Author's notes: I could NOT RESIST this dream sequence. It was just too juicy. Some day I may actually expand it into a one-off story as a gag. Anyway, this is obviously picking up right where I left off at 'Letting Go'.
Lucy sat with her son at the kitchen table. She'd sent the Frog brothers to bed, given how upset they looked. And she wanted to talk to Sam alone. Just looking at her made him feel like the world's biggest jerk. She didn't need all this stress, after everything they'd all been through together. With Max, with Mike...and Star's sudden disappearance. Maybe she'd seen the boys on the boardwalk before him, and had skipped town...it was something to think about.
"You, um..." Lucy cleared her throat, trying to give him a thin smile as she plucked at the cuffs of her robe and looked down at her hands clasped on the tabletop. "You were out pretty late with your girlfriend, weren't you? Would you like to tell me why?"
Sam took in a deep breath and let it out. He just didn't want to lie anymore. At first it had been about protecting her, but clearly he was hurting his mom anyway just by keeping it to himself. "Did grandpa tell you about Mike?"
There was a high pitched shriek from the stove, and Lucy got up to grab the kettle and fill two glasses on the counter with boiling water. She then set it down and dipped two tea bags into the glasses until they had settled to the bottom. With her back still turned to Sam, she sighed.
"When you still weren't back by midnight, yes, he did mention it. Because he wasn't sure if you'd come home or not," she turned back to Sam with the glasses in hand. "Did you...try and kill your brother tonight?"
Sam's eyes widened in shock. "Mom, why would you think I'd wanna kill Mike?!"
She reached the table and placed Sam's drink in front of him, sliding back down into her own seat and wrapping her hands around it to keep them warm. "I don't know what other conclusion I could come to, Sam. I doubted he was going to try to kill you, if what your grandfather told me is true. He would have come home to try it by now. And I don't really know much about..." She faltered, reaching up to rub her temples and squeeze her eyes shut. "Vampires...but...I'd like to think I still know Michael. Whatever's left of him..."
Sam leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest, bewildered, "but you think I'd kill him?"
"No, I don't. But with how you've been acting lately, and the trouble you and those Frog boys have been getting into...I'm starting to feel like I don't know you anymore, Sam. I feel like...you're going crazy right in front of me, and there's nothing I can do to help you."
"Mom, I promise I'm not gonna do anything crazy anymore. It was mostly Ed and Alan. I've just been following them around trying to keep them from doing stupid stuff, and it doesn't work...they just end up dragging me into it...and...and..."
Lucy held up a hand and nodded, the tension easing from her face somewhat after his confession, "I believe you, Sam. But we needed to have this talk. I don't want you staying out after dark anymore if you can help it. I'm going to call their family tomorrow and see about getting them some professional help. We can't play this secrets game anymore, though, do you understand me? If something happens, I want you to come right out and tell me. I'm your mother. I'll love you and Michael no matter what." With that, she stood up from the table to lean over and pull him into a gentle hug, stroking her delicate fingers through his hair like he was five years old again and had just woken up from a nightmare.
"Mom..." Sam whispered against her shoulder. "Ed drank vampire blood tonight..."
There was a sudden snort and intake of breath from the doorway. Sam nearly slipped out of his chair when he caught sight of his grandfather eyeballing them both, a root beer held firmly in his left hand, a stuffed rooster in a smoking jacket tucked under his right arm..
"If that were true, he wouldn't be asleep right now. He'd be wide awake. Popped my head in there to check on them both. That one with the girly haircut conked out right when he hit the bed."
Sam slumped in his seat. If gramps was right...did that mean Michael's friends were just screwing with them?! Those..."Shit-sucking crotch-monkeys!"
"SAM!" Lucy scolded.
Grandpa Emerson only chuckled and took a gulp of root beer. "Glad to see you're not dead. Might not wanna call them that to their faces though."
Alan sat wide-eyed in a chair by Sam's bedroom door, watching his brother sleep. The minute they'd gotten in, his head hit the pillow like a ton of bricks. If they made it through this, he'd have to document everything Ed did as he slowly became a bloodsucker from beyond the grave. To help others in preventing the same horrible fate from befalling their loved ones.
He squeezed his hands tightly around a makeshift cross he'd constructed from pencils and tape, prepared to hold it out in front of him if at any given time Ed decided to wake up and make him a midnight snack. Sam might have gotten lucky with his brother, but that was probably because Michael didn't start out as a man who'd honed himself into a deadly weapon, like he and Ed had. If anything, Edgar could be one of the deadliest monsters to hit Santa Carla in decades.
"Don't worry, bro. The minute you start acting funny, I'll be here for you. I'll...stake you in a heartbeat..." Alan promised aloud, his knuckles practically white now from squeezing his pencil cross so hard. And while Alan made his vow, Edgar...dreamt...
Fog crept in with the rolling tide, bringing along with it a ship crewed by a dozen dead men. The captain of the vessel, Sam Emerson, had strapped himself to the wheel to keep it on course...but he was long dead. His face, frozen in a mask of terror. He was a brave and noble soul, but this fortitude of will could not protect him from the deadly cargo that rested in the hold below, or the lone survivor later found clinging to it whispering of salvation and immortality. The man in question, Alan Frog, had been driven completely insane.
It was not long before the coffin inside the hold disappeared, along with it's occupant. Edgar-mir Tsepish. Otherwise known as...Ed-gula.
He would cut a wide swath through London, staining the city streets with the blood of a hundred innocent souls, and every night before dawn he would return to Carla-fax Abbey to rest and imagine his long lost love. Lucy...
The night he finally came to her to perch at her balcony window, his cloak billowed behind him, as did his long trailing hair-sash, and he was greeted by the terrible sight of Van Grandpa Emerson himself!
"So, you've come to take Lucy, eh?" The old man inquired, taking a gulp of root beer and brandishing his sharpened squirrel.
"It's too late, Van Grandpa! She's mine already!" Count Ed-gula hissed, drawing away from the old man as he approached, pulling his cloak up to cover his face.
And just as the squirrel was pounded into his chest, Edgar woke up screaming on the bed, drenched in sweat. He was then seized by the most incredible stomach cramps he'd ever experienced. No doubt, his body already beginning to transition to his new metabolism. He was actually beginning to sympathize with Sam's brother.
David reclined on his coat, which he'd spread out beneath them on the cave floor. He was glaring furiously at Michael, who lay beside him with his hands tucked behind his back and a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Their clothing lay crumpled in a pile nearby, David's pants torn to shreds.
"You're going to pay for that," David warned his companion, who simply shrugged and turned over on his side away from David and acted as if he was going to take a nap.
With his eyes still closed, Michael held up his middle finger. "Next time I tell you not to rip off my buttons, don't rip off my buttons."
David sat up and grabbed his childe by the shoulder, jerking him onto his back and climbing on top to straddle his hips. "Now, where's the fun in that?" He hissed, fangs descending.