A/N: The mystery goes on! Here's another morning, and nothing's gonna be the same. Let's see what goes and how it goes. Tell me what and how if anything's not like it should be.

Chapter 4. The terrible morning.

When Mike finally woke up, it was grey outside. He sat up on his bed and winced – he had a terrible headache and he already knew he wouldn't get rid of it next at least three hours – and after that it would just disappear by itself. Mike fell back on the bed – the pain pounded in his head with one bright red flash and then started its pulsing fading to stay somewhere in the bottom of Mike's skull.

Mike didn't remember how he had got back upstairs and in bed, he just found himself under the blanket trembling with absolutely animal fear. He didn't sleep normally that night. He dreamt about the two cold diabolic stars on the face he knew so well and woke up with a gasp, and fell back on the pillow to fall asleep again – and the two stars came again, even closer, they were so bright, silver and blue, not like the stars that shine from the sky seen from the Earth, no, they were so cold and evil – and Mike woke up again, groaning, and his cheeks were wet, and he hid his head under the pillow and fell asleep again just to see the two stars even closer. It was so endless and scary – and finally that unbearable night ended. And although the morning had finally come and tomorrows usually brought release, Mike couldn't stop thinking of what had happened. It didn't feel like a terrible nightmare, no, it all was so real and even more terrifying because of it.

Feeling unable to stay in that bed with the tangled sheet soaked with his sweat and unwilling to fall asleep again, Mike sat up and put his feet on the cold floor. This finally woke him up. Mike's glance fell on Micky. Gosh, this man slept so peacefully, Mike would give his right arm to sleep like this! He sighed and buried his face in his hands. It was unbearable. Everything was – just – unbearable…

Mike got dressed and went downstairs, where he headed right to the fridge where – he knew – they kept a secret supply of beer to be used on special occasions. It usually was another time they got money or another time they stayed penniless. Now it was neither one nor other case, but Mike couldn't help but drink something to make life easier.

It didn't help. Didn't help at all, it neither brought ease nor just made him feel even worse to – at least – want to go to bed. Mike groaned and fell in the armchair to just cover his face with his hands not to see anybody. He wanted to die so nobody would bother him, especially this headache that filled his poor skull…

- Mike?

- M? – Mike moaned, not even managing to raise his head.

Micky must've sat on the arm of the chair. He put his hand on Mike's shoulder.

- What's wrong? You okay?

- M-m, - Mike shook his head. No, he wasn't okay. At all.

- Mike.

- M?

- As I'm a man, not a cow, you could speak a few words to me, not just moan. At least look at me. You sit here as if somebody died.

Mike raised his head and glanced at Micky. His face must've looked bitter because Micky specified:

- Anybody did?

- I did, I think, - Mike answered, sounding like dead without even trying.

- No, seriously, Mike! What happened?

Mike grinned.

- Seriously… who'd say!

- I would.

Mike sighed and glanced at the wall on his right. For a moment he doubted, but then turned his head to Micky and explained:

- A headache. Such a terrible night, God… didn't sleep at all.

He wiped his face with his hands as if it was wet and he was washing it.

- And that's all?

He nodded. Micky seemed a little relieved.

- Oh, then it's okay. It happens. Why don'tcha take something and just go to bed?

- It will… be gone by itself soon, - Mike said quickly, glancing at the clock. – Yes, soon. Don't worry. I'm such an arse when I've got a headache, - he said with sudden sincerity.

- Oh it's okay, you're always like that, - Micky threw over his shoulder heading to the bathroom.

Peter woke up soon, he came out of his and Davy's bedroom yawning.

- Good morn.

- Yes, terrible, - Mike dropped with a sigh.

- What's wrong?

- Never mind…

Oh, how gladly he would tell them right now! But something stopped him, something inside him made him just complain and never reveal, something told him it all was only between him and Davy…

- As you wish. Davy won't come out for breakfast.

- Why so? – Mike raised his head.

- He's got a terrible headache, you know, - Peter shrugged. – Says he feels terrible and exhausted, as if he didn't even sleep. But not hungry. I think he's ill, but he wouldn't let me check. Maybe you go ask him?

"Ahha! I'll find my boots and run immediately!" - Mike thought inside. But he forced his face to look calm. He nodded and said:

- Well, okay. I think it's a good idea.

And he rose and went to see Davy.

Davy was lying on his bed staring out of the window, when Mike went in, his heart jumping in his throat. The little one looked at him and smiled weakly.

- Hey Mike. Won't say good morning, it's not that good.

- Not that good to me either, - Mike mumbled approaching the bed. – How are you?

- Terrible, - Davy confessed with a sigh. – It feels like something eats my brain from inside. You look blue, what's wrong with you?

- Just the same, - Mike answered as he sat down on the bed near Davy and leaned over him. A sudden worry appeared in Davy's eyes as he watched Mike.

- Hey, man, what're you doing? – he asked, uptight.

And at that very moment Mike grabbed his shoulders and hissed:

- Now you tell me what've you been doing all night long? What was all that eye stuff about, tell me right now! And don't pretend you don't know anything!

He shook Davy and the little one shrank in his hands.

- Mike, oh, please… what in the world are you talking about? What eye stuff? I was sleeping all night, I promise, no, I swear!

- You swear, aha, - Mike hissed. He shook Davy even harder: - Then what the hell did I see tonight? What the heck was it, what? What were you doing in the bathroom? What were you washing off?

- Mike!

Davy looked at him, so little and scared, that for a moment Mike doubted. Davy held his hands out, palms to Mike, turning away, like a little animal in the predator's claws. Mike looked at his hands and he saw something that made him start with a gasp, back to the door with trembling knees and then run out of the room and away from the pad. And only on the beach, when Mike fell on the cold sand under the silver skies hardly breathing, he knew perfectly well that he saw blood under Davy's nails…