Lost Boys belongs to Warner Bros. and their affiliates, Janice Fischer, James Jeremias, Jeffrey Boam, and Joel Schumacher. I make no money or other forms of profit from this endeavor. As for any original content: Any likeness, similarities, and resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, and events are unintentional and purely coincidental.

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Delilah drove through the all but deserted highway, acutely aware of everything that went on around her. She knew that Val was dejectedly looking outside the window, a shell of her usually vibrant self. Her friend had gone somewhere far away without moving and she was worried about Val. She did her best to concentrate on the road and her speed. This was the most careful Delilah had ever driven since her driving test. She had never cared more than she did at the moment to not attract the attention of the police or anyone else. Scenario after scenario raced through her mind, going over every type of situation she could think of if she were to be pulled over by the police. They all ended with her being locked up because they wouldn't believe any story she thought up to explain why she was covered in blood.

The once quiet town of Buena Flores seemed like a hostile place where everyone was out to get her. She had never been so paranoid and stressed in her life. Her palms were slick with blood and sweat as she gave her steering wheel a death grip. Her heart hadn't stopped palpitating since they left the boardwalk.

Even as she pulled into her gated community she hadn't relaxed an ounce. She was thankful that the night guard was off duty and she had to swipe her keycard to get in.

"Thank God for technological advances."

When she pulled into her garage she tensed even more. Her dad wasn't home; it was obvious from the lack of the Buick in the garage. It was just her cherry red Mustang and her mother's Mercedes.

"Oh God, I will never complain about my father's crazy hours ever again," Delilah prayed thankful for once of her father's hectic schedule.

She steeled herself to get herself out of the car. Fear had paralyzed her as the open world seemed too big and there were too many chances that she'd get caught. She wasn't ready for her life to be over due to two assholes that had it coming. She liked her cushy life at her prep school. Dealing with catty rich bitches and self-entitled assholes seemed like the far more appealing alternative to butch dykes ready to rape her at any second or psychos wanting to stab her with a prison shank make from a tooth brush.

A terrible future lay out before her as she thought what would happen if she was caught. All of the evidence against her was soaked in her shirt and in the upholstery of her car or lying dead in an alley.

Images of prison were replaced by the memories of the two males' corpses, motionless and bleeding out. The life cut from them from Delilah's own hands. Her fear dissipated as the euphoria from the kill returned to her. She felt the earrings in her pocked and suddenly found a new kind of confidence. She remembered how strong she felt when she defended herself.

She took a deep breath and calmed down. She looked to the door that led to the kitchen from the garage. It seemed like an impossible journey that would lead to her capture but she knew she couldn't stay in her car forever.

She opened the car door and stepped out. Under the florescent light of the garage the blood stood out almost black against her clothes; they were so saturated by the quickly drying liquid. Delilah looked to the driver's seat and saw that there were spots of blood staining the soft cloth interior.

Val was looking vacantly out of the window, staring at Delilah's workshop bench. Delilah didn't know why the garage even had a work bench. Her father never used the thing and as far as she was aware he wouldn't stoop to fixing anything himself. He always said why waste the time when he could pay someone to do it for him. There wasn't anything particularly intriguing about the tools or the bench.

Delilah realized that Val wasn't really looking at anything, her friend's stare vacant. She got the impression that while Val's eyes were open, the blonde girl wasn't seeing anything. Delilah felt very angry and sad for her friend. She knew that something had broken in Val and she could only hope that her friend could be fixed. She didn't contemplate the night's events long because she knew she had to clean them both up. She gently took Val out of the car and like a zombie Val let herself be led into the house.

Delilah thought the car should be safe for the time being. Her father probably wouldn't be home till the afternoon the next day. Her mother barely drove anymore, preferring to stay in the house and pop pill after pill. She looked at the car from the outside and she thought that it definitely would be ok; the blood stains were not visible unless staring directly at the seat with the door open. She planned to clean the seats later but first she had to take care of Val and her own clothes.

Carefully, Delilah opened the kitchen door as quietly as she could. The lights were off and the only sound she could hear were the late night infomercials on the TV. Her heart pounded in her chest and in her ears; she could only hope her mother was in a drug induced sleep by this time. She softly walked across the kitchen and prayed to whatever deity that would hear her that no one would notice her and her friend covered in blood. The biggest obstacle was getting to the stairs that led to the second floor. They had a very modern open floor plan and it was the first time that Delilah hated her house. She wished she had an old fashioned farm house where every room was separated and gave plenty of cover.

Val wasn't paying attention and didn't make a noise. Delilah was at least thankful her friend was not in hysterics and drawing attention to themselves. She left Val in the kitchen and her catatonic friend didn't make any motion. Val stood there as lifeless as she was in the car and it gave Delilah a chance to check if the coast was clear.

