Chapter 12- Lost Forever
To his surprise, Davy woke up in a hospital bed. He hardly remembered anything happening. Last he knew, he was asking Steven to not wake up Mike. Mike was always terrible if you were the one to wake him up. He slowly tried to sit up, but found two sets of hands suddenly pushing him down. He looked up to see Micky and Peter were the ones holding him down.
"W-what the heck happened?" Davy asked, noting the worried looks they both had.
"That depends on what you remember," Micky stated, backing up and sitting down in a nearby chair.
"I… I remember us following Steven upstairs to the bedroom where Mike was sleeping," Davy said. "That's about it."
"Well," Micky started, looking at Peter for support. "Mike's brother broke into our house and kidnapped Mike."
"What?" Davy asked, starting to sit up again, but was stopped by Peter.
"You went downstairs to get Steven," Micky continued, "When you found him lying outside the door. Mike's brother apparently shot him with a silenced gun from the ground level. Steven hit his head on the guardrail when he collapsed. He was trying to come and warn us. He's okay now, though. He's in a room a few doors down. I think he got out of surgery a few hours ago. Millie is recovering, too. She has a concussion as well, presumably from Mike's brother."
"I didn't even know Mike had a brother," Davy commented.
"None of us did till he slipped up in his child-like state a few minutes before," Peter added. "We can only assume he beat you up, too, to get you here."
"Does this help jog your memory at all?" Micky asked.
"A bit, yeah," Davy said. "But what about Mike? You said his brother kidnapped him?"
Both Peter and Micky refused to make eye contact with Davy now. However, Peter spoke. "He came up and threatened us with his gun. He recognized Mike right away. Mike…"
"Mike snapped out of his crazy persona just as his brother began to drag him away."
"We watched him break one of Mike's legs so he could take him without putting up much of a fight."
"We didn't do anything," Peter choked, his eyes firmly in his lap.
"Mike told us to get the police, and then he was gone. Out the door. When Peter and I ran to the balcony, there was no sign of him or Mike. Just you, Millie, and Steven lying unconscious on the floor."
"The police have begun the search for Mike and his brother and they are digging through our pad for evidence. They're trying to find out as much as they can."
Both men stopped talking, both on the verge of tears. Micky got a hold of himself first.
"Apparently the Dallas police have been trying to find Mike's brother for a while," Micky said. "He's wanted in Dallas, Fort Worth, Enid in Oklahoma, and some other places leading to California."
"What did he do?" Davy asked.
"I think a more appropriate question would be what didn't he do," A voice said from the doorway. All three men turned and looked at the policeman who was standing in the doorway with a doctor.
"Mr. Nesmith, that is to say Virgil Nesmith, is a thief, kidnapper, and wanted for questioning for the murder of three people, among other things," The police officer said, stepping into the room.
"What?" Davy gasped as he made to sit up. He groaned as the room began to spin.
"Explains why Mike kept quiet about his past," Micky said, putting a hand on Davy's shoulder to keep him laying down.
"Do you think Mike even knew what his brother was up to?" Davy asked as the doctor finally went over to examine him. Micky shrugged.
Peter brought up a different worry for them all. "If Virgil did all of that, then what do you think he's doing to Mike?" Davy groaned, closing his eyes.
"I don't even want to think about it," Micky said, rubbing the back of his neck with worry.
"What are you doing to get Virgil?" Davy asked as he tried to swat the flashlight that the doctor was shining into his eyes.
"We're doing all that we can, believe me," The police officer said. "We spoke to Steven and we have a missing person alert out for Mike."
"I thought you had to wait twenty four hours for that," Davy said, jerking his head around to see the police officer.
"Mr. Jones, if you don't let me examine you I will keep you in here for more time than you're meant to," The doctor finally said. Davy sighed, but let the doctor look him over.
"Normally we do, but Steven, as well as Micky and Peter, have filled me in on Mike's mental state and he is qualified as a vulnerable adult."
"What does that mean exactly?" Micky asked.
"A vulnerable adult is someone who is over the age of eighteen who either has a mental disability, physical disability or is an older person who may have alzheimer's or dementia." The police officer explained, "Seeing as you friend Mike is not acting like he's in his twenties, like he was, he fits the qualifications."
"Oh," Micky said, nodding.
