Lost Wolf
Chapter 5
Sam Emerson sat on his bed, looking out the window.
Michael was gone, he could feel it in his soul.
He'd sacrificed himself to protect his family.
Mom and Star couldn't stop crying, and Grampa had locked himself in his workroom. Laddie was confused, torn between being happy he was human again and feeling bad that everyone was so sad and that Michael was gone.
And Sam, Sam didn't know what to think. He was just angry. He was angry at David, angry that David took his brother. Angry that Max had decided to take his family for his twisted little happy family fantasy. Angry that Alex hadn't helped them stop it, hadn't led them to David so they could stake him. Angry at Michael for being so stupid and brave and just giving up. Angry at Star for luring Michael in, trading Michael's soul for her own. Angry at the Frogs for not knowing what the hell they were doing. Angry at mom for not believing him, and angry at Grampa for not backing him up when Michael still had a chance. Angry at his stupid, worthless dad for causing mom to move to this hell in the first place.
But he knew that most of them didn't deserve his anger. Mom was stressed from the move and under Max's spell, and Sam and the Frogs hadn't exactly been subtle, or even rational, by attacking Max during dinner. Mom hadn't believed because the whole idea was insane. Star, Star hadn't intentionally gotten Michael Vamped, she'd even tried to warn him away. She was desperate, looking for someone who could save herself and Laddie from a fate worse than death. Alex had helped him, protected him, had even given his family a chance to say goodbye to Michael. He couldn't expect the guy to murder his own family, the only people he had in the world who cared about him, to save Michael. And, even if he had helped kill David, none of them would ever have made it out of that cave alive. Between Dwayne, Marko, Paul and Thorn, he, Mom and Grampa, even with Alex's help, would have been torn to pieces, and Michael would have had to see that before they killed or turned him, too. Or, even worse, they would have forced Michael to kill his own family. Michael had been stupid, but he's... He was a teenager, stupid is part of the package. Who would have believed that Vampires were trying to infect him with a bottle of wine? The Frogs were just kids, they'd done the best they could to help them all, and had nearly gotten killed.
But David and Max, he could never forgive them. And he wasn't sure he'd ever forgive Grampa, either. He could have proven that Michael was turning, he could have led the attack instead of the Frogs, killed David and most likely gotten them all out alive... But they would have had to kill, or at least badly injure, Alex, who he knew was a fairly good person, just to get to David. Sam didn't want to have to hurt anyone, and certainly not someone who'd been so kind to him and his family. Then they would have had to kill all of the other Vampires, too. Max certainly had to die, and Marko, Paul and Dwayne would have come for revenge for David and Alex. The only way to stop them would have been to kill them. While he didn't particularly hate the trio, they wouldn't have left any choice. And they might have just decided to burn the house down, with them inside.
He began to understand why Alex thought opposing The Lost Boys was hopeless.
But, most of all, he blamed himself. He'd wanted to go to the Boardwalk, he'd left Michael to chase Star when he went into the comic shop. He'd made a fool of himself trying to prove to mom that Max was a Vampire. There had to have been a better way to show her the truth... If he hadn't been such a brat, maybe dad... No, nothing would have made dad love them. He only loved alcohol and women who weren't mom... He'd been a terrible brother, a ungrateful brat who only thought of himself. He ran his arm across his cheeks to dry the tears.
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Some scientist with too much time on his hands and a weird imagination once said that if you give a million monkeys a million typewriters and had them type for eternity, eventually they'd reproduce one of Shakespeare's works. Alex was sure he'd be reading 'Hamlet' by Bobo the chimp long before Marko and Paul became properly house-trained.
Things started off fine, until Paul's discovery of the garage door opener nearly scared the three to death (or final death, as the case may be). Alex hid the device to avoid accidental death by prank should one of them be sleeping in the garage.
Then, the house.
First they'd searched the entire house, basement to attic, just in case Max left any bodies, living or dead, behind. They also were on the look out for booby traps, secret rooms and anything else that could either help or harm them. Alex was fascinated by the library, wondering if Max had any books on actual Werewolves or even Vampire History. The boys knew nothing of the history of their kind, and Dwayne, at least, would be happy to finally have some information. He suspected they all would. But they didn't have time to check that night, having to secure the house and make sure everything was safe.
He would, however, be spending much of the day with those books.
After verifying the house was safe, it all just devolved into an episode of The Three Stooges.
