Disclaimer: I own nothing at all to do with The Lost Boys. I just love the film and the vamps, especially one in particular. Thank you so much for your kind reviews. A big thank you to Sunlit Mercy, LiViNg ThE oBsEsSiOn, XOLovelyLadyBugXO, and Hollywood Angel. So glad you are still liking my story and, in all honesty, I wouldn't be writing it if it wasn't for you awesome guys! :-)

I hope you enjoy this chapter. Although there's no David or Marko, or Dwayne or Paul in this one, I guarantee there will very much be in the next. Hope it's not a disappointment.

Chapter Twelve

Sleeping was becoming easier than I imagined.

No longer do I wake up, gasping and frightened, reaching out for Susie. I supposed it was because I had finally accepted what has become of her; that she truly was one of them. And that while I was like this, I was nothing like them. Nothing like her...

At least not physically, inside.

I sleep all day now. Night is when I am truly awake, when I arise now, with them; the boys.

Having stayed up all night with them, it was in the daytime, the early pale mornings, the sunny afternoons, that I was reduced to this old bed, in this endless slumber that turned my days quickly into nights. But sometimes I can't help pretending, pretending that I am back home sleeping safely in the confines of my own familiar bed, back there to where my mother would come in during the mornings and say hello, then slip out again.

Only I could never quite conjure up the reproduction of my mother. It was horrifying to admit that I have in fact forgotten her, well and truly now. Had Susie done the same thing? Had she forgotten her? Had she forgotten her father as well? And did she see Max in his place?

I woke up shivering, and could tell that at least today it would be different.

I try to cover myself, and then as soon I remember what happened to the bed sheets; they are ripped apart pieces of fabric, tangled around my feet and ankles, the victims of David's 'killer mood' – or so Paul and Marko had enlightened me. My head is pounding, for reasons unknown to me, and my insides feeling sore and beaten.

I wrap my arms gently around my stomach, then realize I'm feeling hungrier unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. Why was I feeling this way, so peckish all of a sudden? Then the answer automatically came to me, the echo of David's thrilling voice replaying through my mind: "It's just the finest doobie Santa Carla has to offer..."

Oh!

I climb slowly off the bed, the springs squeaking as I do so, and then all of a sudden this excruciating amount of pain shoots through me, from one of my toes up to my ankle, and I gasp audibly. I fall sideways back onto the spongy mattress of the bed, chewing the insides of my mouth to prevent a yelp or scream from escaping. Not that there was even a slightest possibility of waking up Susie or the boys anyway...

With two trembling hands, I lift my foot up carefully, examining it, trying to find the reasons as to why it would be hurting so much right now. A shard of glass is wedged deep in between the skin on my heel, a small dark red drop of blood spilling out like a teardrop and onto the mattress. I watch with morbid curiosity as the drop of blood spreads slowly against the white sheet, until the whole of the mattress is drenched in blood.

What do I need? What do I need? I chant it over and over in my head. Water. I need water!

Through the cracks high up in the ceiling, I see a bright, faint beam of orange light peeking through and establish it must be near sundown. The air in the cave is filled with warm moisture, stuffy, and I close my eyes, willing myself to think of nothing but the calm quiet surrounding me. I try to breathe slowly and deeply through my nostrils, ignoring the constant throbbing and aching in my foot.

My throat feels parched, dry, and I have difficulty in swallowing against the thick lump in my throat. Water was what I needed the most right now, and food...

I try once again to climb slowly off the bed, this time successfully avoiding the shards of glass intersected in the dirt. I look around, once, twice, three times, and then find what I was looking for; there, positioned in the middle of the bedside table, was a dusty bottle. I could tell it was filled with something, an unknown liquid, but then I realized I would have to settle on any kind of liquid right now; it was the closest thing to water I could find...

I hop over to the table, clutching it with both hands for support. Examining it closer, it didn't look like any normal kind of alcohol bottle. Jewels. The light leaking in through the cracks in the ceiling, I noted, seemed to glint off it, and as I reached out a shaking hand and lifted it up into the air, the sun glared off the jewels, ricocheting this way and that way – depending how you held it – and painfully bright into my eyes.

I saw that the liquid level was all the way to the nozzle; obviously the boys hadn't drunken from it yet, for reasons unknown to me. Licking my chapped lips to gain a little moisture, I uncap it and take a swallow.

My stomach clenches at the foreign taste.

It wasn't water.

Was it... blood?