Ties Stronger Than Blood

He knew they would come, and he was not disappointed.

Marko went to the boardwalk, to the staging area where the concerts were held. He went up and sat on the edge of the stage, legs dangling over the side, and just waited. From his vantage point he saw two of the more senior members of the band tacking up hastily prepared notices that said the concert had been cancelled, due to a death in the family. He liked that. He'd have to remember later to thank whoever had drawn up the signs. He knew damn good and well that the wording hadn't been Mother Ruth's idea.

The men had glanced toward the lonely figure sitting on the stage, but they did not approach. In a Christian based community like the one they traveled in, the normal response in a case like this would have been to gather the bereaved and comfort them. But there were already rumors circulating about the circumstances, and no one felt comfortable being too close to John or Marko--the most deeply wounded.

So Marko sat alone as the afternoon deepened into evening, then twilight. The sun sank below the horizon. Many people came from the boardwalk, read the signs, and went away with various levels of disappointment and curiosity. No one approached him. There was something about the lonesome figure that discouraged intrusion on his isolation.

The last skim of light had faded behind the western horizon when Marko heard the drone of motorcycle engines in the distance. He began to watch the boardwalk. Soon he saw the three unmistakable figures making their way through the thin crowd. The Lost Boys paused at the edge of the concert area, obviously puzzled. David stared out at Marko, his eyes questioning, then looked at the notice. All three of the boys moved closer to it as they read, then almost as one they started swiftly to the stage, concern clear in their expressions. They came to a stop right before Marko; almost exactly where they had been when they had listened to him sing the night before. Now that time seemed to Marko so far away--almost in another life.

David looked up at Marko, reading the grief etched into his expression. Now he looked like a tragic angel--carrying the burden of sorrow for mankind, rather than the gift of joy. His voice low, David said, "John?"

Marko shook his head. "Luther." His face crumpled, and he started sobbing.

Immediately the boys sprang up on the stage beside him, surrounding him with a shield of hard flesh, love, and support. David sat beside him, his arms going around Marko, and the younger boy finally let himself collapse. He fell against David's chest, clutching his leather jacket, and howled out his grief and rage. For a long time David just held him, rocking him gently, stroking his hair, waiting for him to be able to say more.

Gradually the weeping slowed, dying to sniffles. Marko gave a breathy sob that was part laughter. "Got snot on your jacket." Dwayne silently pulled a bandana out of his pocket and offered it. Marko took it, saying, "Thanks, man." He wiped his face, then honked into it. After a second's hesitation, he offered it back to Dwayne with a lopsided smile that was almost a rictus. Dwayne returned the smile gravely, shaking his head. "Don't blame you. I may need this later, anyway."

"Can you tell us what happened?" David asked.

"I'll try. I gotta warn you, I may not make much sense. This whole situation is so wrong, so bizarre, that I've had a hard time making myself believe it was happening."

"Just go on. We have a high tolerance for bizarre."

So Marko told them. As he spoke, Dwayne buried his face in his hands, throwing his head forward to let his hair hide him from the world once again. He hadn't resorted to this hiding gesture for a long time, and perhaps the fact that he'd been driven to it added to Paul's rage. Paul couldn't stay still. He stalked the stage behind Marko, boot heels ringing.

At last Marko sighed, "...and he just followed her out of the hospital, like a whipped dog. I couldn't MAKE him come with me--it would have been like tearing at him even more, when he was already so hurt. God, I can't believe that woman. How can someone so shallow have such a capacity for evil? It IS evil, it's not just meanness. Meanness is pretty casual--evil takes effort." Marko looked down at the damp bandana he was twisting in his hands, but instead of beginning to cry again, he stuffed it into his pocket, his eyes remaining dry. "When she attacked Luther, she might as well have just stabbed John in the heart, and she knew it."

"You can't stay with her," said David quietly. "You know that?"

Marko nodded, but replied, "But I can't leave John, and even after this, I don't know if I can get him to leave her. Especially now. He might have stood up if he still had Luther, but now... David, if you could have seen him. It was like he was dead, but still hurting."

"We'll work something out," said David. "But the first thing we need to do is to get him away from her."

