Saturday, November 2, 2020 – All Souls' Day
Leo's POV
I wake up in the cold garage, tucking deeper into my sweatshirt before finally sitting up. Today I'm in that loose‑weave linen shirt with the hand‑embroidered florals, paired with slouchy brown trousers and scuffed sandals—nothing fancy, just the kind of clothes that feel like home. I leave my implant off, enjoying the quiet.
Inside, the dining area is quiet. Ray is already at the table with a steaming mug and his laptop open, scrolling through photos in focused silence. A small candle flickers at the center of the table next to a single flower in a jar—a Delilah.
Julie is not there. She left early, maybe to be alone.
As I sit down, I notice a softness in Ray's posture and a strange attentiveness in the way his fingers hesitate over the keyboard—like he's lost in thought or remembering something. I sense a shift in the room's tone, an emotion I can't quite place.
Carlos bursts in with his usual energy, a small shoebox tucked under one arm. I watch as Ray initially brushes him off, but then leans in. Carlos sets the box on the table and waves a crumpled recipe card, his gestures animated. Ray lifts a brow, then eventually nods along.
I track their body language more than anything said — Carlos thumping the box down, Ray's skeptical head tilt, the slow smile as he gets up with purpose. A CD case falls out of the box and skitters toward me. Sunset Curve.
I catch it before it hits the floor and nudge it back to Carlos, who doesn't notice. I sketch it in my notebook, the candlelight casting soft flickers over the page.
Ray and Carlos head into the kitchen. As they disappear, a chill brush past my shoulder — not cold exactly, but bittersweet. I pause, my hand hovering over the page.
Then hum quietly and resume sketching.
A little while later, Ray and Carlos return from the kitchen with plates balanced in their hands. The scent hits first — warm, savory, nostalgic. Carlos proudly sets a tray in front of me with a dramatic flourish: a French dip, plus a pile of sliced carrots, cucumbers, and a bag of chips already opened.
Ray gives me a small nod and sits down with his own plate. Carlos starts narrating their cooking adventure, miming exaggerated chef's movements. I smile, still without my implant in, watching their laughter and shared pride like a silent film. It feels like something Rose would've loved.
I'm still chewing on a carrot when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Flynn: Julie turned Nick down. Said she likes Luke — the guitarist.
Me: Wow. She recognized her feelings shifted. Luke looks at her like he feels the same. I hope it works out for them.
Flynn: Fate must be a cruel thing.
I frown a little, reading it again. I'm not sure what she means by that.
Outside, the sun is already shifting, casting that golden-orange warmth across the porch.
I glance out the window just in time to see Julie standing near the front steps, talking to someone I can't see. She's wearing her mom's old sweater, sleeves pushed up over her hands. Her posture is stiff and guarded. Whoever it is, whatever they're saying, it's clearly not what she wanted to hear.
Julie nods once, but it looks forced. Her shoulders drop, and she hugs her arms around herself like she's holding something in. Her mouth moves — just a word or two — and then she steps back, blinking fast. I can't hear what was said. I can only imagine something about endings, about letting go.
Moments later, she rushes past the front windows and through the door, heading upstairs without a word. Her expression is tight, her hands clenched around her phone.
I don't follow. I just sit still.
After a minute, I reach for my own phone and tap in the name from the CD case that was in Carlos's ghost box— Sunset Curve. A few results pop up. One article. A photo.
My chest tightens.
They're the same boys. Alex. Reggie. Luke. The article says they died twenty-five years ago. Right before a big gig. Right here in LA.
I stare at the screen.
I scroll further — an old missing flyer, a few grainy photos. And I can't stop thinking about how they showed up right around when Julie started singing again. After months of silence. After grief carved holes in all of us.
Were they part of it? The reason she came back to music? Maybe not ghosts in the scary movie sense, maybe more like spirit guides. Her catalysts. Her band.
A little while later, Flynn arrives. She tosses her leopard-print hat on the armrest and glances around like she already knows something's wrong. I watch her head upstairs, soft footsteps and heavy thoughts.
Later, I head upstairs to say goodnight to Carlos before heading out to the garage. He's already halfway through telling me some new theory about the French dip ghost, and I let him ramble while I straighten the blanket over his feet. After a quick hug, I move down the hall, not just to head out, but to check on Julie.
The hallway feels warm despite the early November chill, candles flicker in several corners, their light glowing through colored glass holders that Ray probably bought for Rose years ago.
Passing by Julie's room, I pause.
Inside, Julie is perched on the edge of the bed, no longer wearing the sweater. It's folded beside her now, like something she couldn't quite put away. She flips through her sketchbook. Flynn is sitting on the floor by Rose's old chest. Flynn pulls out a folded white shirt and gasps softly.
