The comic store was dark and shuttered, displaying the latest coat of vulgar graffiti to the Santa Carla boardwalk. Sam hesitated outside, hands shoved deep into his pockets and his back hunched against a chill that wasn't present in the air.
It was dusk, the time that the boardwalk really began to come to life, when the families and small children left, either instinctively sensing that it was no longer safe there, or simply preferring the better lit, more family friendly places further in town. At night, the boardwalk belonged to the other crowd.
The music grew louder, spilling from bars, filling the place from the open-air concert where punks mingled with surfers, straight edge with addicts. The thousand lights of the rides in the amusement park grew bright against the darkening sky. Street hawkers appeared, offering to pierce ears, draw on tattoos, and selling cheap, counterfeit fashion.
Among the crowds, vampires would also be walking, weaving their way between the groups of kids enjoying the night, searching for victims. The vampires that had once called the Santa Carla boardwalk their hunting ground had long since gone, but others had moved in to take their place, and slowly but surely, the death toll had been rising once again.
Sam glanced furtively around him, checking the crowd, not only for that telltale, almost fluid way that a bloodsucker would move, but also for a familiar face. He saw neither.
Reassured for now, he turned his attention back to the front of the comic store. He reached for the shutter, testing it. As he had expected, it was locked. He slipped a hand into his pocket and retrieved the spare key, the one that Edgar had given him for emergencies only, then inserted it into the lock. Glancing around him one more time to make sure that he wasn't being observed, he opened it and slipped inside.
He pulled everything closed and re-locked it behind him. It would make little difference, if a vampire wanted to enter the property, a flimsy bolt and a locked door wouldn't stop him.
It was dark and silent inside the store, the noise of the boardwalk was muffled by the storefront and the closed shutters. He had spent years of his life in and around this store. He knew every corner of the place like the back of his hand. He had worked shifts there, filling in for his friends when they had vampires to hunt and their parents were unable to do it for them. It had become his home away from home, one of the places in the world where he felt most comfortable.
He had never seen it like this.
It felt as though he was intruding on somebody's private space; a trespasser in somebody's home. He hesitated by the door, unsure whether he should continue forward or retreat back onto the boardwalk. He could still turn around and go home, hide himself under the covers of his bed, hang garlic and symbols of a faith that he didn't believe all around the place and hope and pray that Alan didn't come for him. Or he could move forward, past the darkened displays of comic books and action figures, around the cash desk with its ancient register, and into the Frog household.
Maybe he wouldn't be welcome. After all, Edgar hadn't picked up when Sam had called him. One quick call from Edgar, a hoarse whisper on the other end of the line, a few words to tell Sam that Alan had lost the battle that he had been fighting against the darkness, and then the line had gone dead.
And then nothing. Radio silence.
He had tried again and again to call, each time he had listened to the ringing of the phone on the other end of the line with no answer, and then he had waited at home, certain that Edgar would either call him back, or show at his door. He had done neither, and there had only been so much waiting that Sam could take.
Alan was gone, and somewhere, Edgar was completely alone.
At least, Sam hoped that he was, because the alternative was unthinkable.
He opened his mouth to call his friend's name, but the word died on his lips as a sudden fear gripped him. Could Alan, even now, be in there, laying in wait. Could that be why Edgar had not answered his calls?
No, that couldn't be the reason. Edgar had called him during the first hours of daylight, Alan had turned the night before. If he had come here, it could only have been now, tonight, in the short time since the sun had set. Still, it was possible. He could still have Edgar, and there was a chance that his vampire senses had already alerted him to Sam's presence.
Sam swallowed, regretting locking the door behind him. He considered, briefly, fleeing, but dismissed the idea. Instead, he slipped his hand inside his sleeve and pulled down the wooden stake that he had stashed there. He brandished it in a hand trembling with fear and adrenaline, then took a step forward into the store.
