Archive of Our Own

It’s all their fault.

The boys can admit that later. Though Julie would never say it out loud, they say it for her… in their shadowed faces, defeated slumps, the gazes that can’t stand to meet hers. The boys return home so utterly defeated that Julie doesn’t have the heart to chew them out for going.

“We shoulda listened,” Luke admits hoarsely, much later that night. It’s all they’ll say: “we shouldn’t have gone,” “we should have listened to you,” and “we’re sorry.”

None of it is helping Julie’s nerves.

At least they made it back. She tries to focus on that… because the moment she realized her boys were gone, had run off to Caleb’s club without a word of goodbye, she’d been frantic. Of course they wouldn’t tell her; Julie would never have let them go. She knew how eager Alex was to rescue his friend Willie — borderline desperate, as every day he became more and more elusive, harder for even Alex to see. “He’s fading,” Alex told them once, raw pain in his voice. “Caleb’s crushing him… he’s gonna destroy him if he doesn’t get out. There has to be some way we can help, there has to.”

Julie saw his pain, and her heart broke for him… but she took the hardline stance that it was way too dangerous.

“You don’t know what Caleb’s capable of! You can’t just rush in blind, or else you could really get hurt.” I’m not going to risk losing you again, went unsaid… but they could see it in her eyes.

And, to their credit, it really seemed like they listened. They even agreed with her. “We don’t wanna go anywhere near the creep either,” Luke assured her — and looking in his eyes, Julie could see he meant it. Turning to the rest of their band, he clapped his hands, looking serious in the way he only ever does when something matters. “Julie’s right, boys. We gotta be smart about this.”

“We’ve got to be careful,” Alex added solemnly.

“And we will, Julie!” Reggie piped up. “We promise.”

The worst part is… she believed them.

But apparently, being careful goes right out the window the second the boys get scared. All it took was Alex seeing something in Willie that freaked him out so much, he decided there was no more time to waste; they had to confront Caleb, then and there. 

So, they rushed in. Without a plan, without any protection… without even saying goodbye.

(At least they had the decency to leave a note.)

As far as Julie’s concerned, it’s a miracle they even made it back at all. She spent hours panicking, pacing the studio corner to corner and ranting to whatever invisible spirits could hear her about “stupid ghost boys who can’t follow directions”; she stewed, she swirled, she turned herself around and backwards freaking out over everything that might be happenng. The longer they were gone, the more the barely-suppressed panic in her chest swelled to a fever pitch… until she could barely contain it, couldn’t even breathe through the storm. She couldn’t hold still if she wanted to… because if she stopped moving for even a second, she felt certain she’d lose them.

And then, the worst moment — when Julie felt something shatter inside of her chest. For a second the pain was blinding. All-encompassing. Unimaginable. Her heart exploded, every one of her ribs bursting to fragments at once, as the world around her cracked open like a glass bottle. She didn’t fall, so much as drop... and when Julie faded back into herself, seconds or hours later, she was crumpled on the floor in the fetal position, gasping for life.

That’s when she felt it. That’s when she knew.

And when the boys finally make it home hours later — emptyhanded, shamefaced, totally defeated — Julie knows something terrible has happened.

“What is it?” she demands, desperation pitching in her voice. “What did you do? What did Caleb do?” Silence. They only stare at her. “Did he hurt you?” Nothing. Blank faces, empty eyes. “Are you okay?”

“We’re sorry, Julie,” is all they’ll say. “Really sorry.” 

Not one of them can stand to look at her… and that’s how Julie knows for sure.

They don’t talk about it that night, and they don’t talk about it in the days after. Julie pries for answers in the quiet moments; they don’t come in words, for there are very few words spoken, so she has to search what she can see. The shadows under their eyes… the heavy lines etched into their brows, like they’ve always been there… the way they look older somehow, drained and exhausted, lifeless in a way they never have. Her phantoms have always been ghosts, but this is the first time they’ve ever seemed…

“Dead,” Julie murmurs, not meaning to speak the word out loud.

Except she does, and it’s so quiet in the studio, you could hear a pin drop. All three boys must have heard her… but Alex remains hunched up, glaring at a rip in his jeans, while Reggie doesn’t even lift his head where he’s slumped over his bass.

Luke’s the only one who reacts. Slowly, his gaze lifts from the blank page he’s been staring at for an hour, without writing a single note. He blinks — once, twice — then his brows pull tight together.

“What’s that, Julie?”

“N-nothing.” Her voice is low with horror at herself. Dead. The word stings her tongue, something bitter and acrid, like a viper’s venom spreading down her through. If she could snatch it back, she would… but you can’t take back a word once spoken, and you can’t bring someone back when they’ve gone.

Julie looks away from Luke, to the expressionless Reggie and shadowed Alex. In spite of herself, she wonders — where have her boys gone?

Are they too far away from her to reach?

