Peter now gripped Micky's shoulders, trying to provide what little comfort he could for him—which wasn't much, seeing as though he had been thrown out into the streets along with Micky.

Micky couldn't say a thing—not that he had a chance to; the ringmaster wasn't done berating him.

"…A no-talent little brat who's only good for looking after an elephant—that's what you are!" he ranted. "You've been nothing but a lead weight to my circus! Well, now you're going to be sinking alone!"

"Not alone," Peter said, fiercely. "I'll stick by him!"

"Well, you're the perfect companion for him, then—empty-headed and just as useless!"

That did it; that snapped Micky out of his horrified silence.

"You can insult me all you want, but you leave Peter alone!" he snapped back, angrily.

"I'll be leaving the both of you alone," the ringmaster promised. "I've been wanting to wash my hands of you for a long time now!"

He dragged a half-opened steamer trunk from the side of the room and unceremoniously threw it at his feet; all of Micky's worldly possessions—not much, of course—had been carelessly stuffed inside and now spilled all over the floor.

Micky cringed, but stood firm as he and Peter both glared back at the ringmaster.

"You know what, Micky?" the blond said. "I think you're better off not working for that creep."

"I think you're right," Micky agreed. Idly, he wondered why so many people seemed to dismiss Peter as empty-headed. When it counted, Peter knew exactly the right thing to say, and, within the last several hours, it had counted a lot.

Davy and Mike stood to the side with Creech, silently watching the unfolding spectacle. Davy had just been feeling so sorry for Micky when he took notice of how one of the shirts that had spilled on the floor had the cuff of one of the sleeves missing.

The English boy's eyes widened, recalling how he had woken up the morning before last (had it really only been such a short time ago?) with a detached sleeve cuff in his hand. But how had he ended up with Micky's sleeve cuff?

He bit his lip as he mulled this over in his mind.

Was I wrong? Was he really the intruder, and we had been in a struggle the night before—and he had returned tonight to finish the job?

But Davy's heart responded against his mind with a resounding No. There had to be a reason why he had Micky's sleeve cuff, but no matter what it was, Micky was innocent. And now he—and Peter—needed help.

And Davy was the one who could give it to them.

He sighed, stepping forward as the ringmaster continued to have a silent glaring match with Micky and Peter. The ringmaster sneered at Davy and backed off, leaving, and Micky and Peter now turned their attention to the English boy and the Texan, who had followed behind Davy.

"Look…" Davy said. "I'm really sorry about this. I know you're innocent; if I'd known that you were going to lose your job, I wouldn't have… Well…"

Micky managed a smile, but it was, in reality, forced; there was too much on his mind to give a genuine smile.

"Hey, it's okay. Whoever that creep was who stole my face and your gold and threatened you, you had every right to try to bring him to justice. I just got caught up in it, unfortunately."

"Well, all the same, I feel that I'm responsible for the two of you being out of a job," Davy said.

"Oh, don't feel that way!" Peter said. "It's like you said; you couldn't have known that nasty guy was going to fire us. I'll bet he would've done it sooner if he'd only had an excuse to do it."

"You're right about that…" Micky said. "He's been giving me the evil eye for as long as I can remember—browbeating me and trying to get me to quit that way, or just waiting for me to mess up…"

"But you two both need a job now—and a place to stay, don't you?" Davy asked.

Micky and Peter exchanged glances, shrugging. They had no idea where to go, and they only had enough money to keep them fed for a couple days at the most. They did have to come up with a solution, and fast, but still…

Davy could somehow read their glances. He now looked up to Mike, who gave him an encouraging nod.

"I want to hire you two," Davy said, turning back to Micky and Peter. "You can stay in Hagglethorn Hall and work for me as part of my staff—Mike signed on earlier, though he didn't want any money; I'm sure you could back him up just great! Or we could find something else for you to do. Either way, you can stay at the Hall as long as you have to."

Creech barely refrained from facepalming. He was willing to go along with Davy inviting Mike to stay—he had, after all, saved him more than once. But now he was taking in these two strange boys just like that—when one had been accused of being the intruder and still looked like a dead ringer for him?

"Master David, are you certain that is a good idea…?"

"Of course I'm certain; I wouldn't have suggested it if I wasn't serious. So… what do you say?"

Micky's mouth had fallen again; this time, his heart was practically soaring.

