Author's note: Happy Halloween!
It was nice to relax. Even if Michael knew the second he got on his bike tonight, picked up Sam, and went home that it would all end. Not quite as glamorous as a chick losing her glass shoe, but he knew damn well he probably wasn't going to come to the boardwalk anytime soon for fun. He had to get a job. He had to look after mom. Sam. If Michael could at least forget it all even for an hour, he wasn't going to complain.
That Paul guy needed some serious help, but if nobody else was worried, Michael didn't see much point in caring either. Funny, at first it looked like he'd taken a much worse beating to the face, but now that they were in better light, chilling out on a sand-blasted bench near the beach, splitting a bag of burgers and some cokes, he didn't really look as bad. Bloody, sure, but that was about it.
"What's wrong?" Paul winked at him, "got something on my face?"
"Yeah, I think you used too much ketchup," Michael replied, rolling his eyes as he slowly unwrapped his burger. This guy. He really didn't know what to think about him.
David nudged Paul, snatching his coke and taking a sip, then spitting it out into the sand beside him, "you got diet," he complained.
"What? No I fucking didn't!" Paul protested, taking it back and sipping it, "nope. Regular."
Marko grabbed it and had a drink himself, "it's diet, dipshit."
Michael closed his eyes, savoring his first bite of the greasy heart attack of a burger, knowing full well that tomorrow morning he'd be chugging down another protein shake and back to his regular health nut routine. A treat like this was nice. Once in awhile.
"Mikey," Marko slammed the drink down in front of him, "taste it and prove this asshole wrong. Diet, right?"
Michael eyed the soda, looking back at his own, "I can't really tell the difference, but alright." He didn't much like the new nickname. Made him sound like they were trying to get him to eat a bowl of cereal to see if it was good or not.
"Diet," Michael paused after taking a sip and passing it back to Paul, "I guess. I dunno. Has a funny taste. Maybe the syrup was out." He had an odd tingling feeling on his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Hadn't even taken a real gulp. "Does coke expire?"
Dwayne shook his head, "no," his serious expression faded into a sly smile, "when the world ends, the only thing left will be cockroaches, twinkies, and coca-cola."
"Who knows?" David shrugged, putting a cigarette to his mouth. Where is he getting all those cigarettes? "There might be something or someone else."
It felt like there was some other joke he was missing here, when the others began to laugh, so Michael just went with it. He was feeling really relaxed now. Maybe he'd needed a break more than he realized.
"So, how about it?" David asked, grabbing Michael's attention. He'd dazed out without even realizing it.
"Uh, what?" Michael shook his head, "how about what?"
"A ride. Go for a ride with us tomorrow. How about it?"
"I don't-" Michael took another bite of his burger, not really sure what to say. It'd be nice to hang out again. His wasn't really much of a match for David's bike, though. He probably couldn't beat it. "I don't think I could ride as fast as you guys."
David grinned, "just keep up. Shouldn't be too hard."
"That was fast," Dwayne remarked as they headed out, leaving Michael on the boardwalk to catch up to his little brother.
"Max is gonna be maaaaaad," Marko added with his two cents.
"It was just a couple of drops. Not enough to turn," David explained, almost offended that they'd think he'd do something so stupid. "Just enough to make a link. Keep this crazy asshole over here from trying to chow down on him when my back's turned," he slugged Paul's shoulder.
"I wasn't -" Paul began to defend himself, but stopped abruptly at an identical look of disbelief from all three of the others. "Okay, maybe I was thinking about it," he admitted, "but I would've let you guys get first dibs."
David snorted, turning to look back over at Dwayne, "hey, don't forget to get those fliers ready tomorrow."
Dwayne gave him a two-fingered salute. Tomorrow night's blow-up was going to be epic.
He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't. Sam's whole sense of reality had been decimated. Vampires. Vampires were real? So, did that mean Dracula was a biography? Was there really some moldy old Transylvanian prince munching on virgin necks and guzzling blood like it was cranberry juice?