He crept past the displays without giving them a second glance. It was too dark to see them anyway, the shutters blocked out the lights from the boardwalk, and the lights inside the store were still dark. The switches were behind the cash desk, but he did not wish to turn on the lights. To do so would signal to the world outside that somebody was home, and it would also lend a sense of normality to the place that, although Sam desperately craved, he didn't want. Alan was gone, fallen to the enemy, and nothing would ever feel normal again.
And nor should it.
He reached the back of the store, and pushed open the door to the rest of the building. Beyond the door was the Frog's kitchen. He knew it well from hours spent there planning missions with his friends. The light was on inside, and the room looked exactly the same as he remembered it. The small stove, the table with only two chairs, the battered sofa pushed up against the back wall where he would often see Edgar and Alan's parents sleeping.
They were not there now. He wondered where they were, whether they were home, whether they even knew what had happened. Whether they would even be capable of comprehending the loss they had suffered. An old crocheted blanket was thrown haphazardly onto one of the seats, and a wooden stake and a few cloves of garlic lay as though abandoned on the table.
Sam took a deep breath, then held it, listening closely, trying to detect any sign of life. He could hear nothing.
He cleared his throat quietly, then licked his lips. The light in the room, in contrast to the darkness in the store, was comforting, and it gave him a confidence he had not expected. He turned to his left, to the staircase that led up to the bedrooms and bathroom of the property. "Edgar?" he said. The word came out a quiet whisper, but still broke the terrible silence. He held his breath and listened again, but could hear nothing but the beating of his own heart.
He moved on through the property, climbing the stairs. He crept upward slowly, keeping his feet to the very edges of the steps to minimise the creaking, but in the silent house it sounded almost impossibly loud.
He paused halfway up and whispered Edgar's name again. Again, no reply. Onward and upward.
He hesitated at the top of the stairs, directly outside Edgar and Ala… outside Edgar's bedroom. The door was ajar, and the light was on inside. "Edgar?" he tried again, one final attempt, met once again by silence.
Fingers tightened around the handle of the wooden stake, and he reached out with the other hand to push open the door. The tips of his fingers touched the peeling paint on the wooden door, and it swung easily on its hinges, opening without a sound.
Edgar sat on the edge of the bed, his back to the door. Sam hesitated there, waiting, expecting his friend to turn, to look at him. He didn't move. He stared down wordlessly at the ground, silent and unmoving as a statue.
Sam swallowed, then licked his lips nervously. He glanced around the room searching for any evidence that they might not be alone. The window was closed, with no sign that the garlic and the crosses that adorned the sill had been disturbed. Nothing had come through recently. He relaxed, just slightly.
"Edgar?" he tried again. He spoke quietly, but as his voice broke the silence of the room, he almost winced at the volume. Edgar turned, just barely, enough to glance at him, before he returned to stare at the floor at the side of his bed.
Sam took a step forward into the room. He expertly avoided the creaking floorboards that Alan had shown him the first time he had been allowed in there. The Frogs treated it as a feature, an early warning signal in case of any unexpected visitors in the night. There was a pattern, a way to walk across the room without triggering a single creak. Once, it had made Edgar feel safe. Sam doubted that it helped anymore. Not when the thing he feared had grown up in that same room, dodging those same creaks.
He reached his friend, then hesitated, realising he didn't know what to say. There was nothing that he could say or do that would make this better. Instead, he reached out and placed a hand on Edger's shoulder. No words, just a gesture to let him know that he wasn't alone.
Edgar flinched at the unexpected contact. He turned to look at Sam again, directly in the eye this time. His eyes were bloodshot, he looked as though he hadn't slept in a week.
He probably hadn't.
"He's gone," Edgar said. His voice sounded hoarse, flat, and somehow empty.
Sam nodded. His fingers gripped Edgar's shoulder a little harder, he bit down hard on his own lip and tried to fight the tears that threatened to fall. Alan was gone. He had fought, and he had tried so hard to resist. He had begged and pleaded with Edgar to let him die rather than turn, but in the end he hadn't been able to resist. He was gone, yet somewhere still, he was out there.
