David sauntered toward were they had hidden their bikes, casting a look back toward the abandoned parking lot. Even in the non-existent light the four brothers found their bikes where they had stashed them. It didn't really matter if anyone else found them; no one would be stupid enough to touch them. Every local knew them, the brothers. Perhaps not their names, but definitely their faces, they heard rumors and stories. In reality, they had never been arrested and aside from the occasional fight they didn't cause much trouble, at least none that anyone knew about, but despite their stupidity and weakness humans could tell there was something wrong with those four, even if they couldn't put a name to it. For some this feeling resulted in a suspicion or fear that encouraged them to give the four boys a wide berth, others it attracted like moths to a flame, attracted them to their deaths.

Paul and Dawyne hooted happily into the night air, their kill still fresh in their minds, while Marko floated behind them, an impish grin on his face. David could still taste the blood of the cop on his lips; personal kills had always been more satisfying than nourishment killings. The feel of holding the life of your enemy in your hand and watching their eyes die as you snuffed it out was a thrill that always delivered. Pulling their bikes from the abandoned shop, David was about to leave when Marko stopped him.

"Hey David, what's that?" Pinned to the spoke of his front wheel was a manila folder. David pulled the folder off a tossed it casually to the ground, Paul, however, retrieved it.

"Nice eyes," he read.

"What?" Marko asked, leaning over his shoulder for a closer look. David cast them an irritated glance but they were too involved in the contents of the folder to notice.

"Damn, this is good" Paul offered the folder to David, "Take a look." David let out a sigh and took the folder, flipping it open. a white sheet of paper greeted him. It read 'nice eyes' across the back with his name, the date, 6/15/1987, and a signature in the right hand corner. David turned the paper over. It was a drawing, an intricate drawing. Of him. It was perfect rendering of David leaning forward, clutching something in the foreground of the picture, his eyes gleaming. The brightness and detail of the background peaked a memory in his mind; this was from today, only a few hours ago, when he was on the carousel gripping the face of Ian, the Surf Nazi.

"Wonder who drew it," Paul said, now looking over David's shoulder along with the others. The details were perfect from the painting on carousel walls to the hairs of David's beard. David turned the picture back over looking at the signature on the back carefully. Marko looked like he was about to say something but choose not to when David slipped the drawing in the jacket and hopped on his bike. The others joined him without protested and raced back to their nest.

David zipped his jacket up, preventing the drawing from slipping out during the high speed race. He been alive a long time, he had had plenty of people draw him before, some with her permission, some without. But this one was different, others drawings had looked exactly like him every detail correct, but they weren't him. This one, this one felt like him, and he didn't know why. Not knowing, that had always bothered David. They pulled up to the cave, storing their bikes in the surface cave near the top of the cliffs. The steps running down into the cavern were needless, a luxury for any human guests they might entertain; instead, the four boys stepped off the cliff, plummeting straight down toward the rocks below, slowing themselves into graceful landings at the last second and stepping through the ocean level entrance.

Marko flew quickly into the ruined lobby, the quickest of them all, and immediately tended to the pigeons he had begun to keep. Paul grabbed the boom box and turned it on; the familiar sounds of Pink Floyd echoed through the room a he took a seat in a lounge chair, Dwayne lying on the couch besides it. David reclined in his wheelchair and pulled the drawing out of his jacket. He held it up to the flickering light the fires through the room provided. The lighting here was for shit but it was better than outside. He starred at it, his face blank to his brothers around him.

"Nice eyes," David murmured under his breath as he kept looking back at the predatory eyes of the drawing. Is this what he looked like when he was contemplating all the ways to kill someone?

"What's the big deal, it's a drawing" Paul said, his foot tapping the beat of the music in the background.

"It's the eyes," Marko said and he floated over, his movements resembling a gazelle, a stark contrast to the wolf like movements of his brothers.

"What?"