What about other monsters? Ghosts? Demons? Jackalopes? Christ, he hoped not. The last thing Sam needed to worry about when he was riding with Mike and trying not to scream every time his brother took a sharp turn. A herd of grungy rabbits with antlers jumping in the way.
"So where the hell were you," Sam finally managed to blurt out once his brother had stowed the bike in the garage, and they were walking back into the house.
"I was just getting some food. You were in that dump for an hour, I figured you weren't going to leave anytime soon. I'm not your babysitter, Sam," Michael told him. He sounded like he was in a good mood, even if he was apparently the world's worst bodyguard.
"I could have died!" Sam defended himself, yanking the screen door open, "
"No, you wouldn't. Unless you were trying to get yourself cornered in an alley again. Were you?"
"Well, I mean," Sam faltered, "no. Still, though…"
"As long as you're smart, he's not going to come back. Trust me. People like that are cowards. That's why they target little guys. You're just an easy target."
"Wh-I am not!" Sam huffed, following his brother into the kitchen to continue their conversation. Lucy was sitting at the table flipping through a catalog and nursing a cup of coffee.
"Oh, you're back!" She put a hand on her chest, looking up at both of them, "it's almost eleven. Why were you out so late?"
"Lost track of time," Michael explained, "then I kinda lost Sam for a while and grabbed dinner. Sorry."
She gave them the dreaded mom look, "there's payphones, I wish you'd called."
"Mom," Sam slammed himself down into the last chair at the table, almost making one of the legs crack in the process. He'd promised himself he'd do this when he got home. They could pack up and leave, easy as that. It wasn't too late to go back to Phoenix. "You're both really going to want to stay sitting for this. I've gotta tell you something."
The funny look Michael and Lucy exchanged made what he was about to say feel pretty silly, but Sam couldn't just keep his mouth shut. What if his mom worked a night shift? What if his brother decided to neck with the wrong bimbo? That she-bitch on the beach was just his type!
Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly, keep his hands firmly planted on the table in front of him, "there's vampires in Santa Carla."
"Vampires," Michael repeated slowly, drawing the word out. "You did say vampires, right?"
"Yes." Sam nodded gravely, "Shit-sucking-sorry, mom, but honest to god shit-sucking vampires. Right here." He paused, waiting for Lucy's reaction. Michael had already gotten up and was halfway out of the kitchen before she opened her mouth.
"Sam," Lucy stated his name quietly, leaning forward to grab one of his hands and pat it, "you know we can't go back to Phoenix. There's nothing there for us anymore, sweety."
"I'm gonna go take your dog for a walk. Let me know when you sober up," Michael threw back at him, immediately drawing a much sterner look from their mother.
"Michael, don't tease your brother," she told him, "Sam, have you been drinking?"
"What?! No!" He pulled his hand away, "I'm not lying, either! Mom, there's vam-"
"That's enough," she stood up from the table, grabbing her empty coffee cup, "I know you didn't want to move here, and I'm sorry, but making up silly stories isn't going to change anything. We're staying."
Michael crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, "I like it here."
Sam knew he was beat. There was no way he'd be able to convince them of the awful truth without someone getting seriously hurt or killed. Mike would be too dumb to figure anything out before it was too late. Mom would be too nice. He could just picture her offering her wrist to a homeless creep with fangs just so he could get a good meal.
He'd have to talk to those Frog brothers. Figure out what he was going to do. That comic they gave him would be another good place to start. Maybe there was a part about corpse proofing the house. Sam was already going to have nightmares anyway, as if all of those creepy stuffed animals in the garage weren't bad enough.
Star crouched in a corner, nursing her wounds, feeling the small bits of puckered flesh on her cheeks and forehead slowly shrinking beneath her fingers. Surrounded by mirrors in a technicolor funhouse, she wanted to smash every single one of them. They were all reflecting nothing but themselves, the cheap carnival music blasting from the ceiling speakers, and the laughter outside of departing patrons. She should've eaten them. Splashed their blood on the glass to hide the nasty truth that she'd never really see herself again.