She saw that the living room was lit with a soft white blue glow from the television. Delilah couldn't tell what was on, the program dulling into white noise as she focused solely on getting upstairs without being noticed.

All the breath she didn't realize she was holding in was released and Delilah was so relieved that she could almost cry. Her mother was passed out on the couch with a bottle of Xanax and wine sitting on the coffee table. She checked her mother's breathing to make sure the woman was alive. The last thing Delilah needed was to call the ambulance for her mother before she got the chance to clean up.

Delilah's mother was in a drug induced blissful sleep, totally unaware of the world going on around her.

Delilah was able to breathe normally and smiled because she was confident that things were going to be ok.

She got Val and they both rushed to her room and she locked the door. She felt safe and that's what mattered to her.

Her pretty pink bedroom was her safe haven and she felt that nothing could touch her there. The outside world couldn't get to her and she had nothing to fear. She had a plan and she was sure that everything would be alright. She knew what she had to do and she was going to make sure that the night would be nothing more than a distant memory. She was determined to ignore the little voice that told her nothing could make her forget that night.

Delilah led Val to her private bathroom to wash up. Val was filthy from the grime of the alleyway and struggles. Upon seeing the shower, Val woke up from her stupor and urgently started to disrobe. It seemed the girl was eager to take a shower and Delilah quietly left her friend to clean up.

Delilah made her way down the hall to her parent's master bedroom. She needed to shower as well and she thought she'd have better luck getting clean in the bigger bathroom; it was also where all the good cleaning supplies were stored. Despite being in a daze most of the time, when Mrs. Morgan wasn't blitzed out she was scrubbing her bathroom till it shined.

The immaculate bathroom was so stark white that it almost hurt Delilah's eyes. She decided to wash her hands first as they were the bloodiest part of her. She turned on the water till it was a comfortable temperature and ran her hands under it. It was amazing how easily blood came off in warm water and regular hand soap. The crimson liquid circled the drain and Delilah was mesmerized by the sight of it. It seemed that all her night's activity and the horror that went along with it ran down the drain.

She vaguely remembered something from English class. Something about some chick who washed her hands while sleep walking and saying "Out damned spot." Delilah knew it had something to do with feeling guilty about killing someone and they couldn't wash the proverbial "blood" off their hands. To Delilah, washing the blood off seemed very easy and in no way stress inducing. In fact, she was very glad to get the blood off her hands and didn't know what the big deal was. The two guys deserved what she did to them and she'd happily do it again. She wasn't dumb enough to give herself a parade about it but it was something that she didn't feel an ounce of regret for. Her biggest fear was getting caught and the evidence was washing away. She just needed to do that with the rest of herself.

Delilah studied her hands, not sure what she was looking for; some kind of residue or proof that blood was still there. But she didn't find anything out of the ordinary; they were the same clean tan hands that she had before she left the house for the boardwalk. Nothing on them suggested she brutally stabbed two people and left them for dead in an alleyway of the abandoned part of a beach town boardwalk. She looked at the mirror and studied her own reflection.

She was grimy and she was lucky that her clothes took the brunt of the filth. Her olive complexion was marred by the spray pattern of her victims' blood. It had dried and turned brown but she could easily clean that as well. Her hair was a mess from the fight and she knew she'd have a hell of a time getting the knots out but again, it was something that could easily be fixed. Everything else about her was the same; same brown eyes, ordinary eyes. She certainly did not have the eyes of a killer. No matter how long she stared at her own reflection, it was basically the same one that left her house that night. All she needed to do was clean up and no one would be the wiser.

She undressed and was careful to fold her clothes in such a way where the blood wouldn't touch the white tile. Delilah felt there was no need to make more of a mess for her to clean later.

The soothing shower was warm enough to have steam billowing throughout the bathroom. It wasn't blistering but she did like long hot showers. She felt like the whole night's stress was washing away along with the dirt and blood. Like with the sink, the blood cascaded off her body and down the drain; never to be seen again.

As she stood under the warm spray of the shower, she thought back to her childhood. Random thoughts invaded her mind where she was making connections of what happened that night to other memories. Sometimes memories jumped from one thing to another but she was specifically thinking of one particular incident. She remembered being picked on by the other children because she was different than her all white peers. Her mother was accounted as beautiful and perhaps she would be one day as well; but in the world of children it wasn't alright to be different and it definitely wasn't alright to bi-racial. She was told to ignore the other children because they were "jealous." Jealous of what, Delilah would never know but she did remember one incident where one boy, some ginger named Kevin, shoved her and told her to "Go back where she came from." She had taken enough of their crap and she finally snapped. She shoved back and there was an ensuing shoving match. Delilah held her own and when they got into trouble she recalled being berated far more than Kevin. For some reason it was a lot less acceptable for her to get into a fight than it was for him. He was just being a boy and she was out of line. Delilah was so angry that she cried tears of frustration. She couldn't wait till her parents got there because she was sure they would take her side. She was just defending herself, they couldn't be mad if she was defending herself.