Dwayne looked up. "You mean take him to the cliffs?" There was clear disbelief in his voice.

David looked at Marko. "You've been there, and you know him. How do you think he'd do there?" David didn't answer. He knew it was a generous thought, and he didn't want to offend his new friends. "Tell the truth, kid. You won't find any hurt feelings here."

"I'm not sure it'd make much difference where he was right now, but normally--it would be like being buried for him."

David grunted. "Suits some natures, doesn't suit others. Nothing personal." He thoughtfully lit a cigarette, squinting through the smoke. After a moment he glanced over at the other Lost Boys. "What do you think about Max?"

Paul made a face. "You know what I think of Max."

Dwayne swatted back at him half-heartedly. "That aside, I don't think you could just spring John on Max." He gave David a significant look. "He might react badly. But maybe if we had a little while to promote the idea... You know he's gonna want Marko in the family. If it was a package deal, he might go for it." Dwayne shrugged. "After all, John's already demonstrated that he isn't the sort who'll challenge Max for head of family." Dwayne winced, then looked at Marko apologetically. "I didn't mean..."

"I know you didn't, and you're right. It's not an insult to John. He's not a forceful person. He's a follower, not a leader. He's a gentle person. He did everything he could to take care of me, but he just didn't have it in him to defy Ruth."

"Well, he's gonna have a little more back up." David tossed away the cigarette. "I think the thing to do is get you two a room somewhere--somewhere she can't trace. There are a good number of no-tell motels around Santa Carla."

"Both of us?" asked Marko.

David nudged him with his shoulder. "Not trying to get rid of you, kid--you know that. But you also know that John's gonna need you with him for the next few days, and you wouldn't feel right away from him." Marko nodded, relieved that David understood. "Okay, that's enough of a plan to start with. Let's go get him."

They all hopped down off the stage and started toward the boardwalk. "Geez," said Marko. "I just thought--John on a motorcycle."

"So we steal the station wagon," said David. "Don't worry about it."

Dwayne and Paul trailed after the other two. Paul hooked an arm around Dwayne's neck as they walked. "Okay, we get them stashed, then..." He chuckled, and there was a spark of red in his eyes. "What are you gonna do to her?"

"Haven't thought that far ahead," said Dwayne. "Something nasty." He smiled, and it was sharp and wild. "That is, if David leaves anything for us."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

They pulled into the motel parking lot, flanking the station wagon. As they dismounted, one of the nearby rooms opened, and one of the musicians peered out. When he saw Marko he came out. "Hey, Mark. We were kind of worried about you. Is it true about Luther?"

"Is what true?" asked Marko. There was no telling what sort of rumors they'd heard.

"Luther had a heart attack, or something."

"Yeah," said Marko. "I'm afraid so."

The man scowled. "And I'd bet my last dollar the bitch is at the bottom of it." He shook his head. "Well, I guess that's what finally got John to stand up to her."

"John stood up to her?" There was clear disbelief in Marko's voice.

"They had a right old screaming match this afternoon," said the man, with a touch of satisfaction. "Couldn't really tell much of what they actually said, but I know Luther was mentioned a good number of times." His forehead puckered. "And Judas. I distinctly remember hearing John yell something about Judas. And I'd never have credited it, but I think they actually tussled. We share a wall with them, and there was some thumping and banging going on. It quieted down, though."

"Well, more power to John," said Marko. "I'll talk to you later, but I'm getting him out of here now." Marko went and knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again. "John? Come on, John. I'm here to get you out of this place." Silence from inside the room. "John, I know you're hurting, but come on."

Marko looked over at the musician. "Are you sure he didn't leave?"

"I don't THINK he did." The musician peered at the station wagon. "I was half expecting one or the other of them to peel out after that rumpus. But John came over a little after it. I didn't like the way he looked, but I guess he was all right. He was looking for change."

"Change? He wanted change?"

"A lot of it, all dimes and quarters. I offered him some nickels, but he said it had to be silver." The man shrugged, missing the looks that the Lost Boys gave each other. "I guess he ran into a picky vending machine. I couldn't give him more than a dollar's worth, so I think he hit up some of the others. Anyway, he must've found it, and I saw him go back into his room. I haven't heard anyone leave since then."

