Part 1:
Friday, February 13, 1966
Mike stood on the balcony of the beach house that he shared with his three other band members and friends. Below him, the birthday party they were throwing for Peter was in full swing. He, Davy, and Micky had thrown together a surprise party for him since he loved surprises. Mike's lips curled into a slight smile as he remembered the look of confusion as Peter came home from a day of running errands to a completely quiet and dark pad; something that was definitely a rarity for them.

Suddenly, everyone, including Mike, jumped out of his or her hiding place, scaring the pants off of Peter, and giving him the best birthday they possibly could. Peter was glowing the whole night, and certainly was the life of the party.

Mike walked down the spiral staircase to join the party again after retrieving his guitar from his bedroom where he had hidden it so it wouldn't be damaged during the party. He walked over to the bandstand where his roommates were waiting for him after Micky waved to him and yelled for him to hurry up. Peter still had the giant grin plastered on his face, unable to get over all the trouble his friends had gone through to give him a great birthday party.

"It's about time you got here Mike," Micky chuckled from behind his drums. "Now you wanna go get Romeo over there?" Micky pointed to the corner of the room where Davy was sweet talking another one of the neighborhood girls. Mike, making sure his timing was perfect, tapped him on the shoulder just as he leaned in for a kiss.

"Hey, short stuff, we're on."

"I'm kinda busy here Mike," Davy said, not turning his eyes away from the gorgeous brunette in front of him.

"Well we're all waiting for you, lover boy," Mike retorted.

"Oh all right," Davy moaned, winking at the girl. "I'll be back, luv. Don't go away."

The girl giggled and blushed as Davy placed a quick kiss on her cheek. Mike rolled his eyes and headed back over to the bandstand with Davy on his heels.

"'Bout time you joined us Jones," Micky chuckled.

"Be quiet Micky," Davy growled back.

"Hey, take it easy you two. It's Pete's birthday, so let's try to get along for one day, okay?" Mike said, pointing to Peter who was oblivious to everything, wrapped up in his own happy little world. "Ready birthday boy?" Mike asked, turning to the grinning blonde.

"Yep!" he replied happily. "Thanks again guys, this is the best birthday ever!"

"Hey, you'd do the same for us Peter," Davy said, giving the bassist a good pat on the back.

"How about you do the first song, big Peter?" Micky suggested. "'Your Auntie Grizelda'?"

"Sure!" Peter replied happily, and once Micky gave the downbeat, he began belting the lyrics out with his normal energy and bounce. That song soon led to another, and after about an hour long set, they decided to break it up and just enjoy the rest of the night.

The party began breaking up around 2:00, but the last guest didn't leave until about 2:30. Once Mike had locked the door, he looked around the messed up pad; there were balloons everywhere, streamers had been torn down and thrown around the pad, and food was scattered everywhere. Mike rolled his eyes at the amount of work they would have to do to clean up after this party, but he felt it was worth it. They had all pitched in and bought Peter a new bass to replace the old scratched thing he had been trying to hold together until he could save up for a new one. The glowing smile that Peter had given the three of them, followed by the bear hugs, certainly made the effort worthwhile.

Mike trudged through the trash on the floor to the back door of the pad, and pushed the screen door open. It squeaked loudly as he walked through it, giving him a reminder that he needed to oil it the next day. Taking in a deep breath of the night sea air that he loved so much, he walked to the railing of the porch and leaned his elbow on it, glancing out at the ocean. Davy had gone for a walk on the beach with his new love interest about an hour beforehand, while Peter and Micky had decided to call it a night. Mike listened to the waves crashing on the dark shore, watching the full moon reflecting brightly off the water. He spent almost every night out on the porch, and never got tired of it. He closed his eyes and listened for the normal sounds, like the crickets that lived in the grass around the pad, or the occasional couple that roamed the beach late on summer nights, but when he truly listened, everything seemed eerily silent. All he heard was the rhythmic crash of the waves on the beach, but that was all. There were no people out that night, and he heard no crickets.

"Odd," he thought, but shrugged and thought nothing of it.

Mike sighed and right before he was about to turn around and go back inside, he felt something on his back, then felt like he was falling. He opened his eyes quickly to see the beach below him rushing up to his face. He hit the ground with a thud, accompanied by a loud crack that seemed to vibrate through his skull. Bright stars of orange and purple flashed across his eyes, blinding him to the real stars that lined the night sky.

He tried to get up, but found it impossible; his body refused to respond. He didn't feel any pain, which was odd, seeing how he was obvious hurt if his body wouldn't move. The orange and purple stars faded, but were soon replaced by red ones. Big red ones. It took him a few minutes to realize they weren't stars, but blood. The thick red blood soon covered his eyes, but that too began to fade until he saw nothing. He let out one more great shuddering breath, then fell silent.

Part 2:
Mike sat up in his bed the next morning, stunned to find himself there. The last thing he remembered was being on the beach, but he shook his head. Just some whacked out dream, he thought, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He glanced over at Micky's bed, which was surprisingly empty. I must've slept late, he told himself, getting out of bed and stretching. Mike walked out of the bedroom and looked over the railing of the balcony at the mess from the party the night before. He shook his head, not surprised that none of the others had started cleaning up yet. He knew Davy and Micky were gonna try to weasel their way out of it, but Peter would be willing to help like he always was, not that Mike would let him help. He wasn't going to make the kid clean up after his own birthday party.

Mike walked downstairs, preparing to wake Davy and Peter, since no one else seemed to be up, but was surprised to find their beds empty as well. He shrugged and walked into the kitchen to get some breakfast. It wasn't odd for everyone to take off before he got up since he was usually the last one to go to bed. Except Micky, he would sleep all day if Mike didn't walk into the room hollering for him to get up around noon.

Mike saw some movement outside on the beach and figured it was the guys, so made his way to the back door. They'd clean up this pad if it killed them. As he approached the door, he saw a lot of people on the beach, very odd for this early in the morning. He looked at his watch to confirm the time, 11:11 A.M. He walked out the door, met by a strong ocean wind, but he certainly wasn't ready for the sight that met him there.

Police were everywhere, tape blocking off the entire area around the pad and people were crowding around the perimeter with looks of horror on their faces. Mike saw Micky and Davy standing just inside the yellow tape that blocked off the area, their faces ashen. They were staring at something beneath him under the porch, but he couldn't see what it was. Once he had walked out onto the porch, he saw Peter. The blonde was huddled on the ground, hugging his knees up to his chest, his face buried in them. His shoulders shook and his loud racking sobs could be heard.

Mike immediately went to comfort him and to find out what was wrong, but stopped when he hit the bottom of the stairs and came face to face with what Davy and Micky had been staring at. It was a body, covered in a white sheet, a crimson stain near the head where blood had soaked through.

"Oh my..." The words died in his throat and the haunting dream returned to him. It was only a dream, he silently reminded himself. You're still here.

He continued on his way over to Peter, his eyes never leaving the body that lay under the porch of his pad. He had almost made it to his sobbing friend when a big gust of sea air blew the sheet right off the body, giving him a full view of it.

Mike was speechless. The raven hair, the tall slender figure, the face that looked back at him every morning in the mirror: it was him. He backed away slowly, completely forgetting about Peter. "No," he finally mumbled. "This isn't happening."

Mike's attention was torn from the dead body when Peter let out an ear piercing scream and took off down the beach. Davy immediately ran after him, but Micky's eyes never left the cold body that was once Mike Nesmith. Mike could see the tears in the drummer's eyes, but Micky didn't look away; he couldn't.

The police quickly put the sheet back over Mike's body, this time securing it tightly to prevent the wind from carrying it away again. Micky's shoulders began to shake as the reality finally hit him; Mike was gone. "I can't believe it..." he whispered.

Mike ran over to him, waving in his face. "Micky! I'm right here! That's not me!" Mike tried everything to get the drummer's attention, but nothing seemed to work. Micky's eyes looked right through him. "Dolenz!! Snap out of it! I'm right here!"

Mike reached out to Micky, trying to grab him by the shoulders to make the curly haired man look at him, but his hands passed right through him. Mike gaped, but Micky didn't even respond, as if Mike wasn't even there.

"Oh my God..." Mike breathed as he stepped away from his friend, looking at his hands in disbelief. "This can't be happening." He closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head as if he could will the whole scenario away. "I'm not dead, I'm not dead, I'm not dead..." he mumbled over and over again. "It was just a dream."

"We're gonna have to take the body now," a voice interrupted his rambling. Mike opened his eyes to see a police officer had approached Micky, whose eyes were still staring at the still form under the sheet. When Micky didn't respond, he repeated the statement. "Son? We're gonna have to take the body now."

"Huh?" Micky said, finally bringing his eyes to meet the police officer's. "Oh, okay," he replied, choking the words through the tears that threatened to spill over his cheeks any minute.

"I'm really sorry, kid," the officer said, patting Micky on the shoulder briefly before turning back to his work. "Looks like your friend just had one too many drinks."

Micky sighed heavily, his composure slipping with every passing moment. He glanced up the beach for any sign of Peter and Davy, but they were nowhere in sight. He watched the officers pick Mike's body up and place it on a stretcher, then carry it away to the coroner's van. Mike refused to give up and stood in front of Micky again.

"Look at me, Micky!" he shouted, but Micky's eyes followed the van as it left the scene. "Damnit Micky!! LOOK AT ME!!"

Micky's eyes finally began moving towards him, and Mike nearly jumped with glee. Micky had heard him! His joy came crashing down when the drummer looked right past him and made his way back to the pad, his head hanging with despair. Mike watched him go and the reality of what was happening began to sink in.