I don't interrupt. Just smile and keep walking.
The garage is dim when I return. The golden glow from earlier has faded into a cooler blue. I set my sketchbook down, rubbing my hands together before picking up a brush.
I lose myself in the colors. It's a scene of light trying to break through darkness; layered skies, soft golden flares at the edge of deep blues, like a sunrise seen through fog. Broad strokes build the mood, blended edges blur the moment into memory. I'm painting the way this week has felt. Broad strokes, blended edges, layering light over shadow across the canvas on my easel. I'm not thinking. Not really. Just… listening to the rhythm of my own breath. Feeling the slight hum of something just out of reach.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement, Julie coming into the garage. She looks tired but focused. Determined.
I lift my hand and wave in greeting. Julie glances over and waves back, offering a small smile. Then she signs quickly, just a short motion: "I'm talking to them. You can keep painting."
I nod once and return to my canvas, giving her space.
As she steps into the center of the room, somewhere in front of me, I feel it: the sudden shift in air, like static.
I keep my eyes on the canvas, but I can feel it all around me. Whatever's happening over there, it's not mine to interrupt.
I keep painting.
Date: Sunday, November 3, 2020
I'm mixing a golden hue—sleeves rolled up on my forest‑green coveralls, the fabric streaked with dried paint from earlier projects—when Julie suddenly moves, not just moves, bursts. She jumps up from the couch with her phone clutched in her hand, eyes wide and mouth already smiling. I blink.
She spins in a slow circle, practically glowing, bouncing on her toes like she might lift right off the ground. I have no idea what just happened. But her joy is loud, even if I can't hear it.
She laughs, I can see it in the way her shoulders shake and her eyes crinkle. Then she turns and sees me. Her eyes light up even more, and before I can move, she rushes across the garage and throws her arms around me in a tight, bouncing hug.
She pulls back just enough to sign, fast and excited:
"We've been booked to open for Panic! at the Disco tonight. At the Orpheum! They saw Ray's video — the one he posted on YouTube".
Her hands move too quickly for me to catch every sign, but I get the most important part: Orpheum. Tonight. Big.
I laugh breathlessly, surprised. I don't need to hear her to feel how huge this is.
She's glowing. Practically floating.
I sign back, slowly so she can read it clearly:
"That's amazing. You deserve it. Tell the boys I'm proud of them too, okay?"
She nods hard, her smile stretching even wider, and gives me another quick squeeze before spinning to head toward the house.
A few minutes later, Mom pops her head in and tells me it's time to get ready, "we're leaving soon and picking up Flynn on the way". I nod, take one last look at my canvas, then tuck my brush aside and slip my implant in.
As we walk up the path toward the car, we pass Julie heading the other way, toward the garage. Her yellow hoodie thrown over one shoulder, eyes bright with momentum. Carlos sneaks behind her, phone in hand, clearly up to something.
At the curb, Ray is already in the car. I climb in next to Carlos and Mom. A few moments later, Carlos runs up and hops in, shoving his phone into his jacket. Ray calls out the window, "Julie! We're heading out!"
She waves towards the garage once before settling into the car.
They let us in through the side entrance with our passes. Ray spoke to someone from the tech crew, and suddenly, we were being waved backstage. Julie was whisked away almost instantly. Someone showed her to her dressing room, and Flynn insisted on going with her. Ten minutes later, Flynn sent a selfie to the family group chat of her grinning beside Brendon Urie, sushi rolls between them. Five minutes after that, she sent another pic: her and five tech crew members standing proudly in front of a lighting console captioned: #Techcrew <3.
Ray made us stand to the right of the stage, just by the exit, so we could move into Julie's dressing room after her performance. Mom was split on whether she wanted to stay and watch Panic! At The Disco, but in the car over, going straight to Julie's won out, "too many people," she said.
I keep shifting my weight slightly, hands tucked into the deep pockets of my black pants. The soft white shirt I'd layered under my patterned blazer moved with every breath. The blazer had a weight to it, a vintage kind of drama that felt just right for tonight. My boots were laced tight, grounding me. I adjusted my implant once, gently, feeling the low hum of the crowd building.
The lights are low, and the air is charged, like right before a storm. The stage is washed in a soft orange, and the curtains ripple with a slow sweep.
An announcer calls out. "Welcome to Live at the Orpheum. Now give it up for Julie and the Phantoms!"
The crowd erupts. Carlos whoops beside me. Ray claps. I try to take it all in.
Julie steps into the light, alone.
She's wearing the purple dress and bedazzled leather jacket. Her hair shines, as her presence fills the stage like she was born there.
She approaches the mic slowly and exhales.
"Hi. I'm Julie."
She pauses, then speaks with warmth in her voice.
