Two weeks had passed, Mike was getting more and more anxious about his last contact with Lauren.  He tried to look at his situation logically, in the typical Mike manner by running the incident over in his head a hundred times, but still wasn’t certain about what he had done.  No one came looking for him, so he wanted to assume that all was well, but Lauren never called him either, and if she were fine she would most certainly have something to say – or have him arrested for assault.  When he couldn’t come to a satisfactory conclusion he would get drunk to distract himself from it, and more nights than not, Mike could be found at one of his favorite bars taking his mind off matters; when one closed, he moved on to the next until he would run out of late-night hangouts that stayed open, then he’d wander the streets till the sun rose over the rooftops and head home.

It was early on one of these mornings; Mike had finally arrived home to find a seemingly peaceful pad.  The others were still asleep when he staggered through the door.  He grabbed a box of cornflakes and a bowl on his way to the kitchen table where he sat himself down; too tired to do anything else, but too upset to sleep.  As he poured his breakfast into his bowl he spotted a note left on the table.  It was simply addressed to: Mike, Micky, and Davy.  That could only mean Peter must have been the author.  He read it with a spoonful of cereal.  “Shit!”  he said, as the bedroom door opened and Davy walked out to join Mike for breakfast.

“Hey, Mike.  What’s wrong?”

“Read,” and Mike handed him the note.

“Oh-no, this isn’t good.”

“Yeah, I know”

“I hope he’ll be all right”

“I hope we can find a replacement.”

“Is that all you can think about, a replacement?”

“It’s important”

“The band isn’t as important as a band member”

“Fine, Davy.”  Mike shrugged as Micky entered the room and went through the same routine of gathering cereal box and bowl before having a seat at the table.  Mike and Davy looked at each other, both aware that the news would probably upset Micky, and no one wanted to do that.  Micky saw the glance between them.

“What’s up?”  Micky asked.

“Ah…nothin’ Mick.  Here – take your pills.”  Mike instructed as he slid the bottle of medication across the table within Micky’s reach.  He obeyed as ordered, and gulped them down with a tall glass of orange juice.

“Okay, so now tell me what’s goin’ on.”

Mike and Davy shared another glance before Davy spoke up: “Peter’s gone, Micky.”

“Whadaya’ mean he’s gone?  Where’d he go?  Micky asked, and Davy gave him the note to read:

Dear Guys,

I’m sorry, I didn’t want to leave, but I can’t stick around any longer.  Don’t worry about me.  I’m going

somewhere with Jane, and we’ll be fine.  I can’t tell you where I’m going, but as soon as I get there, I’ll

write.

Your mate,

Peter

“What does this mean?  Why would he just leave like that?  Micky asked.

“Pete’s been drafted.”  Mike answered him flatly.

“Oh.”  Micky said sadly, and then got up to return to the bedroom.

“Ya’ think he’ll be okay?”  Davy asked Mike.

“Don’t worry – I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Like ya’ did last night?”

“What are ya’ talkin’ about?”

“You left ‘im alone – you always leave ‘im alone.”

“Well, you’re here.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Look.  I don’t need this shit from you – I got enough to think about.”  Mike snapped.

“Fine, Mike – I’ll just leave you alone.”  Davy snapped back.

“Hey, what’s Butch doin’ these days?”

“How would I know?  Why ya’ askin’ me?”  Davy asked, visibly nervous from the question.

“You’re always with him.”  God was it that obvious?  Davy thought.

“Well…why do ya’ wanna know?”

“’Cause he plays bass, doesn’t he?”

“Oh…yeah, he does.”

“Well, we need a bass player.”

“Oh…Okay…I’ll ask ‘im.”

