Chapter 5 - Circle Sky

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. At first he wondered if they were home. Then he remembered the day before. The neighbors, the party, the almost perfect neighborhood setting. Slowly he sat up, looking around the room. It really did look like their bedroom back home. On tired feet Davy stood, trudging out of the room and into the unfamiliar hallway, silently reminding himself where he was and what he was doing. He walked downstairs and ended up in the kitchen, searching for breakfast.

The buzzing of a lawnmower sparked the Englishman's attention. He peered out the window, seeing David Squire mowing his lawn. That's when it hit him. The day before David Squire said that his favorite way to start his Sunday mornings was to mow the lawn to the Monkees' music. At first he panicked. They missed their queue again. As far as they were concerned, they needed to try and act normal for the locals till they found out what they needed to do to get out and onto the next trial.

"Wait a sec," Davy mumbled to himself. Wasn't it Monday? Why was David mowing his lawn two days in a row? Shouldn't it be nice and short already? With a cup of milk in hand, Davy walked out onto their own front lawn. His bare feet were glazed in the morning dew, but that made the morning all the more… perfect. "Good morning David," Davy shouted to the squire.

"Why good morning Davy!" David Squire shouted at Davy. He turned off his lawnmower and walked up to the white picket fence that divided their lawns. "Where are the rest of you? I'm missing out on my morning jams!"

David laughed, causing Davy to chuckle in order to pretend that the remark was funny. "Uh, they're all asleep yet. What are you doing out this early?"

"It's 9:30, same time I always come out to mow my lawn," David explained. "And the same time you four usually start rehearsing in your garage."

"On a Monday?" Davy asked. "Didn't you mow your lawn yesterday?"

David's face dropped. "Monday? Today's Sunday."

"No, yesterday was Sunday," Davy defended. "There was that party over at Andrew Duncan's and Micky hit his head on their fire pit."

"What are you talking about?" David asked. "Are you talking about our new neighbor Andrew? He hasn't had any parties. He's still settling in to his new place with his niece. Also yesterday was Saturday. Mike and I went out fishing at Johnson's Lake. Heck, did Mike tell you about the fish he caught? It was this big!" David held his hands out at about his body's width to indicate how big the fish was.

"You're kidding," Davy said, mentally referring to the inaccuracy of the date rather than Mike's exaggerated fish.

"No man!" David laughed. Davy fell quiet for a moment, wondering what was going on. "Hey man, you alright?"

Not making eye contact, Davy waved him off. "Yeah, yeah I'll be fine. I'm just gonna… Go wake the others up. We have some stuff we need to rehearse."

"Yeah you do. Hey, can I request a little 'D.W. Washburn,' this morning?"

"What?" Davy said. The title of the song was unfamiliar to him.

"D.W. Washburn. I think Micky usually sings it. It goes… Da da-da-da da-daaaa," David sung the tune with total inaccuracy, but with what he could recognize the song came flooding back into Davy's memory. He knew D.W. Washburn. He knew that song quite well. One of Micky's favorites to sing in the shower, mostly.

"Oh, oh right. That one. I'll mention it to them," Davy said, making his way back to his doorstep. He slipped in, quietly shutting the door.

Davy took the opportunity to take a look around the living room again. It seemed very bland to him. Like the rest of the house there were no vibrant colors, no strange antiques scattered about the room, and no clashing artwork of any kind. It just looked like something you might expect walking into any other person's house. A person with a family; a spouse, kids, maybe even a dog. It was just so overwhelmingly normal.

"Davy?" Davy looked up to see Micky standing in the archway to the kitchen, a bowl of cereal in his hands. "You alright? You look a little spooked."

"Do I?" Davy asked, quickly trying to shake off any feelings he might have been expressing. "Sorry 'bout that. How's your head?"

"My head?" Micky asked.

"Yeah, from when you hit your head on the fire pit last night. I see you ditched the bandages," Davy observed. He personally didn't think Micky should rid himself of the wrappings quite yet, but it was Mike's job to criticize Micky's life choices, not his.

Micky frowned, clearly remembering the incident from the night before. He quickly balanced the bowl in one hand and used the other to touch the part of his head that he hit last night. "I went to bed with the bandages on…" He muttered. "I… I don't feel anything. Davy, why don't you take a look?"

Micky turned around for Davy to inspect the damage. "Mate, you're gonna have to get lower if you want me to look at the back of your head," Micky quickly set his bowl down on a nearby end table and sat down on the couch. Davy walked behind it and began searching through Micky's hair for any type of injury. "When did you take the bandages off?"

"I don't remember ever taking them off…" Micky confessed. "My head hurt so much last night that when we got home I went straight to bed."

"Well…" Davy said, double checking Micky's head. "I don't see anything. No scars, no blood, nothing. Just a lot of hair."

"Are you sure?!" Micky said, his voice cracking a little bit.

"What's going on down here?" A grumpy voice asked. Davy turned to see Mike coming down the stairs, still clad in his pajamas as well.

"Micky's head is healed," Davy said to Mike. "Micky claims the bandages disappeared, too."

"I never took them off!" Micky defended.

"What are you talking about?" Mike asked.

"Come and look. Remember when Micky hit his head last night?" Davy parted Micky's hair to show where the injury used to be.

"Yeah?" Mike said, walking up to examine the head with the Brit.

"Look! There is nothing there. He doesn't even have a scar. No signs to prove that he ever hit his head on that fire pit."

"That's odd…" Mike confessed. "How are you feeling this morning, Mick?"

"Totally fine, no pain at all," Micky said, finally getting up from the couch to face the others.

"That is weird…" Mike murmured.

"You know what else is weird?" Davy said to the other two. "I just got done chatting with David Squire next door and he claims today is Sunday."

"But yesterday was Sunday," Micky said.

"That's what I said!" Davy claimed. "He said yesterday was Saturday and he went fishing with Mike."

"Fishing?" Mike asked. "Yesterday was our first day here I could not have gone fishing with him yesterday. I didn't even know him yesterday!"

There was another grumble from the steps. "Guys, do you have any idea what time it is?" Peter made his way down the stairs and to the others. "Why do you guys have to shout so early in the morning?"

"It's nearly 10, Peter," Davy said.

"And whatever is going on here… It can't be good," Mike added. He, Micky, and Davy each passed concerning looks to each other. None of them were sure what they had been thrown into, but they all had a feeling whatever was going to happen next, it would not happen in their favor.