Disclaimer: Again, I own nothing to do with The Lost Boys.
Thanks so much for your reviews, it's always appreciated and gave me a lot to think about regarding where this story is heading. :) Hope you enjoy this chapter.
Chapter Four
They all look at me. It makes me suddenly nervous. "What?" I ask. David points over at something behind my shoulder. I turn.
A woman is alone, standing by the doorway of a video rental store. She looks distracted. She shouldn't be alone in the middle of the night, definitely not when there are dangerous people like David around. I feel a pang of sadness for her.
I don't understand what's going on, but then David pushes Susie forward gently and she staggers. She starts emitting small little heartbreaking noises of distress, waddling through the crowd. I have a sudden intense urge to rush over and comfort her, but David grabs my arm. "Hold it," he says curtly.
"She's a natural..." I hear Marko say.
Susie is over near the woman now. The woman notices Susie and looks startled, leaning down. "Are you lost little girl?" she asks.
Susie stares at her impassively before nodding her head slowly. "I can't find my mommy," she says sadly.
"Here." The woman takes her hand. "I'll help you find her." They start walking slowly in the opposite direction, the woman looking around.
Paul bursts out laughing and when I look over at him, he grins and gives me two thumbs up. "We'll meet you back here in, say, half an hour," David breathes in my ear, his breath tickling my ear. "Don't be late."
Before I can answer, he squeezes past me and starts walking in the direction of Susie and the kind woman. The boys quickly follow, Marko staring at me and backing away slowly, his hands at his sides, as though daring me to follow them. When he sees I'm not going to budge, he swivels around on his heel and strolls on after them.
Great. Now what am I meant to do? I look around. I walk aimlessly toward the entrance of an old record store. There's loud rock music emulating from the jukebox, customers in band T-shirts and ripped jeans wandering around the aisles. A Goth girl with an unlit cigarette in her mouth is studying religiously one of the Punk aisle catalogues, her heavy fringe falling into her eyes.
I walk down the Jazz aisle slowly, cautiously, observing. Two hippies in bright yellow robes are lounging around, sprawled out on the carpet in the corner of the room, their hands tangled together. I wander around near the Punk aisle, hoping to go unnoticed, as my movements attract the Goth girl's attention. A boy is standing next to her, his back to her, flipping through the bin of records.
It's Patrick.
He's wandering around the store with the young boy from the Boardwalk tonight, the boy with the green Mohawk. He flips through another one of the bins. "Sorry, buddy," I hear him say reluctantly. "I don't see any Sex Pistols, The Clash, anything..." Out of the corner of my eye, I see him turn his head into my direction.
I can feel myself going red. I pretend to be looking at something very interesting, flipping through the bins. My heart is racing. I look up again quickly to see him saying something to the boy, using his hands for emphasize. He's clearly lecturing him on something, and the boy grimaces.
Then he looks right at me. He holds my eyes for a few seconds and then beckons me over. I hesitate, before walking slowly over toward him. "Hey, you remember me, don't you?" he asks apprehensively, shoving his hands into his pockets. "From tonight..." When I don't say anything, he raises his eyebrows and his forehead scrunches up comically. "You know, we had the hotdog?"
I smile. "Of course, I remember you," I say finally. "You're Patrick."
He looks relieved. "Yeah."
The boy with the green Mohawk darts me a look and then laughs, shaking his head. Patrick glances over at him, scratching his neck in annoyance, and then reaches over, putting his arm around the boys' shoulder. Suddenly, the boy grins at me. "This here is my little punk of a brother Alex."
The boy with the Mohawk nods his head fervently. "Nice to meet you," Alex says quietly. He's wearing the usual punk attire; all black, full ripped T-shirt and safety pin getup, combat boots.
"Now remember," Patrick says to him in a very serious voice. "Mom said no piercings until you're at least eighty-five." I burst out laughing, I can't help it. Patrick grins broadly.
I catch his younger brother's eye and he makes a disgusted face. "Ugh. I'll be dead by then..."
The rest of our conversations together come haltingly and Alex resorts to asking one of the owners of the store for any Punk record recommendations. There's a young boy behind the counter, about Alex's age. A boy wearing a bright red bandana wrapped around his head, red flannel shirt and combat boots comes in carrying a huge box, heaves it on the counter, and then looks at us questioningly before going back out to the staff exit. Patrick and I exchange a glance.
The boy in the red flannel shirt comes back out again and walks over to us. He mutely thrusts a thin paper book at Alex before starting to unpack the boxes. Alex looks up at his older brother. Patrick is silent and quizzical.
"Hey, excuse me," Alex says loudly. The boy, who is now piling records on the counter, pauses and meets Alex's gaze. "This isn't what I asked for."
The boy shrugs. "You should probably take it," he says in a very deep voice, a voice that seems unnatural for his scrawny, boyish stature.
