"You know who I am, Michael..." And as the laughter died away, David stepped out from the shadows. He still wore his long trench coat, yet a hole was torn in it, and his chest was marred by a gaping wound, blood caked around it. David spoke as though it wasn't even there, as though everything were perfectly normal, and he took another step towards Michael.
"You don't have to be afraid.... but you did a very.... very bad thing, Michael..."
Michael gasped silently, his mouth opening and closing, as yet unable to form words. Impossible, he thought. Absolutely impossible...

He felt as though his legs would give way at any moment, and so he let himself fall back into David's chair, an action which brought a smile to David's lips. A ghost of a smile. And in tune with this thought, Michael suddenly realised that he could still see the candles behind David, still make out the shuddering flames, the dusty candlesticks. He could still see them even though David was blocking his view... and he realised with a dull horror... that this wasn't David at all. "You're dead." He whispered.
"Quite." Replied David with a smirk. He seated himself opposite Michael, seemingly unperturbed by any of it, even the fact that Michael was sitting in his sacred chair. "But on to other things..."
"No." Michael protested with a frown, his tone sharp. "You're dead.... I killed you."
"Yes.... yes you did. And now..."
"Now nothing. You're dead, I killed you. And you shouldn't be.... what is this? You're a ghost come back to haunt me?" Michael laughed in disbelief.
"Enough." Snarled David. And it seemed his entire form began to shimmer, the particles of air moving slowly, so that shapes behind him wavered, and then reformed, the whole illusion of him faltering in his anger. "I don't want to haunt you, Michael. You didn't kill me... don't you see? There is something of mine left here... something that prevents me from truly being at rest, and until you put it right... "
"What are you talking about?" Michael's eyes narrowed, his head tilting slightly as he watched this apparition rise and move to one of the dusty cave surfaces, reaching out a transparent hand to touch something..

This was all so unreal to Michael, and he was having difficulty determining whether any of it was real or simply a lucid dream. But he felt the blood in his veins freeze as the ghost, David, whatever it was, lifted up an old bottle, its contents glittering in the candlelight, a deep crimson. "For a vampire to die, his entire body must be destroyed." He told Michael quietly, his gaze fixed on what he held in his hands. He was having difficulty holding it, Michael could tell by the way he trembled, the look of concentration upon his face.
"You've damned me Michael." He whispered, looking up at him now, and his voice was so full of desperation..
"And you haven't damned me?!" He demanded. The chair made an awful sound upon the stone as Michael pushed it back on its legs, standing up to face his adversary. But were they adversaries still? One of them was dead, after all.
There would be no fight this night... or any night. That time had passed....
"When I am at peace... Michael, so shall you be. Whatever blood of mine courses through your veins... will dissipate once my soul is granted rest. I killed your dog to turn your family against you... and I invaded your dreams to bring you here. I can do much more... and I will. Until you finish what you started Michael, then I will have no peace and so I swear... I promise you, that you will find no peace either!" His brows were drawn together, and his eyes blazed in the semi-darkness. David stared at Michael, the bottle still grasped between his pale fingers, but he felt it threatening to slip from them, and shatter... but no, that couldn't happen. He placed it back on the table, sighing once his hands were again empty, and again he turned to present Michael a look of beseech.

"You mean I have to destroy the blood?" He asked at last, a shiver slowly edging its way along his spine. He glanced at the bottle, its gilded casing reflecting the light, and bringing back that night.... he remembered its taste. And he suddenly felt the most overwhelming urge to snatch it up and drink down the contents.
As if catching this thought David's nostrils flared, and he shook his head very slowly. "No. You must pour it out over my remains. Bring me peace, Michael... and you'll find your own peace. You'll be mortal again.."

The promise hung in the air for a long moment, a silence descending between the two as Michael thought it over. But of course he wouldn't refuse... he felt a rising panic, and a sense of relief and doubt and so many questions... "So I.."
But he blinked and turned, because David was nowhere to be seen. He had vanished as quickly as he had appeared. It was stifling suddenly to be in the cave, and it gave him chills, haunted.... he always knew it was haunted in some sense, but never so literally. Snatching the bottle up from the table he made a brad for his jacket, giving the cave one last look, before he all but ran to the tunnel exit. He left the candles burning behind him, their shadows playing upon the walls, to sometimes form the shape of a young man, sitting on the chair, or standing near a table, always somehow conveying an air of menace.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The waves lapped at the shore, sometimes creeping in so near that they washed over Michael's sneakers, leaving his feet wet inside, to squelch against his socks. He knelt down in the wet sand, and slowly he ran his hands over the place, closing his eyes. It had been marked with a crude gravestone of sorts, he didn't know whose idea it had been... but he found it vulgar. The antler jutted from the sand mockingly, and beneath, he knew, lay David's remains. He wondered what they looked like now.... dried up, skeletal.... he had no idea, nor any urge to dig and find out. Couldn't he just pour out the blood onto the sand? But then the waves might wash it away... to the sea... and he would face an endless eternity of regret... and would drink enough blood as to make its own sea... and so he began to scrape with his hands, making claws of them to scoop it up.

He didn't have to dig very deep before he felt something hard beneath, and with a deep shudder he drew back. The shape was unmistakable, and in the darkness it was horrifying to be kneeling before it, a dead body hidden in the sand, a snatch of black coat poking out. Hastily he reached for the bottle, and he lifted the lid carefully. The scent was intoxicating.
He hesitated for a split second, though he didn't know why. The bottle was poised in his hand, over the body, and yet he didn't do it... he wondered why it was so important for the body to be doused in its own blood. So that it was complete... of course. In some way it made perfect sense... and in a few moments he would be mortal again... and he could resume some semblance of a normal life.

"Rest in peace, David... " He whispered softly, and with a sigh he emptied out the contents of the bottle. The blood spattered upon the sandy outline of the body, quickly absorbed, until it was nothing more than a dark stain. He worked quickly after that, pushing the sand back into place to conceal the corpse, and finally rising to leave.

He gave the beach one last look, as he had done with the cave, as a sort of goodbye, he guessed. Rest in peace... and strangely enough, he meant it. They had all suffered, all of them. David had been as much of a victim as he himself had been... and how long until Michael would have become like David? Not long, he supposed. It didn't take much... a few more years and he might have been rounding up his own brood of Lost Boys to share eternity with him. Damned together. But he had lifted a curse tonight, and he felt at peace... as promised. He didn't yet feel mortality returning, but he dismissed that. It would come soon.

He made his way home that night feeling hopeful, confused, and forgiving. He was long gone by the time triumphant laughter rose up from the sand to echo along the shore.

To be continued...