The two Vampires had fought over which guest room they'd each get. It didn't matter that they'd been sleeping side-by-side for decades and would probably end up just sharing a bed...
Then Marko had 'accidentally' spilled Coca Cola on Max's pristine white couch. The smaller blond seemed to bear a personal grudge against said couch, attacking it multiple times in multiple ways.
"What did that poor couch ever do to you?" Alex was curious, and from the look on his face, Paul was as well.
"I've always hated it. It mocks me, sitting there all white and spotless." Marko sneered at the couch "I'm gonna' burn it next nightfall. Won't be so high-and-mighty then!"
No one ever accused Marko of being the most rational member of the Pack.
Then, Alex finally got the clock fixed, which he immediately had to shut off as the ticking drove Paul to violent madness.
That would explain why none of Dwayne's pocket watches worked.
He thanked God that Dwayne had been by earlier to reset the alarm system. Trying to arrest two Vampires and Werewolf for breaking and entering would end badly for all involved, to say the least.
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"What is it?" Paul poked at the object experimentally, "What does it do?"
"Don't touch it! It could be dangerous!" Marko whispered, as if it would hear him.
The trio were in Max's overlarge kitchen, huddled around a strange object.
Alex looked at the inexplicable writing on the side of the device. "Espresso?" He sniffed at the device, "Smells like coffee, but almost good."
Alex wasn't a fan of coffee, the bitter bean, he called it. An evil brew. He turned, sniffing, to the cabinets, opened one, and pulled out a bag marked with Espresso and some Italian words on it he couldn't understand. Paul knew a little Italian and said it needed milk in some fashion.
"I think it goes in there."
Slowly they poured the dark ground substance into the apparent opening of the device. Then they added some milk
Within moments the device, the counter and the three young men were covered in soggy ground coffee beans.
Marko licked some of his hand, "Ugh! It's not even warm! It like eating ground up peanut shells!"
"Maybe there's an owner's manual somewhere..."
"Forget it," Marko growled, "Max and his fancy human gadgets. Always trying to be so human... I bet he even had tea time everyday, like this was freakin' England or something..."
"I put it in, I'll clean it up." Alex looked around for a wash rag, or a paper towel or something. Maybe a mop.
"It's not like it really matters..."
"I call dibs on the shower, Shorty!" Paul turned and rushed up the stairs, leaving coffee grounds in his wake.
"No you don't, Twisted Sister!" Marko sped after him.
"There are two bathrooms, each has a shower." Alex murmured to nobody. Maybe if they didn't figure it out, he'd have a bathroom to himself.
Max was a strange individual, for a Vampire. Arcade Games, neon signs, a state-of-the-art Coffee Machine, an outside grill, a jacuzzi, exercise equipment, subscriptions to over a dozen society magazines... The Lava Lamp was cool, though. And they had a washing machine, so they could finally try to get some of the more stubborn blood stains out of their clothes, assuming they didn't accidentally shred them on the wrong setting.
Not to mention the milk and coffee.
He could hear Paul and Marko fighting over the shower.
They definitely were not domesticated.
Alex wasn't even sure they were potty trained...
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Michael, (Just one name, like Prince or Madonna), sat with the other boys as they chatted and charmed their meals on the hoof. Though he'd been on the Boardwalk before, and actually worked one miserable day cleaning up trash, he wasn't a familiar face. Outside of his brief scuffle with a couple of overaggressive Surf Nazis, he'd done very little to attract attention in his time here. Sam's whining and friendship with the Frogs had probably made more of an impression.
He'd debated sitting a bit away from David and Dwayne, as if he wasn't a part of their group to lure in more cautious prey, but there was safety in numbers. He wasn't averse to another fight with the Surf Nazis, but he was also aware that he needed to be seen as one of The Lost Boys. A full member. That would keep any smart thugs, cops or security off of his back. Also, David wanted him close, just to be sure he didn't bug out and slaughter everyone. It was just Michael, David and Dwayne. Paul was supposed to have come, but apparently he had a mishap with an espresso machine that would have made him look ridiculous. And Marko, of course, was temporarily supposed to avoid the Boardwalk. In theory, anyway. He had a bad habit of 'misunderstanding' orders.
The little nuisance.