"I'm dead," he muttered softly as the police began breaking up the crowd that had gathered on the beach. He watched Micky walk into the pad, pulling open the squeaky screen door and slamming it shut behind him. With that slam, Mike was filled with determination. He was going to find out what had happened to him and why. This wasn't an accident. He hadn't been drinking the night before. He wouldn't give up until he knew what happened and gave his friends some closure.

Part 3:
Micky sat on the bandstand of the pad, drumsticks in hand, but he didn't feel like playing. He had just sat there because it was a comfortable place for him to be. He stared down at his snare, wondering what was going to become of him and his friends. Before this, they had been an out of work band, now that Mike was gone, they weren't even that anymore. Now he was an out of work drummer in a band that didn't exist anymore.

He heard the front door open and looked up just as Davy stepped in the door and quietly closed it behind him. Davy wordlessly walked over to the bandstand and sat down on the edge, facing away from Micky, his shoulders sagging.

"Where's Pete?" Micky asked after they sat in silence for a few minutes.

"I couldn't find him," Davy answered, not looking up from the spot on the floor he had concentrated his eyes on. "He's a fast li'l guy when he wants to be."

"Yeah," Micky agreed, then they once again fell into silence.

Mike stood in the far corner of the room, leaning against the wall, well, as best as a ghost could without falling through it. He had learned that he could walk through walls when he had first tried to lean on it, and fell through into the bathroom.

Davy was the first to move from the bandstand, what seemed like an eternity later, but in actuality, only a few minutes had passed. "I know Mike wasn't real close with his family, but someone should call his mum. I'm sure the police already have, but I just think it would be a good idea for one of us to call her."

Micky nodded slightly in acknowledgment, and Davy rose from the bandstand. He walked to the phone, ready to make a long list of calls to family and friends to tell them the terrible news about Mike. As he picked up the phone, Micky's attention returned to the beach, keeping an eye out for Peter.

Mike watched his friends silently, still unsure about what to make of the situation. Okay, he was dead, but why was he at the pad? Was this all there was to the afterlife, walking around the same place you were, only now people can't see you? What a gyp. The Texan walked over to the back door of the pad where Micky was standing and glanced out over his shoulder to the small crowd of police that littered the beach. Mike regarded his roommate for a minute, and his heart sank to see the normally happy and energetic drummer so reserved. Micky had his arms crossed, hugging them to his body tightly as he stared out at the beach below. At first glance, it appeared that Micky was watching the action below, but the glassy look in his eyes revealed that he wasn't focusing on anything in particular. Micky sighed heavily as his eyes finally focused on the police roaming the beach, trying to recreate what had happened the night before.

Most of the police had dismissed it as an accident, Mike had just slipped over the railing, but Micky refused to accept that Mike would be that careless. He walked out the screen door leading to the beach, listening to the long, loud squeak as the door closed behind him. He walked over to the railing, which had been dusted for fingerprints and marked off with police tape. He looked down at the beach, taking care not to touch anything. It was hard for him to believe that only hours ago, Mike had been standing in the same spot, but for some reason had fallen over to his death. Now he was gone forever.

Micky felt an unfocused anger rising in his throat. What had happened the night before? Why did it have to happen to Mike? What had Mike done to deserve something like this? The anger grew at the unfairness of the situation, that such a great young man with a bright future ahead of him could be cut down in his prime.

"Micky?" Davy's voice startled him from behind.

The drummer turned to see Davy standing inside the screen door, a look of deep concern on his face. "What?!" Micky replied, a little more harshly than he had intended.

If Davy had picked up on the anger in his voice, he didn't show it. His gentle, concerned expression never wavered. "You better get in here," Davy answered, casting a look back into the pad.

"Why?"

"Peter's back," Davy said with a hint of sadness in his voice.

Good, Micky thought. He knew this was hitting the bassist hard, probably the hardest of all of them, and he really didn't want Peter out on his own right now. Peter had been friends with Mike long before he or Davy had entered the picture. Peter had once said that he never had anyone to look up to, such as an older brother, so he had always looked to Mike. Mike had taken Peter under his wing, somewhat reluctantly, since he was a rather distant person, but he soon found out that he needed Peter as much as Peter needed him.

When they had first met, Mike was a very closed off individual. He didn't bother others and they didn't bother him. Once Peter had come into his life, things began to change. Peter's caring and trusting nature brought out a trusting side of Mike as well. Mike normally kept to himself, but Peter was always able to get to him when no one else could. Peter and Mike had a special bond that neither he nor Davy could understand or explain.

Not that it matters now, Micky reminded himself silently. Mike's gone.

Micky walked over to the door, which Davy held open for him, allowing him to walk right into the pad. As soon as he was inside, he saw the blonde taking a broom out of the closet, and starting to sweep up the mess from the party the night before. Micky watched silently for a minute, completely baffled by his friend's behavior. Micky looked at Peter's face; his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot and his face was tear streaked, obviously he had been crying.

What should I say to him? Micky asked himself mentally. Mike had always been the one to talk to Peter when he was upset, and the opposite was always true as well. Micky took a deep breath and walked over to Peter, who was bent down over a dustpan, sweeping up confetti and streamers.

"Hey Big Peter," Micky began, but when the blonde failed to acknowledge him, he sighed slightly. "Whatcha doing?"

"Cleaning up," Peter replied as if it were the most obvious answer. "I want the pad to be cleaned up for when Mike gets back."

Micky felt his heart skip a few beats as the words left Peter's mouth. Tears rose, and he swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. The genuine sincerity and determination in Peter's eyes was heart wrenching. Didn't he understand that Mike was never coming back?

"Uh, Pete," Micky started gently, unsure of how to say this without crushing Peter completely. "Mike's not coming back."

"Yes he is," Peter answered simply, walking over to the trashcan to empty the dustpan.

"No Pete-" Micky tried again, but he was interrupted by a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to meet Davy's eyes, and the shorter man shook his head.

"Give him some time. He's got to cope with this in his own way."

"But is it healthy for him to go around thinking Mike's gonna come walking in the door any minute now?"

Davy shrugged in response. "He'll eventually realize that Mike's gone for good, but he has to come to that conclusion in his own time. We can't rush him or we just might make things worse." Davy had been whispering, and he cast a glance over at Peter to make sure he hadn't been heard. Peter continued with his cleaning, and his two roommates watched with concern etched in every feature.

They weren't the only ones, however. Mike stood next to Peter, unnoticed by his three friends, and his heart went out to the blonde. He didn't want to cause Peter any pain, or any of the others for that matter. And this time, he couldn't console any of them. Mike watched as Peter cleaned up every streamer and every piece of confetti. Micky and Davy joined in too, just to help Peter move the job along faster. Mike wanted to reach out and wrap Peter up in a big hug, tell him everything would be fine, but he knew it was impossible now. When Micky and Davy heard the screen door at the back of the pad squeak open, both turned to see who it was.

A young man, who couldn't have been much beyond thirty with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes, poked his head in the door, and once he knew that the others had seen him, he stepped inside. He slid in the door, closing it behind him, then approached Micky and Davy.

"Well, there's not much more we can do here," he said. "We're not sure if any foul play was involved, but that's a possibility, so we're going to give the scene another once over."

"Thanks Detective Stryker," Micky started, but the officer put up a hand, indicating that he wasn't finished.

"There is one more thing. We got both accounts from you and Mr. Jones, but what about your other friend?" he asked, pointing to Peter who was still meticulously cleaning every inch of the pad.

"Just leave him alone, he doesn't know any more than I do," Micky replied, crossing his arms in defiance, intent on protecting Peter.

"Why shouldn't I talk to him?" the detective asked, matching Micky's challenging glare. "Does he have something to hide?"

Why that low-life son of a bitch! Mike thought as he stalked over to where the three were talking. How dare he imply that Peter would hide something about this! Mike wanted to reach out and wring this guy's neck!

Micky just intensified his glare at the officer. "No, he's not hiding anything."

"Then why are you trying to protect him?" Stryker interrupted, but this time Micky held up a hand to silence him.

"Because he's not exactly stable right now. Do you see what he's doing right now? Huh?" Micky asked, trying to keep the anger from his voice in order to keep it low. "He's cleaning up for Mike. He thinks Mike is going to come back. He's taking this news extremely hard. He and Mike were more than just friends and roommates. They were closer than most families are. So for you to come in here and even imply that he has anything to hide is disgusting!" Micky could no longer control the intensity of his voice, and the last words came exploding from his lips, attracting the attention of Peter. The blonde stared at him with a confused and concerned expression, but once Micky noticed, he smiled slightly, hoping to calm any concerns. It seemed to work because Peter went back to his cleaning, ignoring the rest of them once again.

Micky turned back to the officer, whose expression had not softened at all. "I still want to talk to him."

"No," both Davy and Micky said in unison.

"Well, perhaps there's more to this case than I first thought," the detective thought out loud. "I'm going to need a list of everyone who was here last night in order to question them all. And I will question them all," he said, stealing a glance at Peter.

"Get out," Micky spat, his eyes on fire with anger.

"I'll be in touch," was his reply as he turned and walked out the back door, returning to the scene in search of clues.

Micky kept his glare concentrated on the door, hoping that the waves of anger he was projecting were reaching the officer. Mike smiled, proud of how Micky had handled the situation. He couldn't had done it better himself. That cop was going to be a pain in the ass, but he might be the other key to figuring out exactly what had happened to him. He would have to watch that guy carefully. Mike turned back to Micky, who was still staring at the door angrily, and Davy put a gentle hand on his shoulder, showing his support. While they desperately wanted to know what happened to Mike, they knew they would keep this guy away from Peter. They didn't want him pushing Peter further over the edge.

"We should probably start on that list," Davy finally said. "Give him other people to chase after."

Micky nodded in agreement, and both of them sat at the kitchen table to list off the people who had been there the night before. The only sound that accompanied the two men's voices as they called out names was the rush of the running water in the sink as Peter did the dishes.

