An: Grettings, this is a taste of the first chapter/prolog to my new Lost Boys Fic. Just to see what you think about it. Please leave a review and tell me what you think!
Oh yeah...I'm looking for a Beta as well...anyone interested, leave a message!

Disclaimer: Apparently I'm not allowed to say that I own the Losy Boys. 1)They would kill me. 2) I would get sued. So guess what mortals, I do not own anything. Savvy?

In A World of Fragile Things

By Snuffles-sweetie

The town of Santa Carla is known for being the top murder capital in the whole country…the whole world. Not that I knew that when my brother and I moved here…And how was I supposed to know that my grandfathers current hometown was crawling with mythological creatures and vampire hunters?

Chapter 1

People are Strange

When you're strange

Faces come out of the rain

When you're strange

No one remembers your name

When you're strange

When you're strange

When you're strange

-Echo and the Bunnymen-

An old bus that looked like it was going to fall apart at any moment was driving along the curling road that led to the town known as Santa Carla. Home of runaways, punks, aspiring artists, junkies and any other freak of nature you could think of. And soon it was going to be my new home. My grandfather lived there, for a reason that was unknown to me. Apparently he liked the culture collision the town provided.

I didn't have a bad life, it was pretty normal. I was born Bailey Grayson, princess of Suburbia.

I had a dad who wore a suit everyday for work, working for bigger suits, handling important paperwork and sitting at a desk all day. He drove an old beat up green Chevy Nomad from and to work, every day of every week, of every month of every year. He went to a poker game once a month with his old high school buddies, and twice a month he went down to the neighbourhood bar for a beer with his friends from work. Like clockwork.

My mom was an artist turned housewife since she met my dad. She dressed in different types of beige, blue and green dresses with a matching pair of heels. She lived for us kids and her family. She took trips to the store, cleaned the house and swapped gossip with her friends. Same thing, over and over again, like clockwork.

My older brother Jackson was an A student. He played football and was an average player in his school. We went to all his games. His life consisted of eating, football, his friends and us, his family.

It was a typical, bleak, transparent and so-called normal suburban family. Not a hair was allowed to be misplaced on their blonde heads. My family was big on schedules and being on time. There was a specific time for everything; dinnertime, bedtime, family time…everything. The only "daring" thing my parents ever did was naming my brother Jackson and me Bailey. Instead of John and Jane or something "normal" like that.

I was just like that. I did everything on time and just lived my life following the map that had been set up for me from birth. Finish high school, go to collage, marry someone nice, have kids…die. And I was okay with it, because I didn't know of anything else.

The summer when I turned 12 my mother sent me and my brother to live with my grandfather, reluctantly. She didn't get along with her dad because he was a free spirit and she married a suit that was against everything he was; carefree, spontaneous and occasionally high as a house.

Against my fathers wishes we were sent to meet our grandfather for the first time. The same summer I met my aunt Lucy; she was a free spirit like my grandfather and had two kids of her own. She wasn't as…outspoken as my grandfather but close enough.

That summer changed my view of life completely. I had only experienced life in our protective little bubble but seeing a different town, different people for the first time was thrilling. My brother was a bit sceptic about our eccentric grandfather at first but I liked him instantly. Here was a man that actually asked me what I wanted for dinner, wanted to know what my favourite colour was instead of deciding that it was pink just because that would be suiting. No, he allowed me to paint my room mint green, eat whenever I wanted, whatever I wanted and dress in any sorts of outfits I liked, he didn't care if I walked around naked if that's what made me happy.

He introduced me to music other than Buddy Holly and The Beatles, he didn't mind if I cussed or anything. My brother soon started to like this new relieving, free lifestyle and parting was…as Shakespeare said…such sweet sorrow.

Jackson and I were now forced into our bubble again. But our parents saw the change in us, and they knew that we wouldn't…couldn't go back.

But they didn't try to stop us from being who we had become, no they let us be. They loved us, no matter what. Even if they would've preferred that my brother didn't let his hair grow out long and wear leather jackets. And I know that when I exchanged my skirts for ripped jeans and my neat hair into the rats' nest it was now my mother wept on the inside. But how could they kill our spirits?
Yes…how could they? We were their only children and they loved us until death. Even if my father muttered about "junkie music" whenever he walked past my room and heard Jim Morrison crooning from my rock box, he still couldn't kill our spirits, neither of them could. Like that truck killed theirs.

Six years later, I was 18 and my brother 20, when officer Andrews came to our door and announced that a truck had hit our old, green, beat up Chevy and my parents were no more. There was a funeral. That much I know. A lot of black clad people, crying, all of them telling me how sorry they were. I remember a thick, suffocating smell of lilies and rain. It rained that day; I'm pretty sure about that. We couldn't live alone; none of us were 21 yet. So we had a choice, Aunt Lucy, some distant uncle named Geoff and our Grandfather in Santa Carla. The choice was easy.

So here we are, six years and three months later. On the same old bus going towards the town of Santa Carla, home of runaways, punks, aspiring artists, junkies and any other freak of nature you could think of, that and my eccentric grandfather.

