Chapter 21- The Monkees
Author's Note: This story has one interactive moment, in which YouTube is needed. Also do not own
'Shades of Grey' or 'Daydream Believer.' Enjoy, and stay tuned for Dream World: Book II!
The trek up to the gravesite lasted maybe ten minutes for the three young Monkees. When reaching the top of the tall hill, they threw their shovels to the ground and took in the fantastic site. A cool breeze gave compliments to the strong oak tree that stood within the bluff, obviously far older and wiser than the other trees. Drilled into the middle of the trunk was a silver plaque. Mike was the only one daring enough to walk up to the plaque and read it out loud.
"David Thomas Jones, 1945 to 2012. Musician, Father, Legend. The Daydream Believer," Mike read. Peter and Micky stood at a distance, their discomfort obvious to the world. Were they really about to do this? It was hard to stomach that this was actually Davy's grave. Nothing seemed terribly real till this moment. Without Davy there, it really felt like Davy was dead. Too soon.
"Well, we might as well get started," Mike sighed, walking over and picking up one of the shovels.
"But where?" Micky asked.
"I'm going to take a guess and say they buried him right in front of the plaque, Mick. It's not rocket science," Mike struck the ground with the shovel, drawing the first scoop of dirt from the ground. Micky picked up the second shovel and did the same. Minutes later, the three old Monkees arrived. Seeing the two young men already beginning the job, they stood with Peter, waiting patiently.
Peter rubbed a hand behind his head. "Should we really be doing this?"
"If it gets you four home," Micky confessed. "None of us really thought this through, did we?"
"Not in the slightest," Peter added. "We should not have left Davy down there with Jessica. It… It feels…"
"Like he's already dead?" Peter asked, knowing the feeling all too well. His younger self nodded. "I know, kid. That plaque," He pointed to it for emphasis. "Is the final declaration of his death, of his passing. To see him and that plaque in one place is impossible."
"Till today," Micky pointed out. "Because any minute now he's gonna be coming up that hill and find us vandalizing his grave."
"In fairness, it was his idea," Peter mentioned.
"And we're going along with it. We should have asked the gypsy if there was another way," Peter said. "Davy should have asked. Mike, you should have asked."
"What?" Mike yelled from where they were digging.
"Nothing Mike," Peter waved him off. "Keep digging."
"Aye, aye, captain!" Micky yelled from the hole.
"It reminds me of… Well, it's not important," Peter mumbled, looking over at Mike and Micky, who were now throwing dirt at each other, thanks to Micky's childish impulse.
"What?" Peter asked.
"It's not important," Peter repeated. "It happened a long time ago. We all got into this accident, you see, and well, we thought we were going to lose Davy."
"Well, in fairness, everyone thought we were a lost cause," Mike clarified. "We were all in the hospital for one hell of a long time."
"Right, but like I said, it's been long since over. It doesn't matter anymore. What matters is this," Peter said. He looked over at the two children throwing dirt at one another. "Hey you two!"
"Sorry Dad!" Micky yelled, throwing one more handful of dirt at Mike before going back to work. Mike hit him over the head before continuing to dig as well.
"Maybe I should go relieve one of them," Peter suggested. He turned and walked over to the developing hole, tapping Mike on the shoulder. After the two exchanged a few words, Mike handed his shovel over to Peter and climbed out of the whole. Peter hopped in and began digging. That's when Davy and Jessica arrived.
"Davy!" Mike yelped, hopping to his feet.
Seeing the Texan coated in a fine layer of dust startled the young Englishman. "What happened to you?"
"Micky," Mike deadpanned, pointing over at the two Monkees disappearing into the hole. "He got a bit excited with that dirt over there."
"Micky!" They heard Peter whine. Everyone looked over to see Peter's face coated dirt and Micky laughing hysterically. Mike and Davy rolled their eyes, both going over and pulling Micky from the hole. Mike hopped in and picked up Micky's shovel, continuing the work that Micky was apparently incapable of doing. Davy dragged Micky back over to where the others were, leaving the job to two Monkees who were capable of doing the job right.
"How long do you think this is going to take?" Jessica asked, unconsciously twirling a strand of hair.
"No idea," Micky admitted. "Might have been quicker if we brought more shovels."
"Jessica, could you maybe run into town and get some water and lunch? Depending on how far down we have to dig, we might be here a while," Mike suggested.
"Good idea," Jessica agreed, glancing towards the hole forming at the foot of the tree. "I'll be back soon, don't do anything stupid."
"Isn't it too late for that?" Micky joked. Jessica rolled her eyes and began her trek back down the hill to her car.