"What about Ruth?"

"She'd have had to go on foot, and that doesn't strike me as her style."

"We'll figure this out," said David. "In the meantime, you ought to go inside, dude." He gave the man a pointed look. "You could catch your death out here." The man thought about ignoring the comment, but Paul and Dwayne moved up behind David, giving him hard looks, and he changed his mind, going back inside.

Marko knocked again, saying, "Look, let's just get John and go. As much as I want to just punch her out, he doesn't need any more stress right now."

"Fine," David agreed. "We just get him out. There will be plenty of time to discuss things with Ruth later. I get the feeling that she isn't really good at picking up quickly. She's not going to be thinking about leaving--she's gonna be trying to figure out how she can keep her gravy train on track." Marko had continued knocking. "Kid, even if they were ignoring us, I think there'd have been some sort of response by now."

"I'm starting to get worried. Maybe I ought to get the manager."

"No need for that."

"But he'll have a key. I know we could kick the door in, but the neighbors are already freaked, and the last thing I want is the cops called again."

"That won't be necessary. Step aside, my friend. Dwayne?"

The dark haired boy stepped forward, digging in his pocket. "Show time." He came up with a small ring of picks. After studying the lock, he shook his head. "Might as well have used chewing gum." He chose a pick and started probing the lock, while the other boys gathered around him, shielding him.

Paul noticed Marko's expression and explained, "Dwayne hates locks. He's got a sort of history with them, ya know?" Marko recalled Dwayne's story, and nodded in understanding.

There was a click, and Dwayne put away his tools. "Done. Shit, I could have probably done it with a paper clip." He stepped aside to let Marko get to the door.

Marko knocked again. "John, I'm coming in, okay?" He opened the door. "NO!"

The boy's anguished scream took the others by surprise. Marko lunged into the room, and the Lost Boys came after him, so hasty to follow that they bunched up in the door. It took a moment of shoving for everyone to get inside.

Horror was waiting. John Talmadge was stretched out on one of the narrow motel beds, staring blankly up at the ceiling. His shirtsleeves were rolled high. There were long, deep gashes on the inside of each forearm, running from the wrists up to the elbow. It was hard to tell through the thick smears of blood, but David thought that he had probably made several cuts in each arm, unable to get the length he wanted in one pass.

One arm hung off the side of the mattress. The mutilations must have been done some time ago, because the blood no longer dripped to join the huge, crimson puddle soaking into the cheap carpet. John's hand hung limply, fingers slightly curled, the blood having streaked his palm, and David had a brief mental flash--an image from the dim memories of his childhood. It had been a particularly lurid painting of the Crucifixion, with a Centurion just driving the spike through Jesus' hand.

The image fled as Marko threw himself on the bed, dragging John's body half-upright, holding him as he cried, "Get an ambulance."

"Marko," said David quietly.

"Call them! I can give blood. The other musicians will, too. If we're fast..."

David reached out, catching the boy's face in his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Marko! It's too late. He's gone."

"No." It was a soft wail.

"God, I'm so sorry, kid, but he is. You know it, too. You knew it the second you saw him."

Marko shook his head, but stopped. He hugged John's limp body tighter, and whispered, "He... he's cold. He's as cold as you are." Then he looked up quickly, hope flaring in his eyes.

David saw it, and knew what he was thinking. "No. It's not that I don't want to, Marko. You know I'd do anything for you, right? But it's too late. Once they're gone, you can't call them back. We barely made it with Dwayne. John must've done this not too long after he got back."

Marko pressed his face to John's still chest and wept, but only for a very little while. Then he gently eased his grandfather back onto the bed, wiping away the tears. He left sticky red smears on his cheeks. "I knew he'd be lost without Luther, but... but I didn't think he'd go this far. Our denomination is against suicide."

"I guess he didn't find what he needed in this." Paul nudged the Bible that was laying open on the bedside table. "He must've been reading it right before. Hell, DURING. There's blood on the page."

"I wonder what he'd read at a time like that?" said Dwayne, curious.

"-I- wonder where Ruth is?" David's voice was dangerous. "If she was here, she could have stopped this. Not that I think she'd really care enough, but she wouldn't want her piece of property to do anything so permanent without her permission."