I looked at my sleeping brother next to me. He hadn't shaved so he had a five o'clock shadow covering his chin and his blonde hair was greasy and slicked back. How he could sleep in this heat was beyond me. I looked out through the window at the desert like landscape that we were travelling through now. Soon enough we would reach the Oceanside and Santa Carla. I don't remember much of the town actually, just that I loved it there. Soon I could spot the sparkling blue ocean and the ocean air hit my nostrils through the open windows. The smell was oddly familiar and comforting, even if I hadn't smelled it in such a long time. The air seemed less humid too, it was still too hot to move but it was more bearable. The change of air seemed to wake my brother up as well; either that or he finally had enough sleep to satisfy his body.

"Are we there yet Bailey?" he said, a long time ago I stopped calling him Jackson and only refereed to him as Jack.

"Yeah…there's the sign." A welcoming sign with a smiling sun came closer with the words; "Welcome to Santa Carla" written on it. I smiled but when we passed it I looked back and saw something written on the back of it. "Murder Capitol of the World".

"Sounds promising," my brothers sarcastic voice came from beside me. I looked at him and asked;

"That wasn't there before…was it? I can't remember it…" Jack just shrugged and stretched his long limbs over the whole seat, obviously trying to wake up more.

Soon enough we reached the town and stepped out of the bus. The air was warm but a cooler breeze from the ocean assaulted me as my feet touched the concrete, along with the smell of the ocean mixed with cotton candy, sweat and just that special smell that carnivals have. We unloaded our bags and Jack's motorcycle that he had somehow managed to talk the bus driver into taking with us. That's a talent of his; he can talk himself out of practically anything and convince people of the most ridiculous things.

We had already sent most of our things here on before hand so we only had a bag each. Jack motioned for me to jump on his pride and joy; a bright blue Honda Sabre. I did as I was told and held onto him tightly, I loved my brother, but he drove like a maniac. The sun was shining brightly and I felt disgustingly hot in my leather jacket as we drove along the beach. Jack said that if I was going to ride his bike with him, I had to look the part. So I was wearing a leather jacket just like him. But right now I bet he too was regretting the decision of wearing leather when the sun was trying to burn through said material.

We drove through the colourful crowds towards the house our grandfather lived in; he had given us the directions over the phone. I watched as the landscape blew by and sighed happily, I had forgotten how beautiful Santa Carla really was.

Our Grandfather lived in an old house on a hill a few miles outside town. We arrived there and when Jack cut the engine the door opened and an old man with long greying hair stepped outside with his arms wide.

"Grandpa!" I exclaimed and climbed off the bike and ran to hug the old man. He embraced me tightly and whispered;

"Welcome home Bailey," stroking my hair. He then put his arms out and said;

"Let me look at you." I laughed lightly and said;

"Gramps…you saw me three months ago." He had been at the funeral after all.

"Yeah gramps…I doubt she's changed that much since then…or maybe you just weren't wearing your glasses back then and couldn't really see her…eh old man?" Jack's voice said from behind me and I snorted.

"Oh you little rascal…c'mere," he motioned for Jack to come closer and fake punched him good naturally but then drew him into a hug as well. He looked at both of us with a sparkle in his eyes and then motioned for the door.

"Come on…let's go inside." We went with him and the place looked just like it did all those years ago…the parts I remembered at least. There were some stuffed animals here and there, a stairway lead up to the second floor where I knew my old room would be untouched. Grandpa promised that he would leave our rooms like they were if we ever wanted to come and visit again. Grandpa laid down some ground rules, don't touch his stuff, don't go into his private area…and that was about it. It was going to be weird to live without a curfew or anything now. Jack and I made our way upstairs and started to unpack. My room looked just like I left it; mint green walls and even some old Doors posters were left on the walls. I shook my head and threw everything I owned into the closet and some drawers. Then I went and took a refreshing shower, it was nice to get the travel dust off me. When I finished I continued to organize my room. A pounding on my door interrupted my unpacking.

"Yeah?" I shouted over the music that I had on. Jack opened the door and looked in.

"Want to head down to the boardwalk?" I nodded and took my jacket with me; we headed downstairs and found grandpa sitting in the kitchen eating a sandwich.

"Hey old fart…" my idiot brother started but I hit him in the arm and hissed;

"Jack!" But grandpa just laughed loudly and said;

"It's okay Bailey…I told him he was allowed to call me that after he saw the sign in the fridge." I nodded slowly and glanced at the plants outside the kitchen window, they looked suspicious and I now had no doubt that they were exactly the kind of plants I thought they were.

"Well…as I was saying before I was interrupted. Little sister and I are heading down to the boardwalk," Jack stated simply and plainly, grandpa nodded.

"Okay. But take care of your sister Jack. Look out for her…and I know, I know you can take care of yourself Bailey but Santa Carla is filled with all kinds of people…so watch out," he gave us both a stare and we nodded and said our goodbyes. A couple of minutes later we were zooming through the woods and down to the now lit boardwalk. This was the place where every person in Santa Carla now had gathered. I could hear a band playing from afar and grinned, this was going to be fun.