So, after a quick breakfast, Davy arranged himself in some of Butch’s favorite garments, and headed out with great enthusiasm to find his lover.  He hadn’t thought about it before, but if Butch became the bands new bass player…then he could move into the pad, and if he moved into the pad, Davy would have him all to himself – no more Charlie to share him with.  It was an exhilarating idea – he hoped it worked.  He didn’t have to worry; Butch would jump at the chance to get a job and a place to live all in one deal.  His band wasn’t doing that well lately anyway; and besides, he never was the loyal type.  Davy soon found out all his speculation was correct; Butch needed only minimal persuasion – a quick blowjob and Butch was all his.  Davy helped him pack up the few remaining worldly possessions that had survived the great disaster, and brought him back to the pad.  Peter’s bed was barely cold when Butch dumped his things down on it, and then flopped down himself.  “This’ll be great.  I can’t remember the last time I slept in a real bed,” he said.

“Don’t you sleep in Charlie’s bed sometimes?”

“Na, she kicks me out when she’s through with me.”

“Well, I won’t kick ya’ out.”  Davy assured him as he sat down on what was now Butch’s bed.  He took immediate ownership of Peter’s side of the room, and Davy couldn’t help feeling a little sad, but beautiful Butch gave him one pearly smile and all Davy could think was: Pete who?  He leaned over Butch to cover that gleaming grin with his own mouth and gave him a welcoming kiss.

Butch sighed:  “I think I’m gonna like it here.”  And he pulled Davy down with him on the bed.

“I know I will.”  And they snuggled together for a good session of face sucking, while Davy tried to remember if he had locked the bedroom door.  In his present condition, a sight like this could put Micky in a coma, he thought, but every time he summoned the strength to leave the bed, Butch would kiss him in a most tender spot that would drain every last drop of anxiety, and he would fall back into those beautiful, strong arms.  Oh, no matter – Micky’s probably asleep anyway, Davy thought to himself as he helped Butch out of his clothes and wriggled out of his own.  He hadn’t seen that gorgeous body in over a week, so his eagerness made him forget everything else, except that he couldn’t help thinking how kinky it felt to make love on Peter’s old bed, and he decided he would be doing this a lot.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the wall, Mike was settled at the kitchen table going through the stack of bills that had accumulated there.  Unfortunately, the bankbook didn’t agree with what needed to be paid out.  Over the last few weeks, there was a drought of gigs now that they no longer had Lauren to look after them for promotion, and it appeared that the well was now running dry – they barely had enough funds to make the rent this month.  Mike refused to take on this burden by himself – Davy could help with something for a change.  He called out his name – no answer, and he shook his head in disgust as he got up and walked to the bedroom.  He opened the door: “Dav…” and his voice trailed off as his eyes took in the unexpected vision on Peter’s bed.  He stood for a moment; eyes wide with shock and mouth agape, and then quietly closed the door to allow the couple to continue their intimate activity with some privacy.  Mike cocked his head in disbelief as he walked back to the table.  He sat down, “Wow” he said to himself, “Ya’ think ya’ know someone…” He decided to wait a while to confront Davy with the money problem.

When the bedroom door finally opened to reveal the loving couple, Mike thought it perfectly appropriate to get down to the financial business with Davy.  Before he could say a word, Butch disappeared into the bathroom for a shower while Davy quickly removed himself from Butch’s bed and scooted over to his own.  Mike tried to remain nonchalant about the whole affair as he walked into the bedroom to speak to Davy – though he avoided sitting on the bed.  “We got a problem, Davy.”  He started, “we need money, and fast.”

“Well, what ya’ want me to do?

“I don’t know, but I’m not gonna be the only one worryin’ about this.”

“Okay, Mike.”

“And Butch better pull his own weight around here – I’m not supporting him too.”

“I’ll tell ‘im, Mike – don’t worry.”

“Well, what are ya’ gonna do to help?”

“Stop worryin’ – it’s taken care of.”

