No Prayer

By: cattle list

Disclaimer: I do not own The Lost Boys. So anything about the movie or affiliated with The Lost Boys is not mine.

Author's Note: So, I'm back! It's been a few years I think, and I've finally accepted that I can't write (let alone finish) anything original, at least for a long while. I don't think I've ever written under this name on FanFiction, but I used to be known as Summer's Almost Gone. I've erased all of my old stories, and I'm starting fresh. I'm not really into The Lost Boys as much as I used to be, but this story is just for fun – a way for me to write without thinking up too many original ideas, heh. That's not to say that I won't have a plot and original characters, so please, read on. I'm kinda sorry that I had to steal the title from a Bright Eyes song (of all bands…) but like I said, this is all in good fun and I hope to complete it. So…enjoy…and review.

~ cattle list.

Oh, P.S. This doesn't pertain to Lost Boys 2, but then again, that didn't have much of a plot, did it? 3

Chapter One: The Funeral

Like Alan said, it was really a shame that both parents had to bury their own son. Nobody should ever have to go through that. Lucy didn't stop crying during the viewing, and her ex-husband, Christopher, didn't stop holding her. It was kind of romantic. The fact that Christopher's newest wife, Barb, didn't seem to mind made it even more so. She was sitting in the hard folding chair next to her handsome husband as he continuously calmed and touched the woman next to him. And she just sat there looking ahead with her sparkling eyes and a stupid grin plastered on her face.

Michael looked romantic himself, in a sick way. The tan skin peeled over his still eyes made him look finally peaceful. The suit that somebody'd dressed him in made him look years younger – like he was picking a young woman up for prom. His wild, long hair was combed back and added to his distinguished look. When I looked down at his face through the open casket, I didn't cry and tried to maintain the toughest face I could. In the middle of my thoughts on death – particularly Micael's – Sam Emerson, the brother of the deceased approached me and told me that even though he hadn't seen Michael in a few years, he knew when he looked down at his lifeless body, that he truly loved him. I responded to that by asking where I could get a prayer card. He looked down at his shoes and mumbled that there hadn't been a prayer card made up – that a prayer couldn't sum up Michael's life. I hadn't known it was supposed to. There wasn't a church service either – Michael was a staunch atheist.

And then, of course, there was his young, childless wife. She was weeping the whole time, too, with no ex-husband to hold her. Her name was Maybell, and she was just as lonely as her name sounds.

"He really loved you," I heard Sam whisper to her after I'd offered my condolences.

"Yeah," she said, as she nodded to the brother-in-law she barely knew.

"If there's anything at all you need…" Sam continued. Alan walked up to me as I stood and tried not to listen to Sam's conversation with Maybell.

"Too bad there's not church service," Alan said a little too loudly, with a friendly elbow to my side, "It would be a great excuse to stock up on holy water."

I glared at him. "We're not children anymore, you know," I hissed.

Alan looked bewildered.

Just then I noticed that Star had decided to make an appearance at the viewing, too. Practically my whole childhood gang was in the room now, one dead.

"I know we're not children anymore. But at least I didn't run away from it like a child like you and Sam did," Alan replied. It was harsh. My brother had never really talked to me that way.

But when I thought about it, it was true. Alan was the only one who had stayed in Santa Carla. The only one who chose to reside next to the terror as if they were roommates. From what I gathered from his stories of his time in Santa Carla without us, him and terror practically shared a bed.

"I didn't cry when I saw him," Star was sprawled out on the hotel bed, looking up at the ceiling.

I shrugged, "I didn't either."

"People have different ways of mourning, and a lot of the mourning doesn't even come 'til much later," Alan said.

"He looked handsome, being dead. I know that sounds weird," Star continued.

"Nope, I agree," I said. I knew she wasn't really demanding replies from any one of us, she just needed to talk.

"It's horrible for Lucy. Can you imagine having to bury your own son? It gives me a headache just thinking about it," Star clenched her eyes shut, as if fighting off a disease.

"I dunno if mom will ever get over it," Sam decided to add; as if any of his comments would help.

"I'm not one to feel sorry for myself, but it sucks for us, too, guys. One of our closest friends left us so young. I mean, 36. We're allowed to wallow in self-pity for a little bit," Alan said, his deep, tough voice softening for once.

I noticed Sam was trying to hide the fact that he was fighting back tears, "You were probably more of a brother to him than me, huh Alan?"