"I… er… Well, that's awfully nice of you and all, but we… we can't just…"

"We couldn't impose like that," Peter finished for him.

Davy placed a hand on each of their shoulders

"You wouldn't be imposing," he assured them. "Please, come back with us. I insist." Please. I know you two are the other voices from my dream. I know you two from somewhere, just like I know Mike.

It wasn't until Davy's bright eyes betrayed the silent plea he had just mentally uttered that Micky and Peter realized that there was more to this than just Davy's pity or sympathy talking.

They looked to Mike, who, despite his deadpan, seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Davy, and then looked back to each other.

"Okay," Micky said. "We'll go back and work for you."

"But we don't want any money," Peter added, and Micky nodded in agreement. "Is that okay?"

Davy blinked in surprise at Peter's words, but then realized that if he had been sensing the same feeling of familiarity from them as he had from Mike, it made sense that they couldn't bring themselves to take money from him anymore than Mike could.

He smiled, and nodded.

"Yeah, that's fine," he said.

It was more than fine; it was… the way it was supposed to be, he thought.

Creech just sighed, knowing that there was no point in trying to argue with Davy; he was now driven by a purpose to find the people from his dream—and it seemed as though he was convinced he had found them all.

"Well, I'm glad we've settled that," Peter said. He then snapped his fingers. "Oh, wait, there's one more thing!" He turned to the District Attorney. "You wanted to ask me some questions about Dr. Mendoza?"

The DA checked his watch; sighing. It was getting to be quite late.

"We can reschedule your statement for another time," he said. "I think the best thing for all of you is to get a good night's rest—"

He was cut off as a commotion came from outside; he, Creech, and the Monkees quickly headed that way and were surprised to see the ringmaster being stared down by an elephant—with a golden retriever riding on the elephant's back, growling.

"Down, you beast!" the ringmaster hissed. "Get back!"

"Rue!" Micky exclaimed.

"Emerald!" Peter added.

The elephant turned from the ringmaster and walked towards them, gently wrapping his trunk around Micky again. Emerald leaped from his back, greeting Peter.

"That psychotic pachyderm nearly gored me!" the ringmaster spat. "You would think he tracked me down just to…" He trailed off, seeing the elephant act so kindly towards Micky, and his lip curled into a scowl.

"He wouldn't have hurt you," Micky said. "His tusks aren't even long enough to do any damage!"

"He listens to you," the ringmaster snarled. "Tell him to behave himself and get back to his pen."

"Ah, sorry; I don't work for you anymore, remember?" Micky countered, smirking.

"Well, if you think I'm letting you walk off with a free elephant—"

"So, you'll get paid for the elephant," Davy said, pulling his checkbook from his pocket. "How much would you say he's worth?"

"I couldn't let you do that!" Micky gasped, his eyes widening as Creech sighed in exasperation.

"There's no point in him keeping the elephant," Davy said, jerking his head towards the ringmaster. "Besides that, I don't think the poor thing could stand being separated from you." He turned to the ringmaster. "Name your price."

The ringmaster was reluctant to let Rue go—especially to Micky, of all people. But he conceded that it would be too much bother to try to corral an elephant that was already adept at breaking out and would only grow larger. Grudgingly, he settled on an amount of money, which Davy paid, and the ringmaster left soon after, deciding that it would be worth it if he didn't have to deal with Micky anymore. The DA just shook his head, heading back inside to ponder over the sight he had just seen.

"Well, glad that's over," Micky said, petting Rue on the trunk. "Man, I almost didn't realize that I might never have seen Rue again…"

"Funny how he and Emerald both found us," Peter commented.

"Eh, animals are smarter than we give them credit for…" Mike began, but then trailed off as he exchanged a glance with Davy.

"Emerald?" they both asked, in unison.

"He thought it sounded cute," Micky explained, and Peter nodded, grinning.

The others shrugged it off.

"Well, we ought to be getting back to Hagglethorn Hall," Davy said. "It'll be a bit of a walk."

"I can attest to that," Mike said.

"I can have the elephant brought to the castle by our movers," Creech said, throwing in the towel now. "You should go back in the car—all of you; I will go back after the elephant is moved."

"Oh, Gosharooney—thanks a lot!" Micky said shaking Creech's hand. "Rue, you be good, and I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

The elephant let out a quiet trumpet, and knelt down to allow Emerald onto his back again.

"You want to wait with Rue?" Peter asked.

