Marko woke up surrounded by earth. Earth and devastating pain. He felt the agony of his skin melting. He felt himself being fried and ripped apart. He felt a dozen spikes piercing his back and chest. After all of that, he was brought back to a much more immediate pain. His own. If he could move his gloved fingers, he'd be able to feel the slow crawl of skin attempting to mend over the gaping wound of his failed staking. An inch too far to the right. Unable to do much else than feel, he finally passed out.
The pain haunted Marko's dreamless sleep for three days. His blood-starved veins finally summoned him back to a waking state, where he regained the strength to move. Just enough to scrape the dirt away from his body and crawl to the surface. His pack had hastily buried him beneath their resting space to heal . They might have expedited the process with blood when they returned, but Marko had the distinct impression from flashes of the pain he'd had three days before that they wouldn't be coming back after all.
"Fuckers," Marko cursed the humans who'd tried to kill him. Cursed them for whatever they'd done to his brothers. Never mind that even though his bond to them was severed now - - so was the much less welcome bond to Max.
Max. What an asshole.
A rat crawled nearby, sniffing cautiously at a patch of bloody earth Marko had dug up. Instinctually, the vampire lashed out without thought and grabbed it before it could run away. Panicked shrieks soothed Marko's violent cravings for a brief moment. The blood was sour. Not enough to help him recover, but enough to help him find another. Then another. He feasted on vermin that night until his claws were caked in blood and fur. The hole in his chest had finally sealed itself, and he could begin to really heal. This time when he slept, it was only two days.
When he woke again, he could walk, but couldn't sustain flight long enough to hunt. There were no rats left in the sleeping den to eat. So he mustered his small fountain of waning energy to make his way to the hotel lobby. The sacred place where they'd kept a bottle each of Max's and David's blood. One for the older vampire's playthings, and another for those deemed worthy of truly joining the pack. Not that Max knew about the second bottle. They'd only ever shared it with each other - - and Michael.
Speak of the devil. As Marko approached the lobby, crawling through the narrow space from their den towards the moth-eaten lace curtain that hid it from view, he picked up a very familiar scent of fresh soap and aftershave.
Scowling in confusion, Marko peered into the dark. Michael must have led the humans to their home, so why was he here now? To finish the job? No. Marko didn't sense any malice. Nothing like that at all.
The drum barrels below remained unlit. Michael sat on the edge of the fountain at the center of the lobby, staring ahead of him at three earthen mounds. Graves. Marko didn't need to guess who was buried beneath them.
Marko's eyebrows shot up immediately. He could smell it in the air. Michael wasn't fully human. So…
The vampire's eyes scanned the graves. David was still alive. It was faint, and it made Marko's stomach twist in knots trying to expend his energy to touch their mental bond, but it was there all the same. A very faint thread. If David was alive, the others could be–well, it would take time, but they could be brought back. Marko wasn't alone after all.
"I'm not a killer," Michael stated aloud, and for a few seconds Marko thought the brunette had been speaking to him. He didn't have the energy to fire out a snappy reply. They'd all thought something similar before their first hunts. Stupid, really. Marko had seen the way Michael's face had shifted at that party on the beach. Who was he kidding?
Relaxing in his little alcove, Marko continued to watch and wait while he picked at the grime beneath his claws.
"Star took Laddie back to his parents a few days ago," Michael continued, leaning forward on his knees and propping up his elbows, "I don't think she's coming back." Marko realized then that the halfling must be addressing David. He didn't doubt the blonde heard, even if Michael didn't know it.
Too bad about Laddie and Star. They would have been an easy meal.
"I can't keep coming back," Michael went on, "I just…"
Marko lost interest when he sensed another rat approaching. Drama wasn't really his thing. That was more David's scene. They all enjoyed head games, of course, but nobody excelled at them quite as well as David.
When he was alone again, and Michael decided to leave, Marko wondered whether he really wasn't coming back. He was so sapped of strength, feeling any sort of bond or thoughts from the halfling wasn't worth the effort. How was he going to manage hunting that night?
His skin didn't itch in anticipation of the sun, so he knew there was plenty of time to figure something out. Marko descended slowly into the lobby, his flight shaky and uncertain. That little effort alone left him completely drained. He needed David's blood. So, too, did the others. For now Marko focused on himself, digging out the bottle in a hidden alcove at the edge of the lobby. Of the two bottles, David's was warm. The other cold as ice. Max truly was dead.