Delilah thought wrong. Her parents were just as mad and disappointed as the teacher. At age eight, it seemed like the ultimate betrayal and she was hurt beyond anything she had ever experienced before. Almost ten years later she realized that it wasn't a big deal; her parents didn't want her fighting, what parent did? But somewhere beneath the surface she did know that there was a kind of injustice done to her; she knew she deserve to get chided for fighting but she also knew she shouldn't have been chided more than the boy for the simple fact that she was a girl.

Anger welled inside her as she thought about the likely outcome if she had been raped. She could see her father and other fully grown adults telling her she shouldn't have been where she was. She shouldn't have been dressed as she was. She shouldn't have been hanging out with Val. They would say all the ways it was her fault and not the males' fault for being raped. Females were to be the gatekeepers and always on guard when it came to their sexuality. Males couldn't help themselves so whatever they did it had to have been caused by a woman. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right. Delilah knew that and that night she fought back. It was the males' fault, they deserved all that came to them and she would never be sorry.

She got out of the shower and started to dry off. She whipped the steamed up bathroom mirror and took one last look at herself.

She was clean. She had washed her hair and her body; just like with her hands all traces of her crime was gone. She was a normal teen again, at least on the outside. She couldn't see any difference on her skin but she knew one was there. A hidden power within her had been unleashed and she wasn't sure what she should do with it. It was going on three in the morning so she didn't take the time to contemplate her unseen changes. She had to decide what to do with her clothes.

The dried blood on the preppy clothes looked foreign and unnatural. In all the movies, blood splatter was reserved for the bad guy in black or dirty overalls. The only time blood got on light colored clothes was when a victim was wearing them. The killer in horror movies always went after the clean cut kids who went astray. Perhaps that's what was supposed to happen to her, she thought derisively; if it was any other girl her age and from her background, Delilah would have been the victim. Like in the movies she had been doing drugs, drinking, and hanging out with shady males she didn't know. It was the perfect set up to be raped and probably killed by those meat heads, her body lying in an alleyway broken and bleeding; all because she didn't listen to her parents or teachers about staying away from bad things. Bad things happened to people who did bad things. She was certain she would have been told it was her own fault because she didn't stay where she was supposed to; didn't do what she was supposed to; her childhood memory coming back in full swing. But it was not the way it happened, she turned the tables and refused to be raped. She refused to be the victim. In turn she became the killer, the hunter and it was the most exhilarating and liberating feeling she ever had. Ever since she could remember she was told to be quiet and meek. That the most she would ever do in life was become a timid housewife, a socialite. If she was lucky or motivated enough to go to college then she could possibly become a nurse. She always got the sense that whatever she chose in life, it would have to be something where she was in the background. Told to never raise her voice or defend herself physically.

On the outside she was the same but on the inside, she was a whole new girl. She went against the grain and felt like she could do anything.

Looking back at her bloodstained clothes she was brought back to reality. Life wasn't fair and she was certain that no matter what she said about self-defense she was going to be in trouble. She was female and she killed two people, no one would see past that. So while she smiled in victory, it had to be an unsung victory. The only people who could ever know was her and Val. She could trust Val because her friend had just as much to lose as her. If people wouldn't believe Delilah they'd believe Val even less. Delilah at least came from money; Val would just be another Santa Carla statistic in the local prison. She didn't want that for her friend and she was sure that Val didn't want that for her. They were best friends, they had to stick together. Delilah was confident that once Val snapped out of it she would be thankful for her friend's intervention.

Delilah debated with herself on the best course of action to deal with her clothes. It was a pink polo, a khaki skirt, white socks, and white Kicks; all bloodstained. They weren't her favorite and she had others just like them. She didn't think the blood would come out of the articles due to its saturation. Bleach was out of the question because it would ruin the skirt and the polo, it might have been possible to save the shoes. She couldn't just throw them away because she was paranoid some random garbage man would find them and then alert the authorities. She was just as paranoid about burying them in case some dog dug them up. She had to destroy them but wasn't sure how. The house had a fireplace but it was mostly for show because Buena Flores hardly ever got below seventy degrees and when it did they still didn't use fireplace. The last time Delilah could remember ever using the hearth was a random Christmas long ago and it was for ambiance. So burning the clothes in the fireplace would look odd at the very least and she didn't want anyone questioning her.