Mike stood by the kitchen table, keeping silent vigilance over them as he tried to remember what had happened the previous night, but everything seemed like a dream; a dream that was fading rapidly. If he was going to find out what really happened, he was going to have to start from square one, just like the rest of them. ~~~~~ Part 4:

Detective Stryker looked down at the list of names that Davy and Micky had give to him. He had gotten about half way through the list of people that afternoon and none of them had been much help. Many had left before the incident, and some had been too drunk the night before to even remember going to the party. He counted thirty people left on the list to talk to and sighed. Who knew a band of long-haired weirdoes could have so many friends, and not know the last names of half of them?

He walked up to the door of a small white house a few houses down from the Monkees' pad and knocked on the door. It was a one floor little flat, the paint on the outside was peeling and it looked like it was going to fall over any day now. He waited a minute, and when there was no answer, he knocked again.

"I'm coming!" a voice shouted from inside.

He listened to the sound of hasty footsteps that grew louder until they stopped right inside the door. The door flew open, revealing a petite young lady with long sandy hair that reached her waist. Her eyes were a sparkling, dark green color, and the detective couldn't help but be a little attracted to her beauty.

"What?" she asked impatiently when he just stood there, and that brought the officer back to his senses.

"Are you Morgan O'Brien?" he asked.

"Depends on who's asking," she replied, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I'm Detective Alex Stryker," he told her, pulling his badge out of the pocket of his tan trench coat, flashing it to her. "I need to ask you a few questions."

"Sure," she shrugged, opening the door all the way. "Come on in. I was getting ready to go out, I've got plans, so it'll have to be quick."

Stryker walked in the front door, which led right into a small, scarcely decorated living room. There was a small tan colored couch tucked in one corner with a television set on a stand opposite it. An old, ratty looking chair was placed against another wall with a table that looked just as old next to it.

"Have a seat," Morgan said as she walked in behind him, then continued into the next room to finished getting ready, he assumed. "Now what did you want to ask me?" she called from the next room.

He sat down on the couch, fearing that the old chair wouldn't be able to support his weight. "Were you at a birthday part at 1334 North Beechwood last night?" he called back to her.

"Yeah," she replied in a quieter tone as she walked back into the room. She pulled her hair back in a long ponytail, then proceeded to wrap it around itself until it formed a tight bun on the top of her head. "So what?"

"You obviously haven't heard about what's happened then," he observed by her casual tone.

"No, I guess I haven't, since I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, sitting down on the chair across the room.

"One of the boys, Michael Nesmith, fell to his death last night," he told her gently, the he paused to let the news sink in, watching her reaction carefully.

"Oh," she shrugged, as if the news were nothing unusual. "That's a shame."

"That's a shame?" he repeated incredulously, unable to believe that she was taking the news so calmly.

"Yeah," she said, again showing no remorse in her voice.

"That's all you have to say?"

"Look, if you're waiting for me to break down into sobs and start mumbling to myself incoherently, you're wasting your time. It's not gonna happen."

"I thought you were a friend of theirs. You were at the party after all."

"A friend of Peter's, yes. But Mike? Not a chance, I couldn't stand the guy," she spat with a hint of disgust in her voice when she mentioned his name.

That comment caught his interest. "Oh?"

"Yes," she replied. "But I wouldn't kill him, if that's what you're thinking. He was a jerk, but not he wasn't worth the effort."

"So, I guess there's some bad blood between you... or should I say there was?" he said with a grin, wanting to provoke her and get every last detail.

"Why don't I just tell you everything so you can stop with the stupid questions? Mike and I grew up together. We were friends all the way up through high school, so we started dating our sophomore year. We stayed together for a few years, even after we graduated. He went to college, I didn't. I loved him more than anything, I even wanted to marry him. Big mistake on my part. As soon as he got the opportunity to move to California, he dumped me and left. Just like that," she snapped her fingers to emphasize her point. "No goodbye, nothing. He was just gone one day, and I never heard from him again until I moved to California about two years ago. As fate would have it, I moved in right down the street from his pad, not that I had known it at the time. If I had, I never would've rented the place."

She shifted in her seat on the couch, and the detective watched her behavior carefully, making note of every gesture, since one wrong move could reveal any guilt on her part. "Well, the day after I moved in, I was greeted by this really sweet boy, Peter," she continued.

"Peter Tork," Stryker interrupted.

"Wow, they don't call you detective for nothing," she said, her words dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, it was Peter Tork. He arrived on my door with a basket full of stuff for my new house. I invited him in for some tea and he told me all about the town, the people, the neighborhood. We talked for hours. He even told me about the band he and his roommates were in. He visited almost every day over the next week, and one day he invited me to see he and his friends rehearse, so I agreed."

"And that when you found out your ex-boyfriend was living down the street," the officer interrupted again.

"Are you telling this story or am I?" she asked impatiently as she leaned back and crossed her arms. "Because if you think you know it all, you can see yourself to the door."

"Sorry," he apologized half-heartedly. "Continue."

"As I was saying," she continued, "I went to the rehearsal, and that's when I discovered one of Peter's roommates was Mike. We were both shocked to see each other after all that time. He tried to apologize to me, saying he was going through a lot of stuff, and what he did was stupid, but I just couldn't forgive him. I definitely agreed that what he did was stupid. I loved him and he just walked out on me. He kept trying to apologize, but it didn't do any good, until Peter found out what had happened between us. He made it his personal mission to get us to be friends again, and I couldn't resist his sweet charm. I finally said I forgave Mike, for Peter's sake, but I could never bring myself to truly forgive him. The End."

"That's it?" Stryker asked. He had been hoping for something more.

"Yes, that's it," Morgan replied testily. "I'm sorry that my story isn't exciting enough for you."

"What happened at the party last night?" he asked, moving on quickly.

"Nothing much," she answered. "I went there around ten, a bunch of people were already there. The guys were playing when I got there, so I waited until they finished their set. When they did, I said happy birthday to Peter, gave him his present and left."

"And what time was that?"

"Around eleven or eleven-thirty," she said, but his suspicious gaze still watched her carefully, as if he could read if she were lying off her face. "Peter saw me leave, you can ask him."

"I think I'll do just that," the detective said, his gaze never faltering. "Did you come home afterwards?"

"Yes," she answered. "I came home and went to bed."

"Alone, I presume."

"Yes, alone," she confirmed.

"I see," Stryker said, making sure to make note of that.

"Now," she continued, rising from the chair. "If you'll excuse me, I have some things I need to do."

Stryker took the hint that this questioning was over and rose from the couch, walking towards the front door. "If I have any more questions-"

"You can get in touch with me here," she finished for him, following him to the door. She reached in front of him and pulled it open. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Thank you for your time," he said, walking out the door, which she promptly slammed shut behind him.

Detective Stryker walked down the sidewalk, contemplating her story. She left a lot of gaps, and gaps usually indicated guilt of some kind or another. Her story definitely needed some checking into, and in order to do that, he needed to talk to Peter Tork. He headed back down the street to 1334 North Beechwood, eager to question their blonde friend, whether they liked it or not.

Part 5:
Mike watched silently as Peter hunched over his banjo and played Cripple Creek, concentrating on nothing but the music. He had been watching over his friend all day, and while he had wanted to go with the detective, to perhaps find something out about what had happened the night before, he found he couldn't tear himself away. Not that his presence at the pad was making much of a difference.

There was an insistent knock at the door, causing both Peter and Mike to look up in surprise. Peter carefully put his banjo down on the bandstand and stood, stretching his cramped legs. He walked over to the door and opened it, revealing Detective Stryker.

"Oh, hello Peter," he said, a slight grin curling his lips.

"Hi," Peter returned the greeting hesitantly.

"May I come in?" the detective asked, but stepped around Peter and walked inside before he could answer.

"Sure," Peter replied a moment later, closing the front door.

Detective Stryker walked around the pad slowly, glancing in each room. Peter watched him from the front door, unsure of what the officer wanted. Micky had told him to stay away, but he was a police officer; what was he gonna do? Stryker finally settled on the chaise lounge and looked at Peter, that same grin still plastered on his face.

"Where are you friends?" he asked.

"Micky went to see Mrs. Purdy, she lives next door, and Davy went to talk to Mr. Babbitt," Peter explained, wringing his hands. Why is he looking at me like that? he asked himself silently.

Peter tried to shake the uneasy feeling that the detective gave him, since after all, he was a police officer and was only trying to protect and serve. He made his way back over to the bandstand and sat down again, picking up his twelve-string.

"So, you're here by yourself?" Stryker asked as Peter began playing the opening chords to "Long Title."

"Not exactly," Mike muttered from his perch by the bandstand, but Peter nodded, not tearing his eyes from his guitar.

"What are you doing?" Stryker asked.

"Working on a song," Peter answered. "Mike thought we could use a new tune, and this one popped in my head. I haven't shown it to him yet because I don't think it's quite done."

"Peter, I want to talk to you about last night," the officer said, moving from the chaise lounge to the bandstand where Peter sat.

Peter either pretended not to hear or chose not to, Stryker wasn't sure which, because he continued playing as if he had said nothing. The officer sighed in frustration, knowing that it was going to be tough to get through to him.

"I need to ask you about last night," he tried again.

"What about it?" Peter asked, not taking his eyes of the neck of his guitar as he played. He tried to keep his face neutral, but Stryker could read his face like an open book. He looked scared and nervous, and he wanted to know why.

"What happened?"

Mike glared at Stryker, wishing the officer could see the look of death he was giving him. This guy was going behind Micky's and Davy's backs, and was probably just going to push Peter further over the edge. Peter wasn't in any condition to be answering questions, even if he did know something that had happened the night before.

"The guys threw me a surprise birthday party," Peter replied simply, but again, Stryker read something more behind those tawny brown eyes.