When the music cut off to a harsh buzz, and then nothing, Star jerked up. Half of the bulb lights lining the tops and bottoms of the mirrored walls were off. They were closing for the night. Pretty soon everyone would be hurrying home, and Star would have nothing better to do but head back to that old creep's house. Star didn't much like Max.
There was a sudden clicking sound. Or perhaps it was a tap. Every few seconds or so, followed by soft footsteps.
Star drew her lips back. She didn't want to be bothered right now, she hadn't finished licking her wounds. Whoever it was, they certainly weren't going to be making that annoying tapping sound much longer.
Then, an old lady came into focus, or at least the reflection of her did, dimmed by the dimmer lighting. Not that Star would have any trouble seeing her in the dark. Even without her supernatural vision, the woman was hard to miss. Floppy white hat, green chiffon scarves, and a bright matching dress covered in decorations of ivy vines. She looked like she should be a prop in the haunted house the next building over.
"Hello dear," the old lady greeted her. Star's eyes focused on the umbrella the old woman held in front of her like a cane. The end of it was tipped with a sharp little wooden dowel. A miniature stake.
A cornered animal, Star drew up to her full height, pressing her hands against the mirror behind her and hissing, "get the hell away from me!"
"No, I don't think I will." The woman hefted up her umbrella and pointed the end at Star, "go on, get out of here before I lose my temper." She wasn't in the least bit impressed.
Eyes focused on the stake-tipped umbrella, Star lifted her feet until they were pressed up against the mirror as well, and she quickly crab crawled up to the ceiling, safely out of the geriatric hunter's stabbing range.
Star wondered whether it would be a good idea to attempt to tackle her, but quickly decided against it when those cracked lips caked in lipstick a clown would envy opened, and the old hag spoke again. This time, Star couldn't even understand what she was saying, because the minute she had started an awful headache began to hammer through the fledgling's skull, sending her shrieking across the ceiling as the woman continued to chase and attempt to assault her with the umbrella. Poking her like a cockroach along the way.
Dizzy with pain, as the stake caught and scratched at her legs while she went, Star could hardly believe her luck when she finally made it to the fresh air outside, and launched herself into the sky far, far away from the umbrella and the harridan.
She could still feel her eardrums bleeding by the time she reached Max's house. Star never would find out what the old woman was saying. After all, what vampire could ever listen to the lord's prayer?
The next night, it rained. So they left their bikes hidden where sand and salt couldn't get to them, and instead took to the sky.
Marko would spend the early evening hours trading spots with nervous girls on the carousel, until fear gave way to charm. He was good at that sort of thing.
Paul raided his favorite liquor store, paying with crumpled bills and grinning threats.
Dwayne wasn't exactly sure where David went, but he was sure he'd find out later. Then, of course, Dwayne swiped a few stationary supplies to get to work on the project their leader had given him for the night. While he worked, he had plenty of time to think.
Once, every so often, they would split up. All four of them. Each would seek out something fun to do or bring back to the others, though usually just a meal. It was rare, but it did happen. Dwayne recalled a few who had come and gone through their little pack, impermanent fixtures like Star, those before her and those who would likely follow. None of them had ever seemed to fit, though. Square pegs in round holes.
The difference between the others, all dead, and the Lost Boys, was hard to define. It was a feeling. Maybe because David hadn't been the one to pick them. Star had been the closest they'd even come to that, and still she wasn't right. The moment she'd figured out immortality came with a price, and much more. She was broken. A twisting plastic ballerina in a music box who'd lost her will to spin. There was still a mechanical ticking inside, and still a song, but nothing more. Even in their short fight on the beach, he'd learned that much. It wouldn't be long before her music box stopped working altogether.
