“Michael, my boy. I’m almost done; help me load up the last one, the Blondie.” Grandpa heaved a sigh, wiping at his sweaty forehead with physical exhaustion.
“May I ask, Dad, where you plan on taking these bodies?” Lucy spoke up, a sure cracking in her typically steady voice.
“We have to burn them, my dear. Isn't any other way, you see. Don’t decompose quite like we do.” At this, Lucy paled.
“They are, gone…right?” Michael spoke up quietly. He wasn't too sure, and who could be? With creatures who were once the definition of undead, yet so full of life.
“Oh yes, Michael, as dead as a dogs dinner.”
Nodding once, Michael tried hard to think of something, rather anything else, to ease his mind to what would come next. After shaking his head clear, he proceeded to follow Grandpa up to the room, the very room where he had impaled David through his once-beating heart. The thought of such a fresh turn of events however, provided a burst of uneasiness, to which brought a guilt-ridden Michael toppling over onto the stair’s handrails for support, knuckles turning a sickly white at the intense pressure.
“Hurry up now, Michael. Let’s get this over with.” Grandpa unabashedly called from up ahead.
“Yeah, that’s—not going to be a problem.” And so he trotted the rest of the way up the stairs, swallowing his pride, and finally managed to catch up.
As he entered the room, Grandpa, of course, had already begun to tug David up and off the animal horns that punctured him. Michael stood staring in shock, his feet suddenly unable to carry him any further. The full effect of what he had done, what they all had done, hitting him full force. He sprinted quickly to the nearest trash bin, emptying out the contents of his stomach. This of course happened to be the watery blood of a rat, Michael’s very last meal, only causing him to feel an increased sense of nausea. Grandpa had seized his actions upon hearing his grandson’s retching, following the sounds out to the bathroom to rub soothing circles into his grandson’s shoulders.
“It’s alright Michael; you just go on ahead back to your Mother and Star. I can handle this by myself.”
Michael shook his head sharply, pushing Grandpa back aside till he was able to stand back and re-enter the room. He had determinedly decided he could face what he had done. That was, until his head turned cautiously to where David lay.
He looked angelic, smiling even now meeting his true death, and the innocence which Michael had thought for sure had been lost, had somehow returned to his solemn features. Needless to say, he felt disgusted with himself. Everything immortality had tried to push onto him, the killing of innocence, he had gone and done myself as a reinvented mortal. He was now the killer. He had killed them; he had killed these poor boys.
He raised a shaky hand to his wavering face. Grandpa looked as if to speak up, but Michael quickly made a motion to silence him.
“Let me have this one,” He demanded softly. “We, uh, have some bad blood. I want this one.”
Grandpa nodded, smiled even, as if understanding that Michael must be harboring some vengeful feelings towards the boy. “Of course, Michael,” he assured. “He’s all yours.”
With a final pat to his shoulder and a side-step across a wooden floor, Grandpa strolled away, leaving Michael alone to brood.
After moments composure Michael hesitantly raised David the rest of the way off the horns, and into his careful arms. He was heavy, and cold. Colder than Michael had remembered, even when he was with them as a vampire, and it was then he began to feel true loss. He cried out, holding David’s smiling face in his hands, rocking him back and forth as he sobbed. Michael waited, waited for what would never come, the return of life to this boy, for that teasing of words that came with a curve of knowing lips.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” He finally choked out, having David cradled against him now for a good half hour.
Continually stared at an inert face, intently looking for any aspect of life, Michael’s efforts only earned more hot tears.
“Fuck!” He screamed out, slamming his curled fists in frustration against the wall. Through his spurt of emotion, he couldn't be bothered who heard him.
After his outburst subsided, Michael quickly stood, straightening out his shirt and running a tired hand through unruly black locks. He had to calm himself down, think this through. If he didn't, perhaps he would do something irrational, he would--
--Rationalizing the situation, Michael concluded David was innocent. He had been all along, that’s right! It was his sire, he was the demon, and he had imposed his devilish ways onto his unknowing boys. David wasn't Michael’s enemy, not really. He had only accepted him into his group of friends, into his life, his offer of immortality being something he believed to be grand, all under the influence of Max.
Max, his sire, had wrongfully desired Lucy Emerson, and it was that which led both Michael and Sam to David.
Nodding once, Michael accepted what he had contemplated to be that of truth. Hoisting David up and into his arms, he returned back down the stairs and out the door to his bike. Despite his family’s proposed suggestions, he had come to the decision that David deserved a more proper burial. A final goodbye, and if not for him, then for Michael himself.
Every part of his being wished then that he could have buried all the boys himself, but Grandpa had already disposed of them supposedly, and so Michael tried desperately not to dwell on the thought of their abysmal fate. Kick starting his bike and setting David carefully behind himself, Michael wrapped David’s arms around his waist for support before setting off. Traveling quickly through the night, Michael finally reached that cursed abandoned hotel, the one the boys were oh so fond of. It was the best resting place he could think of, the old building being more or less David’s own throne.
Once he had carried him inside, Michael realized he had no real idea where to put him. He supposed he could dig up a hole, well, anywhere in the place, but for some strange reason whenever he got to digging he kept getting a rising sense of unease.
“Oh, hell,” Michael groaned, rubbing at tired, puffy eyes. “It’s not like I’m going to be coming back here. I’ll just lay him to sleep….on the bed.”
And so he did just that, setting him down as gently as one could, pulling the covers over him softly. Michael let the lace of the canopy cloud around him, although was sure nobody would ever discover the place, much less his sleeping body.
“Don’t decompose quite like we do.” Grandpa’s words echoed throughout his clouded mind.
He cursed softly and vowed to never return to look at his youthful face.