A young man sat alone on a plane back to hell contemplating his life and his choices. He'd never formed any lasting relationships male or female, hell he'd never even tried. How could he with the life he had led, with the damning baggage that he carried. The only friends he acquired were because they had taken the first steps to befriend him. The couple had practically forced their way into his life saying no one should be left to their own devices in a place as lonely and cold as the Barrow. Stella and Eben wouldn't take no for an answer when it came to looking after the townsfolk. No one left behind Eben would always tell him when he would get in one of his stubborn stay the hell away from me moods.

The young couple knew he had gone through something horrific in his life, Eben tried to talk to him about it through the years but he would always avoid the subject like the plague. Damn it he couldn't even see a psychologist for the shit he had been through, what a conversation that would be. 'Hey doc, me and my surrogate sister spent most of my childhood as part vampire before her lover rescued us,' He snorted in laughter as he thought on that for the umpteenth time as visions of strait jackets danced in his head.

He hadn't talked to Star in years, granted he spent the rest of his childhood in her care. He even helped babysit Samantha and became close with his niece. Nevertheless, as time went on and the vamps never seemed to dwindle fast enough for his taste he couldn't handle living in Santa Carla any more; it was slowly driving him insane. He made a clear decision to get as far away from this hellhole as he possibly could. He begged Star to come with him but she refused him repeatedly. That's how he ended up in the middle of an Alaskan nowhere trying to make a life for himself, depressed and angry with a family he felt had abandoned him.

It was all going good, with him only having his biggest bouts of depression during the thirty days of night this place had to endure. On those days, he sat alone in his home with his 45 caliber Stoeger Cougar 8045f pistol in his lap contemplating terrible things all the while ready for any creature of the night that might try to complicate his life even further. He didn't even know if they even existed way out here, he hadn't come across one in all his years living here. Every year he would go through his two-week ritual in the Barrow, as he would call it.

He had changed his changed his name to Lance because he would beat the living fuck out of any man that even dared to call him laddie. He hated that fucking name. He'd slowly day by day unpack everything that he would need for the night shift as he would call it, Gathering his 8-round 2 high capacity magazines for his Stoeger Cougar, setting his blak-ray ultraviolet lamps with spot bulb in strategic spots within and without his home(just as an afterthought). He would sit in his favorite chair set in a place where he could see all entry points and escape routes, wondering each year whether he would be using his gun on himself or an enemy. Eben seemed to have a six sense about his moods and would always come to visit and eventually drag him out of the house to help him set things up for the safety of the town.

It happened every year; he could count on Eben like clockwork. That was until Stella started acting strange, she started to avoid people all together. Stories surfaced of how she had become impossibly strong and had accidently flipped a snowplow over. Lance had laughed it off in disbelief until he had seen it with his own eyes.

He was in the local bar trying to wash away his latest bought of unwanted memories under loads and loads of rum. The bartender was trying to talk him out of drinking more rum, apparently he was a mean rum drunk according to the townsfolk. He was still on probation for beating some Scottish guy for calling him laddie.

As he sat listening to the bartender as he pleaded with him he noticed some creepy Alaskan tourist obnoxiously hitting on an irritated Stella. She politely turned his advances down when he drunkenly got up and started to grope her as she tried to leave. Lance started to get up to punch the asshole out when Stella beat him to it, knocking him clear across the room in the process. Lance looked at Stella in amazement as the bar went deadly quiet. She looked at him in horror not believing what she had done, the fear in her eyes increased tenfold as she realized every eye in the bar was fixated on her. She ran from the bar and Lance tried to catch her but by the time he reached the door, Stella was long gone.

The stories surrounding Stella didn't let up they only became more outlandish in the telling of them, to the point that Stella felt she had to leave the Barrow. A heartbroken Eben thought it was because she didn't want children in a place like this, Lance knew something a lot more complicated than that was going on. Especially when he had overheard her talking to some British guy about destiny and her calling, he rolled his eyes expecting her to give the idiot a piece of her mind. When she left the next morning without telling Eben or anyone else, he wondered what the hell she was thinking.

As the 30 days of night grew closer, he began his yearly ritual when he got an unexpected phone call from someone he hadn't heard from in years. As he listened to the person on the line he began to pale, then he balled his fist as his anger grew to the point where his nails dug in viciously drawing and dripping blood from the palms of his hand and unto the floor. Star was dead and that bastard David had murdered her. He quickly booked the next flight out of Barrow Alaska, what was left of his family needed him. He couldn't possibly have known that when he returned Eben would be dead and Stella would share a hell of a story that would have them walk a dangerous common ground.