A/N: I love the Lost Boys, truly I do. While the tribe was okay I was disappointed at the lack of character building so I spun my own take on it with Nicole not so Mary Sue. 

Let's be honest the Lost Boys: The Tribes' story line pretty much sucked. They could've had more depth, more backstory, but in the end it fell flat. It's not nearly as good as the original. But I will Angus Sutherland as Shane his due. He did a pretty good job in the likes of his brother, Keifer who portrayed David in the original.

Enjoy and feel free to lend me your thoughts this was fun to write!:)

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

CALL

"Taste of death

I've faced that door

The flames took you

You don't control me anymore."

The thought of him was there. Like a passing shadow in her mind and eyes like that of a hunter. The moment he'd emerged from the crowd, his eyes had possessed her with an intensity unlike anything she'd ever known.

Dangerous.

Feral.

Powerful.

She'd been drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 

Enamored. 

He'd possessed unbridled knowledge and wonder.

Fire.

Drive.

Passion.

The pad of his fingertips once drifted down her skin, hands melded of muscle and haboring a strength beyond a mortal's weight. With a touch seductive as black velvet hinging on the promise of more. Such power in that circumference of a promise. Yet swiftly she'd become lost to the wraith's fingers of death that nearly kissed her into an early grave.

The memory was not too distant from that passage of her life. It haunted her waking hours, even still. Nearly had it accosted her humanity as a consummation took place with the undead lover. Nearly had her soul born of moral been stolen as she'd stood in Aunt Jillians guest house in the throws of transitioning into a creature of the night.

She'd found herself famished with an unquenchable fire. How it had consumed her and burned through the recesses of her lungs. Flames that licked at the marrow of her bones to slake a ravenous thirst that left her feral. Indeed, such an experience could hardly be a forgotten one. It had nearly cost the life that would've stained her soul. Only, if she had given in due in part, to the entrancing man that captivated her two years ago.

How ironic, even slightly unerving to stand before a similar view that faced the Santa Carla bay. 

Deja vu.

The pad of her fingertips traced the cool glass as the veil of darkness fell, stars stretching out beyond the horizon. Such beauty that yet held a chapter in her life she no longer viewed as innocent. Especially when it came to the culmination of the days close. Not after all she'd encounter beyond the safety of her walls.

It wasn't just the passing of a day. There remained a mystic veil now woven in the night of secrets and mysteries beyond the capacity of a simpleton human. Few would ever come to know of what lurked in the shadows as she.

He is dead, so breathe.

She let out a long exhale the misted vapors gradually fading from the smooth pane of glass.  Pale beams of moonlight filtered through the curtains of the large bay window that overlooked the shoreline. The dark waters beyond shined like fallen diamonds, a serene view in its aesthetic. Hadn't she awoken from a dead sleep by an abrupt creak that nearly arrested her breathing. Remnants of past trauma which spoke for every lock in the home secured and bolted.

However, on this particular night her paranoia was justified. 

Stop it we watched him die... you're being ridiculous.

Two years had since passed from his reigning of Santa Carla. Whatever lust, intrigue, or hold he'd had over her then, had disintegrated into embers metaphorically and physically--when he'd attempted to take her brothers life.

And then herself.

That dark period was still wrought with the nightmares that remained like an inked stain of that period. If only the dreams had lost their vivacity. All of which kept splitting her nerves at the seams. They're just figments from memories, she tried to assure herself each time she awoke in a sweating disarray.

Each night these ponderings at the window spiked her adrenaline. Each day felt like a ticking grandfathers clock counting down to the final hour. Especially as the dreams morphed into realism rather than some hazy spectral. 

As the questions started to mount, her sane mind started to crumble.

Her older brother Chris had yet to find out. A majority of his time was spent at the surfing shop he'd started up with Edgar Frog. Frog, the self proclaimed vampire hunter, had met the two when they'd first moved to Santa Carla. His knowledge of vampires became renown for being vast, at least to Chris, since she hadn't been well acquainted with the guy. She'd discovered he hadn't been too fond of her--post the "walking dead" version of herself. Thus, they kept their distance.

