Previously...

"Well, seems like it is our turn for goodbyes," Mike pointed out. The Monkees walked up to the Monkees, adjacent to their counterpart. "Thank you so much, all three of you. We could not have done this without you."

"Yeah, if you didn't help us, we would still be wandering around L.A, completely and utterly lost," Micky added.

"Well, your welfare is important to us," Peter pointed out. "Considering you become us, we had to help you. We didn't want any of you dyin' so that we couldn't exist."

"Fair," Mike smiled. "But thank you, anyways."

"Be careful," Micky said. "God only knows what is waiting for you inside that tent."

"We will," Mike assured them.

"And Davy," Peter added. "Don't go running off on them and drowning again."

Davy gave a shy chuckled. "I'll try not to, sir."

"Goodbye kids," Mike said.

"Goodbye," Davy said. He looked at each old man in turn. Their hearts were torn in half. They already lost one Davy, their Davy. Now it was time to lose another. They hid it well.

Each Monkee said their goodbye as they entered the tent. First Mike, then Micky, then Peter.

It was just Davy left. He turned to the old men once more. It pained him to see them this way. So old. So sad. So pained with the years on their shoulders. Davy gave them one last smile. "Goodbye mates," He said, as his older self did before him. "Goodbye." He too opened the tent flap, stepping inside the tent. When the flap closed, everything around him swirled into darkness. He felt himself slipping from consciousness. Fatigue overtook him. Then he was out like a light.

Chapter 1- Hard to Believe

With a yawn, the young Englishman awoke. His eyes peered up at the familiar ceiling above his bed. Rolling over, he saw the familiar bedroom he had been so accustomed to. In that room there were the three other beds, holding the three other men he had known so well. Davy smiled. They were finally home. Home sweet home. Davy cuddled his blankets and closed his eyes again, forgetting that they still had two more trials left to complete. Or at least he forgot until he heard Micky shouting from the doorway minutes later.

"Mike! Mike!" Micky screamed. Davy heard him run over to Mike's bed and yell at him some more.

"I'm tryin' to sleep, leave me alone," Mike mumbled, turning away from Micky.

"Mike, something's wrong with the pad! Or something's wrong with our bedroom!" Micky exclaimed.

"Micky, I'm sure it's fine," Mike mumbled again, desperately trying to go back to sleep.

"Mike, our bedroom is not in the pad," Micky tried to explain. "I opened the door and there was no pad! Just a hallway with another door across from our room. There's a set of stairs, but they're not our stairs! They're strait and carpet, not spiraly and metal!"

"Spiraly?" Mike asked, finally turning towards the drummer.

"I'm stressed out, give me a break," Micky said. "The rest of our house has disappeared."

Mike sighed, finally throwing off his covers and getting out of bed. Davy and Peter both did the same. The three followed Micky to the door, where he opened it to reveal a plain hallway with a door across from theirs, just as Micky has described. There was brown carpeting that traveled all the way down the stairs. Mike squeezed past and decided to open the door across from their room, revealing a modest bathroom. He dismissed it and went down the stairs, three paranoid Monkees following in his steps. When they reached the bottom, they found a velvet living room, its main theme brown. Two sofas pointed towards a cheap television, a coffee table sitting eloquently between them. An old lamp sat promptly near one sofa, while the other sofa sat in front of the window. Across the room there was the front door with a mirror and dresser next to it. When the boys turned the corner, they found the kitchen. Its theme was also brown. Very plain, but very clean. A sliding glass door presented itself in the kitchen, leading to the backyard, which had nothing except a tree and a high, wooden fence. The Monkees carefully explored the house, curiously touching things here and there. Davy had been the one daring enough to open the front door.

"Guys…" Davy called out to the others, "I don't think we're in California anymore."

The three Monkees raced to the front of the house to see what Davy was talking about. The sun was up, the sky was blue, and the houses on the street all looked exactly the same. Each house had a smaller fence containing the front yard, with a mailbox accompanying the front gate. The only thing that varied among the tan houses were the front yards and the people who moved about them. Across the street an old lady was tending to her rose bushes, a bright smile on her face. Next to their own yard, a man mowed his lawn, his face declaring he was less than happy to do the work. Some yards were overgrown with grass, others were trimmed and taken care of. Down the street a group of children ran, chasing after a ball. The ball bounced off the Monkees' mailbox and into their yard. The children all skidded to a halt outside their gate.

"Good morning Mr. Nesmith!" One of the boys yelled. "Can we have our ball back?"

All four Monkees were surprised at this. They knew their names? Well, they knew Mike's name, at least. Mike quietly left the house, walking over in his clothes from the 21st century, picking up the ball and tossing it to the children.

"Gee, thanks Mr. Nesmith!" Another boy called out.

"Mr. Nesmith? What will we be learning in class tomorrow?" A little girl asked. Mike's eyes widened at that one.

"What do you mean?" Mike couldn't help but ask.

"In science class tomorrow," The little girl explained. "What will we be doing in class tomorrow?"

"Uh…" Mike could hear the other three Monkees snicker behind him. "Physics?"

"Physics?" A boy asked. "But we just got done with photosynthesis! How does physics relate to photosynthesis?"

"I'll explain tomorrow," Mike told the children. "Go on and play now," He quickly turned and ran back in the house, shoving his bandmates inside and slamming the door shut.

"Oh boy Mike!" Micky laughed. "You're a teacher."

"I never asked to be one," Mike groaned. "What's going on?! Where are we?"

"I don't know," Davy mumbled.

"Well, wherever we are, we won't get anywhere looking like we're recovering from a hangover," Peter mentioned, motioning towards their dirty clothes. "We probably have some clothes upstairs."

"I call dibs on first shower!" Micky exclaimed, beginning his assent up the stairs.

Mike grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. "I don't think so, Shotgun. This is what you get for throwin' dirt at Peter and I while diggin' up Davy's grave. Peter or Davy, why don't one of you go first?"

Davy offered the shower to Peter and Peter left, disappearing up the stairs. Once Mike heard the door shut, he let go of Micky and dusted his hands off. "Now while he's doing that, let's see if we can find any clues as to what we're doing here."

"And how we can go home," Davy added.

"Exactly. The quicker we complete this trial, the quicker we can go home," Mike agreed.

"Maybe we should find out what the date is first," Micky suggested. "Because we already did the future, so all that's left is the past and the present."

At this point Davy was already digging through the dresser near the front door. From one drawer he pulled out a pocketbook calendar. "This book says its 1966," He held it up for his friends to see. He then opened it and flipped through the pages. "Sunday, July 10, to be exact."

"Awe, we missed the Fourth of July," Micky moaned.

"That doesn't matter," Mike shook his head. "Come on, let's see what else we can find."