“What does that mean?”  Mike asked, still concerned, and both men heard Butch in the next room, presumably showered and clean.  As he finished drying his luxuriously long hair, Butch made a stop at the kitchen table on his way back to the bedroom.  He picked up the prescription bottle that was sitting there and hid it in his towel.  He didn’t know what it was, but it was pharmaceutical grade, so it had to be good.  When he made his way back to the bedroom he was forced to squeeze himself between Mike and the doorframe, which he seemed to enjoy under Davy’s observation.  Mike gave him a baffled look, and decided he didn’t really want to be in the bedroom alone with the loving couple, so he made a quick exit.

“Butch, Mike says we need money.”  Davy informed him.

“Yeah, so what?

“So, we need to make some quick cash.”

“I know how to do that.”

“Me too, so we better get started…tonight.”

“Fine.”  It wouldn’t be the first time Davy gave a blowjob for cash – he could think of worse jobs to be doing.

Another week went by, Mike was lying awake in bed late at night, listening to Micky toss with another one of those nightly dreams.  He kept one constant eye on his roommate to insure there were no more incidents; and he hoped that the medication he was on would help prevent another suicidal event.  He kept himself awake by thinking about his own monumental crises, and what he had done, wondering if Lauren was alive, or dead.  Not that he cared, but he was suddenly concerned for his own future, and he never really meant to hurt her…not really.  It wouldn’t be a tragedy if she were hit by a bus, but to actually kill someone with his own hands – that wasn’t him – it was someone else.  It was a dream, or a hallucination maybe.  And what about the newest revelation?  Davy and Butch?!  What the hell was that all about?  They certainly looked like they were enjoying themselves.  He redirected his gaze from the window to the figure on the other bed…

“Micky – let’s go.”

“No!  Mike, leave me alone.”  He felt Mike’s strong hand grab him by the arm, and lift him off the couch.

“Come on – Stop actin’ like a child” and he dragged Micky to the bathroom while Davy and Peter watched, waiting to pitch in and help if Mike needed it.  He slammed Micky against the tiled wall, and opened the medicine cabinet for a fresh blade.

“No – I’m not gonna do it,” he cried, as he sank to the floor.

“Oh, you’re gonna do it, babe.”  Mike said calmly as he handed the razor sharp blade to him.  “You’re gonna do it, or I’m gonna do it for ya’ – now, what’s it gonna be?”  Micky looked up at Mike, confused and shocked that his friend would ask him to do such a thing.  He tried to think of a way to escape Mike’s wishes, but he knew he was beaten, and his tears started to fall.

“Why?” he asked, and saw Peter and Davy roll their eyes at each other.

“Come on, Micky – you know why.  Don’t make Mike go through all that again.”  Davy said.

“Go through what again?  You never told me.”

“I’m just sick of it, Mick – we all are.”  Mike answered.

“Yeah.”  Peter and Davy agreed together.

“Sick of what?”  he pleaded for more information.

“Sick of you – whadidya’ think?”  Mike said, as he took Micky’s hand and turned it over to get better access, and reveal his vulnerable wrist.  “It’s okay, Mick.  It’s not your fault.  It’s just somethin’ that needs to be done – that’s all.”  And he casually held the blade to his friends wrist, and with one clean swipe, made a deep cut.  Micky didn’t move.  He sat and watched as Mike took his other hand and repeated the action without a hint of emotion, as if he were cutting into a steak.

“No” he whimpered, over and over in his sleep.

Mike continued to watch him from his own bed.  It was the same thing every night.  He got up and walked to Micky’s side of the room; the moment he sat down on the bed, Micky opened his eyes and sat up.  “Hi Mike” His voice was cheerful, but the expression on his face looked as if he had just seen a ghost.

“Hi Mike?”  he replied to Micky’s odd response.  “You were havin’ that dream again”

“Did I wake you?”

“No.  I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“Me neither.”

“What are ya’ talkin’ about?  You were just sleepin’”

“Yeah…I can’t sleep anymore, though.”  He said as he turned on the light and reached for a book.

