"I told you not to come in here anymore." Max could barely keep the scowl off his face. David smiled, as did the other Lost Boys, but they did as requested. Back out into the night, back to hunting. Max looked back at Lucy, the scowl still resting at the corner of his lips. "Wild kids."
"Oh, they're just young. We were that age, too, once. Only they dress better." Lucy brushed off the scowl with her soft, mild laugh. Max couldn't help it. She was perfect. An angel, heaven-sent. The perfect mother...
"You've got a generous nature. I like that in a person. My name is Max..."
I've been watching, while you've been coughing
I've been drinking life while you've been nauseous
And so I drink to health, while you kill yourself
And I've got just one thing that I can offer
It was later. Most families were settling down to a late summer's eve dinner. The Boardwalk was flooded still, but mostly with teenagers and adults having a good time, the kiddies all gone to bed. Max sat in his convertible, parked on one of the overlooks off the road nestled in the hills above the city.
"They're just too wild. There's no question about it. They need a mother." Max seemed to be talking to himself, and pretty much was, as the corpse of the brunette in the passenger-side seat wasn't talking anymore. Her glassy eyes stared down at the Boardwalk and the sea's ever rolling waves. "They need rules, a firm hand, guidance!"
Max sighed and wiped his bloodied lips on a Kleenex he pulled from the glove compartment. It was beginning again as it had before. The boys always got reckless, careless, and wild. It didn't matter what century the world was revolving around in: it was a fact. Boys needed a mother as well as a father.
I'm not a martyr, I'm not a prophet
And I won't preach to you but here's a caution
You'd better understand, I won't hold your hand
But if it helps you mend, then I won't stop it
His own "father", Max remembered, had faced the same challenges when raising his brood. Thankfully enough, Camellia had come along and fulfilled the need. She had been a good "mother", caring and kind. It surely belied the cold-blooded killer beneath those porcelain features, but women were a lot different in the 19th century compared to the women of today. All this talk of breaking the glass ceiling and women's empowerment and equal rights. It did get on Max's nerves after a while.
"But Lucy's different. A lot like Camellia. Kind. Generous. Caring. Look how she helped that lost child! Saved him from the wolves, as it were." Max chuckled to himself. Those "wolves" prowling Santa Carla were of his own creation, but still...
Drown if you want
And I'll see you at the bottom
Where you'll crawl, on my skin
And put the blame on me so you don't feel a thing
Max was tired. Not just physically, but mentally. He was tired of covering for the Boys. Hiding their killings, paying the cops and political offices of the town to keep their existence covered up. It was a drain on him financially. It was time to get them a Mother.
And her name was Lucy. Sweet sweet Lucy Emerson...