Hands trembling, Marko snatched up the warmer bottle and popped the cook with his teeth, tipping his head back to take a long swig. The surge of heat and strength that came to him was immediate, almost painful. It was dizzying.
With those feelings came mental images, a rush of information he struggled to keep up with. Now Marko knew what had happened to all of them in gruesome detail, and his anger nearly overwhelmed him.
Marko hissed, tearing the bottle from his lips to press a hand to his forehead. A simple death for Michael's little brother and the rest of those assholes was too good for them. They were going to wish they were just a few more faces on the missing persons posters plastered on the boardwalk.
"David," Marko reached out, probing for his pack leader's bond, searching for the thin mental thread tying them together for the moment.
"He hasn't talked to me in days," Sam explained, flipping through several comics in one of many boxes on a folding table in the comic shop, "I'm telling you, guys, he just shut down."
"Not our department, dude," Alan replied.
"We stake 'em, we don't do rehab. This isn't club med," Edgar added with his customary facsimile of an intimidating glare.
Lucy wasn't especially fond of letting Sam leave the house now, after everything that had happened to them, but somehow he had made a convincing enough argument for her to let him at the very least visit the comic shop or boardwalk as long as he stayed with the Frog brothers or surrounded by light and people.
"You guys hunt vampires all the time, you don't know anything I can do to help him?"
Alan shrugged, stamping a magazine with a price tag and slapping it on a discount wire rack, "never had to worry about the ones we didn't kill."
"Told you you'd feel better if you just staked him," Edgar added. Honestly, Sam wasn't even sure if he was joking or not. All the same, he gave Edgar an irritated smile and sneer.
"Thanks a lot," Sam replied, "I really mean it, guys. I'm worried. What would you do if it was one of you?"
"Not a chance," Edgar said, matter-of-factly. He had his eyes trained on a few teenagers browsing comics at the front of the shop in one of the moving bins.
"We're highly-skilled, trained hunters," Alan added, "it's impossible."
Sam rolled his eyes, pulling away from the comics, "ok, hypothetically it happened and you weren't highly-skilled, trained hunters, what then?"
"We'd do what we had to. For the good of the world." Edgar was so confident with his response, Sam didn't doubt he meant it.
"So am I on my own, then?" Sam asked, frustrated.
"It'll pass," Alan told him, "just don't worry about it. There's more of them lurking out there in Santa Carla, and they're a way bigger issue than your brain-damaged brother."
Sam honestly wondered if there was ever a point when Edgar and Alan dropped the tough guy act. He also wondered if they'd ever sort their comics the right way so he could find something new. Maybe they were right about Michael. Maybe he was moping about Star too. A lot had happened in the few weeks they'd come to Santa Carla. Maybe Sam was just more resilient than his mom or brother.
Lucy, for her part, was dealing in her own way. She was trying to focus on helping grandpa clean up the house. She'd helped him deal with Max's ashen remains, while Michael tackled the rest of the bloodsuckers. The fact that he'd even managed to dig out all of the garlic-seasoned holy water bones in the totaled bathroom was a wonder in itself. He'd spent a whole day doing that. Wouldn't let anyone else help.
"He's just sad," Sam finally said, "not brain-damaged."
"Tomato, tomato," Edgar replied.
"You know you're supposed to say the word differently the second time, dude," Alan pointed out.
It was just a game. A show of force. The others were food, prey to toy with until Dwayne and Paul tired of them — Michael, however, belonged to the pack. If the horns happened to impale him during their fight, it would just be a hard lesson. With enough blood, he'd heal. His first kill would have to happen, of course, but David planned for that to happen anyway. No more waiting. His limited patience was past its breaking point, the day's events with Marko aside.
Then everything went wrong, and David could barely register why he was the one suddenly pierced by the mass of horns he'd teased Michael with. He hadn't expected that. He was always taking David by surprise. Ironically, that was one reason he liked the brunette. For an immortal, unpredictability was intoxicating. If every muscle in David's body wasn't screaming at that very moment, he might have been amused.
