Summary: In the Monkees Episode "The Devil And Peter Tork", when Davy offered himself up
in Peter's stead, what would have happened if Zero had taken him up on it? Certainly Davy had done it out of loyalty
and affection for Peter, after all a great sacrifice such as he offered showed the depth of friendship he held for the blond
musician. But, what if Davy had another reason to offer himself up, a secret reason and one where he and Peter could
both be set free? And what if that reason was simply to escape?
Davy listened from his bedroom door downstairs as Mike and Micky were sitting at the kitchen table with Peter.
They were going over possible scenarios, searching for a loophole in the contract Peter had signed, albeit unknowingly, that
had placed his soul in the hands of one 'Zero', alias the Devil.
The harp, for which Peter had sold his soul, stood on the dais, now a symbol of suffering and immediate
destruction rather than an instrument of beauty.
From the sound of the discussion things were not going well. Mike was getting temperamental, pouring over
the contract line by line. "There's just got to be a way to break this contract, man!" he said, getting up and pacing
the kitchen floor in front of the sink. "I mean, it's the Devil...how much power can he hold over us, unless we give
him that power?"
Micky shook his head. "None from what I understand."
Davy leaned back against his bedroom wall. "Give him that power," he muttered, quietly. He glanced
back over to the small desk beside him, to the three envelopes with the names, "Mike", "Micky" and "Peter" inscribed on each.
Stacking them together, he placed them under his shirt and walked out into the kitchen. "Any luck, fellas?" he asked.
"Nothing. You?" Micky asked.
"Well, what did the Minister say?"
"Pretty much what Mike just said. The Devil holds power over us because we give him that power.
The problem is...how do we take that power away? That's what we're trying to figure out."
"He didn't give you any suggestions?"
"Oh, yeah...Accept Jesus into your heart and you will be saved from the damnation of Hell, and all that."
Peter lowered his head. "Maybe going to church would be the best thing."
"But you don't believe in going to church," Davy said. "That's like being forced to believe something
when you don't."
"But I don't believe in devils, Davy, and it was the Devil that got hold of me."
"So are you saying you believe in devils now?" Davy asked, going to the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup.
He leaned back and took a cautious sip. The steaming hot liquid burned his tongue anyway. He decided he'd better
get used to steaming hot, though. Considering what he had planned, he would need to.
Peter looked confused. "I don't know what to believe."
Davy did. And it was that belief he was going to put to the test tonight. "The power of friendship,"
he spoke out quietly, examining the contents of his coffee cup, and unconsciously rubbing the tip of his finger over the rim.
"Seems to me that's what can beat the power of the Devil."
Davy thought of the letters in his shirt.
Mike approached the table. "Davy's right. And that's the key. Nothing is stronger than love,
man. That's how we're going to defeat Zero."
Davy put a hand to Peter's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Believe in the power of friendship, Peter.
That'll get you out of this."
Peter gave him a small smile. "You guys are the best friends anyone could have."
A sad look crossed over Davy's face. He let Peter go and set his coffee cup down. It was
. Forty-five minutes to go until Zero
would come to claim Peter's soul. He had to make his move now. The guys were on the right track, but there was
no guarantee Zero would take the argument just offered as viable cause to break the contract.
Davy walked over to the harp and caressed the shining wood. His fingers traced over the gold decorations.
It really was a beautiful instrument, and the sound it made was as lovely as spring, or as soothing as that of a waterfall.
Peter had played it well, with his heart. And it was his heart and soul that would now suffer for it, unless...
Davy looked at his watch again, as all the others had been doing for the last three hours and fifteen
minutes, ever since Zero had laid claim to Peter's soul. would soon be upon them. He knew of the place where Peter
had received the harp and had signed the contract for it.
Peter had mentioned the place a time or two in passing, saying how much he had wanted to go in and take a look
The day he finally had, Davy hadn't been with him. If Davy had been with him, maybe he could have stopped
Peter from signing that contract. Maybe...he slumped. "Maybes are not certainties," he muttered.
