Disclaimer: The Lost Boys belongs to Warner Bros. I'm just having a bit o' fun with their characters.
There was something wrong with Max.
It was his smile.
He had said hush my darling, and the world became silent, the air thick and oppressive, laced with an unspoken dread. The ticking mechanical heart of the great clock that occupied one grim corner of her dining room was the only sound, mockingly mimicking what did not exist in the breast of the creature that once needed her.
She had a memory of when she first met him. Over glasses of champagne, they talked. He watched while she ate her dinner; he hardly touched his food. There was something that hid behind his eyes when he looked directly at her, something old and hungry. He looked not quite human then as his eyes disappeared behind the reflective glare of his glasses, flashing inhumanly as he watched her talk.
Yet when he spoke, he changed. He offered sympathetic words regarding her ex-husband and the difficulties of raising a family alone. When he spoke of his business renting out video tapes, she listened, watching his thin moist lips part, revealing perfect white teeth. His long face expressive as his brows moved in time to his smooth discussion of expanding his business beyond the small seaside town he called home. She thought he was boring, but nice. When it was all finished, they exchanged numbers and made their goodnights.
She thought that was the end of it, yet he called her the next night.
Then she invited him into her house.
Her heart felt for him when he expressed his need for her. She thought her heart was incapable of it, but his smile and his soft words melted the ice that encased it. For the first time, she was vulnerable. There was hope in what he said though, that he wanted a happy family, needed it so badly that he could taste it on his lips. If she only knew then the price of his need, she would have known that it would taste of blood. As for hope, it was never there. His words were hollow all along.
How many had he tricked with his charm and wit? She did not know. The eternal night he lived in must have been lonely, so lonely for him that he needed to find and gather a family around his solitary existence. But a twisted creature such as Max would inevitably corrupt all that he touched. He must have searched, preying on those who shared the same loneliness and were willing to accept what he offered, much to their infinite sorrow. A female he desired, so she could be called mother to his brood for his sons and daughters were numerous and they shared their father's hunger.
It was the night of teeth and blood when he showed his true self to her, when he gave her his blood to drink, so she could turn away from the sun and humanity. She reveled in its taste, its salty metallic warmth coating her tongue and easing its way down her throat. It was not a taste she would ever forget nor would she ever regret. At that point she already gave him all that he needed; her daughter, her son, her life, but it was not enough. It was never enough she realized when it was already far too late.
She did not remember when he started to hate her; hate the sight of her, the smell of her, and the taste of her. Even that caused him to curl his lips in disgust. Opening her mouth slightly, she tasted the air, hoping to glean from it his scent and what it could tell her. Had he found someone else to share his twisted existence? Would she be able to smell her rival's blood? Taste it?
There was something wrong with Max.
It was his smile, his cruel grin meant just for her, and the accompanying pain, the only thing and the last thing she ever felt.
She did not remember waking up or sitting at the table, but she was hungry, so hungry. There was nothing to drink, just dust motes floating through the air and through her. She could feel herself fading away while the clock continued to beat time in the empty room.
The End