"After the party," he sighed. "After everyone left."

Peter hesitated in answering, concentrating solely on his guitar. Stryker thought had ignored the question again, and was going to repeat himself until Peter opened his mouth to speak. He waited for the blonde to say something, but Peter quickly closed his mouth again without saying a word. The detective could see the fear in his eyes. What the bassist was afraid of, he didn't know, but he was determined to find out.

"Peter, I need you to tell me what happened," he said with a little edge to his voice, hoping the boy would sense how urgent this really was.

Peter sensed the harshness of his voice all right, and moved away in response. "I went to bed," he answered finally.

"That's it?" the detective asked and Peter nodded. Peter's fingers flew over his guitar frantically, and Stryker could sense his nervousness. Not that it was something he couldn't notice if he wanted to; this boy had the world's worst poker face.

"There's more, isn't there?" he asked, standing and looking down at Peter.

Peter's fingers slipped from the strings as he reacted to the question. He recovered quickly and continued with the song, giving his head a firm shake in answer to the officer's question.

"Come on Peter," Stryker sighed. "If you know something, I need you to tell me."

Peter shook his head again, bowing it down over his guitar to allow his sandy hair to hide his face. Although he could see nothing through his hair, Peter could sense the officer sitting back down next to him, getting close to make sure he was heard.

"Your friend is dead," Stryker said harshly. "And I want to know why. If you know anything, you better tell me now."

Mike felt the anger rising in his throat. This guy had no right to harass Peter like that, especially since Peter was in such a vulnerable state! He watched Peter's shoulders start to shake, and although he couldn't see Peter's face, he knew the blonde could no longer hold back his tears. Peter's fingers let go of the neck of his twelve-string, not bothering to try to cover up his emotions anymore.

"Peter," the other man demanded, his tone still harsh and cold. "What happened last night?"

Peter let out a wail of pure misery, dropping his guitar to the floor, not caring if it broke or not. He jumped up from the bandstand and dashed for his room, eager to escape the questioning, but Stryker wasn't going to let him get away that easily. The officer ran in front of him and slammed his hand against the wall, blocking Peter's path just before he reached his room. He then used his other arm to trap Peter against the wall so he had nowhere to run.

"I'm not going to ask you again. What happened last night?" he practically shouted.

Peter winced from the volume of his voice and only sobbed in response. He kept his eyes trained on the floor as the tears rolled down his cheeks, refusing to meet the detective's glare. Mike seethed with anger, and his instincts to protect Peter took over. He stormed towards the officer, not caring that he couldn't be seen or heard.

"Leave him alone you son of a bitch!" Mike shouted, coming up behind the detective, ready to throttle him for all he was worth.

Surprisingly, Stryker shivered, feeling an unexpected chill run down his spine. He glanced over his shoulder; half of him expecting to see someone, while the other half knew that there was no one else there with them. Mike's anger melted away quickly and was replaced by shock. Could this guy sense him?

"Hey!" Mike tried again, waving his arms in front of Stryker's face, but his blue eyes stared right through Mike, glancing around the room. Mike jumped right up in Stryker's face, desperate to make the man see him, but nothing worked. Eventually, Stryker turned back to the cowering blonde, and once again, Mike went to his protective mode. His anger rose as the officer glared at Peter, who tried to duck under his arms.

The detective felt the chill return and backed away from Peter, and the bassist didn't hesitate in running for his room. He slammed the door closed behind him, thankful for the opportunity to escape. Stryker remained in the living room, trying to explain what had just happened. He glanced around the room, hoping that there was some explanation for the uncomfortable chill that had come over him. While Stryker could find nothing to explain it, Mike knew. Somehow the detective had sensed him; he wasn't sure how, but he knew it had been him.

The doorknob turned on the front door and it swung open as Micky walked inside. He started at the sight of Stryker standing in his living room. Immediately his eyes narrowed and his lips tightened into a thin line.

"What are you doing here?" Micky asked, not bothering to hide the suspicion and anger from his voice.

"Just looking around," the officer answered casually, shrugging the odd chills away immediately.

"Next time, you could ask for permission," Micky replied bitterly.

"Peter let me in," Stryker told him, a smug grin on his face.

"I told you to leave him alone," Micky growled, his eyes narrowing into slits. He walked over to Peter's bedroom door and could hear the blonde's sobs from where he stood.

"He knows something," Stryker said in his defense. "I know it. And I'm not going to stop until I find out what it is."

The two glared at each other at a stand off, and while neither of them knew it, Mike was glaring at the officer as well. It would figure that an obnoxious, heartless jerk would be put on his case.

"Look you heartless ass-" Micky began his tirade, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. He walked over to the front door, never taking his eyes off Stryker. He opened the door to reveal a petite girl with rosy cheeks and long golden curls that hung around her shoulders.

"Hi Micky," she said in a high pitched voice, walking inside. "I came-." She stopped at the sight of the detective, then looked at Micky. "Sorry, I didn't realize you had company."

"Don't worry, Cassie. He was just leaving," Micky said in a low voice, directing his gaze towards the unwanted visitor.

"I have a few more people to talk to anyway," Stryker said, heading for the door, but he stopped as he reached it, turning back to Micky. "I'll be back later. I've got more questions for you."

"Whatever," Micky growled.

Stryker turned to Cassie, giving her a slight smile. "Cassandra Martin, I presume."

"That's right," she answered, casting a glance at Micky.

"You're Peter's girlfriend, correct?" he asked and she nodded in response. "I'll need to speak with you later, then." With that said, Stryker turned and walked out the door, which Micky promptly slammed behind him, cursing under his breath.

"What was that all about?" Cassie asked hesitantly.

Micky jumped, having forgotten someone else was there. "Sorry about that Cassie," he apologized.

"Who was that?"

"Some detective. He's trying to figure out what happened to Mike."

"Oh," she replied sadly, nodding in understanding. "I came over as soon as I heard. I didn't know Mike very well, but he was Peter's friend."

"Yeah," Micky agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. His chest heaved at the memory of his former roommate, threatening to lose his composure. He gave himself a minute to regain himself, taking a few deep breaths before he completely lost it. He had to stay strong. Mike wasn't there to rely on anymore, so someone had to take his place as the leader, the one who always stayed cool and calm. "Well," he said finally, "Pete's in his room, maybe you can talk to him. I would, but I've got calls and arrangements to make. Besides, he might listen to you."

"Sure Micky," Cassie said, giving him a reassuring smile, her voice filled with sympathy. "Go do what you have to, I'll stay here."

"Thanks Cassie," he said, trying to return the smile. "I'll be next door at Mr. Babbitt's if you or Pete needs me. Just give me a call, the number's by the phone."

"I will," she replied gently, giving his shoulder a friendly pat. Micky nodded in thanks then walked out the door, leaving Cassie alone. Well, almost.

Mike watched at Cassie glanced over at Peter's bedroom door. Her long blonde curls bounced around her shoulders as she walked to the door, and Mike shook his head. He liked Cassie, but she didn't really seem like Peter's type. She had long, sun-bleached blonde hair and bright blue-green eyes that only stood out more because of her darkly tanned skin. She seemed like a nice enough girl, but she was constantly flirting, which only made him picture her with someone like Davy, not Peter. Davy was the same type of person as she was, flirtatious, popular and somewhat vain.

Even so, the minute she showed interest in Peter, he was hooked. He did everything in his power to make her happy, and he seemed equally happy with the little ways she showed her affection, from gentle kisses on the back of his neck, to just being around when he needed company. Mike doubted he'd ever seed a case of puppy love so strong, and he doubted he'd ever see it again.

Cassie had walked in the door and closed it behind her, allowing them to have some privacy in case any other visitors decided to stop by the pad. Mike didn't want to intrude on them, but his "Papa Nez" instincts wanted to be sure Peter was okay.

He walked through the bedroom door, an act he was getting more and more accustomed to each time he did it. Peter was curled up on his bed, facing away from the door, and hugging his legs up tightly to his chest. His shoulders still shook as his sobs consumed his entire body. Cassie stood by the door, approaching the blonde quietly so not to startle him.

She sat on the edge of his bed, which immediately alerted him that someone else was in the room. He jerked up into a sitting position, expecting to come face to face with the cold eyes of the detective, but his eyes widened in surprise when he saw her.

"Cassie?" he whispered, his voice laden with tears.

"Shhhh..." she soothed him, brushing a gentle hand over his sandy hair comfortingly. She guided him back down to the bed, lying his head in her lap where he relaxed slightly as she continued to whisper comforting words.

"It's okay, Peter," she cooed. "Everything will work out."

He laid there listening to her singsong voice and found some comfort in her words. Mike stepped through the bedroom door again to give them some time alone together. While he wanted to watch over Peter, he didn't want to spy on them. He walked through the door, so he didn't hear her words that were meant to be comforting, but carried a sharper undertone to them.

"I'll make sure no one hurts you again."

Part 6:
Micky walked back to the pad with Davy a few hours later, after going over to Mr. Babbitt's to make arrangements for Mike's funeral. The landlord, while most of the time seemed very bitter, was nice and quite helpful in their time of need. He took care of the most difficult problems, such as finding a burial site, and he even offered to help the boys out financially. Micky had gained a new respect for the old man, and knew that he had sorely misjudged him over the years.

Micky opened the front door after receiving a call from Cassie saying he needed to come back to the pad right away. He walked inside and, not surprisingly, was greeted by the sight of Stryker standing in the living room, with Cassie standing in front of Peter's bedroom door, a look of determination on her face.

"He said he had some questions," Cassie explained before either Micky or Davy could ask. "And he said he needed to speak with Peter, so I figure I'd call you."

"Thanks Cassie," Micky said, not taking his eyes off Stryker. "How's Pete?"