“Guess that means we’re both stayin’ up” Mike said to himself as he rubbed the harsh light out of his eyes.  He looked over at Micky with his cleared vision to see a big smile focused on him before Micky opened his book.  And with that one smile, all of Mike’s worries were instantly melted away, and he forgot all that was on his mind.  He concentrated on the sight before him with that signature, intense stare of his, not allowing the vision to be broken by blinking, and he suddenly felt a strong urge to wipe that smile off his face with a kiss.  Instead, he grabbed the book from Micky’s hand.  “Move over.”  Mike instructed him, and made himself comfortable next to Micky on the bed.  He cleared his throat before he opened the book and began to read to him.  Micky gave him another smile, and settled down to listen.  “Kerouac?  Haven’t you read this already?”  Mike asked.

“I wanted to read it again” Micky yawned; Mike read:

“I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up.  I had just gotten over a serious illness that I won’t bother to talk about, except that it had something to do with the miserably weary split-up and my feeling that everything was dead…”

“Mike?”  And the reading was put on pause.

“Hm?”

“I wish we were closer”

“What do ya’ mean?  How much closer can we be?”

“Like we used to be…I wish it was like it used to be.”

“Well, we aint in California, Mick, nothin’s like it used to be.”  Mike thought for a moment, closed the book, and put his arm around his friend.  “I know what you want,” he said.  Micky looked up at him with a perplexed expression, almost hiding a faint smile.

“You do?”  Mike leaned into him and gave him that intense, cold stare again; it looked so familiar, Micky thought.

“I do. I know everything you’re thinkin’, Mick.”  He said, lifting his face up with a finger under his chin.

“Whadaya’ mean?”  And with that same stare in his eyes, and a loss of all his control and will, Mike leaned down to meet his lips with that luscious, pouting smile.  Micky melted into Mike’s touch; it was a kiss like no other.  A soft explosion of the forbidden, with just a hint of artificial, cherry flavor.

“Is that what you want?”  he whispered, not taking his gaze from the lips he’d just kissed.  Micky was too stunned to say a word.  He continued to look at Mike with the same confusion written on his face.  He had never put it into words before, but now that he had a taste he realized it was exactly what he wanted.  How could Mike know that, when he didn’t even know it himself?  “You’re not answering me.”  And he kissed him again, this time longer and with force; the arm he had casually draped around Micky’s shoulder had tightened to keep him in place.  As much as he enjoyed it, Micky wasn’t ready for this, and he tried to pull away from Mike’s grip.  Mike held him firmly by his arms and looked at him, “Did you take your medication today?”

“Uh-huh.”  Micky nodded his lie, unable to form words.

“Then what’s wrong with you?”  he demanded.

“Nothing.  How…how did you know?”  he said still dazed.

“You know how I know.”  Micky shook his head.  “I’m in here” and Mike put his hands on Micky’s head to emphasize what he meant.  “I’ve always been in here, babe…I’ve always been in your head,” he whispered.

“What?”

“That’s how I know what your thinkin’.”

“You can’t know what I’m thinking.”  Micky was starting to panic; after all, it made sense.  How else could Mike tell him to kill himself?  He knew every thought; every emotion – it wasn’t possible – was it?  It was too frightening to think about, and he felt his eyes sting with tears of terror as he stared back into Mike’s trying to comprehend what was going on.  “Why are you saying that?”

“What difference does it make?  The fact remains that I’m right.  You want me…you’ve always wanted me, Micky.”

“That’s not true.”  His eyes were huge staring up at Mike, and Mike couldn’t resist the power he held over him – just like his old self – in control, with power over another.  Someone who looked up to him; someone who respected him; someone who feared him – what a thrill to have that old feeling back. 

“You look so cute when you’re scared…there’s nothin’ to worry about.”

“I’m not scared.”  Another lie.

“You’re not?  Good.”

