"I don't get it, Ivan," one of the men said. "How did he find us? And why didn't he take our specimen?"
"Well, he couldn't have," Ivan replied, smugly. "You have the keys. The only set. But it doesn't matter why. Boris is returning soon, and the boss is coming, too. As long as we have our specimen, we won't have any problems. " Both men spoke with heavy Russian accents. Then, they headed out a door on the other side of the room, apparently to another room. Micky decided to get out of there before Boris and the boss returned. He crept slowly out from under the table and headed for the exit.
He saw the door and began to run. However, the tall, dark-haired Russian was returning now, and Micky ran straight into him. He felt a pain in his chest. Boris had been carrying a needle full of blood, and when Micky ran into him, the needle hit him straight in the heart. He cried out in pain and protested vigorously as the other two men came and carried him down the stairs. Actually, they dragged him by his legs. It was a painful process for Micky as his head banged against the floor.
"You can't do this to me, no!" he said, yelling and struggling as much as possible. "No!!" he screamed, as loudly as possible in hopes that Mike was still in hearing range. The men shoved another needle into him and he lost consciousness.
"Micky, you shouldn't have come," he said.
Micky was low on strength, the drugs hadn't worn off yet, but he mustered all his strength. "Peter...." he gasped. He couldn't say anymore than that.
"Oh, Micky, be quiet, you need your strength," he said. "I'll go into your mind and then you can tell me all you want." Micky shook his head.
"I..can't..read..minds.." he said. Peter just looked at him and smiled.
"Shh," he whispered. "Don't talk. Just relax, and close your eyes." Micky did so. Peter sat back and closed his eyes. Micky shivered as Peter entered his mind. It is an odd feeling, to have someone enter your mind, but not frightening. Micky laid there with his eyes closed. Then, he wasn't in the small, claustrophobia-inducing cage. He was back at our pad. He wasn't really, it was as if it was a dream.
Then he saw Peter, standing next to him. "Peter, how did we get here?" he asked.
"We aren't," Peter said. "I'm in your mind. This is more or less a dream. Physically, we're still back in the cage under the library."
"Oh, Peter, everyone was so worried....Why did they take you? And who are they? Are you all right?"
"Yes, Micky, I'm ok. You don't seem to be, though. What happened?" Quickly Micky told of what had happened and how he'd gotten there.
"But Peter, why did they take you?"
"I'm not sure. I think that they want to do some sort of experiment, or more than one, on me. Geez, Micky, you shouldn't have come. Now, you have my blood in you, and who knows what that means," Peter trailed off and looked at Micky. The consequences of what had happened to Micky were more than he wanted to think about at that moment. Then, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder that brought him back to reality. It was a sharp jump, and the shock of reality was like coming out of a bad trip. The tall dark man was standing in front of the cage. The pain that Peter had felt in his shoulder had been the man poking him with a stick. He turned and the man poked him again. There was another man behind him, who Peter had never seen before. He was dressed in a pinstripe suit.
"Yeah, that's the one, Boris," the man in the pinstripe suit said.
Peter gripped the bars. "What do you want me for?" he demanded. "I haven't done anything to you. Let me go."
"Ooh, and it talks, too," he said, ignoring Peter's question as if he spoke another language. "But what's with the other one?" he asked, poking Micky with the stick.
"Got smart and tried to rescue the other one. Couldn't let him get away and tell his friends, now could we?" Boris replied.
"No," the other one agreed. "We'll start the experiments on this one immediately."
Meanwhile, at home, I had no idea what was going on. Mike returned to the house. He ran through the door in the same manner in which he'd left, and burst through the door.
"Where's Micky?" he asked.
"I don't know," I said. "He ran out of here after you."
"After me? But I didn't see him," Mike said, confused.
"He must have followed you, without you seeing him," I said. "Why?"
"I have something to tell you both. Well, only you, I guess, since he's not here. I found Peter," he said, and went on to explain his dream and where he'd been the last half-hour.
"Mike," I said. "Do you think maybe Micky followed you there and was captured?" I asked, worried.
"Possible," he replied. "But I don't know. For all I know he didn't even follow me. Maybe he went for a walk or something." He wasn't convincing me. I saw the look of doubt in his eyes. He didn't convince himself, either. "But I'm more worried about Peter right now. He was just lying there, and I couldn't tell if he was still alive or not."
