Author's notes: Might get a chapter up tomorrow, otherwise there probably won't be another one till Monday/Tuesday. Leaving town for the weekend to get my tattoo touched up.
Water licked at Sam's ankles, drenching the cuffs of his jeans. Walking blind was not an easy feat. His feet kept catching on the ground, scuffing against tiny rocks and some other bits of unidentified debris; kinda hard to tell when he couldn't see anything. But sharp nails pressing into his shoulders just enough to cause pain, but not draw blood, guided him from behind. Whenever he'd pause to shake some of the water from his sneakers, or brush his frizzed-out hair back from all the ocean mist assaulting it, the shit-sucker would give him a warning growl.
"Keep goin'. Almost there."
At one point, Sam tripped, and Shane didn't catch him when he went crashing to the ground. He ended up scraping his palms pretty badly on wet concrete.
"Careful," the vampire laughed, reaching down to yank Sam to his feet by the back of his shirt collar. He wanted to complain that the fabric would get stretched out if he kept doing that, but somehow Sam doubted the douchebag cared.
There was the sound of metal shrieking, and he was suddenly shoved through some kind of doorway. He could only tell, because his feet nearly caught on the frame. Then the blindfold was yanked down and Shane slapped Sam on the back, leaning into his ear to whisper, "I'd give you the grand tour downstairs, but the kids there might lose it when they smell your blood. No control, you see. Careful. I might, too," he chuckled.
Sam blanched and stepped away, shoving his hands into his pockets in an effort to keep the scraped from bleeding out to broadcast to the world just how tasty he was. And to keep himself occupied, perhaps get some kind of clue on their location so he could tell grandpa or even the Frogs later, Sam surveyed the building they were in. It was pretty big. The walls were made of chipped white metal paneling, and it looked like the whole space was sort of circular. Near the door, which Shane slammed behind them before Sam could catch a glimpse of the surroundings outside, was a rusted metal ladder that lead up to a massive circular railing near the roof. The walls and ceiling above were covered in heavy black cloth. What could it be covering, he wondered? Windows, maybe...and...a skylight? Maybe it was too much to hope for...
The strangest thing about this whole place had to be the floor, though. It was completely covered in thick layers of sand. Judging by how deep his feet sank into it, getting his socks not only wet now...but also disgustingly gritty...Sam had to assume it was a good couple of feet deep. Then he vaguely recalled how Shane mentioned hiding from the sun after he'd made his first human kill, and he wondered if that was how his whole nest slept...buried in sand...it gave him claustrophobia just thinking about it. Sam really hoped he'd never have to find out what that was like first-hand. Frankly, as much as he really hated the idea of being a butt-monkey, at least he'd still get to sleep in a bed. He hoped.
"What the hell is this place?" Sam ventured to ask, mouth agape.
"Home sweet home. Come on. I got some chores for you to do. Wanna get them done before the rest of the family shows up."
Sam gulped. He had a feeling waking up for school tomorrow was going to be a real bitch.
One night left. One more night, and they'd be back in Santa Carla. Star really wasn't sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, she was...glad? Was that the right word? Relieved? They weren't running anymore, and the thing they feared most in the world had come to pass. Honestly, the more she fed, the more time she spent out in the open with them...the less it seemed to really matter. That in itself was pretty damn scary. How could she let herself slip away so quickly? If she'd known only a few days ago that she'd be happily dining on human beings, practically enjoying herself with the Lost Boys, she'd have taken her own life.
Pressed up against Paul's back on his bike, Star kept her eyes trained on Michael and David just ahead. While she'd mostly been forced to play musical seats on this journey, David seemed oddly intent on keeping Michael constantly close at hand. Maybe Michael was planning for them to make a break for it? She hoped not. Even if maybe the future with the 'pack' seemed less terrible with the passing hours and nights, seeing David make good on his threats by killing Michael would be just too much for her to handle.
And the fight they'd had earlier must have been a terrible one, if the ragged scars she'd glimpsed on Michael's neck as they mounted the boys' bikes were anything to judge by. They looked far deeper and more painful than her own.