The dog "rruffed" in response, and Peter nodded.

"Then I'll see you in the morning, too."

"Wonder how they'll get along with your horse and my Texas prairie chicken," Mike mused, as they all helped Micky gather his things before cramming themselves into the backseat of Davy's private vehicle. The chauffer cast them a bemused glance, but said nothing as Creech gave him a weary nod of assent.

Nobody noticed the figure in the shadows, glaring at the four Monkees as they sat, chatting.

How could this have happened? Zero privately fumed. How, after everything I've done to tear them apart, they've somehow managed to get back together and carry on as though nothing had even changed in the slightest! They don't even have their memories! How is this happening!

To the side, Baby Face Morales watched him, wincing as he felt the spot around his sore eye.

"Look, you can stand there and fume all you like," the gangster muttered. "I'm out of here."

"And where do you think you're going?" Mr. Zero demanded. "We had an agreement!"

"Which you didn't keep!" Baby Face reminded him. "You told me I'd be able to threaten the Earl of Hagglethorn into giving me the gold. Well, all I got was a black eye from his wool-hat-wearing bodyguard!"

"Look, I will give you all the wealth and riches you desire; all I ask is that you do one more thing for me—I want you to go down to the circus and attack that ringmaster, making sure someone sees you."

Baby Face scowled.

"I see what this is about. This ain't about the Earl; this is about framing that kid there who looks like me, isn't it? Well, you're out of luck; I'm not playing this game anymore. There's nothing in it for me, and besides…" His voice now filled with venom. "I'm no hired gun."

He turned on his heel.

"We're done here," he added, as he walked away.

No, we're not, Mr. Zero silently retorted. I'll deal with you later—I can promise you that. But now I've got more important things to take care of.


Mr. Zero made himself invisible as he kept an eye on the Monkees. His rage only grew as they chatted and laughed about the most random things that came to them, the gaps in their laughter filled with Micky and Peter once again thanking Davy, who assured them it was nothing. And as awkward as it seemed, Davy found himself thanking them, though he wasn't sure why.

Mike, though he did participate in the conversation, spent a bit of time mulling things over in his head. Having had the same dream as Davy, he knew that the voices in the dream were, indeed, the same as the three talking now. And then there was that inescapable feeling—that they were not strangers, no matter how illogical that sounded.

If they had known each other before, then something had happened to cause them to forget each other—something terrible, no doubt. And whatever it was might be likely to happen again.

The Texan suppressed an involuntary shudder at that latter thought, which did not go unnoticed.

"You okay, Mike?" Davy asked, as Micky and Peter looked on in concern.

"Sure, I'm okay," he replied, managing a smile. "Just got a bit of a chill, that's all…" He didn't want them to worry; he had to take the brunt of this—or, at least, it felt that way; along with that feeling of familiarity was an unshakable feeling of responsibility.

I've got to look out for these guys, he mentally instructed himself. Something's out there, and I can't let it get them.

He now pushed this thought to his mental back-burner; it was time to enjoy each other's company now. He could put aside his concerns for later, when he was alone.

That decided, he put a smile back on his face and rejoined the conversation, which had now moved onto watching Micky do impressions of various Hollywood stars and movie scenes—and watching Micky's face light up in utter glee as he realized that he really was entertaining.

It was quite late by the time they reached Hagglethorn Hall; as much as they wanted to stay up and talk more, they just didn't have the energy. Davy showed the other three to the best guest rooms before retiring to his own room. Within minutes, they were fast asleep, and Mr. Zero furiously paced the corridor outside their rooms, trying to determine what to do with this latest twist.

Perhaps he had to concede that Veran's warning about the Power of Love had been right. He hadn't been able to extinguish the care and concern for each other that they harbored in their hearts.

Well, then… he would just have to do his best to extinguish it! He would plant a few seeds of doubt in their hearts and watch them grow—and watch those doubts turn them against each other.

The Prince of Darkness now snapped his fingers, and a dense, black fog issued from his fingertips. The fog crawled across the floor, seeping under the doors of the four rooms where each of the Monkees slept.

Dreams were what had started their seeking each other out. Perhaps by manipulating their dreams now, Mr. Zero could get them to see that being together was, in reality, causing them to give up their deepest wishes. And this dream fog would help him to do that.

And if that didn't work to force them apart, well… there was more than one way to bend someone's will.