Chapter 4-"Mike! We Lost Peter!"

"Micky, we lost Peter!" Davy gasped, still quiet enough so that the bad vibes would not disturb Mike.

"What do we do? What do we do? We have to find him before Mike wakes up!" Micky tripped over his words, running his hands through his curly hair.

"Er, uh, well, Mike usually wakes up at 6, yeah?" Davy asked, looking out into the sea.

"But Davy, that's only in maybe a little over an hour."

"Thank you Captain Obvious for doing the math for the kids at home watching. We split up. I'll go left, you'll go right, and we report back either with Peter or to confront Mike."

"Davy..." Micky's voice was on the borderline between, 'I hate this plan' and 'I have bad feeling about this.' However, after he received a look from Davy, he reluctantly tried going left, while Davy tried going right, causing a collision on the porch. After mindlessly figuring out who had to go left and who had to go right, they finally went their separate ways in a desperate attempt to find Peter.

"Ppppppeeeeeetttttttteeeeeeerrrrrrrrr!" Davy cried out. He could hear Micky cry out an echo to his own.

Davy was now at the end of the beach where a road cut off the beach from the rest of the land. A couple cars sped by as Davy flopped down onto the sand, letting out one more cry for the missing bassist. Even though he was extremely worried for his friend, and wanted him back dearly, he couldn't help but worry for his own safety when it came for Mike to find out.

Davy looked up to the bright blue sky, letting the morning air chill his skin. He let out a painful cry for Peter. Then, out of nowhere, Micky drove up to Davy from the road on their rarely used dune buggy.

"Hey Davy baby! I know where Peter is! Hop in!" Micky' s smile was none the less goofier than normal.

As Davy climbed in, he sighed, "Thank goodness! But, uh, where is he exactly?"

"Mr. Babbit said he was heading for the other side of town."

"Okay, but why not take the Monkeemobile?"

"Mike hid the keys on me. You ask a lot of questions, don't you?"

"What's that supp-" Davy began, before everything in his brain shut off.

"Like I said, Mike hid the keys." BabyFace deadpanned before hitting the gas on the dune buggy and driving out of site, throwing the rock he used out onto the beach.

Micky wandered aimlessly across the sand towards the beach house. He had no luck finding Peter, and he was hoping that Davy had found him. On his way back home Micky continued to yell Peter's name, by this point not expecting an answer in return. When he got to the foot of the steps that lead homeward, he flopped down onto the sand, exhausted from the recent search.

"Peter! Where are you?" Micky screamed.

"Micky?" A familiar voice called back. Micky's face changed from tired to hopeful within a split second to find the source of the voice. His face changed to a disappointed and frightened one when he found Michael looking down at him from the balcony of the pad. "What are you doing?"

Micky quickly bounced onto his feet, quickly trying to explain, but instead gave Mike random hand gestures accompanied by grunts, 'uh's,' 'well' s,' and 'you see' s.' Mike walked down to the beach. Upon arrival, he slapped Micky across the face, just so he could have a simple answer.

"Peter's missing!" Micky yelped.

Mike's face dropped. "No... No..." He flung his arms on top of his hat and muttered something under his breath. "I... Micky, this is all my fault!"

"Mike," Micky began, but now Mike was pacing frantically, caught up in his thoughts. Micky walked over, grabbed his sleeve, slapping Mike in the face as he had done to him minutes ago.

"Mike! What happened?"

A Week Prior...

Mike parked the Monkeemobile in the bakery parking lot. He hated parallel parking, but that was the only parking available for the music store. On this particular day Mike was in need of some strings for their guitars. Upon entry, the store manager, Wilfred, greeted Mike. Mike smiled warmly, tipping his wool hat to him. Mike wandered over to the guitars and got a little distracted by the instruments that hung on the wall.

Lost in his own dream world, Mike was awaken by a tap on the shoulder. He peered over his shoulder, a little shocked to see Micky standing there. Mike turned around completely and took a step back. Looking the man up and down, he realized it wasn't Micky. Micky didn't own a pinstripe suit, let alone an actual suit that wasn't already ripped, burned, or lost due to science experiments and crazy gigs.

"Sorry, auditions to replace Micky aren't till 'over-my-dead-body' BabyFace. You might as well head back from where you came from." Mike said, returning his attention to the guitars.

Babyface grabbed Mike's shoulder, spinning him around again. "Now you listen to me Nesmith, give me Dolenz, and I won't interfere anymore with your little band."

"Now that's the problem." Mike growled, ripping himself from BabyFace's grasp. "You simply just cannot have him! Micky's a part of who we are. The Monkees are nothing without Micky Dolenz and he knows it! Micky would never leave us! Why do you want him, anyway?"

"Sooner or later they'll realize I'm not in prison. I need someone to take over the deeply annoying burden of sitting in a cement cell while I live free." BabyFace slurred, smiling a wicked smile.

"Well I'm sorry to hear you need a replacement, but Micky's not up for sale. So why don't you just go turn yourself in, or else I'll turn you in."

"We'll see about that." Babyface sneered, shoving Mike. "You have a week Nesmith. After that, everything that happens is on your shoulders," and with that BabyFace bolted out of the music store, leaving Mike alone with Wilfred, who ironically slept through the whole thing.

Mike ran to the nearest police station, trying to figure out how to explain to the police his threat. The policeman at the desk greeted him, and asked what the matter was. Mike attempted to explain the threat to the policeman, but at the end of the story, he shook his head.

"Mr..."

"Nesmith."

"Mr. Nesmith I'm sorry, but BabyFace is a convict in prison. He's in for life."

"Listen to me! He's a master at escaping! You guys have to know that! Well he's obviously escaped and wants my friend dead or alive!"

"Mr. Nishwash,"

"Nesmith."

"Mr. Nesmith, here, if it makes you feel better, I will call the state prison and confirm that BabyFace Morales is in custody." The policeman dialed the phone and proceeded to have an almost flirtatious conversation with the person on the other end. Mike leaned back in disgust. Is this what our law enforcement has become? After several minutes the policeman hung up. "Well sir, you're in luck. BabyFace Morales isn't even in the state. He's been shipped off to Utah."

Mike shook his head and bolted out the door. So again, it seems, as usual, the Monkees will have to fight this battle themselves.

Mike and Micky sat criss-cross on the sandy beach. Mike took off his hat and was fiddling with it in his hands. Micky had resorted to being hit by the news rather harshly, for he had a difficult time talking.

Mike shook his head. "I'm sorry Micky. I should have told you guys. Now because of me poor Peter is gone, probably scared, alone, or-"

"Don't even." Micky stopped him, shoving his hand into the guitarist's mouth. "You did what you had to Mike. To keep us safe for a while longer. And Mike..."

"What?"

"Davy and I searched the beach this morning to look for Peter. We agreed to meet back here at 6."

"Okay?"

"It's nearly 8, Mike." Mike stared at Micky as the realization hit him. He shook his head. He cursed under his breath. "So what do we do now Mike?" Micky asked. Mike looked into the drummer's eyes, taking in the fear they swam in.

"I think we start searching for clues."