A/N: Okay, here it goes. I LOVE Salem's Lot, the book and the movies. THIS fanfic is based off of the 2004 miniseries starring Rob Lowe. Not everything in the movie followed the book perfectly, especially the ending. So if you didn't like the new ending, don't read this, because it follows it. There may be some errors in facts, etc, but I just couldn't help myself. I wrote a version when it first came out and I was 12. This is me going back and editing and bettering it. Enjoy...

R and R please and thank you.

Chapter One: Whispers in the Dark

In small towns, things don't stay gone forever. People return after being gone for years because for some reason they are drawn back, like they are owned by the town. Secrets never stay secret, well, not for long. An old couple will bring up mistakes the other made from decades ago that should be dead, buried, and forgotten about. Yes, it seems as though everything in small towns resurfaces sooner or later.

It was bitter cold as Mark stared up at the darkening sky above him. He shook and as his breath made its way in front of him for him to see, Mark was brought back to a different frozen night. A night in which one brother was murdered, the other left not much better off, and Mark left alive and safe at home. He thought about that day nearly every evening before going to bed, just as he imagined numerous other visuals before he drifted off, if he even managed to do so. He had been right there with them. It was just innocent fun. In big cities, kids got their rushes from stealing or gang fights or something and fun was just an arcade away. In small towns like Jerusalem's Lot, having fun was far more difficult to do. So the boys had resorted to sneaking through Charlie Rhode's bus glove compartment. It was supposed to have been harmless.

"Mark"

A new memory flashed through Mark's mind as he thought about the Glick boys.

"Open the window, Mark."

The image of Danny Glick's pale and icy face pressed up against his bedroom window, the nails on his hands scrapping against the glass, brought Mark back to reality.

Vampires. Crap. It was already dark. Had it really been that long?

The picture of Ben's lifeless body on the hospital bed flared through his mind, Ben's empty, starring eyes burning into his brain like hot coals.

It had been too much. Every single individual person is different. Some people cry when their goldfish dies or they move cities. Other people can stand through their own parents' funeral without letting a single tear escape their grasp. Mark could not count the number of people he had lost in the last few years. With each death, with each sharp and purposeful stake through a friend's heart, he had merely grown colder and further and further detached. Ben had noticed it and tried to discuss the issue with Mark, but soon stopped. What was there to say?

Ben.

Thinking about his best friend and Surgut father nearly drove Mark to heavy tears, again. After he had run, Mark had found an empty room. He ducked inside and a nurse found him, God knows how long later, in the fetal position and sobbing like a small child. She had attempted to console him and get him to go with her. He just ran, ran until he was met with the outside and the night sky.

Mark hurried to the closest street. He didn't really trust anyone or anything, but trusted a nighttime city driver over possibly meeting one of his old neighbors while walking.

It had been almost two and a half years since it had all began in 'Salem's Lot. Since Straker and Barlow bought the Marsten House. Since Ben returned to town. Since Danny Glick had come to his bedroom window. Since his mother…

The headlights of an oncoming car pulled Mark out of this thoughts. The vehicle slowed to a stop as Mark stuck out his thumb, a skill he had picked up by Charlie Rhodes kicking him off the school bus so many times. A faint whisper echoed in the distance. Mark froze for a brief moment and whipped his head behind him. Just the wind. The driver nodded and Mark opened the passenger door and slid inside.

"Where you headed, kid?" The man said in a scratchy voice.

"Anywhere but here." Mark replied, only staring forward, never looking at the stranger.

"Well, I'm heading home from work to the wife and kids, it's about 30 miles north of here. I commute. Any place particular you'd like to be dropped off at?"

"A motel. A motel is fine."

"You got it. So, you got a name, son?"

"Mark."

"Well, Mark, I'm Jake. You're lucky a small town man like myself came along, yes siree. The big city is an unsafe place to be at night, especially for a young man like yourself. Not many people here would have bothered to even notice you and the rest of them are most likely dangerous folk."

Boy, Mark thought to himself, he doesn't have a clue.

They sat in silence for some time as Mark did his best to keep awake. He hadn't allowed himself an ounce of sleep for several days, not since they had closed in on Father Callahan's whereabouts. They were either researching or traveling all through the night hours, or Mark was up, replaying the last time he saw the real Father Callahan, the last time he saw his mother.

"Hey. Hey, kid. Kid."

The man shook Mark out of his dozing trance and Mark was thankful but failed to show it.

"You're bleeding, son. Shoot, I didn't even notice it before."

"Oh?"

Mark glanced down at his arms where he suddenly felt the burning sensation his brain had been ignoring by force of habit. When every day you are getting beat up, bloody, and bruised, you learn to shut yourself off from pain. You can't be wincing about your broken rib when a vampire is about to hurl you across a room.

He stared at the wounds for a moment, as if not really seeing them. Deep, red lines decorated his forearms. The liquid began draining onto the seat.

"Guess I didn't either. Sorry 'bout the seat." He wasn't truly remorseful. This guy could have a lot more to worry about than a bloody car seat and doesn't even know it.

"It's fine. She's old and battered anyhow. How'd you get those?"

Images flashed in Mark's memory again. This time, Ben was not the one in the hospital bed. It was Father Callahan, but yet, it wasn't. it was the thing that Barlow had turned him into. The "thing" had even attempted to reason with the boy. He argued that he was the one that saved Mark's life.

"No," Mark replied coldly and confident, "Father Callahan did and you're not him."

With that, Mark had lifted the pillow out from underneath Callahan's head and placed it firmly over his face. Callahan was weak and could not save his own life, but he could fight. He had scratched and clawed at Mark like a wild beast until finally, he was still.

An image in the road jolted Mark back from his daydream and instantly took Jake's mind off of Mark. Jake slammed on hard on the brakes, stopping only a few feet away from the hunched over shadow. Jake pounded his fist on the horn. The booming noise didn't even cause the silhouette to the horn one last time, Jake flashed his brights. The image of a man came into focus just as Mark caught a glimpse of a white and unusual glint in his eyes. Mark's breath caught in his throat.

It was Dud Rodgers.