Winter Night
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Disclaimer: The Lost Boys, sadly, don't belong to me. All rights go to their respective owners.
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"I loved you," Michael says. "I really did." He's silent for a second, then continues, "But you … you scared me. Couldn't you've talked to me? Explained everything? Not in the brutal way you did, but … reasonable? I might have come willingly, you know."
There is no answer. Only darkness, and the whispering of the wind, and the crashing of the waves.
Michael has extinguished his torchlight as soon as he entered the main cave. Even though it's nighttime, and new moon, and nearly pitch black, he still knows his way around here instinctively. After a few more steps, he bends down and touches the cracked old leather of the couch. He hesitates, then lowers himself carefully onto the dilapidated piece of furniture. The springs creak, and a thick cloud of dusts rises up into the air, engulfing Michael and forcing him to cough. It takes several minutes until he's done hacking.
"What did you do to me, David?" he asks the almost-blackness once his breathing has returned to normal. His voice is now raspy though. "What did you do to me? I still hunger, and I cannot forget."
There's still one of the mobiles hanging. The shells, bones, and shards of glass are clinking in the soft breeze brought in by the sea. The bones are human, as Michael well knows, arms and hands twisted and interlinked with each other. He averts his eyes.
"I loved you," he tries anew. "I loved all of you. I would have wanted to be with you, to be part of you." Anger creeps into his voice. "Why did you have to drench it in blood? Why did you have to destroy it? We could have been good together. You know that."
Still, there is no answer, just the empty darkness of the cave.
"I've decided now. I've …" Michael swallows, his resolve failing him for a heartbeat. But then his voice turns steady again. "I will wait for you. Here. I know the time has come, and I will wait for you. Take me back. I belong here. I know that now. I knew it even then, but I was just too scared. You were human once. Can't you understand?"
The wind keeps lisping, and the waves keep gnawing at the rocks, as they have done for ages.
Michael takes a deep breath. It's almost a sigh. "Well, take your time … I can wait." Then, suddenly, he snorts, and a lopsided smile spreads on his face. "I've some experience there," he adds, and chuckles.
He hesitates for a moment. Then he fidgets a little to lie down on the couch carefully. He doesn't want to further disturb the dust. Now that it has settled again, it's covering the leather so thickly that it's almost like a blanket.
Michael closes his eyes. He listens to the whispering of the wind and the roaring of the sea. There are tiny feet scurrying through the cave; mice, or rats, or both. He hears birds fluttering above him, and the soft cooing of doves. Somewhere, water is dripping.
Michael feels the dust seeping into his skin as he seems to sink deeper and deeper into the couch.
It is peaceful.
He is home.
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In the morning, the winter sun visits the cave. The pale shine creeps in through a hole in the roof and falls onto the disassembled parts of what must once have been an ancient wheelchair. Then it moves on to a trunk covered in dust and bird droppings, and further up to an old couch. It kisses the wrinkled face of the man who is lying there, and makes his white hair shine like freshly fallen snow.
The man doesn't stir though.
There's blood on his neck.