"Davy?" Mike spoke, walking over to the young 'Brit', as Mike affectionately called him from time to time, and
gazing at him sorrowfully. "We'll find a way out of this, Davy. I think what you said about friendship is the
right course. We won't let Peter go to hell. I promise."
"I know you won't, Mike." Davy managed a smile, as sad as it was. There was no way he could make
his suggestion known to the others. He had to keep it to himself.
Mike gripped Davy's shoulder and the younger man closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of the physical contact.
The feel of Mike's hand was bittersweet to Davy's soul. Sweet, because it was Mike who had touched him. Bitter,
because Davy knew he would never feel that hand touch him again.
How many times had Davy stood there, envious of the guitar Mike played? The strings that were plucked
with gentle fingers, forming notes and making melodies; the fret board constantly stroked. Mike made love to his guitar
every time he played it and the imagery always left Davy bereft of purpose. Last night, watching the dark-haired
musician out on the patio, playing that acoustic melody with Peter harmonizing on his harp...the sound of it had brought tears
to Davy's eyes. He had hid in the shadows, listening to every note plucked, wondering just where Mike could pull such
beauty from his usually stern and logical mind. It had been Mike's song, and Peter had simply taken his harp and dove
into the water with his guitarist friend, filling out the edges, putting in the harmony.
The two had made beautiful music. Music that Davy could never really be a part of. They were the
musicians, Micky the drummer who kept the time. Davy was, and always would be, the singer or back-up vocal. The
only instruments he played were the tambourine and maracas. He could never hope to achieve the musical ability that
Mike or Peter shared. The two of them had even tried to teach Davy the guitar and bass, but the results had been somewhat
less than progressive. He could strum chords. He could even form the underlying theme to melodies, but he could
never get the eye-hand coordination right to pluck the strings, to form sounds like a flowing stream the way Mike did.
It would take months and months of constant practice to develop any type of talent that lied dormant within him, and after
hearing Mike's song the night before, it simply had struck Davy that he could never be that good. He was mostly a singer,
a harmonizing quality to the band. Perhaps he filled out the rough edges, smoothing them down to form a part of the
whole, but to him it was a miniscule part. What did they call someone who could be replaced easily? That's right.
'A dime a dozen'.
He supposed he could continue doing what he was doing, but would it ever make any sense to him months down the
road? At the moment, and under the circumstances, Davy didn't think so.
He gave a final smile to Mike who patted his shoulder and returned to the table, to the task at hand, his voice
fading into the distant halls of Davy's memory.
Good-bye, Mike. Never stop playing that guitar, okay? I probably won't be able to hear you,
but just on the off chance I can...
Davy let the thought go. He turned to see the three busy at work, so intent on the discussion at hand
that he knew now would be the time to put his plan into action.
He had a secret that he had been running from long enough. It was time to stop running. It was time
to own up to it and maybe, if things worked out well enough, maybe both he and Peter would be set free that night.
The three others were busily going over the contract again, in light of the new stratagem.
Davy, his back to them, pulled out the envelopes and easily set them through the harp strings, making sure no
one would see him. He then quietly walked to the door at the back of the house, out to the path along the beach that
would lead to the city road.
With luck, none of the others would notice he was gone until it was too late.
It was .
Davy paced the sidewalk outside the dilapidated brick walls of the music store from which Peter had bought the
harp. So, Zero, alias the Devil, wanted Peter's soul, eh? And according to the Devil, Peter had signed
a contract that was completely binding.
Or was it?
Even though the others were probably still hard at work trying to devise a plan of action to use against Zero
and his methods, Davy had a perfect plan. And he was certain Zero would hear him out and at least re-consider taking
Peter's soul.Otherwise, Davy would have to go back to what he had been living
with. And he simply could not do that. Not now. Not when helping Peter would be a perfect way for Davy to
deal with his own problem. Two for the price of one. Sounded like a great deal to him.