Dwayne picked up the book, and Marko said absently, "The police won't like evidence being moved."

He received a disbelieving look, and Dwayne peered at the book. "Matthew."

"New Testament," said Marko heavily. "Should have been Old Testament--eye for an eye justice. What chapter?"

"Um... Twenty-seven."

"Right in the middle of the story of the betrayal and condemnation."

"There's a mark, right here. Like he was running his finger under the lines. It's right at the beginning."

"When the morning was come, all the chief priests and elders of the people took counsel against Jesus to put him to death," Marko recited. "And when they had bound him, they led him away, and delivered him to Pontius Pilate the governor. Then Judas, which had betrayed him, when he saw that he was condemned, repented himself, and brought again the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and elders, Saying, I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood. And they said..."

His stopped, his eyes widening. "They... Silver. Where's Ruth?"

"What is it, Marko?" asked David.

Marko stood, and went to the closet, opening it to peer inside. "Silver. John only wanted silver."

"I don't get it."

The bathroom was closed. Marko went and opened it. He stood in the door, one hand on the knob, the other on the frame, staring into the little room. The boys saw his back begin to shake, and he was laughing--softly at first, but it climbed quickly.

"Marko!" David went to him, gripping his shoulders. The laughter quieted a little, but it didn't stop. David pulled Marko away from the door and gently pushed him over to Paul and Dwayne. They slipped their arms around him when his knees started to buckle.

David stepped up to the bathroom door and peered inside. "Huh."

"What is it?" asked Dwayne.

"Found Ruth," David said laconically.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Marko was on the couch in Max's living room. His head rested in Dwayne's lap, and whenever a shudder wracked the smaller boy's body, Dwayne would stroke his hair, murmuring soothingly. Paul looked at his lover questioningly, and Dwayne shrugged. Paul turned and went back into the kitchen.

Max and David were sitting at the table, and Paul said, "I dunno if he's asleep or not--he's got his arm over his eyes. He keeps shaking, but it could be bad dreams."

"Yeah, I think he's gonna be familiar with those for some time," said David sourly.

"All right," said Max. "He's settled. Go on, I want to know exactly what happened."

David snorted. "Hell, Max--I'm a vampire, not a psychic. It read pretty clear, though. John was a suicide--that's obvious."

"And Ruth?"

David grinned. "Ya know, I really wish I'd had a chance to get to know John better. I guess he must've snapped when it finally sunk in that Luther would never have been in that situation if not for his loving wifey--and that she knew how hard it would hit the little guy, but didn't give a damn. Put that on top of all the other lives she'd screwed over--his daughter and son-in-law, him, Marko... Guess it was just too much. He decided on a little poetic justice before he went." David started to describe what he'd found when he'd entered the bathroom.

The fixtures were surprisingly sturdy for such a cheap establishment. It they hadn't been, Ruth might have survived. Ruth was a short woman--John had managed to hang her from the showerhead, using a pair of her own pantyhose.

Max frowned. "How did he manage that? Even more curious, how did he manage that without being discovered? I'm sure she would have fought, unless he'd knocked her unconscious first."

"Don't think so. Her hands were tied behind her back, too. And she might have been short, but she was a husky bitch. He'd have had a hard time hauling her up far enough."

"That's another thing. Were her feet tied?" David shook his head. "Well, why didn't she just stand on the tub rim, then, instead of dangling?"

"I expect she tried. There were scratch marks on the porcelain. You know what I think? I think that good ol' gentle John stood there while she strangled, and knocked her back down every time she started to get a foothold."

Max frowned in distaste. "That's..."

"Cool?"

"I was going to say unnecessarily cruel."

"You didn't get a chance to know her, Max."

"All right, the man next door heard banging--that was probably Ruth being hung, kicking against the tub and wall. Was she gagged? He didn't mention any real screams, just shouting."

David smiled slowly. "Yeah, she was--after a fashion. Her cheeks were all bulged out, eyes popping... She was sort of lavender. I thought they were supposed to be blue?" David thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Anyway, I always heard that the tongue stuck out, you know? Hers wasn't, and I got curious, and looked. Her mouth was a little open. I dug this out." He tossed a wadded, damp clot of paper on the table.