"He finally calmed down a little and he's sleeping now," she told him.

"I need to speak with him," Stryker said, directing his statement towards Micky.

"About what?" Micky replied, glaring at him. He was getting tired of this guy's attitude.

"Morgan O'Brien," he replied and he noted that her name definitely caught Micky's attention.

Although no one could see, the name also caught Mike's attention. Morgan? She had been at the party the night before, and the two of them weren't exactly on the best of terms.

"We can probably tell you more than Pete can," Micky told him truthfully, pointing to himself and Davy, the edge gone from his voice.

"And why is that?" the detective asked, eyeing him suspiciously, wondering if he was telling the truth or just trying to distract him from Peter. "She said she was friends with Peter."

"That's true, she was," Davy replied. "But there's something you need to understand about Peter. He's one of the most trusting people you will ever meet. When you're friends with him, you can do no wrong."

"So?" Stryker asked, raising an eyebrow, indicating that he wasn't following.

"So," Micky continued, "he never saw Morgan for who she really was."

"And you did?" the detective asked, his interest in Peter all but gone.

"Yeah," Micky answered. "To Peter, she was a nice sweet girl who just happened to have some bad history with Mike. He was always trying to get them to make up and be friends again."

"That's what she told me," the detective nodded.

"And I'm sure Morgan conveniently left out the parts about how she made it her life goal to make Mike's life a living hell," Davy spoke up again.

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said," Davy answered. "She made sure to put Mike down all the time, doing mean things to him. She always said it was revenge for what he did to her, but she sometimes got way out of hand. One day she broke in here and smashed Mike's guitar. Of course she denied it, but we all knew it was her. Well, all of us except Peter. He took her word for it, but she was always doing stuff to make Mike pay for what he did."

"I see," Stryker said, making note of everything they told him. "Perhaps I should have another talk with your friend Morgan."

"I suggest you do that," Micky told him, "and leave Peter alone."

Stryker glared at him, meeting the challenge. "Just because you've given me something to incriminate someone else, doesn't mean he's off the hook. When I'm done questioning Morgan, I'm coming back here to talk with your friend."

"You don't have to," a quiet voice came from behind all of them. They all turned to see Peter standing in his bedroom door, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy from crying.

"And why's that?" Stryker asked, eager that he might actually get some answers from the boy.

"Because I did it," Peter answered. "I killed Mike."

Part 7:
"What?!!" Micky, Davy and Cassie exclaimed at the same time, but Stryker didn't say anything. He had suspected Peter had something to do with it all along.

Peter looked down at the floor in shame, afraid to meet his friend's eyes. Davy ran over to him and took him by the shoulders, shaking him.

"Peter, tell me you're lying! Tell me you didn't kill Mike!" he shouted at the blonde, but Peter didn't respond, but only shrank away from him. "No, Peter..." Davy whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "How could you...?"

Peter's own eyes began to well up with tears, which soon began spilling over his cheeks. "I didn't want him to die!"

"Then why did you kill him?!" Micky asked accusingly.

Mike stood off to the side, gawking. He couldn't believe it. Peter? Peter was the last person he would've suspected. They had been like brothers; no, more than brothers. Mike filled with a great sadness. The one person he trusted more than anyone, the one he trusted with his life, had taken it from him.

"If you didn't want him to die, why did you kill him?!" Micky repeated his question angrily, storming over to Peter. "Why?!!" He grabbed Peter by the shoulders, slamming him against the kitchen wall roughly, consumed with anger.

"Micky, stop it!" Davy protested, breaking the drummer's grip on Peter's shoulders. Davy pushed Micky back, away from Peter, and the blonde shrank against the wall, sobbing.

"I'm sorry," Peter wailed.

"Sorry won't bring him back!" Micky shouted.

Stryker helped Davy restrain Micky, keeping him across the room from Peter. Micky, finally giving up, sat on the bandstand, fuming and glaring at Peter. Peter curled up on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible under Micky's stare.

Stryker looked over at Peter, glaring at him outwardly, but inside, he was wearing a smug grin. He knew this boy was guilty all along, and he was beginning to think Davy knew it as well, since he was going out of his way to protect Peter. He guessed Micky hadn't been in on it, either that, or this boy was a really good actor. Maybe all three of them conspired together.

"Peter, what happened last night?" Styker asked, approaching the cowering blonde.

Peter looked up with him, a mixture of fear and sadness in his eyes. He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to control his sobbing so he could explain what had happened to the officer. "A-After everyone left, Davy left and-and Micky and I went to bed. Mike s-stayed up, like he usually did. I-I-I couldn't sleep, so I decided to go for a w-walk. That usually relaxes me and lets me sleep." Peter's voice was shaky and filled with tears, and he took a minute to compose himself enough so he could still be understood.

Micky got up from the bandstand and paced as his former friend told the story of what had happened the night before. Davy stood in between Micky and Peter, and any time Micky tried to get by him, Davy would gently push him back. Mike listened to Peter's story, still unable to believe that his best friend would take his life. What had he done to make Peter do such a horrible thing?

Stryker waited for Peter to continue, but the blonde seemed to have spaced out, recollecting what he had done the previous night. "Go on," he said, snapping Peter out of his thoughts.

"Well, I-I was on m-my way back and I saw M-M-M..." his voice faded and he couldn't bring himself to form his friend's name. Once had been hard enough for him, but now that the emotional shock that he was never coming back had finally hit the bassist, it was very hard to think about his friend and not break down.

"Mike," Stryker supplied the name for him.

Peter nodded. "I-I saw him st-standing on the porch. He was looking out at the water, I guess. I couldn't really tell; I was far away. S-Someone came up behind him, and I guess he-he didn't hear, because he didn't turn around. Th-then I saw him get pushed and-and fall..." Peter choked on the words, tears filling his eyes and spilling over his cheeks. "I-I-I g-got scared, and-and ran away. I should've gone to see if he was okay... maybe he wouldn't be dead..." Peter could no longer keep his words coherent and broke down into sobs. He hiccuped a few times and hugged his knees tightly to his chest.

Across the room, Micky's gaze immediately softened and he ran over to comfort the blonde. "Oh man, I'm sorry Peter," he whispered as he hugged him. Peter wrapped his arms around Micky and sobbed on his shoulder, as Davy came over and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Stryker watched them and inwardly cursed. He'd thought he had finally figured this out, and had someone confessing, but it was just some kid who was feeling guilty because he had seen it happen and didn't act. But at least he now had a witness, and maybe that would bring the real killer out of hiding.

Mike filled with relief, and joined his three friends, unnoticed by any of them. Peter hadn't killed him, but he was sorry that his friend had had to witness it. He was sure it had been something horrible to watch, because it was just as horrible from his point of view, although it seemed just like a distant dream to him now.

Cassie stood silently in the corner, watching the three friends huddled together. She felt extremely left out, and she was sure they had all pretty much forgotten she was there. She headed for the back door of the pad, slipping out unnoticed, as Stryker approached the three of them.

"Peter, did you see who was behind Mike? Did you see who pushed him?" he asked.

Peter shook his head. "I-It was too dark," he replied.

"Well don't tell anyone that you were there," the detective said. "Because if whoever did this finds out, you could be in a lot of trouble."

Micky was a little surprised by this sudden caring side of the officer, but the he remembered that Peter was the only way he could prove that foul play was involved right now. He was only protecting his evidence.

"Just stay here," the officer ordered as he headed for the front door. "I'm going down to the station, but I'm going to send an officer down here to keep watch over the house to make sure you stay safe, Peter."

The three boys nodded and the officer left them alone, and once he was gone, Peter broke down into sobs again, clutching Micky tightly. Micky hugged him, whispering soothing words to him, until the blonde finally cried himself to sleep. Micky, with Davy's help, picked him up and carried him to his bed, then sat with him, watching him sleep, and Mike followed to keep watch over them as they all headed to bed for the night.

Part 8:
Detective Stryker walked out of the pad and down the street, making one more stop before calling it a day. He rubbed his temples slightly as he walked, sighing with frustration. He hated dealing with young people. They always gave him a headache. He walked up to the small house that was his destination and knocked on the door. He heard hasty footsteps and the door flung open.

Morgan stood at the door, a slight smile on her face, until she saw who it was. Her smile immediately faded. "Oh, it's you," she said, not hiding the disappointment from her voice.

"I'm glad to see you too," the detective said, slipping past her and into her house.

Morgan let out a frustrated sigh and rolled her eyes. "Come on in," she grumbled, closing the door and following him into the living room. "What do you want?"

"Well," he began, settling down on her couch. "I've got a few more questions for you."

"Can it wait till another time?" she asked, still standing in the doorway of her living room. "I have a date."

"He won't mind waiting, seeing how you're such a pleasant girl. I'm sure you're worth it," Stryker said with a grin.

"Fine," she growled, sitting down in the chair across the room. "Just make it quick."

Stryker pulled out the notebook from his pocket and flipped through the pages slowly, reading over his notes. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Morgan shift uncomfortably, getting impatient with him. He loved this part of his job, making the suspects uncomfortable.

"You said that you had known Mike a while back, and recently met up with him again, correct?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied with a sigh.

"And you said you were mad at him, correct?"

"Yes," she answered testily. "Is this going somewhere, and if it is, could you please just get to it? I don't have all night to just sit here and play your stupid little cop games with you."

"You said that you finally forgave him, at least as far as Peter knew, right?" he continued, as if she hadn't commented.

"Yes. So?"

"Well, I had a conversation with Mike's other roommates, and they seem to have a different version of what happened." Stryker looked up at her as he said it, wanting to take in her initial reaction to his statement. He saw a brief worried look appear on her face, but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by her usual cold expression. His lips curled into a slight grin, satisfied with her reaction. She definitely had some guilt about this that she wasn't telling him about.