"How long do you think this is going to go on for?" Davy asked the group. They all looked at each other, waiting for someone to reply. When they all remained silent, Davy sighed, sitting himself on the ground.
Mike held out his book to him. Davy silently took it, still flinching slightly when his skin made contact with the leather cover. He sat it in his lap, flipping the book open to the most recent page. When this happened, the old book Mike held began to shake. Mike tried his best to hold the book, but soon it became too hard to hold. He dropped the book, it falling open onto the grassy ground. It violently flipped pages till it decided on a particular page. It looked different from the others Davy had seen. It's display was more elegant, more precise. That's when the book in his lap began to shake as well. Davy watched as his book began to write itself, copying the text from the older book. He watched the words write themselves, gliding across the page like water. The border melted around the text, as if a page out of a witch's spell book. The older men and Micky, obviously, watched over his shoulder.
When the page was complete, both books slammed shut. Mike picked up the older book, trying to open it. It would not budge.
"It won't open?" Peter asked the obvious.
"I think it's done," Mike commented, looking over the book. "It must be ready to be burned."
"That is one creepy book you have there, Davy," Micky said nervously.
Davy responded by opening the book that remained in his lap. He flipped to the new page and read, "As the book burned, the words of the Monkees echoed in the great valley, bringing light to their situation. All seven men sang the words they knew so well… Then it just has the lyrics to 'Shades of Grey.'"
"Does that mean we have to sing while we burn the book, too?" Peter asked.
"I think so," Davy replied, looking over at the mound of dirt that hid Peter and Mike from view. "Anything yet, guys?"
"Not yet!" Mike yelled from the hole. Davy sighed, gently shutting the book.
The digging continued for a while, the young Monkees switching out now and again to give the others rest. The older men insisted on helping, but the younger men refused. This was their trial, not theirs. They already did this once, according to reason. No way would they let the old men do it again. When noon hit, they still had not found the urn that was supposed to conceal the ashes of Davy Jones. The four young men were tired and had nearly given up.
At the time, it was Micky and Mike digging once again. Micky had agreed to behave this time. Jessica had come and gone with sandwiches and water, leaving to reside in the parking lot till they were done and her husband's ashes were replaced in the ground. Davy, Peter, Peter, Micky, and Mike were all playing Go Fish when they heard Micky scream from the ground.
"We've got it!" They heard him yell. They all scrambled to their feet and ran over to the hole, where Mike and Micky were digging at the ground with their hands, trying to free the urn. Mike dusted some dirt from the side of the urn, revealing Davy's name along it. Micky tugged at the urn, allowing the dirt to give way. Micky cradled the urn, both he and Mike dusting it further with their hands.
"I don't believe it…" Peter mumbled, watching in awe.
"That's…" Davy muttered, looking on as well.
"Hand it here!" Micky yelled, holding his arms out to the two men in the hole. Micky handed it up to the Monkee, who moved away so that Peter and Davy could help Micky and Mike out of the hole. When all were out, They moved to the other side of the tree and set the urn on some flat ground. Micky moved to open it, but then he didn't. He looked around to the others before backing away. The others looked at him, all thinking the same thing. None of them could do it. Morally or emotionally. They all looked at Davy, pleading with their eyes. Don't make them do it. Davy sensed the message that all twelve eyes were giving him.
Nervously, he moved forward towards the urn. He sat in front of it first, taking it in. He then looked around, taking in the sky, the sun, and the clouds. In that moment, everything seemed so pure. So peaceful. He turned to Mike, holding out his hand. Mike handed him the book, as well as a box of matches. Davy took them and set them beside him. With a shaky hand, Davy gripped the lid of the urn, slowly lifting it away. He shifted to his knees, looking inside. All he saw was dust and ash. This wasn't him. It couldn't be. He pushed the idea aside and grabbed the old, tattered book.
"Guys…" Davy said, looking back and forth between the book and the urn. "I don't think this is going to fit."
"We'll make it fit," Mike said, moving beside him. He took the book from Davy, passing the Englishman a solemn glance before sticking one corner of the book into the urn. "We'll just have to tend to it, push it inwards as it burns. It will be okay, Davy. Here, hand me that matchbox."
Davy did as he was told, handing the matchbox to Mike. Mike took a match from the box and struck it against the side, lighting the match. He carefully maneuvered the flame to the book, laying the flame the the torn old pages between the covers. Once he was sure that it had caught fire, he set the match down on the book and backed up. They both backed up. The seven men formed a horseshoe around the urn, watching the book burn.
After a moment of silence, Davy sang to himself, "When the world and I were young, just yesterday. Life was such a simple game, a child could play."