"What is that?"

"At first I thought it was pages from the Bible, but..." He spread it out, and pointed. "See that?"

Max looked closer. "It looks like hand writing."

"It's a signature." David grinned. "It's the contract she forced Marko to sign." David chuckled as Max stared at it, imagining the bland looking man he'd met briefly in his store shoving page after page down the throat of his struggling wife. Like I said--poetic."

"Very poetic." They looked up to find Marko standing in the doorway. He was pale and a little unsteady, but calm. He looked at David. "Do you know HOW poetic?"

"Tell me," said David quietly.

"Are you familiar with the story of Judas Iscariot?"

"He betrayed Jesus with a kiss, right? You were reciting from his story at the motel. That passage John was reading."

"I don't think I finished it." Marko closed his eyes. "Then Judas, which had betrayed him, when he saw that he was condemned, repented himself, and brought again the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and elders..."

"Silver," said David. "Quarters and dimes only. Not much real silver in them these days, but it's the closest thing we have, I guess."

Marko nodded, continuing, "Saying, I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood. And they said, What is that to us? see thou to that. And he cast down the pieces of silver in the temple..."

David sat up. "In the tub." He looked at Max. "They were in the tub, just under her feet--a jumble of dimes and quarters."

"If you'd counted, it would have been thirty exactly. He cast down the pieces of silver in the temple, and departed... and went and hanged himself."

"Good lord," Max whispered.

Marko leaned against the doorframe. "I'm alone now."

David got up and went to hold him. "No you're not. You'll never be alone again, little brother."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It was some time after the tragedy. Not long enough for it to be entirely forgotten, but long enough for it to have faded and lost it's primary place in gossip. It would probably become an urban legend, something to be told to gawking tourists.

There were plenty of tourists out tonight--plenty of locals, too. It was a warm Saturday night. The boardwalk was thronged, the rides full, the people waiting in line to lose their money at the games.

Four young men were making their way through the crowd--sometimes jostling the passer-bys, sometimes slipping through spaces that seemed too small to let them pass. All wore leather and denim, heavy boots, jackets that dripped chains, or chrome studs. Three were fair haired, the fourth dark. All were young and high spirited.

The tallest blond boy almost seemed to dance attendance on the dark one, clowning and showing off, earning smiles and affectionate jeers. The other two stayed close to each other also. They spoke and laughed--more quietly than their friends, but just as intensely.

They were passing the comic book store when the smaller blond boy, the one with great, dark eyes, whose hair curled about an almost sweet face, jerked to a halt, staring at the store's window. His friends walked on a step or two before realizing that he wasn't with them, and they came back quickly, gathering around him.

There was a flyer taped to the glass inside. It was faded from sun, and the dampness that had condensed on the glass during the colder months. It was almost impossible to read now. The lettering was nothing but a blur, and the picture at the top had become not much more than a few dark blobs. All you could tell was that it had once represented three people--a woman, a man, and a youth.

The boy reached out slowly, his fingertip touching the glass just over the blotch on the right--the tallest one. You could barely make out the shape of an arm curving so that a hand rested on the shoulder of the smallest figure.

The young man who had been walking with him laid a hand on the boy's back, and his friend looked over at him. Nothing was said, but something passed between them. The boy gave him a watery smile, shrugging. He started walking again, and the others joined him.

They were going against the main flow of traffic, and received occasional grumbles. Most of the complaints were kept under their breath, though, and they died off as the ones who were feeling indignant realized that the boy was singing softly. They listened, feeling resentment fading at the words of the old hymn.

"Have you been to Jesus for the cleansing power? Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?"

His voice was beautiful--pure and strong. It raised shivers in the listeners--but perhaps not for the same reason with all of them.

"Are you fully trusting in His grace this hour? Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?"

Some of the listeners heard not bright promise, but darkness. They'd have been hard pressed to say what it was--perhaps a faintly bitter, ironic twist in the tone.

"Are you washed in the blood..."

The Lost Boys moved off, stepping down onto the beach, heading for the embracing darkness.

The End