In any event, no police, plainclothes or otherwise, had approached them asking questions, and no one had mentioned Marko's victim. Perhaps he hadn't been noticed missing yet, or perhaps he was supposed to be going somewhere else when he came to Santa Carla. Hopefully, no one would trace him here, if he was someone of 'importance'.
Who was he kidding, the guy's car was still in the parking lot, and it was far too late to dispose of it.
Michael with no-last-name found himself agreeing with Dwayne's dark appraisal of humanity. They only care about someone's death when it affects them directly or occurs in such a way as to attract their attention. The classic 'stopping to look at a train wreck'. The more gruesome and horrible the death, the more the public wants to see it.
Or, the more wealthy the victim.
And they call us sick.
Tonight's special was a tipsy college girl named, Mary or Susan or Jane or something... It didn't matter.
She was just a meal on the hoof, mindlessly walking to the slaughterhouse.
"You are sooooo cute!" She purred drunkenly.
"Not as cute as you." Michael felt nauseous, even when he was human he hadn't been the lovey-dovey type.
David and Dwayne sat nearby, with their Blood Milkshakes, (Sam's expression had stuck with the boys), one of whom had shamelessly taken over Dwayne's lap and the other was kissing David with drunken passion.
Michael shuddered.
Mary/Susan/Jane/Blood Milkshake draped herself over him, and her hands were beginning to wander south. It took all of his self control not to tear her arm off. Instead he simply held her wrist.
Dwayne's right eye was twitching, he was clearly unhappy with the situation in his own lap. His meal was pressed against his bare chest, rubbing her hands across his dark skin. Let's finish this, He projected to his brothers, I don't know how much more I can take.
Yeah, I'm with Dwayne, these cows are pretty intent on molesting us, and none of them are my type. Michael complained.
Okay. Let's go. David nodded. Wrap it up, boys.
It wasn't that they weren't into girls, or sex, for that matter. But, even if they were savage killers, they didn't like being treated like pieces of meat. A Vampire will play along with others illusions, or delusions, to get dinner, but when they chose someone they wanted, they did the seducing, and the last way for a mortal to get into their pants was by groping them.
"Why don't we go somewhere more comfortable." Michael smiled charmingly. He stood and lifted Mary/Susan/Jane/Blood Milkshake in his arms, bridal style. She laughed and told him how romantic he was.
"Yeah, I'm getting hungry. Let's get something to eat," David smiled broadly, "It'll be on me..."
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After their showers, the desperate need for clean, dry clothes left the three boys naked for about forty five minutes, due to not having any clean clothing at all and simply not caring about seeing each other nude. The three set about sitting in or lying on every single piece of furniture Max owned, outside of his bedroom. No one wanted to go in there. They played Max's arcade games, all the while while making crude, juvenile remarks and giving bare ass slaps like schoolboys in a gym locker room/shower. Which was odd, since none of them had gone to high school, modern or otherwise.
Both Marko and Paul agreed that, while clothed Alex normally disappeared when viewed sideways, while naked he was most certainly visible.
"Impressive. I guess all that growth went downstairs."
"I guess I need some new friends."
Alex decided that they needed to buy more clothes as soon as possible.
He also gained a new nickname, Python. Paul was all for Beer Can but it didn't have the same ring to it...
As soon as the clothes were clean and dry they dressed and Marko gave the poor couch a swift kick before settling on the floor.
"I swear, if they don't feed my pigeons, I'm going to kill all three of them!"
Alex collapsed in an incredibly soft chair while Paul took the loveseat.
"Not if we accidentally kill ourselves first. For our own safety, I think none of us should touch the microwave. Or the coffee machine. Or the toaster... And no parties! We're supposed to be lying low."
"Yes, Mom!" Both Vampires started laughing.
Alex gave an exaggerated sigh, "Ugh, I think I know why Max went insane."
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"I think it represents man's inherent fear of death. He's screaming because he sees death coming, and realizes that he can't escape it." Paul noted.
Marko studied the painting while chewing his thumbnail thoughtfully, "I think it represents the corruption of the soul. His soul is in torment, broken by the wickedness of the world around him, and it's screaming in agony as the corruption slowly spreads within, forever tainting the purity of his once-innocent soul. He is staring at his own Damnation."