I silently closed my eyes ( how can you do that loudly?), and thought of Peter. I'd never tried to voluntarily do that before, but I had to try. After all, why would I have such a gift if I wasn't supposed to use it for something good? I relaxed and thought of Peter. After awhile I got an image in my head. Peter was lying in the exact way that Mike had described him. Nearby him was another figure. It was unidentifiable, but whoever it was appeared to be in pain. I could almost feel his pain. There was no noise. After a few seconds I observed Peter lift his head. I could almost feel the aliveness of him. Peter was concerned about the other person near him. Then, I heard someone call my name. I felt myself being shaken, and I opened my eyes.
"Davy! Davy?" Mike was staring back at me. I found myself lying on the ground, with Mike looking down at me. I felt a sharp pain run up my spine. It headed to my heart, and I felt another sharp pain there. I moaned in pain. "Are you all right?" Mike asked. He looked at me, concerned.
I blinked and looked at him. "I think so," I said, shakily. "What happened?" For some reason I was finding it difficult to talk. My throat suddenly burned with pain, and I discovered I was exhausted.
"I was hoping you could tell me," Mike said. "You were just standing there with your eyes closed when all of the sudden you just collapsed on the floor. Fainted, I supposed. What happened?"
"I was trying to get an image," I said, weakly. He looked at me confused. "I got one when I discovered Fiona had a twin. I thought maybe..." I stopped, too weak to continue.
"You should know better than to try that on your own," Mike said. "You could get hurt..." But his voice trailed off as I lost consciousness again.
Back under the library, Micky awoke. When Peter had been jolted out of Micky's head, Micky had fallen asleep. When he now awoke, Peter was nowhere to be seen. He sat up and looked around, confused for a second, and then remembered where he was. He grabbed the bars of the cage and stared into the room. It was very dark, and there was no sign of either Peter or any of the other guys. Micky began to feel rather stupid for getting himself into such a mess. After all, if he hadn't followed Mike, he wouldn't be there. He gripped the bars tighter and banged his head in frustration. He soon stopped, however, because his head hurt. Also, he felt the pain in his chest return. He sighed, laid back and looked around. The only light in the room was from the window directly over the cage, which was at ground level. Micky remembered he was underground. Outside the window, it was nightfall, and the post with butterflies on it was lit up. (It was also a streetlight) The cage he was in was in the northwestern corner of the room, a few feet off the floor, so that anyone looking in to the cage would be at eye level with whoever was inside. Along the wall opposite the cage were a few rickety wooden shelves which held bottles of potions, poisons, medicines, and a number of various other liquids. In the center of the room was a metal table, the one he'd hid under when he'd first arrived. And to his right was the door. Micky looked longingly at the door, but knew that it was impossible for him to use it at the moment. He sighed again, bored. The worst thing about sleeping during the day is that when night comes, you're awake. Micky was discovering this now. He got up on his knees (the cage was a few feet tall, tall enough to kneel in, but not to stand) and peered out the window. It, too, was closed and locked, not that there was much of a chance of getting out that way, either. Outside the window, there weren't many people, since it was nighttime, and the library was closed. He sat down again in the corner of the cage and put his head in his hands.
Just then, a door from one of the other walls opened and a few dark, shadowy figures came in. Micky wasn't sure, exactly, but there seemed to be two of them. They were carrying something. As they got closer to him, he saw that it was Peter. He leaned over, gripped the bars, and shouted at the top of his lungs:
"Peter!" he yelled, and stopped immediately, because his chest was beginning to hurt again. "What.....what are you doing to him?" he gasped, choking for air. One of the shadowy figures looked at the other one. Then he let go of Peter. The other man was now holding Peter by himself. The shadowy figure went to the cage and opened it. Micky just stared. What were they doing? He reached into the cage. Micky recognized his face but couldn't do much about it because a hand was shoved over his mouth and he was dragged out of the cage. Micky struggled, but the man was much stronger and bigger than he was and it was pointless. The man holding him nodded at the man holding Peter. Then, he threw Peter in the cage that Micky had been in, and locked the door. Micky could only watch. The taller man still had his hand over his mouth. He felt something cold on his wrist as the man snapped a shackle over it. He was led over to the wall and then felt the other wrist chained as well. The man let go of his mouth, and Micky took the opportunity to take a large gulp of air. Then, before he could do it again, a thick cloth was placed over his mouth, once again restricting not only his voice but also his breathing. He twisted around, and discovered that he was chained to the wall by his hands. He had even less hope of escaping now, he thought. Then, he remembered Peter, and looked over at the cage. The men were blocking his view, so he couldn't see Peter, but he could tell that they were sticking a lot of hypodermic needles and such into him. He wanted desperately for them to stop, but of course he couldn't do anything. He just stared and hoped that Peter was alright.