He wasn't dead, but he couldn't move either. Anyone could have finished the job. Michael didn't. Then David felt a familiar hand on his chin. He heard a pretentious speech he fucking knew had been rehearsed multiple times. Fighting. Crashing. A scream. Death. He felt Max's death! Small blessing, he supposed, before truly passing out. Maybe someone would finish the job after all.
It was morning. He heard voices, though he couldn't understand what they were saying. If he was capable of moving, he'd have snapped at them. David was as good as a butterfly beneath a pin.
Fresh pain permeated every cell in his body when he felt hands pulling at him. Bone clung to skin and muscle. Thin trickles of blood ran went down his chest and back. Then he felt himself being wrapped in something soft and warm. A blanket, maybe? It was hard to tell. David's eyes felt like they were sealed shut. Maybe they were going to drag him into the sun finally.
The blanket was wrapped around him, and as much as he wanted to lash out in anger, the most he could manage was a soft twitch of his upper lip. After an eternity, he felt like he was being carried. It was all too much. He became blissfully numb, and slipped out of consciousness for what might have been a minute or a week. All he knew was that when he next woke, he was being moved again and felt the blanket being unwrapped. Then chunks of earth and dirt were being thrown on him.
Vaguely, he thought he heard someone speaking again. Directly to him. He still couldn't make out any of the words, but they sounded calm. Maybe sad.
The dirt was soothing. In his fresh grave, David felt himself beginning to heal. The first thing to return was his mental strength. He could hear things again, both the world around him and the thoughts of the person above.
"I can't keep coming back. I just—"
"Michael." David whispered in the person's mind at the exact moment he realized who it was. Silence followed.
"—I'm going crazy." Michael spoke again after a startled pause. "I don't know if I'll be back tomorrow. I'm sorry."
He was alone again. David felt the pull in his blood when Michael left. Their bond was still there. He would come back. He didn't have a choice.
A wave of sudden energy filled him, drawing David's attention. Someone was drinking his blood. Marko.
"David?" The other vampire's voice weakly entered his mind, and he immediately latched onto it. Precious sanity.
"I'm here," David replied "barely. I need blood."
"I know. I think I can hunt now. I'll be able to help you when I'm done."
It went against every instinct for them to separate in such vulnerable conditions, but there was no other option. Without blood, things would only get worse. For David. For Marko. Dwayne and Paul could wait, they weren't possibly going to be able to get any worse. Even Michael, half-turned, would need to feed. Surrounded by humans for several days without David and the pack would begin to eat at him sooner or later. Likely sooner now. However long it had been.
"Don't take forever," David told him wearily. Speaking right now was taking too much out of him. He fell back into darkness before he could hear Marko's reply.
"Can't say I've ever had a plumbing job that big," grandpa Emerson grouched, mopping sweat from his brow and neck with a yellow handkerchief.
"Good thing you hired experts, huh grandpa?" Sam giving the old man his typical open-mouthed smile as they both watched the plumber saunter across the front lawn towards his truck.
"Hm," grandpa grunted. He flipped up the shades on his Raybans and leveled his youngest grandson with a stern glare, "no more uninvited guests. Don't need another bill like that."
"Kinda hard to tell someone flying in your living room they're uninvited," Sam replied. His joke fell flat.
Michael watched the exchange between the pair from the top of the stairs. They were standing at the front door after a long day of home repairs. It took every ounce of will for Michael to even be awake these days, but he didn't want to let on that for him nothing had changed after they dealt with the vampires. He was counting the minutes until he could safely lay in bed and block the world out without drawing any attention to himself.
It would be nice to take a shower without competing with Sam for the downstairs bathroom. Patches in the floor and walls aside, though, the newly repaired shower gave Michael an intense sense of revulsion. He could feel Paul's death haunting the place. If he focused, he was sure even his skin would start to redden at the thought of what happened. Sam could use that bathroom.
Michael glanced towards his bedroom door, sorely tempted to get some sleep. He just needed to wait a few more hours, pretend to enjoy whatever dinner Lucy made, and he could get a nap. As long as the sun wasn't down yet, the rest would help. Once it was nightfall, he was lucky if he could close his eyes.
"Hey bud," Sam shouted from downstairs, "you ok?"
Michael shrugged, "I'm alive." He was getting tired of this conversation. Between mom and Sam, it was a constant stream of concern and questions. He just wanted to be alone. He wanted to go back to how things were before the world got a lot fucking scarier.
