Chapter 6

by Lucky Lady Bug
Rated PG

As Davy and Micky continued to wander down the hall, they suddenly met up with Helena coming from the opposite side. Immediately the British Monkee perked up and went to her, while Micky watched in despair.

"Helena! Where have you been?!" Davy exclaimed, taking her hands in his.

"We've been worried. Haven't we, Micky?" He looked pointedly at his friend, who groaned inwardly but tried to smile.

"Yeah, sure," Micky said weakly. "Worried, yeah." And he had been concerned, but not for Helena's safety. His fear was that she had left to consult with her father and to set a trap, but he knew that it would not do any good to tell Davy of his suspicions. Davy was angry enough right now as it was.

Helena put her arms around Davy's shoulders, smirking at Micky as she did. She knew that he was helpless against Davy's weakness, and she was taking great pride in that fact. "You must have taken a wrong turn," she purred softly. "I've been looking everywhere for you! I was afraid that you had both been captured and that you were both in Father's lab!" She paused and then continued cleverly. "I saw Tony again. He looked nearly dead. He told me to leave him and find you and the others. I didn't want to, of course, but he insisted. I know where my father is keeping Mike and Peter, and we must get to them right now!"

Micky and Davy exchanged a worried look. Perhaps it was true that she had ran into Tony, but Micky wondered if she had actually left him as she had found him. It would not surprise him if she had finished him off, but on the other hand, she could be lying about the whole thing and hoping to get the two Monkees worried about their friends' conditions if Tony was "nearly dead." Micky was torn on what to believe. At last he looked over at her. "Where did you see him?" he asked.

Helena blinked, looking confused by the question. "Why...he was trying to maneuver his way down the hall, but he had stopped near a window," she replied after a moment's thought.

"Ah ha," Micky nodded to Davy, while Davy frowned at him. "And how long ago was this?"

"I can't keep track of the time in here," Helena retorted. "I don't have a watch."

"If you had to guess, then," Micky persisted.

"Oh, come on, Micky! Leave her alone!" Davy said in exasperation. "She doesn't remember, and what does it really matter?"

"It matters a lot!" Micky muttered, and then looked expectantly back at Helena. "Well?"

Helena threw up her hands in frustration. "Alright, if I had to guess, it would have been thirty minutes ago," she replied at last.

Micky nodded triumphantly. "Well, then I have to say that your story is a complete lie," he declared firmly and matter-of-factly. "Davy does have a watch, and I happened to look at it when he and I found Tony. And that was..." He glanced quickly at the watch again. "About twenty minutes ago," he declared then with a smile of satisfaction. "Tony was nowhere near a window at that time, and he was much too hurt to have just recently got where we found him. He had been there for a long time. And in any case, he didn't mention meeting you at all."

"Now wait just a minute!" Davy exclaimed while Helena stared at Micky in feigned outrage. "That doesn't prove anything! Helena could have been mistaken about the time, and why would Tony necessarily tell us if he'd spoken to her?" He rolled his eyes. "I really can't believe this, Micky!"

"Well, I can't believe it either!" Micky retorted hotly. "You're usually a really intelligent guy, Davy, but when it comes to stuff like this you get all caught up in how pretty the girl is and you make all kinds of excuses for her!" He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "This is ridiculous! What's it going to take to convince you that Helena isn't on our side?!"

"A lot more than this, I'll tell you that!" Davy said indignantly as he went over to Helena and put his arm around her waist. "I'm sorry about this," he said softly to her. "Micky's kinda paranoid about the whole matter."

"That's alright," Helena replied as they walked off ahead. Upset, Micky followed after them, afraid that it was all hopeless.

****

In the meantime, Baby Face and Tony were being forced to gather up everything that could be used as weapons. The howling was getting louder and it was certain that they were about to be attacked by a wolf or some other such creature.

"Here!" Baby Face yelled, throwing an axe from a suit of armor at Tony. The Brooklyn man caught it, bracing himself against the weight, and barely managed to duck as a furry, clawed body sprang overhead.

"Look out!" Tony cried to Baby Face, lunging with the axe.

Baby Face whirled, but not quickly enough to stop the wolf from pinning him down to the floor. He cursed, feeling the beast's hot breath on his flesh, and struggled to bring the torch he had found up to the creature's muzzle. The wolf snapped, trying to bite him, and Baby Face jabbed the flames at it in the same moment that Tony attacked with the axe. The beast yelped, backing away into the corner as it nursed its wounds. Angrily it surveyed the two men and tried to determine which one to attack. At last it ran at Tony, who again slashed with the axe and forced it back.