By the time he'd finished with his project, Dwayne was fairly proud of himself. Papering them all along boards and walls throughout the boardwalk hardly drew anyone's attention. Even though people were usually posting one photograph or another of one of their snacks, or some other pack's, ads were a very rare sight on these missing persons billboards. Certainly not help wanted signs either. He made sure at least three of them ended up on the window of Max's video shop before the old fuck came in, just to make sure David got the reaction he was looking for. This was going to be a hell of a week.
If Lucy hadn't been so tired when she got home from work that evening, she probably would have stopped to check on Sam. If she had, she'd have seen the telephone cord poking out from beneath his comforter, while he sat hidden beneath it with a flashlight shining through the fabric.
The conversation she might have overheard would very likely have gotten her son a one-way ticket to the psychiatrist's office, too.
"So, you closed the store tonight?" He asked, staring down in horrified fascination at the image of a grimacing vampire tearing into a woman's jugular. After his brush with death, these cartoons didn't come nearly close enough to the real thing. Still, he was learning a lot.
"Yeah," Edgar Frog grumbled over the phone, "Saturdays we train."
"Train?"
"Gotta keep the muscles primed for bloodsucker attacks at any minute," Alan chimed in, and Sam wondered exactly how they were both sharing the line at the same time. Maybe they were using the same headset. They kinda gave off that attached at the hip vibe anyway.
Primed. Sam seriously doubted the Frog brothers were that good at what they did, but he kept his mouth shut. After the way they'd saved him, maybe he was wrong. No way Sam would've been able to do something like that for a semi-stranger.
"Is it just you two?" He prompted, licking his bottom lip, "I mean, are there other hunters?"
"Not as far as we know. We've got the market cornered here," Edgar responded, almost sounding defensive.
Sam had to admit, it didn't seem like a terrible job. Spray some monster with a bit of fancy water, poke them with sharp sticks, or keep them busy until they broke curfew? Sounded easier than throwing newspapers.
He thought about the graffiti he'd seen on that billboard when they'd been driving into Santa Carla, and then Sam wondered whether vampires had sprayed it.
"Do you need help?"
There was silence. Dead silence on the other end of the line.
"Ed?" Sam paused, frowning, "Alan?"
He wasn't sure, but it almost sounded like they were hissing at each other. Too far from the speaker for him to make out the words.
"Listen," Sam went on, seizing on his chance to explain himself, "I just need cash. For comics, you know? I mean, yeah, it's dangerous. I totally get that. Still, it can't be easy-"
"Yeah." Edgar and Alan snapped out at the same time. "You can tag along," Edgar added, "we'll give you some old issues or something until you help us bag a big one, then we can negotiate-"
Alan cut in, interrupting his brother, "-rates. Gotta see what you're made of first."
"Uh, what?"
Ed cleared his throat, "head vampire. Help us nail a head vampire, and you're in. Monster basher, all the way."
Nanook whined at the foot of Sam's bed. As if some canine premonition was telling him none of this was a very good idea.
David didn't much like rain. He didn't like the nagging pulse in the back of his mind of Max trying to summon him either. Let the bastard find him if what he wanted was so important. He wasn't in the mood for another condescending little pow-wow twice in one week. Like Max thought he was a collared dog, ready to go whenever the leash tugged at him.
Maybe he shouldn't have dosed Michael with his blood. It was so little, though, David hadn't seen much harm in doing it at the time. He'd done that before, though, with disastrous results. This time would be different. David would be patient. Any day now Max would find a new potential wife to focus all of his attention on, so it wouldn't be too long before he gave the boys a little bit more freedom to do as they liked.
Not that they didn't already, owning the city in all but name, but a happy Max was a quiet Max. There'd be no more of these demands to visit, run errands, or any of the other bullshit he always seemed to want to waste their time with. David really needed to work up the nerve one of these days to stake the head vampire and be done with Max once and for all. Maybe he'd get lucky, and his plan with Dwayne would work.