"I'm going out," Michael suddenly said, surprising even himself as he headed towards his bedroom to grab his jacket and keys.
"Again?" Sam whined, "Mike! Just talk to me, man."
"Got some spackling to do in the living room. Come on, boy, I can use a hand," grandpa told Sam with a knowing glance at Michael. He didn't know whether he should feel grateful for the pity, but he'd take it if it meant he didn't have to talk to anyone.
Michael slipped out of the house before he could get caught by Lucy, knowing the disappointed look she'd give him for not confiding in her about his feelings. Everyone was just too much for him right now.
Not for the first time, he wondered why Star's departure didn't bother him more as he climbed on his bike. A week or so ago he'd have driven off a cliff for her. He almost did, albeit not on purpose. Was it really for Star, though? There didn't seem to be any other real reason. He just wanted to impress her. Yeah, okay, hanging out with the guys literally from a bridge didn't have anything to do with Star, but–
But what? He was tired of cycling through these thoughts back and forth, over and over again. It was all giving him a headache. Everything was. Then there was the craving, too. For blood. Fighting. None of that had gone away. His fingers and gums itched just thinking about it. The Frog brothers didn't know shit. He sure as hell wasn't going to deal with them again, so telling Sam was a no-go. Michael was alone. Maybe he would have to drive off a cliff.
He parked near the hotel, knowing the path by heart with his eyes closed by now. Why did he come back again? They were all dead. All gone. Even if they weren't, this was the last place Michael should ever want to come back to. Yet, here he was again, making his way down rickety steps and into the dim passage to the lobby. Star's perfume drifted in the air, a little less pungent every day.
The graves were still there. They were, after all, dead. He still struggled to wrap his mind around the thought, for some reason. Everything had happened so fast. It was a good thing they were dead, he had to remind himself. They were killers. He'd seen them commit murder with his own eyes.
"This is the last time," Michael told the graves, well, himself. He just needed some space where nobody would bother him. Already he felt some of the tension in his shoulders fading as he finally allowed the exhaustion of the day take over. Michael stumbled to the couch he'd only a week ago been sharing with Dwayne and Marko, falling into it. A puff of dust flew into the air, disturbing a few birds roosting nearby. Just a few hours of rest and he would head home. Then probably just sit awake in his room all night again. That was his life now. Eventually, maybe he'd get used to it. He hoped.
It was the same dream. The same night revisiting his thoughts day after day. When Michael slept, he remembered the first night. Not the one where he'd been led like a puppy through the boardwalk by Star, anxious for every glance and smile she threw back at him. He dreamt of the night in the hotel, the greasy Chinese food, the blazing oil drums, the music — and them.
After everything that happened, it should feel like a nightmare. It didn't. Michael enjoyed this dream, and the blissful ignorance of the future it brought with it. He didn't want to think about what followed the party and the wine.
Sometimes he thought the light was playing tricks on him, and the faces of the boys looked half-human, twisted into menacing grins. The more wine he drank, the less menacing they seemed. Still inhuman, but far more welcoming. Familiar. Comfortable.
In his dreams, the party merged with the bonfire on the beach. Dwayne, Marko, Paul, and David. All alive. Pulling him further from his fear. At first, it played out like reality. He'd watch from his perch at the tree, safe from the call of the party. Then, day by day, every time Michael slept - it began to change.
The first time it happened, Michael watched from the base of the tree, arms crossed. He couldn't summon his fear anymore. After that, there would be times he followed closer, prepared already with the knowledge of what was going to happen. From there, sometimes a hand would graze his cheek while he watched them. A claw. He'd smell blood and shared in the giddiness they all felt.
Then, finally, on one of the days Michael went to the hotel to nap, in his dream he killed for the first time. It was David who brought the man to him, David who guided Michael to the rich artery pumping under warm skin. David, whose laughter echoed in his mind long after he woke. From then on, the only time Michael found any peace from his gnawing pain and guilt was in his dreams. It couldn't hurt to pretend, could it?
The summer days crawled by, but bit by bit the house looked a little less like a war zone, and more like the cozy Texas Chainsaw mansion Sam and Michael had become familiar with when they first came to Santa Carla. Lucy even managed to work up the mental fortitude to find a new job.