A second wolf suddenly appeared, attacking from behind and sending Tony to the floor. He yelled in pain and surprise, feeling the claws pressing into his back and the harsh coldness of the stone floor against his face and hands. The first wolf was rushing at him too, and though he tried desperately to get up, he could not due to the weight of the other animal. "Baby Face!" he screamed, wondering if he was being deserted. It would not especially be shocking to him if the crime lord decided to flee while the wolves were occupied with his ally. It would be the perfect opportunity.

But then he heard the wolves yipping and howling in agony. When he tried to look up, he saw the first wolf rolling on the stone floor in flames. Then he heard the sound of the axe slamming into the second creature. It fell to the floor and Tony forced himself to his knees, breathing heavily. "I thought maybe you were running out on me," he remarked, seeing Baby Face standing in front of him with the axe.

Baby Face grunted. "I'm not that dishonorable," he retorted. "If I still wanted you dead, I wouldn't have suggested that we work together again." He held out his hand, and after a short hesitation Tony accepted and managed to get up. Baby Face nodded in approval and turned to disappear down the corridor. "Come on."

Tony looked to the wolves, checking to see if they were dead. To his astonishment, where they had fallen were now two human corpses. He stared in disbelief, feeling disturbed, and he heard Baby Face curse quietly at his side.

"Are you hurt?" he growled then. "They didn't bite you, did they?"

"No. I'm fine." Tony continued to gawk at the bodies as he spoke. "You?"

"Same. But let's get out of this madhouse," the hazel-eyed man exclaimed, "or we'll probably end up like them!" Tony did not need further coaxing.

****

Peter and Mike, meanwhile, were still in the laboratory. Peter was still talking to Mike, trying desperately to get him to completely break the control of the drug before the hallucinations started, and Mugsy was writhing on the floor in anguish from a different drug—one that Marcovich had stuck him with during the time when he had been threatening the doctor. Mendoza had left several minutes earlier to look for the other Monkees.

"What are you doing to him?!" Peter cried in alarm as he looked over at the gangster. He was aghast at the treatment they were all suffering, and even though Mugsy had been an enemy, Peter did not want to see him in torment, either. "Please stop!"

"Stop?" Marcovich cackled. "I can't stop it! The drug has already taken affect. He is going through the most excruciating torture—and yet it is only in his mind! Isn't it fascinating, that we can stimulate the brain in such a way as to make a person believe he is physically being tormented?" He clapped his hands in delight.

"Fascinating?!" Peter screamed. "It's abominable!" Then he cried out in alarm as Mike lunged at him again. "Mike, no! Please...please don't do this!" He dodged, barely avoiding a swipe from the scalpel. Mike's eyes were blank again, and Peter felt horrified to know that he himself had been like that only a few short hours earlier. "Mike! You have to remember who you are, and who I am, and what's happening!" he begged now, running around to the other side of the instrument table. "I don't want to have to hurt you to make you stop!"

Again, through the haze, Mike could hear Peter's voice. It was very vague and indistinct, but he tried desperately to concentrate on it. He was aware that he was holding some sort of a sharp weapon, and that he was chasing someone with it, but he was definitely not aware that it was his friend Peter whom he was threatening. He could only see a mass of confused colors and shapes, some of which moved and others which stayed in place but still changed. It was making him dizzy, and he wanted it all to stop and fade to blackness. Frantically he lashed out at the moving colors, trying in vain to get them to hold still. Then he heard the voice again, and he could understand what it was saying.

"Michael! It's me, Peter! You don't want to hurt me, Michael. I know you don't!"

And Mike breathed heavily, coming to an abrupt halt. Peter was somewhere in front of him, and if he was not careful, he would end up injuring his friend. Still gripping the scalpel in his hand, he changed direction and slashed at something else instead. Then his eyes widened in confusion as he realized that he himself was in pain. The weapon clattered to the floor as he gripped at his wrist.

"Mike!!" In horror Peter ran over to the Texan, watching as the blood dripped from between his fingers and to the floor. Quickly he pried Mike's hand away, examining the self-inflicted wound, and then sighed in relief when he concluded that at least the vein had not been cut. He tore off part of his shirt to wrap around Mike's wrist as a temporary bandage, and elevated his arm.