"Of course they're going to have a different version, you moron. They're his friends, so they're gonna make me out to be the bad guy and him to be the angel."

"Well, they told me of one incident where someone broke into their pad and smashed Mike's guitar. His instrument was the only one touched. And I'm sure that they have a police report to back their story up on file. I could always go look it up if you like."

"Go ahead," she said, glaring at him. She rose from her seat and paced about the room a bit, and Stryker's smile grew with her discomfort. "It won't say anything. I didn't do it."

"Oh, I'm sure you did," Stryker said. "But that's not what I'm here about. I want to know why you went back to the party last night to kill Mike Nesmith. Was what happened between you really worth killing him over?"

"What?!" she exclaimed, whipping around to face him. "I told you, I didn't kill Mike! Yes, I hated him, but I would not murder him!" She glared at him intensely, but that soon melted away and her neutral expression returned.

"We'll see," Stryker said smugly, putting his notebook back in his pocket. He rose from the couch to face her, a confident grin on his face. "Once my witness is ready to tell me exactly what happened, we'll know for sure."

"You have a witness?" she asked, but Stryker couldn't read her expression. He wasn't sure if she looked worried. Her face was a stone mask.

"Yes," he answered. "One of the boys saw the whole thing. He's just not ready to talk right now." He was lying through his teeth, but that didn't matter. He knew Peter wouldn't be able to say much, let alone identify someone, but he wanted to scare her.

"Well," she said, walking him to the door, "best of luck with the case, but you're barking up the wrong tree. I said I didn't kill Mike and I meant it. You're not even close."

"You better hope I'm wrong," he replied as he walked out the door, and satisfactorily heard the door slam behind him. He chuckled slightly, pleased with the outcome of that questioning. She was scared, and now that she knew he was onto her, she was going to slip up. He knew it.

Detective Stryker walked back to his apartment slowly, looking over his notebook for the case. Four friends living together, one died. One witnessed it, but can't give any useful information. The only use he was going to be was to flush out the real killer. Not that he was going to tell any of those long-haired weirdoes about it. They were certainly overprotective of Peter, and they probably wouldn't be happy that he was going to be used as a trap. Ex-girlfriend was a vindictive cold-hearted bitch. Open and shut case, if he only had some solid evidence. She had a bunch of circumstantial evidence stacked against her, but there was no way he could get her convicted on that.

Stryker sighed heavily and stuffed the notebook in his pocket. Now it was only a matter of time before Morgan would make her move. He wasn't sure what that move would be, but he knew she wouldn't wait around long before acting. He had sent someone to the pad to watch over Peter, to insure his safety in case Morgan went after him, so no matter what, he was going to get her.

He crossed the street, rubbing his temples again. He closed his eyes and sighed, looking forward to a good night's sleep to get rid of his headache. He heard screeching tires nearby on his right and opened his eyes in time to see a set of headlights rushing towards him. He froze in place until he realized this car wasn't slowing down and was heading straight for him. He leaped out of the way, just as the car went speeding by, narrowly missing the officer.

Stryker sighed with relief that he was still alive, but quickly held that thought when the car screeched to a stop a few feet down the road. He looked up and saw the reverse lights on the car light up. This guy was going to take another shot at it. The driver stepped on the gas and the car sped backwards, right towards Styrker who was still lying in the road.

The officer quickly jumped up and ran as fast as he could away from the car, but he knew he could never out run it. He quickly turned down an alleyway, looking for some sort of escape. The black car screeched to a stop after passing the alleyway, then came forward towards him at full speed. Stryker saw a fire escape on his right, hanging from the apartment building. He leaped up and grabbed hold of the dangling ladder, pulling himself up with all his strength. He hoisted himself up onto the first landing of the fire escape just as the car skidded and stopped below.

The driver got out of the car and Stryker looked down. She, he assumed, was dressed in all black and, unfortunately, wearing a black ski mask. Impossible to identify who it was, although he had a pretty good idea. He saw something in her hand as she raised it up towards him, and only seconds before a bullet went whizzing by his head did he identify it as a gun. He ducked against the building, trying to make himself less visible in the dark alley.

He turned to the window on the first landing, but it had bars over it and he didn't have time to try and get through those. The driver fired another shot at him and it bounced off the wall centimeters from his face, causing small sparks to fly as the metal scraped against the brick building. He ran for the ladder leading to the next landing and the driver fired at him repeatedly. He ducked his head and climbed as quickly as he could. He reached the top, and just as he went to pull himself up onto the next landing, a bullet streaked past him and ricocheted off the wall. It came back and embedded itself in his right arm, sending white hot pain shooting through his body. He cried out and lost his grip on the ladder with his right hand as all feeling quickly abandoned his arm. He tried to cling to the ladder with his left hand, but pain overwhelmed him. He lost his grip, and to his horror, fell backwards. He fell two stories and landed on some trashcans below with a crash.

Stryker tried to get up, but his body wouldn't let him. He lay in the trash, helpless, at his hunter's mercy. He could hear sirens in the distance and figured that one of the neighbors had heard the gunshots and had called the police. Too little too late for him however. His vision swam as he stared up at the night sky, trying desperately to cling to consciousness. His shoulder throbbed and so did his head, and he wanted to just embrace unconsciousness to escape the pain.

He cursed himself for not seeing this ahead of time. He heard footsteps approaching, but he could no longer keep his eyes open. The last thing he saw was a black figure moving over him before darkness overtook him and he passed out.

Part 9:
Stryker groggily opened his eyes, and as consciousness returned, the first thing he was aware of was the pain. He groaned and closes his eyes again, hoping that would dull the pounding in his skull, but unfortunately, it continued. He opened his eyes again, taking in his surroundings. The room was lightly colored, lit by harsh florescent lights that sent daggers of pain into his head. He heard the mechanical beeping of a heart monitor next to him, and it finally registered that he was in the hospital. How had he gotten there?

He tried to sit up, but was only met with a piercing pain that felt like his arm was being torn off at the shoulder. He cried out and fell back down to his pillow, which caught the attention of someone else in the room that he had not seen.

"Ah, you're awake," a man who had been sitting across the room said, rising from his chair and walking over to the bed.

"Captain Murphy," Stryker groaned. "How did I get here?"

"The hard way," the captain answered, chuckling a little, but when he saw Stryker give him a pained look, he stopped. "We found you in an alley next to your apartment building. Apparently, your landlord had heard a car screeching outside and went out to investigate. That's when he saw you and the car trying to back over you. He saw you take off down the alley and ran to call the police. He heard the gunshots so he grabbed his own gun and ran out to help you. Seems like everyone is getting a gun nowadays."

Stryker tried to sit up as he listened to the captain speak, but once again, got nowhere. "So how did I get here?"

"Well, your landlord ran out there just as whoever was trying to kill you pointed a gun at you. You're lucky he got there when he did. He fired a warning shot past your assailant's shoulder and he jumped in his car and took off. Your landlord didn't get a good look at the person because he said it was dark. But we got there a few minutes later and brought you here."

"How long have I been out?" Styker asked, finally managing to get up off his pillows, grunting in pain.

"About nine hours," Murphy replied.

"Nine hours?!" Stryker repeated, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" Murphy asked, trying to push him back into bed, but Stryker refused.

"That Nesmith case," the detective said as he rose from the bed.

"What about it?"

"It was no accident. The kid was pushed; his friend witnessed the whole thing. I went to the suspect's house and tried to scare her, hoping she'd slip up and give me something to convict her with. I think that's why I was nearly run down on my way home. She was covering her trail, so she's gonna go after Peter Tork."

"You told her who the witness was?" the captain asked incredulously.

"No," Stryker replied, grabbing his clothes from a drawer next to his bed. "I said one of them had seen it, but I didn't say which one, but that won't stop her. I have to go over there now."

"We've got an officer watching their house, Alex. You need to take it easy."

Stryker shook his head. "It's my fault that she's after the rest of them, now I've got to fix it."

The captain tried to get the officer to stay in bed, but no matter what he said, Stryker refused. He may not have liked those kids at all, but there was no way in hell he was going to let some psychotic ex on the warpath kill any more people under his watch. He dressed quickly in the clothes one of his neighbors had brought to the hospital for him, then got a cab back to the pad, hoping he wasn't too late.

Micky watched sadly from the kitchen table as Peter sat at his keyboard, staring at it blankly. The blonde had woken up well before dawn, his sleep filled with nightmares of Mike's death. He had gotten up and walked over to his keyboard, where he sat for hours. He didn't eat, drink, or move, and Micky's heart wrenched at the sight of him. He looked so sad and worn, his normal exuberance and happy disposition completely gone from his expression.

Every attempt by either Micky or Davy to get him to eat or even talk failed miserably. Davy had sat with Peter for about an hour, trying everything to get him to talk, but got no response. Peter just continued to stare blankly at his keyboard, and Micky worried that something inside him had snapped the day before, and now Peter was completely gone.

Mike watched over Peter, and he wanted more than anything to reassure him that he was fine, that his death was nothing to mourn over. He hated to see his best friend in so much pain, especially because of him. He paced around the pad, wishing there were some way he could talk to him, even if just for a second.

There was a light knock on the door, and both Micky and Davy looked up, but Peter didn't move. Micky sighed and rose from the kitchen table, opening the door, surprised by who he saw standing there.

"What do you want?" he asked the visitor.

"I came over to offer my condolences," Morgan said sincerely.

"Well we don't want them," Micky replied bitterly.

Mike couldn't believe it. What the hell was she doing there? What kind of nerve did she have to show her face at his house? He glared at her and wished that she could see the cold expression on his face. It was one he had been staring at on her face for years.

"Look, I didn't come over here to start anything, but that detective came over to my house last night, accusing me of killing Mike."

