Lucy gently knocked on her father's bedroom door, drawing her shawl a bit tighter over her shoulders. She was so cold these days. Just another issue on top of a growing list.
"Come in." He huffed from behind the door.
"Dad, have you heard from Sam? He hasn't been home in several days or called me, or...well, Michael hasn't visited either. I'm a little worried."
He scowled, "Haven't heard anything, no calls, nothin'."
She looked up, and then back at him, steadying her smile as best she could, crossing her arms over her chest, "do you think I'm over-reacting? I mean, I know they're both grown men. I just think...well...they get themselves into a lot of trouble, and I'm really worried it's something serious this time." Though how it could be any more serious than severe sensitivity to the sun and a desperate need to drink blood, or chasing after monsters on a weekly basis...she hadn't any idea. "I was thinking about maybe going over to Michael's apartment tomorrow, talking to him. We could have a nice dinner together."
"I think we should just wait, he'll be back soon I'm sure." He was hiding something, she could feel it.
"Dad, is there something you want to tell me?" She stepped into the room a bit further, uncrossing her arms, "if something happened, I'd like to know." Oh lord, had Sam decided to go hunting again? Or maybe even convinced Michael to join him? She wasn't sure she could handle that.
He shook his head, "Nothin' for you to worry 'bout, Lucy."
She nodded slowly, "maybe when Sam comes home...or Michael...maybe we could take a family trip to the beach. Would you like that? You never leave the house these days." Lucy wasn't too sure she'd be able to much longer, anyway.
He nodded, "Yeah."
Off and on, they could always count on one particular group of idiots to breed and grow, to induct new members and cruise the boardwalk, always overly-confident in their abilities to surf and hassle people. Yes, there was nothing more amusing than a cocky Surf Nazi. Even if Paul didn't really appreciate how they'd treated his bike. They'd ruined his bike, destroyed it, and he was pissed.
"Hey, it's not that bad…" Marko remarked, pulling away from a nastily shredded jugular, "bit of buffing...bet you could get some good scrap cash for it." He used a long pinky claw to dig at a bit of flesh stuck between his teeth.
"Keep an eye on your pockets next time," Dwayne added in a much less patronizing tone, preferring the general bluntness of saying it outright. He was busily dipping his bloodied hands in a plastic bucket of ocean water, picking away at the crusts around his cuticles.
"They don't have the sense to know not to mess with us yet, we've been gone for a few years. We can't expect fear right off the bat." David said, flicking a bit of skin off his coat, "They were messy."
It probably wouldn't have been quite as bad if they hadn't tried to run, or at least hadn't nearly totaled Paul's bike. That mistake had, unfortunately for them, riled up his temper enough for him to make his kills thoroughly grisly. Not to be outdone, the rest of the pack happily followed his example. Michael reclined near the shore, watching the pinkish foam lick at the remains of his own meal, occasionally shifting his boots to keep them from getting wet.
He glanced over at Paul, who was busily scrubbing at a stain on his shirt with a shredded cotton tank, "you could get a pretty good one, you know. Maybe better than the rest of ours," he smirked.
"Perhaps we should all get new bikes, see what happens if we leave the keys with the bikes." David said thoughtfully.
"You do that," Michael replied, shaking his head. "I'm good." He hadn't bought his with his hard-earned money four years ago to trash it for an experiment. Whether he could easily get a new one or not now was besides the point.
"Yours is newer than ours." Marko grinned, "Yeah, let's get new bikes, I want a new bike!"
"Support the local economy," Dwayne agreed, pulling his hands out of the bucket and flicking droplets of water into the air.
"Alright, it's settled, new bikes for everyone." David splashed water on his face, rubbing the blood off.
"We should give them a viking send-off," Paul patted the dented side of his former friend, slain in battle. "Shit-loads of kerosene...fireworks...booze…"
"Since when did Vikings have fireworks?" Michael quirked an eyebrows, sitting up and shaking sand from his sleeves.
"I suppose since Paul decided they did." David shook his head, "I still want to see if someone will steal them."