It was perhaps selfish, yes, but before this opportunity had come about, Davy had been considering other methods
to accomplish his goals.
And, besides, his precarious lifestyle would no doubt send him to hell anyway, so...why not now instead of later?
It would set Peter free and Davy's problem would be taken care of with no lingering trauma.
Okay, maybe the guys would miss him...maybe even Mike would miss him, but he couldn't let that deter him from
his self-appointed mission. (Of course, after Mike read the letter Davy had left him, it was very probable that the
tall black-haired Texan would bid him 'good riddance' and get on with his life. Davy didn't go into much detail as to
his reasons in his letters to Micky and Peter, but Mike...)
He shut his eyes, unwilling and unable to turn back now. His foot had been set in this direction and there
was no escaping the path chosen.
The guys would get over it. Mike...would get over it.
He chastised himself for taking the coward's way out, but he knew that if he had told them face to face, they
would have tried some scheme to keep him where he was, maybe even chaining him to a chair again.
Davy had to laugh at that memory. A fortune-teller had informed them that Davy would meet and fall in
love with a girl in twenty-four hours, thus leaving the band. The guys had worked hard to keep Davy out of circulation
for that length of time, even pulling out a length of chain and padlocks, chaining his leg to a chair. If only they
had known that the only reason he had been so blatant in pursuing women was the fact that Davy could never have the one he
truly wanted, they would have...
...Probably killed me, he thought.
Well, it didn't matter now. He had made his confession to Mike in his letter, and he had come down to
this store to have it out with Zero.
Whatever the outcome, Davy had decided on this method. Because he knew he had no other choice.
And neither did Peter.
He knew it was the right course.
It had to be.
He steeled himself, forcing a jolt of confidence into his limbs, and walked into the music store. "Zero?
I've come to bargain!" he called out.
A poof of smoke exploded in front of him and there was Zero, with his sinister eyes, gazing at him with an expectant
smile. The gray fedora and matching gray suit gave off the air of a man who was non-threatening, but Davy knew that
was how the Devil worked. Manipulation through non-threatening acts.
"Mister Jones, welcome. I've been expecting you." Zero cast a smirk at Davy that he knew to be the
Devil's way of 'making one feel at home', but it gave the young Brit a chill, nonetheless.
"I've come here to make a deal," he said.
Zero inclined his head. "I've come to hear it." He put his arm around Davy's shoulders, and suddenly
Davy knew this was the end of his pain, the end of his uncertainty.
By the time you read this, I'm hoping it will be too late for you to try to interfere, if you even want
to interfere after you read what I have to say to you, and to you alone. The others, well, in their letters I just told
them 'good-bye' and thanked them for their friendship. I told Peter to keep his chin up and to keep playing that harp.
Zero can't have Peter's soul. Not his. It's too pure for hell.
I'm sorry. I have to do this. It's just something that I see as being the only way out for both
Peter and myself. For Peter, because he's a true musician and needs to stay with the band. For me...because, well...I
may sing...a little. I may be able to keep a beat with the tambourine, but in reality I'm lousy as a musician and tambourine
players can be found anywhere. It won't be hard to replace me in the band.
Also...there's something else I need to say. It won't matter now, I know. But the other reason,
possibly even the real reason, I'm doing this is because I love you.
I've loved you for a very long time, but being that we are both men, I couldn't bring myself to say it to
you face to face. There, you see? I would have been 'drummed' out of the group had I said anything, anyway.
This way for both of us, we can let it go and move on.
I'll understand if you end up hating me for this. I just don't want to live to see that hatred flared
in front of me.
That would kill me anyway.
Please don't tell the others. For your sake.
Love, your 'Brit'."
