It all started on a rainy night,when the wind was howling and lightning streaked the sky. Mike Nesmith, a member of a rock 'n' roll group called The Monkees, was taking a cruise out on the town. It was a horrible night to do so, he knew, but it was better than staying home alone.

It was during one of those lightning strikes that something caught his eye. He slammed of his breaks and pulled the car-dubbed the Monkee Mobile- over to the side of the road. Lightning striked again and the image became clearer. There was a girl sitting on the curb.

He opened the passenger side of the car and slid out awkwardly onto the sidewalk. "You okay?" He asked as he approached her. When he got closer he noticed she was viciously wiping her face. She had been crying.

She stood up from the curb and straightened the pleats of her skirt.

"I'm fine," she croaked.

"You need a lift?" He asked, indicating the car that was still running.

She shook her head and began walking away. The feeling he got in his stomach was not too pleasing.

"Hey!" He called out suddenly surprising himself "you can't go walking the streets alone at night."

His protective Texan spirit had kicked in. A girl was not suppose to be walking alone in the rain. Bad things could happen and he certainly didn't want that on his head. Without thinking, Mike quickly ran back to the car, pulled the keys out of the ignition and frantically sprinted after the girl.

"Hey, wait up!" Mike shouted. She turned her head and stared, watching him race to her side. He grabbed her arm and held on as he began panting.

"Sorry...but...you...shouldn't..." He didn't get to finish. He was too out of breath. When he had finally caught his breath enough to speak again he asked "What were ya doing out there?"

He looked her right in the face and when he did she looked straight at the ground. She shrugged her shoulders, but allowed him to drag her back to the car and drive her away toward the pad.

"What's your name?" He asked, his Texas accent a little over exaggerated.

"Mary," she replied quietly.

Mike almost thought he heard a boonies drawl, but decided to ignore it as he asked his next question.

"Where you from? Don't quite sound like from around here."

Mary nodded her head in agreement and replied "You don't sound like your from around here either."

She definitely had a boonies drawl.

"But,"she added shyly, "I'm from Missouri."

The way Mary talked almost reminded him of his friend and band mate Peter. Shy, and nieve.

When they had finally reached the pad, he noticed that he rain had stopped. He also noticed that the lights were on inside the apartment. Someone must be home.

They both got out of the car and he lead her to the door. Now that they were finally in the light he could see that she had short light brown hair-the same shade as Peter's-and thick squarish glasses.

"Anybody home?" He called as he took off his green wool hat.

"Up here," he heard a muffled voice say. It sounded like Micky.

Suddenly remembering the short female companion trailing close behind, he turned around and said "Why don't you take off your jacket and make yourself comfortable."

Mary nodded and did just as he said. The only thing was she didn't look comfortable. He decided to ignore that fact for a moment.

" 'scuse me, be right back," he said as he quickly climbed the spiral staircase to the room he shared with his friend Micky.

"Micky you in there?" He called as he entered the room.

"Mhmm" he heard someone muffle.

At closer inspection he noticed that there were clothes strewn all over and that the closet had eaten half of Micky.

"What are you doing!?" Mike exclaimed.

Micky's head popped out of the closet.

"Sorry Mike, I was looking for a potion book. I can't find it."

"Cool it boy, we have other matters to tend to," the Texan replied to that.

Micky cocked his head in question and stood up.

"What are you talking about?" asked the tousled haired brunette.

"There is a girl in the living room" the Texan replied suddenly realizing how embarrassing the situation was.

"So..." Micky said pushing on for more detail.

Mike didn't know what to say. It puzzled him what he had done.

"Why is she here?" asked Micky breaking Mike out of his daze.

"Oh yeah, that. Well ya see she was sitting in the rain and it was lightnin' and she was crying and I couldn't leave her ya see," Mike rambled.

Micky smiled and punched him lightheartedly in the shoulder. "You're becoming more like Davy each day."

Mike scowled at what he said and lead Micky down the steps to the awaiting girl.

"Mary," said Mike as he cleared his throat, "this is Micky."

Micky took a firm hold of her hand and shook it real hard.

"Pleasure to meet you!" Micky said goofily

She nodded. "Nice to meet you too. Neat place you have here."

"Well, it's all we can afford," Micky grinned, obviously joying the company of the girl. "We don't get paid much. It's hard being a rock 'n roll band in the 1960's"

Just as he said that Mike noticed Mary's face becoming pale. "Th-the 1960's?" she stammered.

"Yeah, it is the decade we're living in," Micky replied jovially, not noticing Mary's discomfort.

"I've got to go," Mary replied quickly as she grabbed her jacket from the back of one the kitchen chairs.

"But you just got here," Mike exclaimed. "It's dark and cold and wet out there. It's not safe."

"I've got to go," she repeated as she quickly walked towards the door.

Before she could reach the door knob, Micky got in front of the door, blocking her way.

"Let me out," she began to cry.

"We're not trying' ta hurt yah. I just found you sitting on a curb. You got anywhere to stay?" Mike asked.

Mary shook her head. She looked like she was almost on the verge of tears.

"The rain isn't an invitin' place." Mike put his hand on Mary's shoulder. There was something odd about her. He couldn't put his finger on it though.

"You can stay here if you don't mind the couch. We don't bite." Micky backed away from the door jabbed her in the side.

Mary nodded, although she didn't seem too sure

Mike had an uneasy feeling about her. He could tell that trouble was just ahead.