(Titled- and story- inspired by Tiger Army's Santa Carla Twilight. ...I should have credited this last chapter.)
The scent of bonfires all along the beach were blown their way by the light, chilled breeze. Despite the late hour, the colorful lights of the boardwalk showed that many people were still out, the strains of a concert echoing from the beach.
They were hungry now, and worn down by their lack of sleep. Michael parked his bike in a place he hoped it wouldn't get jacked from, pocketing the key. They shouldered their bags, eyes darting.
There was a soft chut-chut of a lighter and Michael instinctively reached back, fingers closing around the semi-crushed pack of cigarettes. They treaded slowly, having no place to go and therefore being in no hurry. They spoke intermittently, their words small bits and pieces easily swallowed up by the noise of the night.
"Do you feel that?" Michael asked, after seconds or hours of silence.
"Feel what?"
"I think that..." Michael trailed off, head moving to and fro, looking around and up and down and back and forth.
Sam gave his brother a contemplative look. "Do you think someone's following us?" His awareness of Michael's paranoia was instant.
Michael nodded, thinking vaguely that he sounded dumb and hoping to not get shit for it. Sam just stared at him for a moment, exhaling softly, his lips pursing around the air he blew out from his lungs.
"Did you actually see anybody?" he asked, rationally.
Michael shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. I guess so." A pause, then another shrug. "It's more of a... feeling."
Sam nodded. Since they had arrived in Santa Carla he had that that slight, back-of-the-mind, it feels like somebody's watching us feeling. He just chalked it up to the unofficial fact that the area they were in was known by the locals as the "Murder Capital of the World." He shrugged, unsure of how to console his brother. "There could be someone watching us?" he offered apologetically.
"This area's known for some weird shit..." Michael said, more to himself than Sam though.
Sam took a moment, considering silently what could constitute as 'weird shit'. He had never been a religious person, and believed only slightly in the stuff of supernatural legend. Fearing ghosts or gods just didn't go along with his modern school of thought.
Michael, on the other hand, was more superstitious. Again, not of a religious sort but Sammy could recant several occasions were Michael had spoken of 'presences' and had come home smelling of sage. On a more appropriate occasion, Sam would have joked and told him to quiet freebasing, but tonight he just couldn't draw forth a smart-alecky comment.
"...I hope we don't get mugged," was all he managed to say after a long while.
Michael let out a short bark of a laugh, placing a freshly-lit cigarette between his lips. "We don't have anything anybody would want," he tossed back, the creases in his features softening.
As they continued walking, it seemed that his paranoia was lifting. (Sam hoped so.)