"It was easy then to tell right from wrong. Easy then to tell weak from strong. When a man should stand and fight, or just go along," The other six sang.
"But today there is no day or night, today there is no dark or light. Today there is no black or white," All seven sang.
"Only shades of grey," Peter took over.
"I remember when the answers seemed so clear," Peter added.
"We had never lived with doubt or tasted fear," Peter replied.
"It was easy then to tell truth from lies," Everyone added. "Selling out from compromise. Who to love and who to hate. The foolish from the wise. But today there is no day or night. Today there is no dark or light. Today there is no black or white-"
The small flame that caressed the book exploded into a tall stalk of fire. The flames licked the branches of the tree above it. Heat blinded the seven men. They all jumped backed, surprised and nearly terrified at the spectacle before them. Their singing stopped and all they could see was orange fire. Davy, who sat across from the flame, stood, shielding his eyes. The others quickly followed, the younger Monkees helping their older counterparts stand. They all cowered together on one side of the flame while Davy stood his ground in front of it.
Davy could see something in the flame. He tried to look into the flames to see, but it was too hot. The figure among the fire began to take on more of a definite shape. Soon he could see flashes of white. The figure took on more of a human shape now, Davy recognizing that the white he saw was clothing. A sweater and white slacks. It stepped out of the fire and onto the pure, green grass.
Face to face they stood. Mike, Micky, Peter, and their counterparts dared not interfere. Not yet. Davy looked into the eyes of Davy Jones with disbelief. He looked into the eyes he had known all his life. They were his eyes. So old, yet so wise and familiar. He had seen this face before.
"And that's how you make an entrance," The old man laughed, looking his young self up and down. He smiled, running a hand through his grey bangs. Startled, Davy carefully reached a hand out towards him, wondering if this was real or a part of his imagination. He knew this man. He had seen him before. Davy was then reminded of his dream. The dream that had come to life. Davy gave the man a gentle shove. He was definitely solid.
"Davy?" Micky asked from where the others stood.
"How did this happen?" Davy asked, unsure what to think anymore.
"They gypsy," Davy said calmly, almost as a clever lie. "She gave you, well, us that book many years ago. That book, more or less, is magical. Almost divine, if I do say so myself. For as long as that flame lives, so do I. When it dies, I will finally get to move on. When it dies, you will be able to move on."
"I won't die, will I?" Davy asked nervously.
Davy laughed again. "Of course not. Not till 2012, at least. You've got plenty of time to live, mate." He placed a hand on the young Monkee's shoulder, that smile still plastered on his face. "I have waited forever for this. This, this is the real proof. This proves the gypsy's powers. This is really happening."
Davy removed his hand and turned towards the six cowering Monkees. He gave each of his old friends a sad, heartfelt smile. "Hello fellas," He said. The ghost, or man, whatever he was, felt the same thing the other living Monkees did. They felt pain, but it was an unbelievable, emotional pain. They all tried holding back tears. They were grown men after all. Micky, Mike, and Peter all took a few steps away from their younger selves, reaching out towards Davy.
"Are you really…" Mike asked, not believing his eyes.
"As real as they are," Davy replied, gesturing towards the young Monkees.
They all smiled. Their smiles were sad, but the joy that was behind them shined through. Micky, naturally, was the first to wrap the man in a huge hug. Peter and finally Mike followed suit.
Micky sniffled from where he stood. Mike gave him a sideways glance. "I'm sorry, it's just so beautiful!" Micky choked, wiping tears from his eyes. Peter was doing the same.
"I've missed you guys," They heard Davy say from among the hug. That's when they disbanded, still close, though.
"How is this even possible?" Mike finally asked.
"I've got to take these kids to their next trial, more or less," Davy said, the old Monkees opening up their circle to the young Monkees. All four of them stepped in.
"How are you going to do that?" Davy asked.
Davy wiped away a stray tear and said, "You came here by walkin' into that gypsy's tent. That's how you're gonna leave, too. However, you guys just can't walk in there and expect to be transported back. Someone needs to open the portal for you. If I remember right, there was someone with this job for all three trials. Keep an eye out for them next time."
"Yeah, but we don't have a gypsy tent," Micky pointed out.
"You're right," Davy said, "But you do now." The old man pointed behind them. The seven turned to see a small white tent now pitched a little ways away from the gravesite. It had not been there before. When they all turned and gave Davy a questioning look, he simply replied, "The gypsy may have helped me with that little trick. Well, this whole thing really."
"Who is she?" Mike asked.
"You'll find out soon enough," Davy said. "But appreciate her. She's gone out of her way to help you. All of you. Without her, you all would be dead."
"Can you tell us?" Mike asked. "We don't remember this ever happening, and we would like to know. We would like to know everything."
