Before (or after if you really feel like it) reading this third installment of the Dream World Trilogy, I recommend reading Echoes of a Dream, written by myself and Lisa Boon, which can be found in the list of My Stories. Lisa Boon has granted me permission to pull elements from that story. Thank you for your support and reviews thus far in the Dream World Trilogy. Happy reading!

Previously...

"There we are!" She beamed. "That should do it. Now when you go through this door, you will be taken to the next trial. After I enter, of course. But before I do, there are some things I must warn you about before you go in head first to this last trial."

Mrs. Gray took a moment to straighten her dress and fix her glasses. "First, don't let this all go to your head. Knowing you four, you're going to want to rush through it, trying all sorts of crazy things to figure out what "terrible" decision you have to make. Don't do that. Let the decision come to you."

"How will we know when we have made it, or have to make it?" Micky asked.

"Trust me, you'll know. I know you're all smart enough to figure it out. Now second, you each have to make a decision yourself, it is not collective. Some of you might be in the trial longer than others, and that's okay. Take your time, I beg of you."

"How will we know when we've completed the trial then?" Davy asked.

"Again, I trust you will figure it out on your own," Mrs. Gray said. "And finally, don't give up on each other. It may be tempting at times, but you four are fine musicians and to see you break up would be tragic. You can make it work, I know you can."

"Thanks Mrs. Gray," Mike said.

"We sure appreciate all you did to help us," Peter said as she opened the door.

"It's my pleasure, Peter," Mrs. Gray said. "I am a huge fan, after all. My grandkids got me hooked." She laughed a little before entering through the doorway, disappearing into a shadow of darkness. The Monkees looked on in awe before Mike stepped forward.

"Well, here goes nothing…" He stepped through the door, disappearing as Mrs. Gray did. Micky and Peter followed suit. Davy turned, taking one last look at the lit up house he had lived in for a while now, smiling before stepping through the door, his consciousness fading and darkness bringing him to rest. He would never have to relive another Pleasant Valley Sunday ever again.

Chapter 1- The Cemetery

A light gust of wind blew over Davy's nose, waking him from his trial coma. He carefully opened his eyes, blinding himself with the bright, blue sky. When they adjusted, Davy opened his eyes to see large, colorful trees. It took all his efforts to keep his thoughts in order, reviewing what he had been told about this trial. "We're in the past," Davy thought, admiring the red and orange leaves above him. "It looks like it's autumn. I wonder where we are. I wonder when we are." Davy sat up, finding his eyes falling upon a busy street just some feet away, beyond the tombstones. "It looks like we're quite far back. Some forty to fifty years, maybe." He saw a dozens of people walking along the sidewalks, some interacting with others, some going on and minding their business. Their attire was definitely something from the early twentieth century, Davy just couldn't quite place when. Model Ts, Oldsmobiles, and other types of cars zoomed past the citizens on the sidewalk, dating the scenery even more. Davy felt disoriented, darkened. He felt like he had been staring into one of his grandfather's photo albums.

Davy got up on his feet, stretching. He looked down to find the book sitting next to where he was laying, leaning against a tombstone just above Mike's head. As he made to move the book from its resting place, he heard a groan come from the collection of men at the tombstone's base. He saw Mike's eyes open, he himself rolling over, accidentally hitting Peter in the process. That, of course, woke Peter up. The two sat up, and when they saw Davy was awake but Micky was not, Mike groggily shook Micky awake, much to the drummer's dismay.

"Five more minutes Mike, please," Micky moaned, rolling away from them.

"Micky we don't have five more minutes," Mike reasoned, getting a good look at the colorful, yet unsettling graveyard before them. "If I give you five more minutes someone might come along and bury ya."

"Bury me? What in the world are you-" Micky sat up, finally seeing their surroundings. "Oh," He corrected himself. "Yeah, you're right, we should probably leave then."

"When do you think we are?" Peter asked, standing and stretching.

"Uh," Davy said, looking at the tombstone that the three Monkees had just woken up in front of. "Either 1917 or later."

"What makes you say-" Mike began, turning and looking at the tombstone himself. At the sight of those words, his heart dropped. He knew right away who was buried here. Behind him he could hear Davy flipping pages in his book to confirm his suspicions, but Mike already knew it was who they thought it was. He wasn't sure how, but he knew.