Alan was quiet for a moment and then said, back to his regular voice now, "No. Whether we like it of not, we all – including Michael - share a strong bond. We've been through a lot together, no matter how long ago it was."

I realized then how much we'd all grown up, and how tragic it really was.

Star sat up quickly with a grief-stricken look on her face, "Didn't you wonder today when you looked down at him?" she asked.

"Wonder what?" Sam questioned, curiously.

"How this all would've been different if we hadn't 'fought the good fight,' so to speak. If Michael was forever immortal."

I closed my eyes and pictured his cold, dead face looking up at me. No, I hadn't wondered that.

Sam and I had decided to get a hotel room because there really wasn't any room at Alan's house, and we didn't want to impose on Lucy. Star had gotten a motel room just down the street, but we all gathered in mine and Sam's room for wine after the viewing.

The moment Star entered, she fell onto the bed. She really hadn't changed a bit. She still had her trademark flowing, black hair and wide eyes. She still had the most feminine, petite speaking voice I'd ever heard, and she still wore long skirts and beads. She seemed frozen in time – she was exactly the same as she had been during her and Michael's short-lived romance.

At first glance, she may have looked hopeless, but she wasn't. She was brilliant – more so now than ever before. And she knew who she was. Sure, the quick comments and questions about Michael's widow got me thinking – She's beautiful, isn't she? Where's she from? She's so dark and handsome-looking. They would have had beautiful children. She doesn't talk much, does she? But I don't think it affected her deep down. She'd never really been in love with Michael.

It was odd that she thought I'd know any more about Maybell that she did. I'd lived almost as far away from Santa Carla as she had.

Alan was the only one who was on top of everything. He'd even helped Lucy with the funeral arrangements. He'd kept in touch with Michael through the years, and they hadn't lived but ten miles away from one another. He never wrote to me. He never called to say how he was doing – how Michael was. I might have been invited to the wedding if there had been one. I suppose Michael and Maybell thought it more fit to go to the court house and silently declare themselves husband and wife. Maybe they didn't want there to be a fuss; Because Lucy would have fussed over it. It would have been a glorious wedding.

While my own brother wasn't keeping in touch, Star called me all the time. We'd both left Santa Carla for similar reasons, obviously, but I think she had it tougher. She called me when she filed for divorce, and we met up the night after it became final and had a couple drinks. She'd gotten married before anybody'd even left Santa Carla, but it was just to spite Michael, so Star knew it wouldn't last in the first place. Still, if you ask me, it was a waste of money. But when you're young, especially the way Star was young, the world isn't as cruel in your eyes. Divorce doesn't exist, and if you don't love each other now, you soon will.

Sam wrote me once in awhile, too, but because of the enormous distance between where we decided to make our homes, the first time we saw each other after leaving Santa Carla was at Michael's funeral.

Although it was under horrendous circumstances, it was good that we were all brought back together. It was an opportunity for me to see just how much we'd all changed. Mostly how much I'd changed.

I'd conformed to the world's standards. I decided that everything I believed in was bullshit, and it made me more likeable. There were certain events that led up to this, and maybe Alan was stronger, because he didn't let it get to him. He still collects comic books and fights for justice, even if it prevents him from getting a girlfriend. In a way, that's the most respectable. And I'm living a lie to this day. When you experience something so direct, like we all did, and then you tell yourself it never happened, you're living a lie. Star tried to do that along with me, but it was obvious to me as she was sprawled out of that hotel bed that it hadn't worked.

There was Laddie, of course, who'd wanted to follow her when she left Santa Carla. The fact that she was married kind of prevented it. Laddie transformed from her "little brother," to a stranger in a matter of weeks. And that had to be one of the events that led up to our running away. We'd all been sort of protective of Laddie at one point or another – we had to be, what with the fact that he was a homeless orphan. But he always felt like he was a burden, and it was hard to explain to the jackass that Star married that he truly was her little brother, and she needed him.

So Laddie left, too. But nobody really knew where he went. Star distracted herself for awhile with her marriage, and after the divorce she just had fun for a few years, but then she got tired. I think that's probably when thoughts of Laddie began springing back up in her mind. From what I understand, she tried to contact him a few times, but he never seemed to have time to meet up. But she also said that he sounded alright and he had a great job working in a lawyer's office and he supported himself quite well. Pretty good for a kid who had nothing whatsoever to build on, if you ask me. But I guess he's not a kid anymore. Like I said, we've all grown up.