Alex looks down at the book. I lean forward slowly, looking at it intently. It's some sort of comic book with a bold title that reads "Vampires Next Bite" in calligraphy. It's very bizarre. He turns the page slowly, and a graphic-looking woman scantily clad in a red dress with large, bulging breasts is printed on the second page. I couldn't imagine why Alex would need to read such a thing.
"Awesome!" Alex seems so pleased with it that he doesn't even seem to mind that it could almost pass as crude pornography. "What I'd give to see one of them..." The way he says it, so innocent and childlike, confuses me.
The boy squints at Alex and says with a grim expression, "Yeah, well, consider yourself warned. You could be next." He leans in closer and says sotto voce, as though informing him of a deadly secret, "Bloodsucking scum roam the earth looking for punks like you to feast their fangs on..."
There's a long awful moment of silence where the two stare at each other silently, glowering. Then Patrick embraces his little brother, giving his shoulder a light squeeze and his brother jumps as though he has administered an electric shock, alarmed. "Come on, let's get out of here, Alex," he says, veering his brother toward the exit. I quickly follow them.
Alex looks both excited and scared now. "Look Patrick, I got a free comic book." He laughs, holding up the comic book to him. "Isn't it the coolest place around here?"
Patrick suddenly looks nervous. "Sure, if you like these sorts of things..." He looks over at me and rolls his eyes, grimacing. I try not to laugh.
Outside the store, Patrick stops walking and runs a hand over his face. He doesn't look very happy at all. "Didn't it creep you out, what they were saying back there?" he asks me indignantly.
There's no denying that I really liked Patrick and his younger brother, and it makes me feel sad to mislead him in this way. But it has to be done. I hesitate. "Not exactly."
He smiles, but it's not a very friendly smile. "And you believe it too, right?" You would too if you knew, I think but I don't say. He sighs loudly. "You know what? You can just forget it..." He grabs his brother by the shirt and pushes him forward gently.
"Oh, can't we look around some more?" pleads Alex.
"No," Patrick retorts firmly. "You should go straight home to mom..."
He makes a face. "But everyone else gets to stay out late!"
"I said no," Patrick says again, his voice rising. "You're just a kid. Go home." He points in the direction of the steps. "Go home, Alex." Alex starts strolling slowly, then turns around to face us directly, frowning, his hands at his sides helplessly.
I think about it for a moment. It certainly wouldn't be safe for a boy as young as Alex to be walking home alone at night, especially when there are people out here like David. "He really shouldn't walk home by himself at this hour," I say. Patrick looks over at me resignedly. I shrug.
Patrick stares at me for a moment then glances over at his brother sharply. He looks as if he is silently considering. "Fine," he relents at last. Alex looks victorious. "Yes," he says happily, punching the air with his fist.
We all walk a few feet apart, with me leading, down the Boardwalk. I didn't exactly know where I was walking, but something captures my full attention. At the end of the Boardwalk, there is a large, thick bulletin board. There are thousands of photocopied black-and-white photographs of strangers, bold headlines that read "Missing". I look at the photographs intently. There's a photograph of a man with a handlebar moustache and grim expression on his face, a boy barely Alex's age in a baseball cap, an elderly black woman...
"That's weird," I hear Patrick say from right behind me. I turn to discover that he's no longer glowering; he's obviously out of his bad mood. I feel an immense amount of relief over this. His brother is standing beside him, flipping idly through his comic book.
"Let's get something to drink," I suggest, and he nods. His brother looks thankful for the change in direction and runs back toward the record store.
We spend next few minutes roaming around for a place to sit. We find a small shop with an elderly woman behind the counter and slide into one of the booths and on the leather seats. The woman comes over to greet us, smiling warmly. Patrick runs a finger down the columns of the menu. "I'll have a coffee, zero sugars," he says, handing the menu to me. I order the same.
There's a long moment of silence where we just sit there silently, waiting. I start to wonder if Susie is all right, if she is safe with the boys, but I know and trust that they wouldn't dare to hurt her. The elderly woman brings over our coffees at last. Again, I have a sudden attack of nerves. Even the thought of something as little as drinking in front of this boy makes my hands tremble.
"Do you like it here in Santa Carla?" Patrick asks before taking a sip of his coffee.
I shrug. "It's something you slowly have to get used to, I guess," I reply reluctantly. I stare down at my steaming mug of coffee for a moment. "Why did you move here with your family?" I ask, curious.
He smiles. "I don't know." He takes a spoon from the dispenser and doctors his coffee, stirring it. "My parents insisted and, well, my brother... he loves it here." He takes a sip of his coffee and grimaces, before saying, "My brother blends in well, being the little punk that he is."
I laugh. I detect a large amount of fondness for his younger brother. It doesn't surprise me. I'm intrigued now. I sit up straighter in my seat. "Are your parents divorced, too?"