When he kissed him this time, Micky kissed back, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.  He was a flurry of emotion, none of which he could separate out for comprehension.  He wanted Mike’s attention; he knew that much.  He wanted to make Mike happy – he knew that too.  He also wanted Mike to continue to take care of him, and if this is what Mike wanted in return, then he could do that much for him – couldn’t he?  But there was something else; there was fear.  Mike had always scared him a little, but not like this.  What if Mike was right?  What if he really was controlling everything he thought?  He’d better not make him angry.

Mike’s kisses were becoming more urgent.  Once he had started, there was no stopping.  He had gone weeks without, and just when he had become so accustomed to having sex daily.  He didn’t know what the sudden attraction was, but the feeling had been gaining momentum for weeks, and now it was time to satisfy his hunger.  That face was too enticing, and that slim, warm body had been torturing him since the night he let Micky sleep in his own bed.

He forced Micky onto his back, and impatiently removed the striped, oversized pajamas Micky always wore.  He wouldn’t let his lips stray as he worked, and Micky wished he would allow him to catch a breath, but Mike was too deep into his own passion to think about breathing, and Micky was too weak with confusion to do anything at all except what Mike wanted.

It all seemed so familiar to Micky: a kiss forced on his lips, his clothes being forced from his body, his cock being enveloped by a moist warmth; and the whole time was that sickly-sweet, cherry flavor and aroma.  Where was it coming from?  Why did Mike smell and taste like cherries?  Nothing made any sense anymore, save for the sensation between his legs.  His thoughts were a jumbled mess, and he couldn’t tell what was happening, only that something was building inside him and was getting ready to burst.

When he opened his eyes he could only see a strange fog, so he kept them closed while the disembodied hands and mouth worked their magic on him.  The slick tongue slid its way down his shaft leaving a cool wet streak toward an even more private place.  And the next thing he realized, he was face down on the bed, and he didn’t know how he wound up in that position, but the tongue was back at the entrance to his body, and it felt deliciously exotic to be licked there.  His hips levitated off the bed on their own initiative, and he was in another world, somewhere outside his body.  Things like this – sensations like this weren’t possible in this world, he thought.  The waves of little explosions had returned, and it was pure ecstasy, and the next thing he knew those waves were substituted by a searing burn.  What was going on now?  His mind struggled to grasp the contrast of sensations as he buried his face into the pillow and gripped the bed sheet with his fists.  “Relax” a voice whispered in his ear and a hand ran across his back in an effort to ease his tenseness, while another hand found his erection to stroke it in time with those thrusts, and his body calmed into that other world once again.  He floated above the bed only to be forced back down by each thrust of the intruder.  It was heaven – that’s where he was.  Another intense wave of pleasure, boosted by a shot of sharp pain, and finally one last rush exploded from deep inside and filled him with a shiver of glorious warmth.  The intruder was gone, and all he could feel was a pair of arms wrapping around his chest; lips kissing the back of his neck; hands caressing his arms, and the world dissolved away into a dream.

When he awoke, he was alone in his bed.  He struggled to remember the event that had taken place, but it seemed like an illusion.  Did that really happen?  He couldn’t even remember a face.  Could it be that he was just hallucinating having sex with dismembered body parts?  Oh god!  What next?!  He panicked as he sat up in bed and tried to think if he had taken his medication today.  Just then, Mike walked into the room and sat down next to him on the bed.  “What’s wrong, Mick?”  he asked with an uncharacteristically soothing voice.  He brushed the back of his hand gently across Micky’s cheek and leaned over to kiss him.  It wasn’t a dream, Micky thought with relief, and flung both arms around Mike’s neck and held on to him tightly.  “What is it, Micky?”

“I think I’m going crazy, Mike.”

‘Going’ crazy?  Mike thought. “You’re not crazy, Mick – just a little…confused, that’s all.”  It must be time for more of those pills, “Come on, Mick, you’re okay.”  He tried to sound convincing with a solid hug for emphasis.  “I gotta go out for a while – you gonna be okay by yourself?”

“Can’t I go with you?”

“Not this time, good buddy.  You stay here.  Okay?”

“Okay.”

