… or it seemed to be a human voice, at any rate; Davy couldn’t tell, but it sounded as though the voice was muffled, as though gagged.
Davy now got off of Saph’s back as the trees grew thicker.
“Hello…?” he called, hesitating slightly as he moved forward. “Is anyone out there? Can you hear me?”
The bird calls stopped, leaving the unmistakable sounds of a human voice—indeed, the voice was garbled.
Davy pulled his penlight from his pocket, hoping vainly that the light would somehow catch whoever was out here.
“Where are you?” Davy asked. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
The muffled replies were getting louder; Davy was definitely heading in the right direction, but the tiny penlight beam couldn’t properly illuminate everything he needed to see. More than once, Davy walked headlong into a tree trunk. Biting back a curse each time it happened, he pressed onward.
The sounds were now quite loud—he must be close! But he still couldn’t see a thing in the darkness.
“Hello?” he called again.
Before he could receive the next garbled reply, Davy tripped over something, falling smack on his face—hitting something solid on the ground before turning over. This time, he did let out a quiet curse, for something had given him a small cut on his face.
And then he heard the muffled voice, right beside his ear—close enough to discern that whoever it was pleading for help. And for the briefest instant, Davy recalled the voices from his dream—for one of them sounded… exactly like this voice, albeit clear and not garbled.
Slowly, Davy reached a hand out. His fingers came into contact with hair and fabric—wool, was it? Yes, a wool hat. His heart in his throat, Davy aimed the penlight straight ahead, the narrow beam barely illuminating the face of a boy a few years older than him, framed in dark hair and a wool hat. But what horrified Davy was the look of fear and panic in the older boy’s eyes—to say nothing of the painful-looking thorn-filled vine covering the boy’s mouth. A quick sweep of the penlight revealed that the boy was completely wrapped up in similar vines, unable to move, and that a panicked bird—a fowl of some kind—was by his side.
There was something else Davy was feeling, too—an ache within him that grew the more he looked at that face. It was as though he knew this person, but that couldn’t be possible… could it?
“Just… just hold on,” Davy said. “I’ll get you out of this… somehow… I promise; I won’t leave you here.”
But things suddenly got worse. A far-off clock struck midnight, and, suddenly, the captive boy’s eyes widened in pain. The vines around him started writhing, and Davy realized, shocked, that they were getting tighter and tighter—forcing the older boy’s breaths to become more and shallower.
Davy gasped in horror, vainly trying to pull on the vines to stop them. It was a fruitless effort—Davy only succeeded in giving himself more cuts from the thorns, and the captive boy’s skin was getting noticeably paler.
The unfortunate captive let out a quiet, muffled sound—it sounded like an… apology. Davy’s eyes widened again; the other boy was losing his battle.
“Keep fighting it!” Davy ordered him, now trying to bite the vines with his teeth out of desperation. He could not let this paradoxically familiar stranger die—he could not! “You can’t give up now!”
But the captive’s eyes started to go out of focus—a sign that unconsciousness was rapidly closing in on him.
“No!” Davy cried, trying to pull the older boy up by his rapidly-slacking shoulders. “You have to keep fighting! You have to stay awake, or else the vines will get tighter! Come on, fight! Fight!”
Davy shook the older boy’s shoulders, and though the unfortunate captive tried his best to stay awake, it was also fruitless, and he slumped over against Davy, out cold, his borrowed time now even lesser than it was before.
And Davy couldn’t hold back a tear as he sunk into despair.