The thought gave Sam a chill.
"He hasn't been back, has he?" Sam asked.
Edgar shook his head. As he did, he glanced over at the window, as though to confirm that it was still closed, and that his defences were still intact. He flinched as he did, then spun back to look at Sam. "It's dark," he said. "Sam, what the hell are you doing coming here in the dark?"
He had a point. Sam pulled back his arm from Edgar's shoulder and folded his arms. "You didn't answer your phone," he said. "What was I supposed to do, just sit at home and watch TV?"
"It's not safe, Sam," Edgar told him.
Sam shrugged. He sat down on the bed next to Edgar, so close that the sides of their bodies touched. "I had to make sure you were okay," he told him.
Something about that didn't have the desired effect. Edgar turned on him with an angry glare. "Okay? Of course I'm not okay, Sam. How could I…" He stopped abruptly, but not before Sam heard his voice crack. Edgar turned away, swallowed and took a slow deep breath. "You should have stayed home," he said. "He's going to come, and this is the first place he'll look."
He was probably right, he shouldn't have come, but the idea of leaving Edgar here alone had been unthinkable.
Edgar took another deep breath. Sam could see the tension in him. He was holding it back. Holding everything back.
"You don't know he's going to come for us," Sam said. "I mean, he's Alan. He's your brother, he's my friend. He didn't want this, he must know that we won't…"
"He's a vampire, Sam," Edgar said. The words were spoken quickly, harshly, cutting Sam off before he could finish. "He's a bloodsucker. He's one of them. You think he gives a damn what we'd want?"
Sam didn't reply. It didn't sound like the kind of question that needed an answer.
Edgar shook his head. "Fuck," he said. One hand balled into a fist, the other, Sam noticed, held a wooden stake, one almost identical to the one that Sam had carried with him. He raised his fist and thumped it into his own thigh, so hard that the whole bed shook with the impact. "Fuck!" he said again, louder this time.
Edgar didn't cry. The whole time Sam had known him, he had never so much as seen him wipe away a tear. Not for anything, not when his whole life had been falling apart around him. Not even when he had been a few seconds too late to save Alan from being forced to drink vampire blood, or in the days that had followed.
"Fuck," he said again, driving his fist even harder into his own leg and wincing in pain at the impact.
He didn't cry, he didn't even seem to get sad. Instead, Edgar got angry.
Sam had seen a lot of anger over the past weeks; there had been a simmering rage just below the surface held at bay only by a determination to fix the situation. Edgar's single-minded fixation on finding and destroying the head vampire before his brother gave into the bloodlust had been the one thing that had fuelled him; the one thing that had kept him going and prevented him from surrendering to the rage within him.
Now, it was over. For all their efforts, they had failed and there was nothing more that they could do. Sam had expected the anger to take over now, but it appeared to have dissipated, replaced by a deep sadness in his friend, something that Sam had never seen before, and that he didn't know what to do with. He knew how to handle an angry Edgar, he had no idea what to do with this.
Edgar got to his feet. "Fuck him," he said, appearing to push rage into his words. "Why the hell couldn't he have just hung on for a couple more nights? We were this close to finding the head vampire. I just know it. "
He sounded angry, but Sam could tell that his heart wasn't in it. It was as though he were reaching for that familiar reaction, searching for it because rage was easier than sadness.
Sam supposed he understood that. Anything would be better than the way he felt right now, and for Edgar it had to be so much worse. "It's not…" he began, then stopped. He had been going to say that it wasn't Alan's fault. It wasn't, of course. Alan had been a victim, just as Michael had been once. He hadn't wanted to drink vampire blood. He had done everything in his power to resist the urge to kill, and to help Edgar in his quest to find and destroy the head vampire. It hadn't been Alan's fault, but then Edgar already knew that. Edgar didn't really blame Alan; Edgar blamed himself.
"Not what?" Edgar said, turning on him now.