"You catchin' this shit? Freaking soap actress on my bike right now," Paul laughed, leaning back just enough to force Star to re-adjust her grip on his stomach just a little tighter.
"You're the one who wanted to keep her around for the freaky hippy tail, Paulie," Marko replied with a snicker.
"Personally, I think she's a dead fish," Dwayne shrugged.
Paul snorted, "Mikey sure seems to like her."
"Yeah, but even David can make him scream. Low. Standards." Marko glanced towards David with a dark grin. And for a moment, their leader was silent.
"Marko. You cry."
This elicited a chuckle from Paul and Dwayne, though Marko didn't seem to appreciate the remark quite as much.
"I still won the bet. So there."
Paul cackled, "nice come-back, baby-face."
"What are you laughing about?" Michael asked, looking to his left and right, confused. He'd been mostly silent throughout the ride, fuming. But the curiosity was killing him. He was beginning to suspect he was missing something, and it was only one more issue to add to his laundry list of annoyances. One of the first things he wanted to do when he finally got back to Santa Carla, was figure out a way to get his old bike without being caught and interrogated by grandpa...and if anyone tried to stop him, well...they could just go fuck themselves.
Sam had no clue what time it was when Shane finally dropped him off in the front yard, covered in dirt stains and practically drenched in sea water and sweat. He just knew he probably stank, with everything he'd just been forced to do. And to top that off, he had two huge bags of laundry in tow behind him he was somehow going to have to get dry cleaned by the weekend, when the asshole came back to pick him up for their night on the town. Namely his night. And there was a hint that Sam was going to have to get his hands even dirtier, which really bothered him to no end. If it involved dead people, he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it. In fact, he was definitely sure he couldn't.
On shaking feet, Sam dragged himself to the front door. The lights were off. So mom wasn't waiting for him...which meant she had no idea he'd even left. He sighed, dropping the bags of laundry and kneeling down to feel around one of the plants near the door until he managed to find the spare key stuck in some wet top-soil. Grandpa had a really weird idea of home security...but then again, if vampires were getting in, keys didn't really matter, did they?
As he climbed the stairs, Sam noticed something odd. A light at the top...coming from the direction of his bedroom. He hadn't left it on...
Oh shit. What if there were even more shit-suckers?! What if the whole fucking city wanted to turn him into some kind of vampire laundromat grave-digging bitch?! Drawing closer to his door, he had half a mind to break into a run. Wake mom up. Tell her he'd done some midnight sleepwalk gardening, and hide under the covers with her like he was six years old again. Because in his currently sleep-deprived state, Sam could almost believe that behind mom's apron strings, there was no way the big bad monsters outside could ever hurt him.
"Sam, boy? You out there?" Grandpa called from his room, and Sam almost passed out from shock. And embarrassment. Of course it would be grandpa...he'd said he'd figure something out, didn't he? So...that meant he already knew Sam had been out practically all night.
"Yeah, grandpa...it's me..." Sam squeaked, creeping into his bedroom and tossing the bags of laundry to the ground.
The old man wrinkled his nose at the sight of his youngest grandson, as he sat on the edge of Sam's bed with his hands crossed over his splayed knees. "You. Take a shower. Then we'll talk."
Sam nodded quickly, almost unable to stop his head from bobbing as he dashed towards the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. And it was the single greatest shower he'd ever taken. Because if grandpa was in his room waiting for him, that must mean he had a plan. A solution. Some way to save him from the mess he'd managed to get himself into. And he wouldn't have to eat live goldfish anymore, and he wouldn't have to take that shit to the dry cleaners. Everything...everything was going to be okay.
By the time he'd managed to thoroughly scrub himself down and wrap a towel about his skinny waist, there was a dark brown trail of sandy grit and salt sinking through the shower drain, threatening to destroy the plumbing all over again. Grandpa was still waiting on his bed, hadn't seemed to move at all over the course of the twenty minutes it had taken him to get washed up. Though he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to get all of the dirt out of his ears.
"So, what're we gonna do, huh, grandpa?" Sam asked, almost giddy as he skipped into his bedroom and snatched his crumpled pajamas up from beside his bed and tossed them onto the coverlet.