"If the shoe fits," Micky grumbled, and Morgan's face contorted with anger.

"I know I haven't exactly been nice to Mike, but I would never, ever hurt him. I loved him for Christ's sake!"

"You had a really funny way of showing it, Morgan!" Micky shouted back at her. "Mike loved you too, but all you could do was give him the cold shoulder and make his life miserable! He didn't want you back because he thought you deserved better than he could ever give you! Boy was he wrong..."

Morgan could no longer hold back and slapped him across the face hard. "How dare you, you asshole! How dare you say things as if you know me! I came over here to offer my sincere condolences for the loss of your friend and you greet me with accusations!"

"You killed him!" Micky screamed with tears of anger and frustration streaming down his face.

"Fuck you," was her quiet reply, then she turned and ran back down the walkway, back to her house.

Micky slammed the door shut, and Davy looked at him incredulously. "You okay?" he asked.

"No, I'm not okay!" he shouted in anger but immediately regretted it, and his anger dissipated. "Sorry."

"Don't be, man," Davy replied. "I know exactly how you feel."

Both of them looked over at Peter, and during Micky's entire confrontation, he hadn't moved. It was as if the outside world didn't exist around him. Micky sighed and wiped the tears from his face. He headed back to the kitchen table, but hadn't taken two steps when there was another knock at the door. He turned around and sighed heavily, not looking forward to another confrontation with Morgan. He didn't have the energy. He pulled the door open, relieved to find it wasn't her.

"Hi Cassie," he said when he saw the visitor. He stepped back and opened the door all the way so she could come inside.

"Are you okay, Micky?" she asked as she walked in, a look of concern on her face. "No offense, but you look terrible."

"None taken," he replied, closing the front door. "We just had an unwanted visitor, and I'm worried about Pete." He pointed to the corner of the room where Peter still sat, his head bowed, staring vacantly at the keyboard. "He's been like that all day. He won't talk, eat, drink or anything. We've done everything that we can think of, but he just won't respond."

"Oh no, my poor Peter," she said, sadness filling her voice.

"Would you try talking to him, Cassie?" Micky asked, his voice pleading. "Maybe you can get through to him."

"Of course," she replied, patting Micky on the back gently. "Why don't you guys go out for a walk or something? Take a break for a while. This has got to be hard on the two of you."

"Thanks Cassie, we really appreciate it," Micky said, glancing over at Davy who was still seated at the kitchen table.

"Yeah, Cassie," Davy agreed. "Thanks."

"Anytime," she said with a gentle smile.

Micky and Davy both grabbed their jackets since it was rather cold out then headed out the door to get some exercise and to do some thinking.

Mike watched them go and contemplated going with them, but Peter needed him more. Not that he could really do much, but he wanted to be there, just in case the opportunity came that he could actually do something. He watched as Cassie walked over to Peter and sat down on the piano bench next to him. The bassist didn't look up or offer any other acknowledgement that he knew she was there.

"Oh Peter," she sighed, putting an arm around his waist and hugging him close. "You poor thing, this must be so hard on you. But I promise I'll always be here for you. I won't let anything hurt you ever again."

Peter didn't show any response to her words, but she pulled his head down to rest on her shoulder. He continued to stare blankly into space, wrapped up in his own little world. Mike sighed as he watched them. He'd never seen Peter like this, so distraught, and he wanted Peter to at least respond more than anything.

"You really should at least drink something," Cassie said, rising from the piano bench. "I'll get you some juice."

Cassie walked over to the kitchen to get a drink for Peter, while Mike walked up behind the bassist and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He wasn't expecting any kind of response, but he hoped that on some subconscious level that Peter could sense him. He was completely surprised when Peter actually turned his head a little and looked at the shoulder Mike had his hand on. The blonde looked at his shoulder, as if he expected to see something, but there was nothing there. When he saw nothing, Peter turned back to the keyboard and his eyes looked unfocused once again, retreating back into his mind.

Mike stood in shocked silence. Peter had sensed him, somehow. He moved around in front of Peter, waving his hands in his face. "Pete? Can you see me?"

Peter made no move to react, but continued staring at his keyboard. "C'mon, Peter. I know you felt me, you've got to see me!" Mike shouted, but again there was no response.

Mike sighed heavily and finally gave up, coming to the conclusion that the afterlife sucked even more than life did. He walked over to the kitchen where Cassie had taken two glasses from the cabinet and was filling them with juice. He watched her as she brought the juice back to the icebox, but before she brought the juice over to Peter, she pulled something out of her pocket. It was a small glass bottle, but he couldn't read what the label said. She poured a small amount of liquid from the bottle into each glass, stirring it around, before slipping the bottle back into her pocket. She brought the juice back over to Peter and placed them on the keyboard.

"Come on Peter, drink up," she said cheerfully, nodding towards the glass. "You'll feel better."

Peter made no move to pick up the glass; he didn't even look at it. Mike walked back over to where they were sitting, peering in the glass. Whatever she put in there couldn't be too bad because she put it in her own drink, but he still wondered what could've been in that bottle.

Cassie picked up the glass and held it up to Peter. "Please drink it, Peter," she said, almost begging him. "Drink this and we'll never be apart."

Something in that statement set alarms off in Mike's brain. What the hell did she mean by that? How could drinking something keep them together?

Cassie sighed and put the drinks back down on the keyboard. She took Peter's chin in her hand and turned his face so he was facing her. His eyes slowly focused on her face and she took his hands in hers. "Peter, I love you. I always have since the moment I saw you. I never want to be apart from you. Mike kept us apart. I heard him telling you that I was wrong for you. He was always trying to get between us."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mike said, although she couldn't hear him. "I never tried to get between you."

"I don't want anyone to get between us anymore, Peter. I was us to be together forever," she continued. "Your friendship with Mike was always getting in the way of our being together. You were always going out of your way to make him happy because he was your friend. But now you don't have to worry about him anymore. It's just you and me."

"Holy shit!" Mike exclaimed when the pieces finally clicked into place. She had killed him, not Morgan! That bitch! She had killed him to get to Peter!

Cassie released Peter's hands and picked up the glasses again. "Just drink up, Peter."

"Don't drink it, Peter!" Mike shouted, hoping desperately that his friend could hear him. "She's sick! Get out of here!"

Peter didn't respond to Mike, but looked at the glass of juice. She pushed it towards him, but he looked hesitant to take it. He looked back up at her uncertainly, then reached for the juice.

"That's good Peter," she said soothingly.

"Damnit, don't drink it, Pete!" Mike screamed.

There was an insistent knock on the door before it swung open and Detective Stryker came barreling through it. He looked around the pad frantically, out of breath, and he looked like he was about to pass out. He saw Peter sitting at the keyboard and his body almost instantaneously relaxed.

"I got here in time," he sighed with relief.

Cassie rose from the piano bench and glared at him. "Why are you here?" she growled.

"I was worried about the boys," he answered, not even noticing the aggression in her voice. "I was nearly run down outside my apartment last night and I thought they might be in trouble."

"Well they're fine," Cassie said, glaring at him.

"Where are Micky and Davy?"

"They went out for a walk, they should be back soon," she answered.

Stryker nodded, looking at Peter, debating on whether or not to take this opportunity to try and question him again, or to go check on Micky and Davy to make sure they were alright. He decided on the latter and began heading for the door.

"No!" Mike shouted. "It's her! She did it, not Morgan!"

Stryker had just reached the door when he had an overwhelming sensation that he shouldn't leave, that there was something else he needed to do. He turned around and looked at Cassie and Peter, then decided that perhaps he should take the time to question Peter first while he had the chance.

"Yes!" Mike shouted, practically jumping for joy.

He walked over to Peter oblivious of the look of death that Cassie was giving him. He sat down next to Peter and looked at the blonde. "Peter, I know this is hard on you, but I really need you to think back to the other night. When you were walking on the beach. I need you to remember what you saw."

Peter just stared straight ahead blankly, his eyes unfocused once again. Stryker took his shoulders and shook him gently. "Peter, snap out of it. The only way we're gonna catch who did this is if you tell me what you saw. You're the only one that can tell me."

Cassie clenched her fists at her side, narrowing her eyes at Stryker. "Leave him alone. Can't you see you've already done enough damage?"

Stryker didn't even look at her. "The girl who did this is extremely dangerous and he's the only one that can put her away for good." He looked Peter straight in the eye until he had no choice except to focus on his face. "Peter, I need you to tell me what you saw right now."

Peter's face crumbled and he closed his eyes, shaking his head hard. He didn't want to remember what had happened that night.

"Peter," Stryker tried again, his voice more insistent, "the person that did this is going to get away with killing your friend unless you tell me everything that you saw. Now tell me exactly what happened."

Tears started streaming down Peter's face again and he hiccuped as his body was overtaken by his sobs.

"Leave him alone, you bastard!" Cassie shouted, shoving Stryker away from Peter so hard he fell off the piano bench onto his back.

"Hey, calm down! I'm just trying to find out what happened to his friend!"

"I thought you would've gotten the hint last night to leave Peter alone!" she shouted at him, her body shaking with anger.

"Last night...?" Stryker repeated, then the puzzle finally came together. "It was you!"

"Yes, it was me! You should be dead, but your stupid neighbor had to come out! Why can't you just leave Peter alone?! Why can't everyone just leave us both alone!" She was becoming incoherent in her ranting, and she paced around, failing her arms wildly.

"All I wanted was to have Peter all to myself, but first Mike got in the way, and now Micky's starting to take over where Mike left off! And you," she said, turning and glaring at Stryker, "you tried to hurt Peter."

Stryker rose to his feet, unable to believe that such a sweet looking girl could be capable of murder. "I never tried to hurt him," he said calmly, trying to get her to relax.

