Note: This story takes place shortly before Lost Boys: The Thirst.
The gravel crunched beneath his boots as he walked along the lone road which led to the cemetery. With the moon partially hidden behind the dark clouds, he could still see where he was going, even when this was his first time visiting.
Rows upon rows of graves sat upon dried earth and tanbark. Flowers were placed on the tombstones of those missed by living loved ones; others had weeds and dandelions. Pine trees were scattered throughout the quiet landscape, almost all of them perfectly straight, and with many of their branches reaching up to the heavens.
While their communication was no longer consistent as it once was, before everything went to hell, his brother would always tell him whenever he visited their best friend. It wasn't often, due to the painful circumstance which resulted in their shared loss, but when it did, the guilt gnawed painfully at his heart.
In his head he counted the number of rows until he stopped at the one he needed to walk through. Then he counted the trees that grew in this row until his incomparable eyesight spotted the number carved into one of the trunks, unquestionably by Edgar.
14
As he walked over to his destination, he could still remember the day Sam came into their lives. He was this flashy looking kid from out of state who knew exactly what he was talking about when it came to comics. While he'd been ignorant about the supernatural world, he did know his superheroes and their villains like the back of his hand. He was a Brat Packer come to life, and he'd been brought to Santa Carla for a higher purpose. In time, he turned out to not only be a cooperative ally and strategic fighter, he also became their first real friend.
Seeing his name etched on granite was the most sickening sight in the world. Reading the date of his death was worse, because it was a reminder of how this could have been prevented.
The Emersons blamed Edgar for Sam's death and had ultimately cut him out of their lives entirely. It was Edgar who was forced to destroy Sam, who was not only a vampire, but also lost whatever humanity he once had. Sam would have killed Edgar and not felt any ounce of guilt. That was how beyond saving he was.
2008 was when Sam's life ended, but Alan had been a half-vampire since 2005. Turning wasn't by choice by any means, but knowing what could have ultimately unfolded, Alan fled from everyone all together. His life as a vampire hunter, friend, brother, son – it was gone. So long as he knew he had the potential to hurt anyone he loved or even just a random stranger, being around the living was just not an option. He had to stay away.
Sam's turning wasn't certain, or how long he lasted as a half-vampire. The hard fact was that he didn't last nearly as long as Alan had. Alan Frog was the "grand champion" of surviving as a half-vampire, an unsavory honor he never asked for.
Alan sat down in front of the grave and his head bowed between his shoulders.
"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I should've been there for you."
But how? He shut everyone out, even when they tried to reach out to him, until all but Edgar simply gave up. It wasn't them he couldn't trust, but rather, himself—his vampire side was too feral. Even after learning about Sam's turning, Alan couldn't depend on his willpower to keep himself sane if he stepped out into the world once more. The fear and paranoia of hurting others remained strong, and with that, he left the situation all up to Edgar, to which a heavy price was paid.
"I screwed up."
What had been going through Sam's mind when he first became a half? Surely, he thought about what Michael, his own brother, went through back in 1987. Alan did, and then he thought about Star and Laddie. He wondered how confused and scared they were, and how stressful it must have been surrounded by those punk assholes, the Lost Boys, who pressured them to give into their lust for blood. That same ordeal could have gone down with Sam. He could have been caught up in the wrong crowd, one who pressured him into killing. So many questions and scenarios ran through Alan's mind when he received the call from Edgar the night their friend had to die.
The stigma remained. Sam died but Alan lived… if struggling to maintain his sanity counted as "living."
"Existing" was probably the better term.