Mike gave him a small kiss on the forehead, and left the bedroom.  Micky laid himself back down in bed and stared out the window.  He thought he could hear unfamiliar voices in the next room.

“Ready, Mr.  Nethmith?”

“That’s ‘NESmith’.  Yeah – I’m ready.”  And he was led out of the pad and escorted to the downtown police station by two bulky detectives for questioning.  Davy wasn’t home, and he hated leaving Micky alone, but there wasn’t any choice, and he hoped Micky would be all right for the few hours until he returned…IF he returned.  When they arrived at their destination, they took their time and made Mike wait over an hour before getting down to the questioning, and Mike realized they didn’t really know anything about what had happened, so he played it cool and let them sweat.  “So, what’s this all about anyway?”

“You’re a friend of Lauren Astin?”

“I’m not sayin’ anything without my lawyer.”

“Fine.  You can do that, but you won’t make it easier on yourself.”  Mike rolled his eyes.

“Whadaya’ wanna know?”

“Answer the question.”

“Yeah, I know her.  Why?”

“She was found dead in her apartment.”  Now he knew.  He tried not to show what he was really thinking.  He remained calm and in control while they interrogated him with their questions.  “The elevator man said you were a regular at her place.  Is that true?”

“I was one of her clients.”  He answered, thinking fast.  It happened on a Monday night – the elevator man’s day off – he didn’t see a thing, he thought, they’re only guessing.

“You don’t look very broken up over this news.”

“Why should I be?  I told you – I was only a client, not a lover.”

“So, where were you on the night of July 1st?”

“Home, taking care of a sick friend.”

“You seem very sure of your memory.”

“That was the day he got out of the hospital – that’s why I remember.”  Another quick answer – he was good, and he knew it; his confidence was given a boost, and he wasn’t going to back down.

“Okay, Mr.  Neshmith”

“That’s NESmith”  

“Whatever.  We’ll be in touch.”  And Mike was free to go.

He hadn’t been gone very long; Micky was probably asleep – that’s all he ever did anymore, but at least it kept him out of trouble.  Mike walked into the pad, relieved over what he had just discovered.  Not that Lauren was dead, but that no one knew it was him that did it.  Any guilt he felt was lifted when he thought about how she had treated him and what she did.  It was an accident anyway, he convinced himself, and he put it out of his mind easily as he went to check on Micky.

He opened the door.  Just as he’d expected – Micky was still in bed sitting in an odd position against the wall.  Mike walked over to his own bed to retrieve the newspaper he’d left there earlier, a general tidying up of the room that had been neglected lately.  “Micky – I’m back, babe.”  He said as he continued his task.  “Mick, come on – it’s time to get up.”  No answer – he could sleep through an earthquake, in fact, Mike could remember him doing exactly that once, back when they lived in California.  The pad shook enough to tumble over the wooden Indian, but Micky slept right through it.

He went over to the other bed and sat down next to him, “Micky…ya’ can’t sleep all day – lets go – get up.”  But Micky didn’t move even after a brisk shaking, and Mike finally saw the familiar drug paraphernalia that he thought he had disposed of months ago sitting on the night table.  “Oh-shit, Micky, not again.  I thought we were over this – come on – wake up” He turned him over, so he could see his face, and he found the thin, leather belt he had always used as a tourniquet still tied around his arm, and a needle still penetrating his vein; Mike grabbed it and through it across the room.  Micky's face was white and tinged blue around his mouth.  “Micky!”  Mike screamed at him, and he scooped up his limp body into his own arms.

Mike heard the other bedroom door open and Davy talking with Butch.  Their love session was interrupted by Mike’s scream, and they came running to see what had caused it.

“What’s wrong, Mike?”  But as soon as Davy asked the question, he could see the answer, and turned to Butch to give him instructions: “Call an ambulance” Butch left the room and did what he was told.  Davy kneeled down beside Mike on the bed and noticed tears in his eyes.  He’d never seen Mike cry before, and it scared him.  “Mike…is he all right?”

