Repercussions

"No...don’t...don’t let her do it...not again..." Michael Nesmith tossed and turned in his bed in the upstairs room of the Pad, his shrieks breaking the quiet of the mid-July night. He could see it all as if it was happening right then and there, instead of a few days ago.

Lady Noira Plaisir, the beautiful, seductive owner of the Plaisir Media Corporation, turned to him, bottle in hand. "Hold him, Martinelli," she ordered the big man in the gaudy yellow suit. Mike barely heard the screams of his horrified friends as the handsome bodyguard yanked him by his raven hair with one beefy hand and grabbed his wrists with the other. One of the brainwashed factory workers held his mouth apart. His chocolate eyes flicked down at the Lady’s slender, tapered hands, which smeared a line of whitish, sticky liquid across his narrow lips. She took both of his lips and pressed them together tightly.

"Michael?" A deep, concerned voice broke his fitful slumber. He finally opened his eyes. He lay on his bed upstairs, his lanky body tangled in the bed sheets. His paisley pajamas were soaked. Sweat dripped off of his forehead. He looked up at the darkened doorway, where the outline of his roommate and good friend Peter Tork was barely discernable. "Michael, are you all right? That’s the third time since we got back from Manchester you’ve woken up screaming."

Mike looked around him. He was in his own room in the Pad in Malibu Beach. Micky’s empty bed, made up for once, was across from his. Dark shadows whispered around the walls, making eerie shapes in the early morning light. Two other shapes appeared in the doorway behind Peter, one slightly shorter than the other. Micky and his now-wife Lauren were on their honeymoon, but the others remained behind in Malibu Beach.

The taller one pushed its way past Peter. "Mike, honey?" Emma wore her green felt robe that made her look even more voluptuous than she already was. Her brown hair fell to her shoulders in thick, untamed waves, and her gray eyes were concerned behind the thick Coke-bottle lenses. She immediately went to his bed and sat down next to him. "Are you ok? You haven’t slept a full night since our trip."

Mike shook his head, sitting up on the bed next to Emma. "Yeah, darlin’, I’m ok. Just ain’t sleepin’, that’s all."

Davy, wearing his polka-dot pajamas and a very worried expression, joined Peter as both boys sat on the bed across from Mike’s. "Mate, it’s not ‘ealthy to wake up in the middle of the night shrieking at the top of your lungs." He smiled slightly. "Especially with the kind of lungs you’ve got. They can ‘ear you screamin’ in Antarctica."

Peter frowned. "Michael, you know you can always tell us when something is upsetting you or bothering you. We won’t hurt you." He went to Mike’s other side and put his hand on his taller friend’s shoulder.

Emma sighed. "Lord only knows, after what that Lady Plaisir did to you and Micky, I’m not surprised you’re having nightmares. She was inhumanly cruel to you, baby. Gluing your lips like that was pure spitefulness. She wasn’t even interested in your body, just torturing your mind."

Mike narrowed his eyes and turned from Emma to the window. "I don’t wanna talk about it, Em."

Peter shook his head. "Michael, the nightmares won’t stop unless we talk about it. Do you want to wake up screaming every night for the rest of your life?’

Davy nodded. "We’re ‘ere for you, mate. We came aftah you when she ‘ad you and Mick in that so-called ‘office’ of ‘ers, and we certainly won’t abandon you now."

Peter squeezed Mike’s shoulder. "Please, Michael? We want to help you. We wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable." Emma put her smaller hand on his long, slender one.

Mike shook his head. "It’ll go away. I’ll be all right."

Emma shook her head. "No, you won’t. This can’t continue. It’s obvious you’re hurting, and I can’t blame you. We all went through a horrifying experience in Manchester, but it will keep haunting you unless you let it out. You can’t hide everything, honey, especially not from us. We’re your family."

Mike frowned, then looked at the others. "It’s my business, guys."

Peter shook his head. "No, it isn’t. Mike, she brainwashed Micky and me, too, and she tried to hurt Micky’s body as well as his mind." Peter sighed. "Mike, I’ve had nightmares since I’ve gotten back, too. They probably aren’t as scary as yours, but they aren’t nice, either. Sometimes, I have that war nightmare again, the one where we’re all caught in the battlefield and you act like you don’t care about anything but the ammo. Other times, I dream that a hand is reaching out to grab me from some dark, unknown place."

Davy joined Peter on the end of the bed. "What are your nightmares about, Mike?"