She frowned in frustration because something had to be done. Burning the clothes seemed to be the best option, it destroyed the evidence and it wouldn't be around but where could she do it?

Like lightening, an idea crashed into her head and it seemed like the perfect solution. People would question her if she burned the clothes in the fireplace but they wouldn't if it was in the outdoor bar-b-q pit. It was the perfect plan.

"I'll wait till my dad is gone which shouldn't be too long since he's a workaholic, my mom will be blitzed out by four in the afternoon. I'll just fire up the bbq pit and then take out some of the leftover hamburgers from last month's bbq. People won't suspect anything because it's still summer. People bbq all the time around here."

She told the plan to herself over and over again. The more she said it out loud the better it seemed and she smiled at her ingenuity.

Delilah's good mood quickly dissipated as she entered her room and noticed the steam coming from the bathroom. Val had gone into the shower before her and she thought it was odd that her friend was still showering. The steam was a lot more intense and prolific as well so Delilah went in to check on Val.

"Val? Everything okay?" she called out, respecting Val's privacy.

There was no answer and Delilah made her way to the shower, no longer caring about the possible embarrassment of seeing her friend nude. With the night they had, they were a bit beyond being shy.

What she saw shocked Delilah; Val was sitting in the shower, looking dead eyed as ever but with a furious red flush all over her body. Delilah reached to her friend without thinking and shrunk back swiftly at the pain of the water. Val had turned the water on as high as it would go and it was scalding. She reached around and turned off the water and grabbed the nearest towel. She wrapped the soft cotton linen around her friend and the closeness seemed to hurt Val. Delilah didn't know if it was from her friend's over sensitized skin from the scalding water or Val didn't want anyone touching her.

Delilah pulled her hands back, trying to give Val the space she needed.

Val seemed frightened that Delilah was pulling away and grabbed for her friend. Delilah let herself be taken in by her sorrowful friend. She didn't care that all they were wearing were towels or that they were sitting in a wet walk in shower. Her friend needed her and she'd do anything to help.

So while Val finally broke down and cried about all that had happened to her, Delilah held her close and let her cry and hold onto her.

Tears burned in Delilah's eyes and she let them fall for the first time that night. It was an angry bitter truth she realized: They could wash all the blood and dirt off but what happened to Val would not be so easy to make go away. Delilah felt a sickness creep into her stomach as she let herself think of what happened to Val instead of what she did. Val was violated and made to feel dirty, Delilah empathized with her friend. She wouldn't know the exact feelings and she hoped she never would but she could imagine the feeling of violation. To have the core of her made dirty; to feel helpless and out of control. These were not good feelings and it hardened Delilah's heart against what she did. She felt like she did the right thing and her only regret would be that the males' agony didn't last longer. In retrospect, she wished she had cut their dicks off with her broken bottle.

Delilah held Val closer and pushed away morbid thoughts and revenge fantasies. It was no longer about her; Val needed all the support she could offer. Delilah would hold her friend as long as Val needed her.

The two friends stayed like that awhile but Val finally cried all the tears she could cry. She was beyond exhausted and just wanted to go to get some rest. The girls got dressed and Val promptly fell asleep on Delilah's bed.

Delilah stared at her sleeping friend and was glad for the peace that fell upon Val's features. She hoped the blonde girl would have peaceful dreams as well.

Delilah was tired as well but she had other things to do. She got out the bleach, other cleaning supplies, and went to work. She scrubbed down both bathrooms till the smell of ammonia permeated through the top floor. Delilah had to open some windows to air out the house but she wasn't afraid of it being unseemly. The neighborhood was still fast asleep and her mother would assume the clean smell was leftover from the last cleaning. Delilah then went downstairs with upholstery cleaner to attack her car. The sun had broken over the horizon when she was finally satisfied with the results.

Everything was cleaned and looked just like before, better even. No one would suspect a thing and they wouldn't be able to find anything. Val would never rat her out and she wasn't going to confess anytime soon. She was sure that there would be something in the paper about the two dead bodies in an alley, brutally stabbed to death but hoped it'd be brushed off as another unfortunate event in Santa Carla's long criminal history. If not then there was nothing to connect her to the killings. She was clean and so was everything else.

Despite being tired she went outside, the chilly air quickly warming up with the sun's rays, and enjoyed the sunrise. The pinks and blues of twilight were giving way to the bright vibrant orange of the rising sun. Delilah had never seen a sunrise so beautiful.

It was August 30th, 1986 and it was the new beginning of Delilah's life.

A/N: Thanks to all those that reviewed! They are awesome, greatly appreciated, and feed the muse. Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well.

A shout out to: stuckXrunningXupXthatXhill, LauRa-ReaDinG-XoX, demonchild2004, Emzy2k11, and Nikel's lover. You guys rock!