Mike sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the words to Davy's 'Good-bye' note. There had also been one
left for Peter and Micky, and each individual scrawl in Davy's beautiful handwriting had said, "Personal". He didn't
really care what Davy had said to the others in their letters. He couldn't, not after what he had just read.His pretty much said it all. At first, his reaction was pure numbness. He had even dropped
the letter upon reading the first words to Davy's confession. He had stared at the paper as it rested by his booted
feet, and could not bring himself to pick it up to finish it, not for a long, chilling moment when time stood still and nothing
else seemed to matter except the need to breathe and breathe and breathe some more.
"I've loved you for a very long time."
Mike shut his eyes. Had he been that stupid to not see it? Davy was expressive, sometimes too expressive
really. For Mike to miss the signals only proved that Davy had done a convincing job of hiding his true feelings.
Or maybe Mike was that stupid, even blind...or...maybe he had been in severe denial.
A shiver tore through his body. Not one of disgust, but of realizing that truths had been hidden by both
he and Davy. There was no doubt in his mind that he cared for Davy; had even went so far as to cause mass confusion
within an airport, along with Micky and Peter, to keep Davy's grandfather from taking the younger man back to England
and away from his friends. But had the reason been more than just that of missing a friend?
Davy's smile, his laughter, his kind heart, not to mention the younger man's well built frame, agile limbs and
beautiful face. All those things wafted through Mike's mind as the realization of Davy loving him made him reel inwardly.
Trying to rein in some control of his wayward emotions, he stood and paced the bedroom floor, studying the words
over and over: "I've loved you for a very long time. I've loved you for a very long time. I've loved
you for a very long time."
Mike crunched the paper into his fist and sucked in a shaking breath as the reality of it all slammed into his
chest. He wondered what being hit in the chest with an arrow felt like? Could this be the reason behind the analogy
of Cupid's arrow?
Tears stung his eyes, and he pushed them back. He could not give into hysteria, that wasn't his style.
He always looked at matters with sense and poise bordering on non-emotion.
But this was Davy!
Where Davy was concerned, Mike's heart was another matter.
Davy had managed to penetrate the hardened exterior and cause the flesh beneath to bleed.
Mike found his knees had grown wobbly, and he crumbled to the floor, an agitated mess.
"Oh, God, Davy," he muttered, and the wound inside him poured out from his body in a rocking motion, in groans
and a stomach that clenched up on him and refused to ease.
In that single moment, he knew.
He knew, and he had to make it right.
He clumsily got to his feet and stumbled to the bedroom door, opening it just in time to see Peter
and Micky standing there, Peter's fist raised, ready to knock. It's , Mike," Peter noted, his face pale and his voice shaking.
"Are we too late?"
Mike hurriedly wiped his eyes and clutched the crunched up paper to his chest.
"Not if I have anything to say about it. Come on. Peter, where's that store you got the harp from?"
He spoke as he hurried down the spiral staircase to the front door; Micky and Peter heavy at his heels.
"Do you think Zero would have taken him there?" Micky asked.
"I don't know," Mike nervously replied as he opened the door. "But if Zero wants a deal...he's going to
have to go through us to get one."
Davy looked around at the old and dusty instruments hanging from the walls and ceiling. Each one had a
piece of paper attached to it, looking very much like the contract Peter had signed. "All of these people sold their
soul to you?" he asked, marveling.
Zero stood off to the side, leaning an elbow on his 'sales' counter and studying Davy with whimsical fortitude.
"Indeed, and not just musicians, although those are the ones I am closely endeared to. You understand that I was quite
the musician myself in the heavenly realm."
Davy swallowed. "So I heard. But I'm not much of a musician."
"No, but you are involved within the musical arena. That makes your offer quite tempting to me.
However, it was Peter Tork who signed the contract."
"Peter didn't know what he was doing when he signed," Davy argued. He turned to Zero, confident and unwavering.
Zero chuckled. "Lad, you must understand, I am interested in the offer. It is very selfish of you
and very noble as well. An easy way out for both you and Peter. Very cost-effective to be certain, but are you
absolutely certain Michael does not love you in return?"
"How could he?"