"It's flowers," she told them, "I just arrange and sell them a few days out of the week, and only when the sun's up." Her healthy fear of going out at night had blossomed when Max showed his true colors. Still, she was an optimist.
Sam was less focused on comics lately, noticing that his brother still hadn't opened up to him. Once or twice he was sure he caught Michael staring at grandpa or Lucy's neck. Nanook's warning growls in passing didn't help much.
"What if, like, there's another head vampire we didn't find?" Sam asked, pressing the phone to his ears while he perused the fridge, "I don't think Mike's dumb enough to drink vampire blood twice."
"Sleep with a stake, my friend," Edgar advised.
"Use a mirror and jab him right through the heart, dude. Or put holy water in his kool aid," Alan added.
"You don't think maybe it just takes a few days for the stuff to leave his system? Maybe it works like drugs!" Sam said, suddenly inspired. That made plenty of sense.
"It's been a month," Edgar replied gravely, everything was always so intense with this guy, "and bloodsuckers don't work like that. It's a rule in the manual we gave you."
"It's a comic, Ed."
"A survival comic," Alan added, "saved your life, bud. Never forget that."
Sam grabbed a Tupperware container of spaghetti and slapped it on the kitchen counter. Closing the fridge door behind him, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Michael standing near the doorway silently watching him. Wearing that dumb jacket, too.
"Jeeze, Mike!" Sam snapped, pulling the phone aside, "a little privacy?"
Nanook was tied up outside right then, or he'd probably have started yapping at the older Emerson, especially the way he was staring at Sam.
"Mike? Michael, you're freaking me out." Sam waved a hand, suddenly nervous. Edgar and Alan said something on the phone, but he couldn't hear them.
"Mom's asleep," Michael said softly.
"Yeah, duh. She went to bed an hour ago," Sam replied, trying not to sound scared. "What the hell is up with you?"
"Nothing," Michael jerked his head to the side, looking towards the kitchen window, "just tired a lot lately. Really tired."
Sam softened a little, "then sleep. I can hear you pacing all the time, when's the last time you got some rest? You look like shit."
"I love you too, Sam," Michael replied dryly, "I'm going for a ride." He turned towards the door, "just figured I'd let you know. I'll be back."
"Wait, hold on," Sam stepped towards him, "lemme make you a plate."
"Not hungry."
"You don't sleep, you don't eat. Mike, I'm really worried about you. What's going on?"
"Not tonight, Sam," Michael wearily headed towards the door. He really did look worse by the day.
Sam set the phone on the kitchen counter, forgetting it wasn't cordless and nearly knocking it to the ground.
"Stop, Mike, ple—" Sam caught his breath, noticing something out of the corner of his eye. The kitchen window. He was standing close enough to cast a reflection. So was Michael. Only one of them showed up. He rounded on his brother, who was already out the door.
"Mike!" Sam shouted after him, "Mike!"
It was too late. His brother left. Whimpering, Sam ran back to the phone and snatched it up, "guys, I need your help. I think we missed one of them. Not Mike, asshole, one of the vampires!"
He said he would stop going back. It wasn't helping him, dwelling on this shit. Michael was getting into the habit of making empty promises to himself. This was the first time he'd actively driven to the hotel immediately after nightfall, which was only going to freak Lucy out when Sam ratted on him. He just couldn't seem to make himself care anymore. About anything.
For the first time, Michael parked his bike near the others instead of alone near the steps to the hotel. It was just closer. They looked remarkably pristine for bikes that had been sitting untouched for well over a month now. Michael didn't really give it too much thought. He was focused entirely on getting into the hotel.
He hesitated, halfway up the steps towards the cave, looking back at the cliffs at the water below. It wouldn't be a bad idea to stop coming here once and for all. Deep down, he felt it would be, but maybe that was why Michael was so miserable. He couldn't just let this place and everything that happened there go. He could get right back on his bike now and never turn back.
A sliver of cold ocean air brushed at his forehead, carrying with it the scent of salt and wet grass. It had rained that afternoon, and everything seemed a little bit more vibrant as a result. The night was alive, and all Michael could do was appreciate it from a distance. He was numb to everything now. Turning back towards the hotel, he finished climbing the steps and went inside. One last night, and that was it. He'd stay home from now on.