"I've seen drawings of us before, a girl on the boardwalk did one. She didn't get the eyes right though, they never do. These eyes, though, they're perfect" Marko said with a shrug as though it was obvious, plopping down on the couch and forcing Dwayne to move his legs. David hummed in response, his way of confirming what Marko had said. Marko, like usual had managed to put words to his thoughts. The eyes in this drawing were nothing up lead on paper but somehow the person who drew it had managed to capture something, something people normally over looked.

"The eyes of a killer" he mused, setting the picture on a table nearby, acting as though he was done with it. His brothers, however, didn't fail to notice his eyes trailing back over it periodically throughout the rest of the night. None of them voiced their curiosity, but they knew it was there. The fleeting thought, the wondering, who had seen through their ruse. Who knew what they were.

The next night, when darkness had fallen over Santa Carla, David folded the pencil drawing and slipped it into a pocket in his jacket.

"I think we need to find ourselves an artist, boys." None of them responded this statement; they just grinned and went to get their bikes. As David slid onto his bike and took off, he didn't join the others in their hollering, instead he focused on the bright lights of the boardwalk in the distance.

Upon their arrival at the boardwalk, Paul and Marko deemed it necessary to make bets over who would find the artist first. Eventually Dawyne was pulled into the game as well, betting useless things, various knickknacks and items they horded in their various coves of the nest. To say the nest was shared would be a complete falsehood, sure they all slept in the same area but each boy had his own area filled with various things they had gathered over their years, including David. Marko had his pigeons, posters of Prince and Madonna, an old jacket from his first kill, other such things. Dawyne had his guitar, Paul his boom box. Sometimes they invaded each other's space taking clothes or other things of interest, but never David's. David's things were never touched.

Bets made, Paul, Marko, and Dawyne scattered. In any other case David would be content to simply linger in one place or another waiting for them to return, his years at the boardwalk had taken some of the rush out of doing human things. The only true fun he had now was the hunt, the kill, the feed. Women, concerts, bikes had been fun in the beginning but now it felt like an endless cycle, constantly repeating itself. It was always the same people. The people in Santa Carla were always one of three things; afraid of them like one would be of a monster, obsessed with them, treating them like some fierce old god that was meant to be fear and respected, or they wanted to take care of them, nurse the innocent, broken heart they knew had to in there. David was never sure which one he preferred; perhaps he preferred none of them.

Max told him it was to be expected, this was common. He suggested David leave, see the world, and get away from this place. But David couldn't, he used his brothers as an excuse, they couldn't survive without him. Without his guidance they'd get themselves killed. But in reality both he and Max knew, David had never left California, not in all his hundred years. Max had found him in Santa Carla and in Santa Carla he stayed. Here he ruled, here he was king. In Santa Carla people knew his name. Out there compared to the rest of the world he was strong, yes, but a small part of David's human self had never died, and that small fleeting pert of him told him in the grand scheme of things, he didn't matter much. So David stayed exactly where he was, playing the part he had always played and he enjoyed it, enjoyed it more then he could ever really say, because here his opinion, his actions, his thoughts, made all the difference.

But at this moment of his life a game had begun. It had been a long time since someone had shown true interest in them. David wanted to see the fear in their eyes; he wanted to watch them squirm under his gaze. He wanted to play on their fascination. So he ghosted over the boardwalk, locals moved aside for him, glancing anywhere but his face. Tourists look at him and saw a punk, but even with them he registered on a deeper level, something inside told them to run, so they moved as well. There were some that didn't notice him until he had already passed, and a real wave of terror washed over them, they would look about trying the find the source of the hair raising feeling but they would never pick him out of a crowd. David smiled, even in his black attire and spiked hair he blended so well.

David noticed a young girl tending to a stand, she was selling airbrushed t-shirts. She was obviously a local and of what he knew of the high school crowd, well liked. He pulled the drawing out of his jacket and walked over.

"Excuse, miss, you wouldn't happen to recognize this signature would you?" he asked, leaning to the side of her. A flash of fear ran through her eyes and David smiled a sweet half smile, pulling out the charm he usually saved for luring in his next meal. She smiled hesitantly back a small flush washing across her cheeks. She kept looking at everything around her, nervousness having replaced the fear. David held the drawing up higher, catching her attention. He still had it folded, only the signature showing, something within him didn't want to girl seeing the drawing. It was his. She studied the signature before recognition flashed through her eyes.