The guy  was a known hermit holed up in some trailer on the outskirts of town. Only in recent months had Chris finally convinced the guy to move out of his shabby trailer and into a rented space above the shop. Her ever optimistic sibling considered it progress in both their friendship and business partnership. 

Of course, she had yet to visit now that the off kilter guy lived there.

Without a shadow of a doubt, Frog would catch on if she confided to Chris what she'd begun to feel. The dude was hard to bypass. She'd been told he remained like an alarm clock, alert and ready to act if given the slightest inclination of a vampire sighting.

Although she did wonder if his edgier moodswings as of late-according to Chris-had anything to do with the recent disappearance's taking place. Again. The number of flyers increased by the day. As unhinged as Frog appeared, he had profound experience under his belt. So did he sense something too?

Or was she becoming as crazy as he?

However, that didn't explain the physical spectrum to it. Oh, yes. Dreams didn't leave a tangible presence. The abrupt brush of leaves absent of wind. Sparked candles at the drawing of a warm bath. The incident two weeks ago had nearly left her an insomniac. She'd been getting ready to undress for bed when a flicker, what felt an invisible touch, brushed down the satin strap of her camisole. 

It had taken her three days before she could comfortably sleep in her bedroom, again. After convincing herself it had been all in her head. If just to keep a shred of her dignity intact. Pointedly ignoring the shadow that manifested from the corner of her peripheral different times of the day. Deny. Deny. Deny. 

It's just not possible; he's not possible.

Her lip pulled down in a grimace rooted from the resentment she harbored deep in her bones. It was because of him every ounce of integrity had been scattered to the winds. A single drop of blood slaked from an ancient goblet had become her undoing. Like a contagion infecting the inner chasms of her mind. Leaving her a desert vagrant parched for just taste of his affections. He the only one to quench the insatiable fire of desires he'd guide her into...

Never again.

Upon this conviction she closed her eyes as if it would shut out the soiled thoughts. Always were they there, tucked in a box at the edge of her subconscious yet to be folded away. Threatening to pull her into a chasmic, repetitive spiral of regret.

NO.

She had done so well for herself too. From observation alone one would see more than just a pretty face there. First, she'd broken from underneath her brothers ever hovering presence. Then she'd found a place to call her own once she'd found a job with moderate pay. Later she'd enroll into the tech downtown and signed up for classes. This had caused her short relations with Kyle whom she'd first encountered at the surf shop--and nearly eaten- to fizzle out. Still, the man became close friends with her brother and they'd ended on a decent note. For which, shortly after, she'd established a neutral friendship with.

With her small studio apartment she was afforded distance from the trio. Taking up residence close to the boardwalk had provided her with the space she'd needed for herself. Especially as the mind of her eccentric aunt slowly deteriorated as Chris, often reminded her of. Lord knew Aunt Jillian was slightly off her rocker. Although they hadn't known the woman too well growing up, they'd since made up for it. At her Aunt's behest, Nicole had succumbed to occasional marathons on a Saturday night with her. While on Sundays Chris dropped off extra groceries and shared a meal. She suspected it was due to his refusal of sitting in on the sit coms she was forced to watch on Saturday nights. The woman, a clear junkie for soapy tv, was evidentially stuck in the 80's living off poorly predictable dramas. Compiled with bad perms and puffy shoulder pads to fill some void of romance in the older woman's life.

Unfortunately it gave her the gull to hound Nicole on the subjects of marriage, kids, and the matronly expectations of an adult woman. Then came arranged blind dates that often felt as if her aunt were holding a ticking clock over her head. Just to placate her aunt Nicole endured the boorish dates. 

Fortunately with her job, they'd become less frequent.

Waitressing provided her this reprieve down at the marina. Which helped garner tuition money needed for her upcoming semester. So what wiggle room was left between her aunt and work, was often a break to the shores to indulge in a rapturous novel. She'd taken to the interest after a long summer of self reflection and finding herself.

With her receded hours due to recent renovations, she'd been debating a side job specifically, for weekends. With the boardwalk's summer festivals in full swing, she could easily accumulate a generous amount in savings.