"But the bridge must have a symbolic meaning as well, right?" Alex interjected, "Perhaps it represents the bridge from birth to death, and he's nearing death, as Paul speculated? Or perhaps it is the bridge from innocence to sin, as per your interpretation, Marko. Whatever the case, he seems to be nearing the end of the bridge and whatever ultimate horror awaits him. Helpless, hopeless and doomed, he can only stand and scream in mortal terror, watching in unbearable existential dread as it creeps closer and closer until it comes to claim him."
The three stood around a print of Edvard Munch's The Scream, one of several art pieces in Max's possession. The warped, screaming figure depicted interested them all.
"Or, maybe he's just crazy and screaming for no reason." Paul scratched his chin thoughtfully, "Or maybe he's on a bad trip?"
"Yeah, it does look like a bad trip." Marko agreed solemnly.
"From blessed sobriety and quiet sanity to screaming, drug-induced madness." Alex shook his head sadly, "Alas, What a terrible fate!" He began to speak and gesture dramatically, as if performing in front of an audience, "Poor, wretched man, seeking escape from the horrors of this world, only to fall into even greater horror through the very drugs meant to ease his pain. Poor fool! Now he is at the end of the bridge, his mind soon to be lost to unspeakable horrors beyond the comprehension of all but the most delusional minds!"
"Yeah, what he said." Paul grinned as Marko snickered. "Maybe we should become art critics."
"We're not snobbish enough." Alex replied, "And you two dress like hobo clowns."
Marko playfully punched him in the arm, "What a snobbish thing to say!"
"If Max had been shorter, you'd be trying on his tacky clothes right now, pup." Paul snorted and Marko laughed.
"I'll go fetch the-"
"Go fetch!" Both Vampires started laughing wildly.
"Okay, okay, I walked right into that one." Alex stuck out his tongue childishly, "Fangs a lot, suckers."
XXXX
Michael watched as the exsanguinated remains of... What was her name? hit the surface of the water and sank beneath the waves.
He knew he should feel guilt, or shame, or even horror at having killed a human being.
But she was just prey, a meal on the hoof.
A Walking Blood Milkshake.
Michael Emerson would have been disgusted.
How could he have been so different just two days ago? A pathetic, helpless weakling.
Michael Emerson had been unable to protect himself, or Star, or Laddie.
Or Sam. He'd left his helpless little brother in the monster's den while he ran home.
No, that's not entirely true. Sam wasn't helpless. Sam had the guts to confront the Vampires, along with the Frogs. He might be physically weaker than Michael, but there's more to strength than how much one can bench press. Michael hadn't gone near them, and if Alex had tried to stop their escape, even in his human form, Star and Laddie would have never made it out of there.
Michael Emerson hadn't even noticed he'd left his little brother behind.
Sam had to be protected by a Werewolf while he used his meager strength to flee the hotel.
He didn't even have the strength to go back for him.
And then he'd had to rely on the Werewolf again to protect his family.
To protect them from him.
If Alex had been like those mindless, killing machine Werewolves in the movies...
And Michael Emerson would have been to weak too stop him. Too weak even to get out of bed.
Always too weak
Thinking about that no longer mattered, though.
Sam had been right.
That was no surprise, he might act like a spastic little idiot, but he was smarter than most people gave him credit for, except for the fact that he kept running toward danger instead of away from it.
Michael Emerson was dead.
The helpless, weak, pathetic human Michael Emerson no longer existed.
That foolish boy died the moment he made his first kill.
Now he was a Vampire.
It was funny, in a way. His mother had named him after the Archangel Michael. The one who would slay The Great Dragon. Who would do battle with The Devil himself, and win.
Michael Emerson had never deserved to carry that name.
He'd never really believed, Michael. He'd had more important things to think about than his immortal soul.
Like pretty girls and fast motorcycles.
He knew that Satan existed, his very existence, the existences of the others, Max, David, all of them, proved that The Devil was real.
What loving God would create such evil and unleash it on men?
No, The Devil certainly exists.
So there must be a God somewhere who opposes him, right?
But Michael Emerson had slipped through the cracks of Divine Protection.
Maybe David was right and Michael Emerson had gone on the Heaven while the darkest part, the evil part, was still on earth.
Damned forever.
He hated Michael Emerson.
Michael Emerson had deserved to die.
He envied that fool who'd wasted his life without respect, without care for others.
Who'd fought with his little brother and gave his mother nothing but grief and pain in his 17 years.
He would give anything to go back, to do things better, to treat his loved ones better.
But life, and death, didn't work that way.