"Oh, yeah. I do, um I've seen that signature in Ray's on the corner. He sells photos, postcards, drawings, that sort of things. I could-" David cut her off by walking away , toward the store. When he got there Marko was already inside, chatting up a young girl behind the counter an excited grin on his face. Dawyne and Paul were leaning outside on the wall.

"He got here first," Paul mumbled darkly, obviously bitter at his defeat. Marko waved to the girl as he walked back out. "Is that her?"

"Nope" he said with a smile and walked forward.

"Great" Dwayne replied.

"It wasn't her but she told me who the artist was." Marko had their attention and they followed him as he skipped toward the pier. "She's a local, lives up by James Cove. Apparently Ray bought some of her drawings and paintings a while back, you know drawings of the pier or the boardwalk, stuff that he can market to the tourists."

"How is supposed to help us find her?" Paul asked as he leaned besides Marko, who had stopped at the middle of the pier and was leaning against the rail watching tourists and locals move around the area the blare of rides ringing through the air.

"Well, Lucy said her name of Eliana and that she owns a nearby store"

"What store?" Paul. Marko nodded toward the store fronts.

"The music store on the left, Platinum" Marko replied. David looked through the crowds of people toward a two story building on the left. People were walking in and out. David knew the store; it had opened a few weeks ago and was already fairly popular, although he had never gone in before. He saw a costumer come out of the store holding a plastic bag with the store logo across the front. It was scrawny teen, messy hair and a dirty shirt. David caught his attention.

"The girl who owns that store, is she in there?" The boy flinched under David's gaze and nodded, pointing toward the store.

"That's her out front by the old records," he mumbled under his breath. David looked over as the boy scurried away. She was leaning over a stand full of old records that was sitting outside of the store, flicking through them. David watched her as someone came out of the store to talk to her. Her acid wash jeans were skin tight and ripped in strips from her shins to her thighs. Her black Chuck Taylor's matched her tight 'master of puppets' Metallica t-shirt. Unlike most of the other girls around she wasn't wearing any jewelry except a watch made from a wide band of black leather on her left wrist. David would have classified her with the punks if it wasn't for the members only jacket she had on and her hair. It wasn't fluffy and overly primped like most of the prep girls or spiked and dyed like the other girls; it was long and smooth, to end of her shoulder blades and formed perfect brown curls. She had braided three braids into the front which were pinned over her right ear, pulling her hair into a side part that reminded him a style a gypsy would wear.

She had told the costumer whatever they wanted to know and as he returned to the store, she looked up and saw him. Her eyes caught his and held his gaze. David waited, expecting her to look away. They always looked away. No one could stand to look him in the eye for long, any second now she would blush and turn away. Perhaps it would be his looks or maybe it would be some deep feeling inside that told her he wasn't right. Whatever it was, she would look away, David was sure of that.

Moments passed, and the David felt time begin to slowly tick by, second by second and she never looked away. Her eyes for huge and blue green, a single horizontal scar ran under her left eye but the intensity of her eyes made it practically unnoticeable. It felt like she was looking into him. It wasn't right; he was the one who was supposed to be able to see into people. David felt the urge to look somewhere else well up inside him but he buried it, he would not be the one to look away. As the length of the gaze really began to build up she smiled, but it wasn't a shy smile like David expected. No she smiled a wicked smile, a knowing smile, like she was laughing at some inside joke. David noticed a small dimple appear in her left cheek. And then she looked away and disappeared back into the store.

"You ok man?" Paul asked.

David stared after her a smirk slipping across his lips as he let out a soft chuckle and said "Eliana, huh? Nice eyes."

Tell me what you think, please. I'm kind of struggling with how to portray David... his pov to write from... any suggestions would be welcome. The next chapter will be from Eliana's pov. I think i'm gonna switch between David and Eliana every chapter. we'll see how that goes.