"What are you doing to find Mike?" Peter asked.
"We have road blocks set up along every major highway leading into Malibu and the rest of Los Angeles and we have all available police looking for Virgil's car."
"But they could have ditched the car, switched the plates or any number of things," Davy said, panicked.
"Don't worry, we'll find him," The police officer said. "Like I said, we're doing everything we can and it's not just us. We have a small task force from Texas as well as the FBI helping. They're going to want to question you as well just as soon as the doctor gives the okay. They are questioning Mrs. Rudnick right now," Davy nodded as he looked at Peter and Micky, fear and worry twisted in his stomach.
A trickle of rain fell on Mike's face. He opened his eyes, finding a vast, grey sky. He frowned, slowly getting on his feet. He stood, looking around. The scenery was more or less recognizable, but Mike still knew where he was. He looked up to the sky. "So you're giving me somewhere to live then, huh? Instead of letting me wallow in the blurs and darkness of my own reality?" The voice he knew so well did not reply, but simply let everything play out to its plan.
A child ran past him, aggravated sobs echoing behind him. Mike watched as the child latched on to the nearest tree, a tree Mike remembered all too well. That was his tree.
"Get back here you baby!" A voice, the voice, screamed. Mike turned, seeing his brother walking briskly towards the crying boy. A chill went down his spine as Virgil spoke. "How you gonna grow up to be a man if you can't take a beating?"
"Stop it, Virgil, just stop!" The boy cried. "Ma told ya to stop this! To stop hurting us!"
"Screw what she says," Virgil growled, picking the boy up by the back of his neck. "I'm the man of the house now, didn't ya hear Papa? You're my property, now."
"Virgil, stop!" The child begged. That's then Virgil dropped him and kicked him. He kicked him over and over. With each kick Mike could feel the pain shoot through him. He remembered the pain. Each kick, each swear, it all made him want to die. He kicked the young boy till he threw up.
"There ya' go," Virgil sneered. "Now remember your place, kid."
The child didn't reply. He simply hid his face from his older brother, not daring to push him any farther. Laughing, Virgil stomped away, past Mike again, and into the foggy distance.
"And that's now it's been," The voice in Mike's head laughed. "That's how it has been every single day since."
"Why can't you just leave me alone?" Mike yelled. "Why can't you let me fail in peace?"
"That would be too easy," The voice sneered.
Mike turned towards the tree where the whimpering child hid. Mike walked over, reaching out to touch him. As he thought it would, his hand went through the child. Of course. Only a figment of his imagination. As his hand passed through the child, the child disappeared like the fog around him. When the child vanished, so did everything else around him. All that was left was the surprisingly calming ambush of rain on Mike's face.
"Will ya wake up, kid? Come on, you can do it," The voice insisted, somehow calmer, but more intense. Mike felt his head swimming, but he couldn't control it. He tried to see what he could, but it was all still a blur.
Trying to grip onto any bit of strength he had, both mentally and physically, Mike searched for the source of the voice and said, "Will ya let me sleep, please?" Sleeping didn't take as much effort as he was putting in right now, and he didn't feel like he could hold on much longer. Letting your guard down around the Monkees was one thing. Letting it down around your brother was another.
"No chance, kid," The voice sneered. Mike suddenly felt himself lifted and thrown into something hard. Mike cringed when his body made contact with whatever it was he was thrown into.
"What was that for?" Mike asked, trying to find the face of his captor.
Something, a hand, presumably, striked his neck, pulling him up. The voice then returned to him. "This is for those ten years of hell you put me through."
"What ten years?" Mike choked, his eyes focusing in on the ugly face he knew all too well.
Virgil Nesmith pulled the man close, close enough that Mike could smell the nice fresh layer of tobacco smoke resonating off his brother's breath. "Those ten years since the day you was born, you brat."
Mike couldn't speak anymore, but he also couldn't hold himself together anymore. He couldn't breathe. Virgil quickly dropped him back into the thing he had originally put him in, the sound of something slamming shut followed. Mike felt around with his body, realizing he was in a wooden box. However, with the terrible headache that was coming on, Mike couldn't help but slip back into the darkness he knew so well now, letting his emotions take over his brain. He began to cry at the pain in his head. Virgil quickly kicked the box, telling him to shut up. Mike did as he was told, silently drifting back to sleep.