Jacob Leroy Nelson

Born. Sept. 15

1892

Died Dec. 30

1917

"You alright Mike?" Peter asked.

Mike didn't answer at first, admiring every last detail of the gravestone. He never actually met the man in person, obviously. He knew Jacob in spirit, though. They had talked, a few times. Not much, though. That did not mean he knew nothing about the man. Mike did live Jacob Nelson's life for a couple days. They were both ill with the same affliction and fate switch their bodies, Jacob dealing with the Monkees and Mike dealing with the Nelson family. Mike's stomach turned over inside him, the pain and heat from those days flooding his memory.

He remembered young Arthur Dolenz, the man who believed him beyond all others. Arthur Dolenz, who would connect Mike to his friends through the art of writing and publishing, saving his life.

He remembered Elizabeth Nelson, the wife who cheated on poor Jacob when he was at his weakest. The wife who betrayed her family for lust, whether or not that was her intention.

He remembered her lover, Victor. The man whose familiar charm and good looks won over Jacob's wife and convinced her to move away to England after Jacob's delirious illness took him over. The man who claimed he could easily take Jacob's job as husband and father after he died.

Most of all he remembered Mary, Jacob's daughter. Sweet, innocent Mary, who treated him so well in her father's dying hours. The little girl who was absorbed in her father's attention and care. The little girl who made Mike feel like a father, even though he was ill. He kept the idea of Mary close to his heart. She adored him and he adored her, even if she wasn't Mike's child.

"That must mean we're in Texas, then," Micky reasoned, breaking Mike from his flashbacks.

"Fox Valley, Texas," Mike said, his eyes not tearing from the tombstone. "I grew up here."

"Hey maybe we'll get to meet some of your relatives!" Micky said, giving Mike a cheerful slap on the shoulder.

"How do you know we're in Fox Valley?" Peter asked.

"Arthur told me they lived in Fox Valley when I was in Jacob's body. I grew up here and thought it was ironic. It makes sense for him to be buried here."

"He's right," Davy said, pointing at the page he was opened to. "Says here that according to Arthur's afterward, they moved to Fox Valley after Elizabeth and Victor died in a car crash in England. It was after they moved back that Mary began visiting Jacob's grave and Arthur told Mary about Mike."

"So they might come by today?" Peter asked.

"Or we missed them," Micky added.

"Or they could be dead already," Mike said dolefully. "Mary and her husband died in…"

"1929, according to this," Davy said.

"Exactly," Mike said. "They could be dead already."

"But you know what Mike?" Davy said, slamming his book shut. "No matter what year it is, we know it's prior to 1966. Which means-"

"'67, Davy," Peter corrected.

"What?"

"Jacob and Mike switched in 1967," Peter stated matter-of-factly."

"But it's 1966, isn't it? Or we started in '66, right?" Davy asked, concerned and confused.

"That doesn't matter," Mike waved it off. "But Davy's right. We know Arthur's alive, so he is our best chance to get through this trial. We need to find him." Mike finally pulled his gaze from Jacob's grave and back towards his band mates. "Micky and Davy, you two should go out into the city and see if you can find Arthur. Peter and I will stay here in case he comes by with Mary. Whether you find him or not, come back here to the graveyard and we'll come up with a plan from there."

"Why are you not going and looking for Arthur?" Micky asked. "You know what he looks like the best, Mike."

"Yes Micky," Mike put a hand on Micky's shoulder. "But he looks exactly like you, so it shouldn't be that hard. Besides, with you going, you're the proof that you're Micky Dolenz and Davy Jones of the Monkees. I'm staying here because if by chance Mary is alive, I can convince her that I'm Mike and hopefully she will help us, too. Trust me, this is going to work out just fine."

"If you say so, Mike," Micky said, his face concerned. "Come on Davy, let's go."

"Here Mike, want the book?" Davy asked, holding the book out to him. "Maybe you can use it to help convince Mary."

Mike took the book from Davy, sliding it under his arm. "Thanks Davy."

Micky and Davy walked away from the grave, leaving Mike and Peter to themselves.

"Are you sure about this, Mike?" Peter asked.

Mike shrugged, turning back to Jacob's grave, kneeling down and running a hand along the stone. "No, I could be completely wrong about all of this. They're our best shot, though. We're in a strange place at a strange time. We look out of place as it is. I'm just praying they believe us."

"Me too, Mike," Peter sighed. "Me too."