"You were questioning him, making him remember things he didn't want to! You were forcing him to tell on me and you wouldn't leave him alone!"

The officer took a step towards her thinking that maybe if he restrained her, it would be easier to calm her down, but she stepped back, anticipating him. She reached behind her and pulled the gun she had used from the night before and pointed it right at him.

"I didn't want to have to use this," she said, a bit of annoyance in her voice. "Why couldn't you just stay out of this and leave us alone?"

Mike watched the scene, wishing there were something he could do to help. Stryker backed away from her slowly, but with every step he took, Cassie matched it, keeping the gun trained right on his chest. Peter sat at the keyboard, staring at Cassie and Stryker, a blank look on his face, as if he didn't understand what was going on. Stryker glanced over at him, hoping perhaps Peter could talk her out of this, but his gaze was only met with a pair of vacant brown eyes.

"Peter," Stryker said, keeping his eyes on Cassie. "Come on, buddy. Get up and get out of here. Call the police."

"Shut up!" Cassie screamed with a maniacal look on her face. "Don't tell him what to do!"

"Peter," the detective tried again, but Cassie immediately silenced him by hitting him across the face with the butt of the gun. Stryker fell to the floor, his nose broken and bleeding.

"Peter!" Mike shouted, hoping that all the times he had thought someone had sensed him hadn't been fake. "Peter, you gotta do something!"

Peter's eyes slowly focused on the situation before him. Cassie glared down at Stryker who stayed on the floor, wiping the blood from his nose. The officer looked up at Cassie, and she looked right back at him with a crazed and murderous look in her eyes. Peter still sat unmoving, but Mike kept yelling at him to move.

"Get up, Pete!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

To Mike's surprise, Peter looked directly at him and the vacant expression disappeared. He looked relieved, almost happy, and Mike wondered if Peter could see him. Mike moved and sat down next to Peter, and to Mike's surprise, Peter's eyes followed him. Peter could see him!

"Mike, you're okay," Peter whispered, unable to believe he was seeing his best friend.

"I'm fine, Pete," Mike told him. "Don't worry about me, but you've got to do something about Cassie. Stop her before she does the same thing to Stryker that she did to me."

Peter immediately turned his head to look at Cassie as she towered over the detective who was on the floor, a hand over his nose with blood seeping through his fingers. Cassie was cursing at him, but Stryker was paying no attention to her, looking around for a way out. She fired a warning shot over his shoulder and he instantly turned his attention back to her.

"Cassie," Peter said quietly, and she turned to look at him.

"Peter!" she exclaimed with surprise. "You're okay!"

"I-I'm fine Cassie," he said, glancing at Detective Stryker to make sure he was okay. When the detective nodded, Peter turned back to his girlfriend. "Cassie, put the gun away."

"But he tried to hurt you," Cassie growled, glaring down at Stryker. "No one can hurt you."

"He didn't hurt me Cassie. Please let him up," Peter pleaded, taking a slight step closer to the two of them.

Cassie's arm relaxed, and she looked like she was going to comply. Peter took another step towards her as Stryker started to get up, but her face suddenly changed and contorted with anger.

"No!" she cried, thrusting the gun at Stryker as he tried to get up, causing Peter to jump back in surprise. "He hurt you and he can't get away with it!"

"Cassie, I promise I won't hurt you or Peter, but you have to put the gun away," Stryker said soothingly.

"No! You've done nothing but lie and make Peter upset!" she cried, her body shaking with anger.

Stryker looked her over, and while she was small and he could easily take her down, even with his injured arm, she was a few feet away from him. There was no way he could get up and grab the gun before she reacted, especially with the unstable state she was in. He didn't doubt that she'd shoot at his first move.

"Cassie," Peter began, taking a step towards her.

"Stay back, Peter," she said, keeping her eyes on the detective.

Peter glanced back at the piano bench to where he had seen Mike, but the Texan was nowhere to be seen. Peter sighed and realized he was on his own, and he was Stryker's only hope of getting out of this situation alive, as well as his own.

"Cassie, please don't do this," he begged, and she must have heard the urgency in his voice because she turned her head to look at him. "I know you're trying to protect me, but this isn't the way to do it."

"What do you mean, Peter?" Cassie asked, a look of genuine confusion on her face.

"Killing people isn't right, even if it is to protect me. I know you were trying to help, but this isn't how to go about it," he continued.

"I don't understand," she said, turning to face Peter. She looked confused and hurt.

"Hurting people like this isn't going to help you or me. Please Cassie, just put the gun away."

Cassie's face completely crumbled and tears began streaming down her face. "But I was trying to help!"

"I know you were," Peter said gently, taking a step towards her. "I know you just wanted to help me, but this isn't the way to do it."

Stryker took the initiative while she was distracted by Peter and jumped up, grabbing the gun in her hand. She had a better grip on it than he had anticipated, and she immediately snapped her attention back to him, trying to keep a firm grip on it. He tugged at the gun, but she refused to let go and give up the only leverage she had over him. The two wrestled over the weapon and Peter stood off to the side, wondering if he should jump in, and if so, who he should help.

Stryker managed to toss her to the floor, pinning her down, but as they hit the floor, the gun fired a stray shot, nearly hitting Peter where he stood. The bullet grazed his shoulder, and when he cried out, Cassie realized what had almost happened. She'd nearly killed the one she loved, and immediately gave up her struggle.

"Peter, I'm sorry!" she cried as Stryker ripped the gun from her fingers.

Peter looked at his shoulder and there was only a burn across the top and a tear in his shirt. He'd been very lucky. Another inch to the right and it would've gone through his neck, and he probably would be dead.

"Are you all right, kid?" Stryker asked as he slapped handcuffs on Cassie and hauled her to her feet.

"I-I'm fine," Peter stuttered, the shock of the moment wearing off.

"Peter, I'm sorry! Please don't hate me!" Cassie pleaded, repeating her apologies over and over.

Peter couldn't bring himself to look at her. She claimed to have done this for him, but she had killed his best friend. Could he ever forgive her?

Stryker called the police for backup and told them that he had the Nesmith killer. They soon arrived and brought Cassie out to a police car, bringing her to the police station where she confessed to Mike's murder as well as the attempted murder on Stryker.

Micky and Davy were heading back to the pad from their walk, when they saw the police swarming at the pad. They ran the rest of the way back and slammed through the front door to find Peter sitting on the bandstand, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and Stryker sitting next to him, talking quietly.

"What happened?" Micky asked, rushing over to Peter.

"Cassie did it," Peter whispered.

"Cassie?!" Davy repeated, disbelief in his voice, and Peter nodded to confirm it.

"She did it because she thought Mike was getting in the way of our relationship," Peter sighed heavily, and a lump started to form in his throat.

"Oh man," Micky said, sitting down on the other side of Peter, wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulders. "Man, I never would've thought she'd do something like this."

"Neither did I," Peter said, resting his head on Micky's shoulder.

"None of us did," Davy added, sitting down on the floor in front of them.

"Well, she's going to be put away so she can't do it again," Stryker said, rising from the bandstand.

"What's going to happen to her?" Peter asked, looking up at him.

"She's going to get the help she needs," the detective told him, walking towards the front door. "Don't worry."

"Thanks Detective Stryker," the bassist said.

"You're welcome Peter," the officer said, walking out the door, but he turned around at the last second. He looked like he was going to say something else, but decided against it and left the three friends alone, with the exception of Mike watching over them.

"I thought he was going to apologize for being such an ass," Davy said after a minute.

"Fat chance of that happening," Micky said, chuckling a little, despite the situation. "I don't think he's capable of apologies. But at least he caught Mike's killer, so now maybe we ca have some peace around here."

February 16, 1966
Mike's funeral had gone smoothly, with the help of Mr. Babbitt, and after the service, the three friends gathered around his grave. They had waited until everyone left, wanting a moment alone to say goodbye. Peter sat next to Mike's grave, his eyes red and his cheeks streaked with tears. Micky and Davy stood behind him, putting a hand on each other's shoulders, as well as Peter's, supporting each other.

"It's hard to believe it's only been three days," Davy said after a long silence. "Seems like so long ago that this all started."

"Yeah," Micky agreed quietly. "The house seems so empty without Mike there."

"What are we gonna do now?" Peter asked, looking up at Micky and Davy. "We can't have a band without Mike. This was his dream."

"I really don't know Pete," Micky replied with a sigh.

"We'll have to do something to get money," Davy added. "We can't live off Babbitt's generosity forever."

"I know," Micky said. "But I really don't like the thought of having to carry on without Mike. He held the group together, and I really don't see how we can go on without him."

"He's still around, Micky," Peter told him. "He's not gone."

Micky sighed and shook his head. Peter had told them both about how he had seen Mike at the pad. He didn't believe it himself, because he didn't believe in ghosts, but he never tried to convince Peter otherwise. If the thought of seeing Mike at the pad brought him comfort, then Micky would let him to believe he saw Mike at the pad. No need to ruin the one comfort his friend had about Mike's death.

While he didn't believe in ghosts, the idea that Mike was still around watching over them brought him a little comfort as well. Maybe he wasn't gone completely. He looked down at Mike's grave, feeling a little uneasy at the sight of Robert Michael Nesmith on the tombstone. That discomfort soon washed away and was replaced with a feeling of peace, one that he couldn't explain. He just felt that everything was going to be okay for him and the other two, but he couldn't pinpoint how he knew this.

Mike stood behind Micky and Davy, slinging his arms around their shoulders and leaning against them as best he could. Maybe this death stuff wasn't so bad after all. He could still keep an eye out for his friends; hell, he could probably be their guardian angel or something. Well, guardian anyway... he wasn't so sure about the angel part.

The four friends stood there together for a long time before heading back to the pad, each wondering what would happen now, but Mike knew that no matter what happened, he'd always be watching out for the other three.