Ever since she'd touched the supernatural realm her mind held a dark canvas painted with gritty lines of poetry. It poured unto the pages of her notebooks with snippets of her story. If she could obtain a bit more cash she'd be able to purchase a labtop for her creative writing classes. 

And so much more.

If only my mind wasn't such a mess.

 Ah, the dreaded writers block she'd recently come to face.

"Perhaps a walk on the beach tomorrow will help."

She didn't have to be at work until 3 and the beach was where she felt most at peace. The waves could kiss her toes with their chilled touch and ease her stress just by the sound of the receding tides. It had been a few weeks since she'd written a fresh page, perhaps a dip in the salty waters would cure her funk.

Now that Chris had his hands tied as of late with the shop and Frog, she didn't expect to be bothered. He'd backed off exponentially with her newfound independence which she found, she liked. No longer did she feel babied into suffocation.

Another slow exhale was drawn from her lips. Slowly, she opened her eyes to honey-colored orbs that reflected back at her. Long waves bleached from the rays of the California sun framed sun-kissed, freckled skin. The nametag: Arnies Harbor was still pinned to the mint polo she'd acquired. The tan khakis shorts, much to her reluctance, were bed wrinkled from having passed out in her uniform.

Truly, she wasn't the same girl and hadn't been for quite a time. Just as gullibility no longer fit her description when it came to the opposite sex. Such weakness had broken off with a honed in boldness that kept her tongue witty and sharp to any unsuspecting males--particularly at work.

After healthily coping with the loss of her parents, a self-respect had blossomed, abundantly. Making her more secure in herself enough to take a self-defense class to further boost her confidence. 

Still, her trauma left her avoiding any tall, blonde, or handsome strangers that crossed her path. Along with significant eye colors that once left her a fawning doe.

"Nicole..."

Nicole, that was she.

"Huh!" A shaky exhale brushed past her lips as she whirled around. Oh, no. Not again. That voice. Their breath was like a whisper that crept along the nape of her neck like a lovers caress. Just as it had been in her dreams. Only now, it was so very prevalent.

No, no, you're not real.

She shook her head, swallowing hard as she steeled herself. "No, I'm not crazy. This isn't real." She'd hoped for hellfire; the endless oblivion of torture for he whom she loathed with every fiber of her being.

So why did she feel his presence again? This was maddening! Was this some pocket of her imagination? But how? A piece of a memory left from PTSD? A... ghost? How could the impossible somehow become possible again? She'd thrown off his jacket and watched it burn into fiery embers. Doing so had severed all ties with the last of his voice dying off in whisper...

Two years. Two years ago today.

"You're not real." She made sure her voice was firm, eyes fixed on the burgeoning shadow in her small rinky studio. Her features hardened as her fingers clenched. "Go away, you're not welcome here."

"Come... come find me, Nicole, it is where I wait..."

The voice was like a cool caress against her skin.

Nicole smacked into the window, shaking her head as her lip started to quiver. Panic began to crawl its way into her flesh.

Two piercing, unfathomable eyes, abruptly appeared from the framed mirror in the entryway. Slowly a towering form took shape as muscled hands extended, pressing up against the silvery panel. Regal shoulders. A prominent chin. A strand of their bleached hair brushed against full sensuous lips that curved into a grin upon her reaction. 

No...

Nicole shoved down the bile that rose from the pit of her stomach. He wouldn't get the satisfaction no matter what conjured this solidified image. "You can't... you died... I s-saw..."

No he's not real, Nicole, stop it!

"Nicole..." Their voice. It had taken on a symphonic quality that seemingly echoed around her, encapsulating her in it's hold with a longing she could feel within. "Say thy name... Nicole."

Don't let this get to you!

Nicole swallowed. Once more she lifted her chin trying to find the strength to draw from. Just as she had so many times before. The bare plains of his chest had become visible, another smile evening the angular planes of his face. Strong forearms widened as if beckoning her to him. There would be a tattoo along the contours of his back that flexed upon any shift of movement and taut muscle.

Details.

All intricate details she knew too well as he appeared before her in solid form.

Oh god...oh shit... maybe I am crazy.

"Shane..."