"Wait till the boys have left," Davy admitted. "She'll come and talk to you once they have reached the second trial."
"Of course," Micky rolled his eyes.
The young Monkees glanced at the flame behind him. It was shrinking quickly. Quicker than they honestly hoped for. Mike grabbed a stray stick from the ground and poked at the flame, making sure the book would collapse inside the urn. He asked the group, "How long do you think this flame's got?"
"Another five minutes, I'd say," Davy said. "That means we better get a move on, huh?"
The three old Monkees could still feel their hearts in their throats. They didn't want to lose Davy again. Peter placed a hand on the old man's shoulder. "One last song, though? Before you all leave?"
"Yeah," Micky agreed. "I mean, this is the last time we will ever see any of you." He looked not only at the revived Monkee, but at the younger counterparts as well. Their hearts ached. This was really happening.
"Yeah, I'm down for that," Davy smiled. His older self, as well as the three other Monkees agreed. "What should we sing?"
"'Daydream Believer,'" Micky blurted out immediately. The young Monkees gave him an odd look. "After Davy died, I decided to always perform 'Daydream Believer' at my concerts in honor of him. To quote Mike, the song is no longer ours. It belongs to the fans now."
"It's only proper," Mike agreed. "To send you all out the right way."
Davy's smile brightened. "Aww, thanks guys."
"Only for you," Micky replied, his smile as big as Davy's.
Peter was getting out his cell phone to give them an backing track. He then looked at the two Davys, waiting for a queue.
"Well?" Mike said, gesturing towards Davy and Davy. "Let's get on with it!"
#The Monkees - "Daydream Believer" (Official Music Video) #The Monkees
The two shared versus, the other six Monkees always coming in the chorus. Davy clung to his Monkees, the four of them romping around as they do. Davy also clung to his Monkees, the four of them romping around as they do. It was quite a sight. The words of 'Daydream Believer' rang throughout the ranch, making everything feel just a bit better. They romped around till the song died out, laughter complimenting them afterwards.
Davy glanced over at the fire which still burned the book. The book was nearly gone now, turned to dust and ash. He nudged Mike and pointed at the fire. Mike then repeated the action with Micky. Then Micky did the same to Peter.
"Ahem," Davy cleared his throat. "I think that fire is gettin' a bit low, don't you think?"
"It is, isn't it?" Davy replied, looking over at it.
"We can add some wood to it, don't you think?" Micky pleaded. Mike elbowed him in response.
"It's time then," Davy muttered, looking out to the tent that had been haunting them for the past several minutes.
"Time to go?" Davy asked.
Without acknowledging the question, Davy began to walk toward the tent. They all followed closely behind. When they reached the tent, Davy grabbed the tent flap and opened it, revealing a dark, empty tent.
"Davy," Peter blurted. "Don't go…"
Davy hung his head. This was as hard for him as it was for them. Though it had been maybe ten minutes, it was a life changing ten minutes. Not only for the Monkees, but Davy as well. "I don't want to," He admitted. He turned towards his old friends now, looking them all dead in the eye. "But I have to. I'm not even supposed to be here."
The three old Monkees walked up to the tent, surrounding the youngest of them. "Then this is our last chance to say goodbye," Mike replied.
"Yeah, goodbye," Davy frowned. No one ever liked goodbyes.
"Hey, we'll see you around, though. It's not like we have many years left ourselves," Micky pointed out, trying to lighten the mood somewhat.
Davy shook his head. Oh Micky. He never changes. The three old Monkees trapped the youngest in a hug once more. This time to say goodbye. Mike, Micky, and Peter all kept a hand on Davy, them all dreading the day they would become them. Davy simply looked on, his entire life replaying in his mind. Him deciding how to get here. How to get here, with them, when it was time.
The four Monkees let go of each other, one last time. "Goodbye mates," Davy choked.
"You'll always be our Manchester Cowboy," Micky said. "And remember, we're makin' that album for you, and you alone."
"We'll never stop thinking about you," Peter added.
"Goodbye Davy," Mike finished.
"Goodbye," Davy said sadly. He turned to the young Monkees for a moment, then smiled. He turned back to the tent and opened the flap, disappearing as he walked inside the tent. Everyone looked over to see the flame die out under the tree. The book was burned. The gate was opened. It was time for the boys to go.
"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 dying 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 chuckle. "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 goodbyes 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." With his book in hand, 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.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading this story! This is officially the end of Dream World: Book I. Don't worry, though! There are still 2 more books left to be written that will answer all of your questions! Thank you again for reading and see you in the next story!
Peace and Love,
TimeSpace64