"Oh, man...let's leave them somewhere good. Like right outside a fucking pawn shop," Marko grinned, "or a liquor store...wherever those stupid shits like to party now."
"Marko's got the right idea." David grinned, "We can plan a little more or just got for it, what do you want to do, boys?"
"You nutjobs can do what you want, I've got to swing by the house and check up on mom. Pretty sure she's about to have a meltdown if grandpa let the cat out of the bag…" Michael climbed to his feet, glancing down at the body nearby, "how do you usually clean up out here?"
David grinned, picking up a body and carrying it out over the water. After snapping it's neck to make sure he was really dead before dropping him into the water, "Like that or we set them on fire, that works too."
"Sometimes I like to take them home and play charades," Paul snarked, grabbing the corpse beside him and throwing an arm around the headless man's shoulders.
"Take care of a body and you can go check on mommy, just be back home in an hour, alright?" David said, landing in front of Michael, "Got it?"
Michael rolled his eyes, "yeah. I got it. Want to sprinkle a little more patronizing bullshit on that sentence for me?"
"I could, want me to?" He smirked, "Just don't stay out too long, you don't want me to come find you."
He shrugged in response, before he knelt down to snap his corpse's neck, careful not to get any blood on his clothes if he could help it. Visiting mom with a massive pool of gore soaking into his shirt probably wasn't going to do anything for her peace of mind, "yeah, sure. I won't be out long."
"Good." He looked at the others, "Let's go get us some new bikes, see you at home in an hour." He said to the fledgling.
They made quick work of the bodies, and by the time they were done, it wouldn't be too terribly difficult to believe there'd been a nasty shark attack on the beach. There hadn't been one in almost a decade...they were due for it anyway.
A run-down van bought with a wad of only slightly used dollar bills, a dead stripper, three cans of black spray paint, several dozen pounds of dirt, a canvas draped up behind the front seats, a quick little session with some firm mental commands for Edgar, and they were on their way. Sam had made his kill and Quinton couldn't help but think that he was perfect, covered in blood, a true predator. Even more enthusiastic than Alan, who admittedly, enjoyed his meals even if he wore a sour face after the fact. The next thing they had to do was find the perfect place to settle down.
"Is there a place you've always wanted to go?" He asked Sam, glancing over at him.
The blonde dug his feet into the thick layer of dirt they'd filled the back of the van with, looking thoughtful for a moment, "I dunno. Mexico?"
"Very well, that's where we shall go." It was always good to let people believe they had control, power, especially fledglings. Sam would be the perfect vampire. The way he had taken to the change was absolutely fascinating. It was night and day. Perhaps it had been the initial amount of blood he had fed him or maybe the blood drew something dormant out of him. It would be interesting to experiment with.
'SMACK!'
"OW! Dude, what the fuck?!" Alan rubbed at his cheek and punched Sam in the shoulder, scooting away from him to put some distance between them.
"That's for punching me earlier and tying me up...twice...you dick-face," Sam retorted, settling down amid the rough bumps and jerky stops of the van.
Alan glared back at him, and it looked like he was just about ready to launch himself at the blonde.
"Now, boys, behave yourselves, no fighting." He said calmly, absently, as though he honestly didn't care if they fought or not. Sooner or later they'd have to figure out their pecking order, anyway.
A look flitted across Alan's face. Perhaps a thought. An angry retort. He looked over at Quinton, and then back at Sam, who looked fairly pleased with himself. The decision made, they were at each other's throats like a pair of screaming cats in less than an instant. Rather difficult, in such a small space.
Quinton sighed, watching them intently, "I suppose you'll figure it out eventually, come now, one of you has to win."
"Everything okay back there?" Edgar called out, just as the van began to accelerate down a hill, and Sam slipped, smacking his head on the back door, giving Alan the upper hand. He happily took it, pulling the other fledgling into a firm chokehold.
"Everything is fine, just focus on the road. It seems the boys need to establish their place in our pack."