Zero shrugged. "Well, that would all depend on how one looks at love, don't you think?"
Davy stepped closer, furrowing a brow. "What is it that you're not telling me?"
"That by eliminating your soul from this earth, you also eliminate any chances of finding your true love.
Is that really what you want?"
"I can't have my true love," Davy replied, turning away and focusing his attention on the instruments again.
A twelve-string acoustic, much like the one Mike played, caught his eye.He slowly
walked up to it and gingerly ran his fingers over the out-of-tune strings.
Zero tilted his head, pursed his lips and marveled.“If Michael
is your true love, David Jones, then you will never know by going through with this.”
“He loves women,” Davy sighed, stilling the vibrating strings of the guitar with a soft touch.“He gave me insight about myself that I never knew.I possibly could find another to replace him, but it’s him I want...and him I can’t have.”
The clock on the wall ticked on. Five more minutes until . Peter's deadline. Would Davy
convince Zero in time?
Zero straightened. "David Jones, your soul is far more valuable than you think. I have it on good
authority that Michael is on his way here now to stop you from doing this, even though you confessed everything to him in
"He can't be!" Davy argued with a smirk. "He's probably on his way here to make sure I go through with
"You would sell the object of your affections so short, David Jones?"
Davy cast him an angry glare. "Lay off the 'short' comments, Zero."
Zero chuckled again, obviously amused by Davy's responses. "My dear, dear, boy. So confused you
are, but then...that is what comes from cowardice."
"I'm not a coward!" Davy retorted.
"Aren't you?" Zero snapped his fingers and the contract for Peter's soul was in his hands, along with
a quill pen and a jar of red ink...or was that blood? "The contract is binding, yes, but it can be changed if I choose
to do so. Shall you replace Peter's name with yours, young David?"
Davy stepped up to the counter, taking the contract and quill. Zero set the jar of red liquid on the counter
and opened it. "Just dip it in the blood and sign over Peter's name.His
will disappear and yours will replace it.It’s that simple.”
Davy stared at Peter's signature, then at the quill in his hand. He quickly dipped the tip into the jar
of blood ink and poised it over the contract. The first stroke to the letter 'D' instantly erased the 'P' in Peter.
The second letter 'a' quickly erased the 'e' and so on until he had finished writing his first name. Peter's first name
was completely gone, now. Davy began to work on the last name. J-O-...
The door to the shop flew open and Mike, Micky and Peter came bursting through. "Davy! Don't!" Mike
Davy gazed at the man who was his world in more than just music. The tenderness, the concern, the all
out pleading in Mike's eyes forced Davy to wonder if what Zero had said wasn't the truth.
"Don't do it, Davy!"
"Yeah, Davy, it's me he wants. You can't do this," Peter begged.
Davy gazed at his friends for a long moment.
"Only a few more strokes to go, David Jones. Just finish writing your name and we can..."
"No! Davy, don't do it!" Micky shouted.
Davy hesitated, his pen ready to write out the 'N' of his last name, but his hand had frozen.
The clock on the wall read and 30 seconds.
He quickly dashed the pen over the last letters of Peter's name eliminating them with a hyphen stroke.
Zero snatched the contract. "It is done! The soul of one David Jones I will receive in replacement
for that of Peter Tork's!"
Mike pushed himself forward. "No fucking way!"
Davy turned to Mike as Zero put his arm around his shoulders.
Mike leapt to tackle the devil as Zero waved his other arm. "I love you, Davy!" Mike shouted as Zero brought
his hand down. Davy gazed at Mike's face, the eyes, the twisting of desperation plastered over that beautiful image.
Had he heard Mike right? Had the tall musician declared his love?
"Mike!" he reached out and as Mike came down they touched hands but it was too late. In that instant Davy
and Zero disappeared and Mike fell to the floor with a thud. Dust kicked up around him and settled onto his wool hat,
his hair and his clothes—the dust of centuries culminating around him like a mocking symbol of failure.