All the while his thoughts were racing. Mike had suddenly injured himself without knowing what he was doing—or had he? The thought alarmed Peter, but he had to wonder if Mike had done what he had because he had decided that the only way to protect his friends from his confusion was to injure or even kill himself. But then he bit his lip and pushed the thought away. No, that was not true! It had only been an accident. Mike was strong-willed, and he would not give up so soon. None of them would.

Marcovich was so intent on watching the two Monkees that he never noticed Mugsy struggling to get up and come towards him. When the mobster delivered a knockout punch, Marcovich did not have any time to react. He slumped to the floor.

Mugsy turned to look at Peter, who had looked over in shock at the loud sound of the punch. "Mike's not going to come out of that for a while," he said grimly. "We need to get out of here."

"I thought you were suffering under some other drug!" Peter exclaimed, his eyes wide.

Mugsy gripped the edge of the instrument table. "I am," he gasped, "but its effects seem to come and go. These doctors have been developing all kinds of new drugs that they've been illegally using." He looked toward the door. "Mendoza might come back any minute."

"But what if Mike won't come?" Peter cried worriedly.

"Push him, drag him, do anything you have to, to get him to move," Mugsy retorted, stumbling out the door. He, frankly, did not know how he would manage to travel very far in his condition, but he knew he had to try. And they still had to find Harry, too. They had tried, after they had first escaped from the room where they had been being held, but their attempts had been unsuccessful.

Peter swallowed hard, grabbing Mike's shoulders. "Come on, Mike," he said quietly. "We have to go now, while we still can." To his relief, the other Monkee began to walk toward the door. Peter walked with him, knowing that he would have to keep an eye on him at all times to make certain that he did not wander off or else try to injure someone else or even himself again. He hoped that Davy and Micky were not having as much trouble.

****

As it turned out, the other Monkees were just in the process of getting into trouble. Helena was leading them down a darkened hallway, which she assured them would lead to where Mike and Peter were, but Micky had his suspicions. He was trying to stay on his guard, in case they were walking right into a trap, but he was afraid that any moment a panel would open in the floor and he would fall through, or something hard would strike him on the head, or something else would happen that would result in him not being able to do anything about the situation.

And then, without warning, all the rest of the lights went out. It had not been very light in the corridor anyway, but there had been several torches affixed to the walls—and without warning, they had all seemed to go out at once.

Davy cried out in surprise. "Hey! What happened to the lights?" he burst out, trying to feel his way around and to find Micky and Helena. Instead he grasped at only air and his voice echoed emptily through the hall. He had the terribly eerie feeling that he was suddenly all alone.

Micky was experiencing something similar. Once the torches had been blown out, he had called for Davy without luck. At first he had wondered if the British Monkee was deliberately ignoring him, but then he came to the conclusion that this was not the case and that Davy simply did not hear him.

"Ohh...this is awful!" the hazel-eyed Monkee cried in despair, running his hands through his hair. "There's no telling what's happening to Davy, or any of the others!" He swallowed hard. "And there's no telling what'll happen to me now!" Desperately he searched his pockets, hoping to find a flashlight, or a penlight, or anything he could use to shine around—but there was nothing. And what was more, he could hear footsteps coming toward him.

"Davy?" he called shakily. "Mike? Pete?" He pressed himself against a nearby wall. "Baby Face?"

A hand fell on his shoulder. "You're not going to get out of here anytime soon," a vaguely familiar voice told him grimly. "Where's here?!" Micky demanded instantly. "Davy was just here a minute ago!"

"That was more than a minute ago," came the response. "Now you're in the holding area."

Micky was aghast. "Huh?!" he cried. "You're not making sense! We were just there in the hallway and the lights went out! Then there wasn't anyone there!"

"You were knocked out, only you don't remember it. When you woke up in here, you thought that no time had passed at all." There was a sigh. "It happened to me earlier."

"Okay. So you're a prisoner here too?" Micky said slowly, still trying to digest everything that he was being told. It sounded so ridiculous and unreal!

"That's right. I'm Harry."

Micky was silent for a moment as he registered the name. "Harry... Oh yeah...You're that quiet guy from Baby Face's mob," he remembered. "Where's Davy?"

"Probably in one of the other rooms. There's a lot of them back here."

Micky glowered into the darkness. "Well, that's just great! And I bet Helena was behind it all, too!" he said bitterly.

Then he tensed, hearing a door open nearby. His bad feeling only increased when he heard Doctor Mendoza's voice.