"Tonight, I'd like to dedicate this song to my mom, who's been there with me every time I've played. And thank her for not giving up on me."
She glances out into the crowd, and I swear for a moment, she looks directly at us.
"I'd also like to dedicate tonight's performance to three special friends who have changed my life completely. Who have brought music back to me. It was their dream to play here, and this is for them."
A murmur runs through the crowd.
"This song is for anyone who's lost their way. Step into your greatness. Don't give up. Stand tall. Thank you."
The applause swells, a wave of love and support.
Then, silence.
Julie breathes out slowly.
A single note plays.
"Don't blink. No, I don't want to miss it♪ One thing and it's back to the beginning 'Cause everything is rushing in fast. ♪ Keep going on, never look back. ♪"
Her voice is clear. Strong. Soft around the edges like a dream.
"And it's one, two, three, four times That I'll try for one more night. ♪"
The stage shifts — a shimmer of energy — and then, behind her, drums burst into motion.
Alex.
He appears mid-beat, surrounded by a flash of light and mist. The crowd gasps. Carlos grips my arm.
Reggie flickers in next, right on the beat. Then the stage crackles. A flicker. Luke appears — but only for a second. He vanishes. Appears again, just a blur. The audience draws in a collective breath.
"Light a fire in my eyes ♪"
Julie doesn't flinch. She keeps singing. Finally, Luke stabilizes. He lands in a dramatic crouch, guitar slung low, eyes on Julie. As he sings.
"I'm going out of my mind...Whatever happens Even if I'm the last standing♪ I'mma stand tall... ♪"
My chest tightens. They're real. At least here, they're real.
"I'mma stand tall. ♪ Whatever happens Even when everything's down I'mma stand tall♪ I gotta keep on dreaming♪ 'Cause I gotta catch that feeling. ♪"
Julie and Luke sing together now, perfectly in sync. The harmonies make the air vibrate.
"Whatever happens Even if I'm the last standing I'mma stand tall♪ Right now, I'm loving every minute♪. Hands down. Can't let myself forget it. ♪"
Julie and Reggie walk together to the extended part of the stage. The lights follow them, drawing cheers from the audience.
"Like I'm glowing in the dark I keep on going when it's all falling apart. ♪"
Alex stops drumming — just for a second — and sings solo:
"Never look back♪ Whatever happens...Even if I'm the last standing I'mma stand tall♪."
Reggie's voice lifts next:
"Whatever happens Even if I'm the last standing♪ I'mma stand tall... ♪"
Julie sings over him — gently, assured:
"I'mma stand tall... ♪"
Then Luke again:
"Stand tall... ♪"
And Alex:
"Stand tall... ♪"
All of them together now:
"Whatever happens Even if I'm the last standing♪ I'mma stand tall... ♪"
I realize I've been holding my breath.
Julie walks toward Luke. They share the mic, harmonizing as they walk to the edge of the stage.
"I gotta keep on dreaming 'Cause I gotta catch that feeling. ♪"
Reggie and Alex join them.
"Whatever happens Even if I'm the last standing♪ I'mma stand tall... ♪"
They hold the final note.
Silence fills the room. Just for a second.
Then the room explodes in cheers.
They bow together. Alex and Luke clasp hands. Julie glows with joy.
And then
The boys disappear, and the crowd gasps.
Ray leans toward me and mutters, "Still don't know how she does those hologram things. One big mystery to me."
I just keep clapping.
Because whatever that was — magic or music or something in between — it was real.
And that's enough for me.
Flynn took a taxi home — she was buzzing the whole ride, but quieter than usual. I went with her so she wouldn't be alone. When we pulled up to her place, she leaned over and gave me a tired bump on the shoulder. "Tell Julie she crushed it," she said, then added with a grin, "and that I have Brendon's number."
I watched her disappear through her front gate before starting the walk back on my own.
The air was cooler now. Streetlamps blinked above me like stage lights left on too long. I folded my blazer over my arm as I walked, the fabric still warm from the night's noise and color. The shirt underneath clung a little to my skin. I didn't mind. Everything felt heavier and lighter at the same time.
When I reached the house, I didn't go through the front door.
Instead, I headed straight down the side path, where the string lights dipped low and the shadows of plants leaned in like they were listening.
But when I push the door open, I stop cold. They're there.
Julie, in her blue shirt and yellow hoodie, arms wrapped tightly around the three boys. They're glowing. Not metaphorically. Not stage lights.
Actually glowing.
A soft golden light pulse off all four of them; warm and steady, like the hum of a heart. They don't notice me. Or maybe they do and just don't move. No one says a word.
I don't breathe. I don't dare interrupt.
Julie's head is pressed against Luke's shoulder, and Reggie's hand rests gently on Alex's back. Their eyes are closed, expressions peaceful.