"No. My parents are actually hippies. They believe in free-love and all of that bullshit..." He shakes his head, looking acutely embarrassed. "My father says that's the key to why their marriage is such a success..." He looks down at his coffee, running a forefinger along the rim of his mug. "I think maybe that's why they moved to Santa Carla; to expand their horizons."
"Oh." His sincerity baffles me. I stare down at my coffee, then take a small sip. It's very strong, and hot. The liquid burns my throat.
Patrick looks very uncomfortable now. "My mother, well, she's just sort of always there, and she's very understanding. Beats me..." He shrugs. He stares down at the table. He looks distracted, pensive, his mind elsewhere. When he meets my gaze again, he leans forward in his seat. "At school the kids always thought I was different. My mother always found a way to cajole me into taking a thermos of wheatgrass juice to school every morning..."
Hearing the events of his childhood made me think back unpleasantly to my family, to my mother. I found myself hoping and wondering if she was all right.
Patrick laughs. "I remember sitting there in the playground... all the kids around me were eating cherry-flavored Pez and drinking soda, and I was the weird kid with wheatgrass juice and carrot sticks..." Reminiscing on such things, he looks very hurt. It's obviously evoked the strong feelings of frustration he's had with his parents over the years.
I'd never had that problem with my parents. I couldn't imagine it at all. He doesn't say anything else after that. He presses his lips tightly together and stares down at the table. I don't say anything either. We finish our coffees and then leave the store, thanking the elderly woman behind the counter for her kind hospitality.
Soon his brother Alex rejoins us. We all say goodbye and then they leave. It's two-thirty in the morning now. The temperature is starting to drop and the wind is becoming very cold and biting. I walk on the Boardwalk, dodging a few clusters of people who are exclaiming loudly over clothing and food. To my relief, I find the boys easily, waiting by the railings where we agreed to meet earlier. I found it strange that they roused such feelings of relief and security over me.
I hear Susie screaming "Ruby!" as she spots me. She starts to whimper. I rush over to her, squeezing past Marko and Dwayne. "What did you do to her?" I ask, bending over her worriedly. I look over at David, expecting an answer.
Instead Paul says, "She finally saw the boogie monsters." He must see the confusion on my face because he quickly adds with a simpering air, "She almost massacred the whole population of Santa Carla and left none for us..." He laughs and shrugs.
I ignore him. It seemed like I was the only one taking this very seriously. Susie looks up at me, tears clinging to her long black lashes, her lips quivering. "Hey, kid," I hear David say softly. I turn around. He strides over to her sedately. Susie stares up at him, her arms dangling at her sides. "Check it out."
He holds out a stuffed, bright-pink lamb to her – one of the prizes from the gaming stalls – and makes it dance, rocking it back and forth with his hand. Susie's eyes widen and her lips part in surprise. She starts emitting shaky high-pitched giggles and David smiles, thrusting the stuffed animal into her little hands.
It was very bizarre. I'd never seen David act so compassionately before. He notices me staring. "What?" he asks, smirking and making motions with his hands, patting his trench coat pocket before turning on his heel and strutting over to the railings.
I'm speechless. Who is this new David that has replaced the old, despicable one? The question lingers in my head unanswered, but I like it. Susie sits down on the wooden panelling of the Boardwalk and plops the lamb down next to her.
I look over and notice that Marko is staring too. He meets my gaze and smiles his vast smile. He gives me a little wave before inclining his head and watching Susie patiently as she plays with her new gift from David. I stand beside him and look at her. She's barefoot now; her booties are gone. Her face doesn't look so thin anymore. She hugs the stuffed lamb close to her, clutching it tight with her hands.
David is smoking again now. The strong stench of tobacco is something that I'm beginning to associate with the boys. They always seem to have a cigarette hanging between their lips and the smoke constantly burns and stings my nostrils. Paul ambles over to the railings and steps over it, his leather pants squeaking, and sits perched up on the top railing with his legs dangling over the sides. David offers his cigarette to him. "Dessert?" I hear him say, and Paul bursts out laughing and accepts it.
At the start, everything was so dramatic and intense and frightening and unsettling. There was a lot of stuff going on, stuff that I wasn't even certain I wanted to know. Living with the boys, I thought it would always be like that. I thought I would die if I had to live with these terrifying and yet automatically fascinating boys. I thought I would suffer greatly if I never saw my mother ever again.
But, now that I know I'll always have Susie with me, and that these boys mean her no harm, I've actually found myself enjoying their company. To observe them, to see how they interact so closely with each other, it's almost as if they are one, big, tight protective family and Susie and I are included in all of that. A strange feeling of warmth floods through me.
Marko puts his arm around my shoulder, warming me from the slight chill in the night air. "Hey, little sister," he says, bringing me back down into this moment. My face feels wet. "No need to cry," he says quietly and I realize my eyesight is now blurry. I quickly wipe my eyes with my hands. "Let's go home," he says at last, grinning broadly. I nod.
Home? If home is where Susie is, then the boys must be home.