“No.”  Mike answered, his voice scratchy and strained.

“Whadaya’ mean?”

“He’s not all right.”  He yelled, angry that he had to repeat himself, as he held the body close to his own, and breathed in the scent of those curls for the last time.  He was still warm, and he didn’t feel that different from a few hours ago when they had shared that very bed.  Mike had thought it was a new beginning for them, and even though he had to leave to play suspect to a crime, he was happy and walked on air as he left the pad – he should have never left Micky alone.

“Mike…is…is he…?”  He couldn’t bring himself to say the word, and Mike stayed silent with his face buried in Micky’s hair.  Davy didn’t have to ask again.  Only one thing could possibly make Mike this upset – Micky was gone.

The next day, they had to start the sad task of organizing funeral arrangements.  Micky had no family that they knew of, so it was up to Mike and Davy to work out all the details.  It would have to be simple they decided because they didn’t have the money for anything else.  “Didn’t Micky have a sister back in California?”  Mike asked.

“I don’t remember ‘im talkin’ about a sister.”  Davy answered, “He never talked about anyone.”

“There’s gotta be someone that can help us with this.”

“Ya’ know, we really should try to get hold of Peter – he’d wanna be here.”

“Yeah, but who knows where he is.”  Mike put his head in his hands, and tried to hold back his sobs.  He didn’t want Davy to see him like this, so he went back to thinking about their finances.  “We can’t afford this – now we can’t even pay the rent this month” he said in an effort to suppress his emotions.

“Don’t worry, Mike – I’ve got some money we can use.”

“You do?”  Mike was surprised to hear that.  Where would Davy get extra cash from?

“Yeah, a lot actually – I was saving it, but we can use it all if we need to – Micky deserves that much.”

“Thanks, Davy.”  There was nothing more that Mike wanted to do than sit down and have a good cry, but he wouldn’t allow himself to do it, especially in front of Davy.  He could feel himself on the edge; ready to break at any moment.  Micky’s death was just the final blow; he couldn’t take anymore of this.  One crisis after another, with no one to take care of anything, but him.  If anything else happened he was going to loose his mind – at least he still had Davy on his side.

The dreaded day had arrived, and they made their way out to Queens for the burial.  All the friends they had made in the time they had been in New York had come to say goodbye to Micky, and they managed to find Peter just in time, so he could be with them.  It was a hot, sticky summer day, and it started to rain before they could finish.  The air was so thick with heat that they may as well have been in hell, and the raindrops were a welcome relief, especially since it drowned out the sounds of the service.

Mike let a few tears fall behind his dark glasses, while Peter remained surprisingly calm and unaffected.  Davy stood nearby, holding Butch’s hand, not caring anymore who knew of his sexual preferences.  When it was over, Peter returned to his unknown hiding place with Jane; Davy went back to live happily ever after with Butch, and Mike stayed behind to sit with Micky for a while and think about his options.  He couldn’t help wondering if his sexual advances were what pitched Micky over the edge and caused his death.  His life was a disaster, and he had brought too many other lives down with him.  He never meant for any of this to happen, but he couldn’t think straight anymore, and he let things stray out of control until it spiraled down into the depths of hell.  He would never be able to fix any of this.  So, he decided to leave the city and return to Texas, not tomorrow, or next week, but right away.  He didn’t even stop at the pad for a goodbye, or his things, he simply left with only the clothes on his back, leaving behind everything that he had; everything that reminded him of the time he spent in hell, and his life in New York City.

Due to the poor ratings in his head, and the fact that the creator of the show is now deceased, the series was unfortunately cancelled.  The characters portrayed in television-land died along with the mind of their inventor, and so it was no longer possible to continue without him.  However, the real third season of the television series known as “The Monkees” is alive and well, and so, as the third season comes to an end, the fourth season will continue with more adventure in time for the Fall sweeps.  Remember: no show is cancelled with Nielson ratings this high.