Mike closed his eyes. He spoke in a flat voice that couldn’t entirely hide the fear and horror underneath the carefully chosen words. "It’s always the same. It starts in the office, after she tried to get Micky’s belt off and I jumped on her. Her goons hold me down. Pete’s bawling, Em’s screamin’, and Micky’s roarin’ like a tiger bein’ forced into a cage. She tells Martinelli to hold me while one of her factory boys opens my mouth. She goes to the desk and gets the glue, runs it across my lips, and shuts them, then starts tellin’ me how I belong to her and will talk when she wants me to talk."

The other three stared at him, wide-eyed. Emma put her head on his chest, her own eyes filled with compassion. "Oh, honey, that’s just horrible!"

Mike kept his voice level, though his eyes flickered with fear. "She won’t let my head go. She’s strong, a lot stronger than the real Lady Plaisir was. She keeps stroking my cheek, telling me how worthless I am if I can’t sing or speak."

Davy frowned. "Sounds like your mind is relivin’ the whole thing."

Mike nodded. "It’s been relivin’ it for almost a week, ever since the night of Lauren and Micky’s wedding. It’s always the same scene in the same way…except it gets worse every time. You guys scream louder, Peter cries harder, her fingers on my face are stronger, and she taunts me even more than she did when it happened."

Peter sighed. "Michael, even in death, she’s controlling your mind, and mine, too. Remember, she wanted us to be scared. She especially wanted to scare you."

Mike frowned. "Me? Why me? I didn’t do nuthin’ to her."

"You told ‘er what you thought of ‘er," Davy reminded him. "That was enough to drive ‘er mad. She wasn’t used to bein’ spoken to in that way, especially by a man."

Emma nodded. "You stood up to her, and she hated that. She was beyond listening to reason by that point. She couldn’t stand that there were men out there she couldn’t control, mentally or sexually."

"The point is, Michael," Peter explained, "that you don’t need to be scared anymore. Things won’t get better overnight, but we’ll help you through it. If you’re feeling upset or scared, come to one of us and talk about it until you feel better. We’re all willing to get you and the whole group through this."

Emma put her arms around Mike. "Things will get better, honey. You’ve just got to believe that."

Mike draped a long, lean arm over Emma’s narrow shoulder. "I know, darlin’, but she really struck a nerve. My music and singin’ mean everything to me. If I can’t sing or play…"

Peter put his arms around Mike’s other side. "We know how much music means to you, Mike. It means everything to me, too. Music is our life."

Emma looked into her boyfriend’s chocolate-colored eyes. "Control means a lot to you, too. You like to be able to control your own destiny and your own life, and if possible, the lives of those around you. I know, because I’m like that, too. You keep panicking because she almost took that control away from you." She smiled softly. "There’s a reason I call you ‘Papa Wolf,’ honey. You’re like a male wolf. You have to be the head of your pack or not be there at all."

"You only get mad when someone threatens us or your control," Peter added. "You did it when Rudy wanted more control over our music, and with every villain who ever went after us."

"All I ever wanted was a life of my own, with a good home and kids and a wife and successful career as a musician. That bitch," Mike snarled, "tried to take that away from me, Pete, and Micky. Micky was only engaged, for God’s sake, and she practically tried to rape him!"

"We’ll keep that from evah ‘appnin’ again," Davy insisted, putting his arms around Peter. "We promise."

Peter nodded. "You’re a wonderful leader, Mike. You keep the band together and keep us together. You’re a good friend and a great musician."

Emma cuddled into his chest. "You’re also a wonderful, respectful boyfriend. You understand more about love than that so-called ‘Lady’ Plaisir ever did." She sighed. "You just have to remember, there’s nothing wrong with telling people when you’re hurting."

Peter took his best friend’s hand, the one he’d damaged in a childhood accident. "Healing doesn’t just begin with the body, Mike. It starts right here," he touched his breast, "in the soul. Your outside will heal, but it’s the inside that really needs help. You can’t see what’s hurt on the inside unless someone wants to talk about it."

Mike nodded quietly. "When I hurt my hand as a kid, I thought my life was over…but Mom helped me through it, and then Aunt Kate suggested taking up the guitar. I already loved singin’ and listenin’ to music. She figured it would help to do something I loved."

"You healed then, Mike," Davy added, "and you can heal again. You’ve got one of the strongest wills in the whole world. You’ll get through this."

Mike finally smiled one of his rare but lovely crooked smiles. "No," he said, squeezing Peter’s hand as Emma hugged him, "we’ll all get through this."

The four sat huddled together on the bed, enjoying each other’s company and warmth as the first rays of the morning sun peeked through the beaded curtains on the windows, sending rays of colored lights around the group. They were too busy beginning their healing process to heed the morning light show.

The End