Sam kicked and punched at Alan's arm, until finally playing the dirtiest move he could think of...which...sadly left the brunette down and out for the count for several seconds as he groaned and attempted to recover with his head pressed against his knees.
Quinton clapped, chuckling softly, pleased with the outcome, "I believe you've lost, Alan."
Sam rubbed at his neck, glaring down at Alan without an ounce of sympathy in his eyes. Not that he'd really be capable of it anymore, anyway. After the rather colorful way he'd disposed of that stripper...there couldn't be any doubt about that.
Alan tilted his head back just enough to meet Sam's gaze. It didn't look like this fight was over. Just...postponed. Rather amusing, actually. The first time Quinton had seen them, they'd been fighting in much the same way. Drunk on an entirely different kind of refreshment.
"I look forward to your further dominance fights, the two of you are entertaining."
"He didn't fight fair," Alan grumbled, once he'd finally managed to recover enough to unlock his arms from around his knees, and shift around to put more distance between himself and Sam.
"Bite me," Sam spat back.
"All's fair, Alan, you need to learn that."
He had the good sense, this time, not to talk back or look Quinton directly in the eye. They already knew who was in charge now, and even Sam had learned fairly quickly to do the same. He was also exuding a very smug air right now that made the fact a non-issue, anyway.
They had a good few hours before dawn, and plenty of time on the road before Edgar would have to find a safe place to park for the morning. Somehow, watching the pair brood didn't seem like the best use of their trip together.
The first thing Michael noticed when he pulled up to the house was the absence of Sam's car. The second thing he noticed was the light glaring through the kitchen window. It meant mom was probably stressing out. She usually spent her time out on the porch this time of night before turning in. He hopped off of his bike and quickly dashed to the front door, giving a sharp rap on the door. Grandpa's junk-heap was gone. So...he was probably out boning the old broad with all the dead dogs…
"Mom?" Michael called out, "mind if I come in?" Hell, if she was alone, he might as well get an invitation when he still could, without breaking the bad news. The door swung open.
"Oh! Michael! I'm so happy to see you!" She smiled at him, "Come in."
He covered his grin, stepping into the house. He felt an odd sense of comfort wash over him that he hadn't felt the last time he swung by. Like he could do anything he wanted...which really, he wasn't even about to test, but the feeling was pretty awesome. No wonder Max had been such a happy bastard the one time he'd been invited over for dinner. "Hey, mom, where's Sam? He go out for late night groceries or something?"
Her smile fell, "He hasn't come home, I was hoping he was with you."
Michael bit back an angry, curse, and forced a smile, before putting his arms around her shoulders, "don't worry about it, mom. He probably decided to spend a few days with the Frog brothers, make sure they're all right after everything that went down." Like fucking hell. That little weasel was going to get the asskicking of a lifetime when he found him.
She pulled him close, hugging him against her chest, "Michael, I've missed you."
"It's only been a week, mom. I'm not going anywhere. I just had to take care of some stuff," he kissed her forehead. "How're...things?" He could still smell the cancer. Growing. Thriving. Death was taking out a lease on her bed, and she didn't have anyone besides grandpa to help her. It wasn't getting better...he should've just come out and told Sam himself. Maybe he wouldn't have gone on his stupid little hunting trip and gotten them all royally screwed in the process.
She looked away, letting him go, "I wish I could tell you things were better but last time I did you called me out for lying." She laughed softly.
"Fair enough," he looked under the kitchen table where Nanook perched, tired, whining softly on his forepaws, "it's not good for you to sit around worrying, mom." He shrugged aside a nagging thought, "how about we watch something on that tv I bought you last summer, huh?"
She nodded, "My Fair Lady." She smiled at him, musicals always had a place in her heart. He bit back an uneasy complaint, and simply nodded. Screw it. He'd deal with David later.
"Sounds good. Popcorn?"
David slid his fingers over his shiny new bike. The black and chrome were just what he wanted. Now he needed to go find Michael. It had been well over an hour since they parted and there was no sign of him. That meant he was going to have to take care of things himself. He revved the engine, listening to it roar in response, a grin spreading across his lips as he took off toward Michael's old home. The new bike almost made up for Michael being a dick, almost.