Sam hesitated. He couldn't say what he wanted to, because if he did, Edgar wouldn't hear that Alan wasn't to blame, he would hear confirmation that he had done this. He would hear that he never should have taken them to that place; that he should have gotten to Alan faster, saved him from his fate; that he should have done more to find the head vampire. He would hear that he should have… That he should have killed Alan when he had the chance, when Alan had asked him to, and he had refused.
"It's not what, Sam?" Edgar asked. His voice was low and menacing, the anger that he had been reaching for manifesting in his voice as he turned a glare in Sam's direction.
Instinctively, Sam took a step backward. He shook his head. "It's not fair," he said. He folded his arms, one hand still gripping the wooden stake. "That's all, it's just not fair.
Edgar backed down. His expression softened slightly, then crumpled. He spun around, turning his face away from Sam's, hiding from him, but a fraction of a second too late to hide the tears in his eyes.
"Edgar…" Sam swallowed. He reached out to touch him again, then hesitated, unsure how to proceed. Edgar didn't cry. Not even when his brother became a vampire and disappeared into the night. Now that he was, Sam didn't know what to do, he didn't know how to help him.
If it had been anybody else, he would know exactly what to do. If his mom were upset, or his brother, another friend, or even a stranger on the street, he wouldn't hesitate to comfort them. But this was Edgar. Edgar didn't do this, and Sam didn't want to make things worse.
He rested his fingers gently on Edgar's shoulder and opened his mouth to speak
Edgar shrugged him off. "Go away, Sam."
Sam's hand dropped away. "What? No way. I'm not just going to leave you like…"
"Go!" Edgar turned briefly to look at him again. His eyes shone with unshed tears, but the expression on his face was pure rage.
Still, Sam hesitated. "Edgar, come on. I know this is hard, but you don't want to be alo…"
"You don't know shit, Sam," Edgar told him, interrupting before he could finish. "You got your brother back again."
Sam flinched. That wasn't fair. It was true, but it wasn't fair. It had been totally different, and for Edgar to try to throw that in his face as though it somehow invalidated everything he said…
He knew Edgar was hurting, but that hurt too.
"Just go downstairs or something Sam. Please." Edgar's voice cracked on the final word, and he turned away.
Sam hesitated for just a moment longer. He desperately wanted to help Edgar, but it seemed that what Edgar needed right now, at this moment, was to be on his own, to process his grief by himself.
He paid no mind to the floorboards as he walked away, he wanted Edgar to hear him go.
He didn't go far. He stopped just outside the door and sank down to sit on the top step of the stairs. He placed his head in his hands, and took a deep, slow breath. It wasn't Edgar's fault. He had lost his brother, but it was so much worse than that, because Alan was still out there somewhere. He was changed, but still wearing Alan's face, carrying Alan's memories, but no longer Alan; a monster, the very thing that the Frogs had dedicated their lives to destroying.
Edgar was right. He had gotten Michael back. Alan was lost forever. In all the years he had known them, Sam had rarely seen the Frogs apart. He doubted that his friend had ever spent a single day, probably not more than a couple of hours, apart from Alan. Now, suddenly, he was gone.
Sam couldn't even begin to imagine what that must be like.
From inside the bedroom, he heard a sound that he had been expecting, but that still took him by surprise. A single sob, suppressed, as though Edgar were trying to muffle the sound, but still unmistakable. Sam felt tears in his own eyes and wiped them away. He sat there frozen, holding his breath, unsure what to do.
Edgar didn't want him there. Everything he had said, including, probably especially, the comment about Michael, had been to make him leave, to ensure that he wouldn't be there to witness this. Still, Sam couldn't bring himself to walk away. It wasn't in him to leave anybody alone like that, least of all his best friend.
Another sob from inside the room, louder this time, as though perhaps it had caught him by surprise. No, Sam couldn't stand it. He didn't care what Edgar said, or how hard his friend tried to push him away, he couldn't just wait outside while Edgar cried in there on his own. It just wasn't in him not to help.