He cursed, taking shelter under the covered porch when the rain really began to pour. Fucking great. Now he couldn't smoke. As much fun as it was to wake the neighborhood, David really didn't have any plans to slaughter the people in this particular house tonight. It wouldn't really make the best impression, given how attached Michael seemed to be to his little brother.
Those nagging thoughts from Max tried to push their way into his mind again, the insistent summons, the imperious commands. The whining. David continued to ignore it, instead focusing even harder on the tentative link he'd created with Michael. Only a temporary one, just enough for him to get to know the human a little better before he made a decision. Once he did, after all, there'd be no turning back.
A sudden howl caught his attention, drawing an immediate growl from David's lips. Fuck. They had a dog. He'd have to be careful, then. Mutts didn't tend to get along well with the undead unless they just so happened to be from hell. Even then, Thorn was an asshole.
The dog meant using the front door wasn't an option. He'd draw too much attention, and David didn't want that tonight. Not without the boys around. So, back out into the rain with he went, biting back swears as he snaked along the side of the house hunting for Michael's bedroom window.
Thankfully there was no dog inside. Only Michael in his bed, sleeping. He must have gone to bed early, because the window was cracked just enough for David to pry it open entirely. He waited for the rain to subside a little before slipping into the bedroom. Careful. Silent as the grave.
"Michael," he whispered, pressing into the teen's mind, just forceful enough to grab his half-waking attention.
David grinned, watching the teen stir as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out a cigarette. Tucked safely under his coat, it was thankfully dry. Everyone else in the house should be asleep by now, so he wasn't terribly concerned about the smoke.
He felt weird. Couldn't tell if he was awake or not. Something was weighing down Michael's arms and legs, while all he could do was just lay there. He knew he should be scared, freaking out, but he wasn't. Like something in his mind decided to just shut off, couldn't be bothered right now to do anything at all.
So Michael blamed it on exhaustion. Too much housework. Lifting his weights a little too frequently. Stress. He ran through every possible cause in his mind, just so he could go back to sleep without worrying that he wasn't going to be able to stand up in the morning.
Then, of course, he heard David, and now Michael had no doubt in his mind that he was just having a weird dream.
"Michael," David whispered, and god this dream was getting so real he could swear he smelled smoke.
"Yeah?" Michael managed to reply, astonished that his voice sounded so normal. Casual. Like he was sitting up and having coffee with David, not trapped in his own body.
"Didn't see you on the boardwalk tonight. Something happen?"
"It's raining," Michael replied, "and I've got a lot of packing up to do here."
"You can put it off," David told him matter-of-factly, and it was pretty damn easy to agree at this point. Grandpa had way too much shit for anyone to get rid of in just a few weeks. The man was a furry corpse hoarder.
"Yeah, I guess. I don't have a job though, I don't have the cash to just hang out every night-"
"We'll get you some."
If he weren't so calm, Michael might have made a retort at that. If what he'd gleaned from some of the locals around here was true, there was no way any money coming from David or his friends was going to be legal.
Then there were the assholes he'd seen Paul picking that fight with, and especially the one Michael had met himself. Rival gang or whatever they were, would it really be smart to keep hanging out?
"You think too much," David snapped out, just on the verge of sounding testy. "Do you really have anything better to do?"
"Not really," Michael admitted, "but I might have a da-"
"No. You won't." He sounded so confident when he said it.
"I don't see why that's-"
David let out an impatient sigh, "you're coming to the boardwalk tomorrow night, and every night after that. Stop fucking arguing with me."
If only Michael could sit up and punch him in the face. The urge came and went before he even had time to settle on the mental image. Then he felt a hand patting his cheek condescendingly, and smoke puffing against his ear.
"After that, we'll see how far you're willing to go, huh?"
"What the f-"
"Don't worry, Michael. You won't remember any of this in the morning. So just go back to sleep."
The word 'asshole' was just on the tip of Michael's tongue before he thankfully passed out. He didn't feel the fangs cutting into his wounded hand, or the tongue lapping at the blood that welled up there.