A Flutter of Wings

A Flutter of Wings

Flora_Winters

Disclaimer: I do not own The Lost Boys, and I’m not making any money here either. But, I do believe David might have devoured Peter Pan. I’ve not seen the little bastard since.

Summary: “Oh, Lucy! Can Michael come out to play?” Santa Carla is full of strange people. Michael Emerson meets the strangest of them all, and then some. Language, MM, OC, Violence


Prologue

A storm was slowly rolling in from the sea as Michael walked along the local boardwalk. The salty air, smelling of surf and cotton candy, ruffled his wavy locks.

He’d been trying to find a job all day and this was where he had ended up. Tired, still jobless, and hungrier than a dog that couldn’t sweat. He might as well just head back to his grandfather’s house. The weather was going to turn ugly anyway.

A quick bolt of violet lightning illuminated the billowing black clouds over the crashing waves. He watched people laugh and play as if the coming storm was nothing more than some kind of special effect. None of the carnival goers seemed to be thinking much about it at all.

He really needed a job. He wanted money, so he could get out of that house more often and do stuff. He hated feeling trapped and cooped up.

His mom had become somewhat annoying, his younger brother had been born annoying, and his grandfather was a crazy old man who spent far too much time around dead things. He needed a place of his own, really. Why did they have to move here?

“Go away,” a velvet voice suddenly snatched hold of his wondering attention, pulling as if he had a collar around his neck, attached to a really short leash. “I’m not going to tell you nicely again.”

Those polite words were a dark threat, splattered with a promise of pain. The voice reminded him of a bubble soft feather, gently falling to earth.

“Do you like your right hand?” The light, masculine voice asked. There was a sharp taste of numbing venom. “If you wish to keep it, kindly remove it now.”

Laughter was soon followed by one swift crack. It had sounded like a tree branch being snapped in two from a really strong wind. There was a shrill yowl of pain and swiftly retreating footsteps.

“Fucker!” An angry voice shrieked in ear-splitting rage. “I’ll get you!”

Turning around, he leaned back against the wooden railing. A boom of thunder echoed from a distance.

A young man was standing no more than three feet from him, looking at him with the most intense blue eyes he had ever seen in his life. The guy was a few inches shorter than himself and lithe in stature, but somehow seemed to be ten feet tall.

His long hair was a stunning shock of radiant red. Each shining strand looked to have been beaten from the deepest of ruby.

Moth white flesh was covered from smooth neckline to pointed toes in vibrant liquid darkness. The skin tight leather looked as if it had been expertly painted onto him. The boots he had on were sleek and sharper than a bloody razor.

The guy was beautiful, in a twisted, monstrous kind of nightmare way. His beauty was startling and kind of scary as Hell opening up its warped gates.

Those blue eyes reminded him of clear skies and snow on crumbling tombstones. That glacial flesh would blend right in with all that frigid whiteness.

He had to be queer. He was simply too beautiful not to be.

“Kriss!” A loud voice called from a faraway crowd, causing the spooky glow in those azure eyes to dim down to a light simmer. “What did I tell you about running off?”

The redhead took a single step forward in a swift advance.

“Who are you?” Michael asked, feeling every hair on the back of his neck stand up on end.

“Kriss!” The voice got louder. “Don’t make me come find you!”

That long hair seemed to coil and slither about his bone white face as if each strand were a dancing serpent made of fire. It was hypnotic and unnerving. It looked alive.

“Stop by the local video and electronics store tomorrow at sundown,” the vision in darkness smiled with flawlessly straight teeth. “My father is looking to hire someone for the morning and afternoon shifts.”

A drop of rain landed on Michael’s tan cheek, causing him to blink. The redhead was gone.

Looking around, he didn’t see him. Scratching the back of his head, he wondered if he’d imagined the whole thing.

A light rain began to fall and the thunder was only getting closer. It was time he really started to head back. Making him mom worry was not going to help his situation one bit.

Perhaps he would do what the redheaded figment of his deranged imagination had told him. He needed a job. That totally cool leather jacket he had seen just this morning was not going to magically buy itself for him.

Putting his hands into his jean pockets, he began walking back along the boardwalk. He also needed to find himself a nice chick, before such guys really did start to look beautiful to him.

“Mom, Sam, Grandpa,” he snorted under his breath. “I would like for you to meet my boyfriend. Isn’t he gorgeous?”

It began to rain harder.

His mom would probably prefer him to be a faggot. There would be no accidental teenage pregnancy that way. There would be no fear of him bringing home some girl knocked up.

Sam would probably laugh his immature ass off at him and Grandpa would probably kill and stuff a rattlesnake for him as a really bad pun. The old man loved his taxidermy.

“Pray to Jesus all you sinners and fornicators!” A man in a white suit shouted, waving around a bible in the downpour. “This world drowns in crimson sin! See how the Lord weeps for you and all your wickedness! I’d be ashamed! Ashamed, I say!”

Michael rolled his eyes, quickly passing him. Where was a stray bolt of lightning when you really needed one?

To Be Continued…

Please review and tell me what you think. I’ve always wanted to write a fiction about The Lost Boys. I think Michael is super sexy and David is just fucked up. So, I invented a redheaded temptation to lure Michael within the folds of leathery wings.

--Flora