He spun to a stop in front of the house, sending a cloud of dirt up into the air. He didn't care if Lucy knew they were still alive, didn't care about being discovered, he just needed it to be clear to Michael that he was in deep shit.
A few minutes passed, and then the porch light switched on. Another minute, and Michael was slowly closing the front door behind him, glaring daggers across the lawn at David. David glared back, waiting expectantly for him.
Michael leapt over the side of the porch railing, narrowly avoiding a freshly-planted row of perennials, and slowly strode over to meet him, "didn't need to be that loud."
"You're 30 minutes late." He stated, eyes narrowed.
"You didn't give me a specific time," he replied matter-of-factly, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets.
"I said an hour, it's been almost 2, pretty sure that's a specific time." He leaned forward.
"Well, I don't know what to tell you. Lost my fucking glass slippers."
David growled softly, "Are you trying to fucking piss me off?"
Michael pulled a hand out of his pocket and ran it through his hair, sighing, "no, sorry. Sam didn't come home. Mom wanted to watch a movie...I lost track."
The look on his face softened slightly, "Movie over?"
"Hell no, it's only halfway through. She fell asleep on the couch." He shook his head, "I'm just glad she didn't pick Gone With the Wind. I love her, but I'm pretty sure I'd lose it." He paused, "I have to find him." There was the familiar determined set to his jaw that could easily lead to a fight if Michael lost his temper.
"Alright, tomorrow night we'll go find him, have a nice road trip. It's too close to morning for us to go now. Deal?"
"Yeah," Michael nodded, "Deal." He held out his hand to David.
He took it, shaking his hand firmly, "Alright, let's get home."
"Sounds good to me," Michael pulled his hand back and walked towards his bike, which was only parked a few feet away.
He smirked, "What do you think of my new bike?" He followed along behind him slowly.
Michael eyed it thoughtfully, taking his time. "Looks like it'll probably get you a lot of tail," he revved his engine.
David grinned, there was only one piece of tail he wanted but that would have to wait for a little bit, at least until they found that asshole of a brother. David gunned his bike, taking off toward home, Michael hot on his heels.
"In other news, the body of a local woman was found inside her car yesterday morning. Police have no suspects. Witnesses say she was posed in a strange position, half hanging out the shattered rear window, her arms spread wide."
Ed immediately turned off the van radio and let his head fall forward against the steering wheel. Between the blank spaces in his mind left after his talks with the bloodsucker, the resulting headaches that made him pop aspirin pills like skittles, and the fact that the two people he cared about most in the world were effectively heartless monsters now…Edgar Frog was having a very...very bad week. Not to mention how hard it was to stay awake and keep guard over the van while he waited in a shaded gas station parking lot. He'd spent the whole day shuffling in and out of the store to grab a bottle of water or the dessicated corpse of what was surely a chicken burger at one point before the heat lamps were done with it. The paranoid minutes he wasn't jumping at the slightest sound of something shifting inside the back of the van, or a person walking by and eyeing him curiously...Edgar was painfully wracked with guilt.
Guilt for Sam and Alan. Guilt for the people that had already died as a result of their maddening appetites. Guilt for the people who would die...and guilt that even now, with them at their most vulnerable, he couldn't bring himself to throw open the back of the van to let them roast in the sun. The combination of the asshole head vampire's brain-raping and his remaining hopes that there was enough left of Alan and Sam in both of them to somehow bring them back to themselves...it was going to make him go nuts. If the headaches didn't kill him first.
Okay. So maybe he couldn't do what had to be done. He couldn't rid the world of those monsters in the back of the van...but he could warn people away, and make sure nobody got killed around here when the sun went down. With that in mind, he climbed out of his seat, and stomped around to the back of the van, spreading his arms wide and proceeding to screech out a slough of cryptic warnings about the minions of death lurking in the back of his van. He did this for the good of all humanity.