"NOOOOOO!" he shouted, clenching his fists as the realization of what had happened slammed into his soul.
Davy was gone, taken far out of Mike’s reach.Davy was lost
"Oh, God," he got to his knees and covered his head with his arms. "Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh,
God! I'm too late! I'm too fucking late!"
Micky and Peter glanced at each other. Micky approached Mike carefully, uncertain what the explosive temper
would do if pushed to the limit. "Mike? What's going on, man? What the hell happened just now?"
Mike took a moment to collect himself as much as he could. He slowly got to his feet with Micky helping
him. The black-haired guitarist allowed the help, either out of apathy, or he was simply too focused on Davy's loss
to feel the hands around his arm.
Peter drew closer, tears welling in his eyes. "He did it. I'm saved, but Davy..." he gestured to
where Davy had been standing only a scant few seconds before.
Mike stared, too, clutching the hand that Davy had touched in his last seconds to his chest. His heart
hurt and it showed in his face.
"We're getting him back," he whispered through a chocked back sob. He swallowed to loosen his throat,
but the fiery burn of grief had already taken root and was growing like a poisonous weed.
"I won't let Davy go through hell. And I sure as hell won't let him face this alone."
Micky, whose hand was still clutching Mike's arm, gazed at his friend with concern. "What was that all
Mike slowly turned to Micky, uncertain what to say. "You and Peter go back to the loft. Stay there.
This is something that's between Davy and me. If you don't see us in twenty-four hours...go on without us."
"Mike?" Peter asked, coming closer. "What are you saying?"
Mike gently put a hand to Peter's face. "Don't worry, Pete. This one is my fight. I have to
try. I'll either bring Davy back...or I'll stay down there with him. It's going to be the only options I'll allow."
Micky gazed at Mike and suddenly understood. "What did he say to you in that letter, Mike?"
Mike pulled out the crunched up letter that he had put in his shirt pocket. He handed it to Micky.
"Davy asked me not to tell you, but you both have to understand. Don't read this until you get back to the loft.
And whatever happens...don't interfere. Like I said, this is my fight, now."
"Why can't it be ours?" Peter asked. "Davy gave himself for me."
"And for me," Mike said. "You'll understand when you read the letter, Peter. I can't say anything
more. Now, please. Just do as I ask. Let it be my final request from you guys."
Micky released Mike's arm and gingerly held the letter in his hand. "All right, Mike. But we will
come back. In twenty-four hours if you both aren't back at the loft, Peter and I will make this our fight."
Mike stared at Micky, knowing full well the drummer meant what he said and also knowing full well that he could
not stop either of them from interfering later on."Fair enough," he said and
held out his hand. Micky shook it, stoic and undeterred.
Mike held out his hand to Peter, but Peter did not shake it. Instead he pulled Mike into a hug.
"I may not believe in devils, Mike. But I believe in you and Davy."
Mike eased his arms around Peter and held him close. "I'll bring him back or...or die trying as they say."
Peter gave Mike a final hug and released him. "I'll see you in the car," he told Micky, his throat choking
Micky watched him leave; then turned back to Mike. "Zero doesn't understand love, Mike," he said with
a gentle smile. "Maybe Davy doesn't either. Maybe that's why he did this."
Mike nodded. "Then that will be the weapon of choice in this duel, Mick."
Micky clapped Mike on the shoulder. "Get back safe. Both of you." He turned and headed out
of the shop, leaving Mike alone with the emptiness of the place...and the dust that still swirled around his feet.
He looked down at the rickety floorboards, warped and gray with age. "Come and get me you damned bastard,"
he said. "And in case you didn't get that, Shotgun, that was a challenge."
In seconds a hole opened up beneath him and he was immediately sucked down into the realm of the unknown.
Nothing was left to show he had even been in the shop but his wool hat that fell off during the decent.
It laid on the floor like some artifact set adrift through time, waiting for its owner to claim it once more.