And Michael Emerson was dead.
Something far more powerful was left in his wake.
He thought back to that fateful day when it all fell apart.
Where did it go wrong?
Was it when Alex stopped the Frogs from staking Marko?
Why Marko?
Why go for The Little One first? Go for The Leader. Go for The Boss. They had one shot, and they aimed at the second lowest ranking member of the Pack. Marko is a monster, yes, but he's obviously not The Master, The Leader. David should have been the one they staked first, or Dwayne, if they were going for strongest. Marko had never harmed them, or Michael Emerson, beyond being an annoying nuisance. There wasn't any grudge or-
Of course.
They'd made a Predator's choice instead of a Hunter's choice. The Predator goes after the weakest link. The young, the old, the small, The Little One... But Hunters, Hunters go for The Big One, the strongest one, The Alpha.
Strike The Shepherd and the sheep will scatter.
That was a scripture, wasn't it?
It was somewhere in The Bible. He didn't know where or in what context, presumably something about Jesus' death.
He snorted, using a scripture about Jesus to refer to a Demon like David was probably a mortal sin.
But he was far past redemption now, anyway.
That's why they were The Lost Boys, they were lost to any salvation.
Any hope.
When had things gone wrong for Michael Emerson?
The moment he set foot on the Santa Carla Boardwalk, or the moment he was born?
XXXX
To be continued...
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Notes:
The scripture is from Zechariah 13:7 and was quoted by Jesus at Mark 14:27.
The Infinite Monkey Theorum. The Probability concept that a monkey hitting random keys on a typewriter/keyboard for eternity will eventually reproduce any given random text, Shakespeare's works being used as an example. The monkey/typewriter metaphor was first used by a French scientist named Emil Borel in 1913, but the idea is much older, and is much, much more complex than I can comprehend. Some people use a million monkeys and a million typewriters in the metaphor instead of just one. Higher Mathematics and Probability Theory aren't something I understand, I had to get the basics from Wikipedia.
The tea time reference is a joke about all the British fanfiction writers who have average American teenagers sitting around taking tea like proper Brits. It's not an insult, God knows I get other people's customs wrong all the time, but it is funny.
I can see Paul and Marko as the kind to sit/lay naked on every piece of furniture in Max's house just to spite him. He probably didn't even let them on the furniture clothed. Alex would just go along with it, he's a follower, and he might want to pay Max back for literally treating him like a dog. Though Alex can assume a full wolf form, the change is painful, and he rarely uses it.
Max is crying in hell right now over his violated furnishings.
The white couch suffered because of another story I read, where it noted that Marko wasn't allowed in the house after he had marked his territory on the white couch, just to piss off Max (pun intended). I don't remember which story that was, though.
Alex is known to the people of Santa Carla as The Lonely Wolf. They hear him howling sometimes, sad and lonesome as a Country song. Real, actual wolves are extinct in that area. Of course, nobody knows that Alex is The Lonely Wolf, they just know that a mysterious wolf of some kind lives in the area.
Alex, if I had to describe him, is like the loyal lackey/brainwashed minion/affection-staved puppy. He's not romantically attached to the boys, but he is emotionally dependent on them. They are his whole world, he has no real life outside of the hotel. He turns a blind eye to whatever awful things his friends are doing and is subservient and fatalistic about them. He'll do things he knows are wrong, like keeping Sam prisoner even though he might be killed, reasoning that nothing can be done and that trying to help would only make it worse. He believes The Lost Boys can't be stopped, so he doesn't try to stop them. He might work hard to convince them to do something, like trying to convince them to spare Sam, but likely wouldn't try to stop them physically from killing him because it would only delay the inevitable and cause Sam more pain and fear.
A live dog is better than a dead lion, as the proverb says. It's better to be cautious and live than to be reckless and die. Of course, he would fight to last breath to defend his Pack, that's inherent in a Werewolf. But otherwise he just wants to stay out of trouble.
In the end, though, his greatest fear is being alone again. He's already lost one Pack, he can't bear to lose another.
The part about Alex no longer being invisible when standing sideways while naked is a reference to his face-claim actor. In his nude scene in Mov og Funder, Allan Winther was very skinny in all but one regard. In Europe they have vastly different views on nudity than here in the U.S., so the nudity in the film wasn't a big deal there, even if it would have shocked a lot of people here. The movie is actually a family film.