"I'm not doing nothing. You wear a cross, you learn the rosary. You keep your window locked. If he gets in here next time, then you pretend you're sleeping and you keep a stake under your pillow." He paused, scratching at his chin and leveling Sam with a very serious stare. "And under no circumstances do you ever drink his blood. Ever. Again. Not one drop. Not one mouthful. You follow these rules, you might just survive."
Sam's smile disappeared and he dropped down to his bed with a whimper. "So...that's it? Nothing else?!"
The old man shook his head. "If you make it a couple of weeks, your system should flush it all out. If not...then boy, you're up shit creek without a paddle."
With nothing else to do, Sam snatched up his pajama pants and began to wrestle on the bed until he managed to pull them up over his legs beneath his towel. His grandpa stood up and nodded to him, ruffling Sam's hair.
"Don't worry about it, Sam. Get some sleep. You got about three hours before the bus gets here."
Sam sighed. He hated to say it, but there was no way around this...tomorrow...or...today...he'd have to tell Ed and Alan. Maybe they'd have a few ideas grandpa didn't.
Unfortunately, it would have to wait until later. When Lucy came to wake her youngest son, he was dead to the world. Judging by his pale complexion, she decided it was best to let him stay home. If he was coming down with something, she didn't want him going to school.
They managed to push their bikes to their limit on the final night, and got to Santa Carla at long last within about three hours, leaving much of the time to have a bit of fun and make sure both Michael and Star fed. The more frequently they ate, the quicker those remnants of humanity would shrink away. Already, David was fairly satisfied with their progress.
A cacophony of howls and shouts preceded their arrival in the hotel, headed by a more than anxious Marko. He hadn't seen his pigeons in two years now, and he was excited to see how big the flock had managed to grow. Michael and Star trailed behind the others, still both somewhat nervous. The last time either of them had been to the sunken hotel, neither of them had ever expected to come back to it. And now...here they were. Coming back. Apparently to spend the rest of their lives there, if David had anything to say about it.
The first sight David was greeted by was a very anxious hell-hound nestled beside his wheelchair, licking it's jowls and whining desperately. It had been a good idea to adopt the little bastard after Max's death. If not for Thorn, there was no telling who might have stumbled into the hotel and torn shit up. He was actually able to pick up a few intermingling scents. All human. It made sense, of course. In the past, there had been the occasional hiker or tourist looking for a convenient make-out spot on a moonlit evening stumbling into their little slice of paradise. Always nice to have an unexpected snack.
There were no new little rodents or bugs skittering about. No sign of fresh life. The Lost Boys had spent far too many years in the sunken hotel for anything to trust the place, on an instinctual level. Their scents were practically worn into the wet stones and rotted foundations by now. Really, it was almost like they'd never left, if you could ignore the fine layers of dust coating the furniture. Not that they'd ever bothered keeping the shit clean in the first place.
Paul happily slammed himself down on the couch with a loud 'thump!' Puffs of rotten upholstery fibers and dust clouded about him, and he waved his hands in front of his face, coughing. "Blech!"
Dwayne rolled his eyes, crossing the lobby towards a small mountain of water-logged books with a frown. He'd have to replace them...should've packed them away. Well, they had left the hotel in a pretty big rush when Michael and Star ran off. As much as the boys had taunted the pair, they hadn't really expected them to be smart enough to try to run. Not that it really did them any good. Dwayne glanced over at Michael and Star as they leaned up against one of the lobby walls together, Michael brushing Star's hair over her shoulder and stroking her cheek. He smirked darkly, shaking his head. He'd warn them about the looks David was giving them, but then where was the fun in that? Better to let them figure things out on their own.
"Hey! Where are all of my fucking pigeons?!" Marko blurted out angrily from the ceiling of the lobby, crouching as he scratched about various nooks and crannies. All he could find were the unused remains of old nests and feathers. It was like the pigeons had been gone just as long as them. Thorn looked over at the curly-haired vampire guiltily, tucking his tail between his legs and quietly slipping out of the lobby.