He got to his feet and pushed the door open again. Edgar was sitting on the bed again with his face angled away from the door. His whole body shook as silent sobs wracked his entire frame
Sam didn't hesitate this time. He rushed forward, once again paying no mind to the creaking floorboards that would announce his presence. He sat beside Edgar on the bed and wrapped his arms around him, holding on as tightly as he dared.
Edgar tensed as Sam's arms enveloped him, but the shaking in his chest didn't cease as he struggled to stop, to bring himself back under control. He was too far gone, too deep into the wave of grief that was overwhelming him for him to pull himself out now.
To Sam's surprise, and his relief, Edgar didn't push him away. He remained where he was, not acknowledging Sam's presence for now, but also not rejecting it. He took several deep breaths in an effort to stop himself, but it didn't help.
Sam leaned in a little closer, tightening his grip, making sure that his friend knew he was there for him. Edgar turned himself to face Sam as he did. Tears streaked his face and he opened his mouth as though he wanted to speak, but no words came, only an incomprehensible sound of pain and grief as Edgar's throat closed around whatever he had intended to say.
"Shh," Sam told him. His hand moved up and down in a rhythmic pattern on Edgar's back, the same way his mom used to do with him. The same way she still did sometimes.
Edgar didn't try to speak again. Instead, he rested his head on Sam's shoulder, and allowed Sam to hold him while he cried.
Sam wanted to speak to him, to say words that would comfort him, but he couldn't think of a single thing to say. He couldn't tell him it was okay, because it wasn't. Things were so far from okay that to say that would be an insult. He couldn't even say that things were going to be okay, because how could they be? Either Alan would come back, and Edgar would be forced to kill him, or he wouldn't and the two of them would spend the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders, Edgar never knowing his brother's ultimate fate.
To say that anything might ever be okay again would be a lie, and not even a good one. Edgar would see right through it.
And so instead, he continued to move his hand up and down on Edgar's back, continued to hold him close as his own tears ran unchecked down his face. "I'm here," he said, because it was true, and because they were the only words of comfort that he could think of to give. "I'm here, Edgar."
He wasn't sure how long they sat there, holding onto one another like a lifeline while outside, in the world beyond, life carried on exactly as it always had. Santa Carla was a town built on tragedy. The murder capital of the world had no end of bereaved families desperately struggling to make sense of a devastating loss, but this was the first time that it had truly touched either of them, and Sam knew that neither of them would ever be the same again. Already, he could feel a change in himself, and he didn't know exactly what it meant, but he knew that he had lost something when Alan had turned, and it was something that he was never going to get back.
Edgar came out of it slowly, finally reaching a point where he couldn't cry anymore, where exhaustion overrode grief, and he had no more tears left in him. His breathing normalised slowly, still hitching, but almost back to his usual rhythm. He pulled away from Sam, and wiped at his eyes with his fingers. When it wasn't enough, he removed his bandanna that had been tied around his head, and used that instead. He took in a shaking breath, licked his lips, and looked at Sam.
His eyes were even more bloodshot than they had been before, puffy from tears. He pulled away a little further. "Sorry," he said. He sounded embarrassed.
Sam shook his head. He wiped away his own tears. "Don't be," he said. Honestly, he was almost relieved this had happened. He felt as though he had needed it every bit as much as Edgar.
"I mean for what I said," Edgar clarified. "About your brother."
Sam shook his head. It didn't matter. And it was true.
"Sam?" Edgar wiped at his eyes again with trembling hands, his breathing still shook as he fought to keep control.
"Yeah, buddy?"
"What the hell am I supposed to do now?"
There was so much in that one question. It was filled with grief, with fear and uncertainty, with desperation and loneliness, and most of all, a longing for the life that he had lost when he had lost Alan. Sam hated that he didn't have an answer that he could give him. He didn't have anything that he could say that would make it better. Instead, he reached for Edgar and wrapped his arms around him again. "I don't know," he admitted. "But whatever it is, I'll be there with you."