“Can’t you…” Her voice is painfully small. She hates herself for it, but forces strength into the soft words, determination into her tone. “Can’t you just talk to me? Tell me what happened… whatever you saw at Caleb’s, or whatever he did. We can fix it, guys! I don’t understand why you’re being so cagey about it!”

None of them look at her. Julie’s anxiety flares like an icy flame, scorching the inside of her chest.

“Was… was it Willie? Did Caleb… do something to him in front of you?”

She stares at Alex as she says it. Something flickers in Alex’s expression, something pained and unreadable… but it’s an emotion, and it feels like a victory.

“No,” he says, before Julie can press further. “He didn’t hurt Willie.”

“So… he hurt you guys, then?”

No one speaks. No one looks at her. A fist is tight around Julie’s throat, squeezing harder and harder; she can’t breathe around it.

“What did he do?” she asks, in a small, scared voice.

Luke’s eyes flutter shut. He still doesn’t look at her.

“We’re sorry, Julie,” he says, for the ninetieth time, now. “We shoulda listened to you… but please, you gotta stop asking. It’s not… it’s not…”

“Not helping,” Reggie pipes up, his voice hoarse and distant. “Only hurting.”

“We’re so sorry to worry you,” adds Alex. “But this… there’s nothing you can do here. If there were,we’d ask you for help. But no one can help with this.”

Her teeth clench; her temper flares; desperation surges up her throat like bile, burning as it goes. She wants to yell and cry and curse at these idiot boys, wringing answers from their throats like churchyard confessions. Instead, the noise that comes out is almost a plea.

“You don’t know that! We beat Caleb before… if you just told me, I could help! Just let me in!”

Reggie curls into himself like an animal trying to make itself smaller. Alex turns away, bowing his head.

And Luke…

Luke’s breathing is harsh, his shoulders heaving. All the color has drained from his face, leaving nothing but the brightness of his eyes. They are impossibly dark… and impossibly hurt. Tears brim but don’t fall, leaving him shaking even harder. He’s barely holding it together. A strong wind could tear him to pieces and carry him away like a strain of song in the air.

Yet he’s the only one who looks at her.

“We’re so sorry, Julie,” is all Luke says — and if Julie hears that one more time, she’ll give him something to be sorry over. “We let you down.”

“No,” she insists. “You didn’t. You never could. Whatever it is… please. We can figure it out together —“

Julie reaches out. Luke’s entire body flinches. Her hand passes through his shoulder.

And the world… stops.

For a second, Julie can only stare at it — Luke in front of her, so tangible yet clearly not, because her hand’s sticking out of him as if he’s not there at all. Empty air. Anabsence where life should be.A hologram, an illusion.

A ghost.

When she exhales, it trembles. “L-Luke?” she whispers, like a prayer.

Luke doesn’t flinch… but his eyes are empty, and their pain is unbearable. Julie closes her eyes, and it’s like he isn’t there at all.

“Sorry,” he says. “We should have listened.”

The boys keep their distance after that. It’s probably for the best. Though Julie would never admit it, especially to their faces, something about their presence just feels wrong. As the days pass, it gets harder to ignore. Not the hollowness in their faces, the lack of life in their eyes, the way they’re suddenly miles away from her, shying from touches they know won’t connect… but the silence.

The silence has to be the worst part.

Julie used to complain to Flynn all the time, whenever living with a pack of rowdy teenage boys got too much to handle. For dead guys, they really didn’t know how to rest in peace. Luke was the worst culprit, with his loud rages and louder enthusiasm, singing and guitar-strumming twenty four seven, but Reggie and Alex were equal offenders, in their own ways. They were constantly bickering, constantly messing around and teasing each other…

And, of course, there was the music.

Music, music, all the time — and Julie couldn’t even blame them for that. Music flowed through their veins, the same way it flows in hers… and if she feels restless when she goes without touching her piano for a day, she can’t imagine how the boys feel. For twenty-five years, they were locked in the dark… and from what little they’ve shared, there was nothing there. No music, no melody. For these boys, who lived and breathed their instruments, it must have been unbearable.

Since they came back, the phantoms were attached at the hip to their instruments, and they played every chance they got.

At least… they used to.

The longer it goes on, the more painfully obvious it becomes. The boys don’t play music anymore. They never sing. They never hum. The band never rehearses, even in the quiet afternoons where there’s nothing to do but stare at each other and wonder how this all happened. More telling than anything else: their instruments vanished with them on the day they fled to Caleb’s and, while the boys came back, Julie hasn’t seen a guitar or a drum set since.

It’s like… their instruments are gone, and all the music went with them.

“Caleb must have done something to them. He must have… taken away their music somehow! And the boys live for music, so… so, of course it has a big effect on them!” She gestures wildly with her hands as she walks, pacing the floor in urgent circles. Flynn must be getting dizzy watching her — but her best friend just sits on the bed, hands folded in her lap, brows drawn together in concern. Their Crisis Mode meeting has just been Julie ranting for half an hour, but at least Flynn’s here for it. At least Flynn’s Flynn, as responsive and alive as ever — not haunting her studio like three miserable ghosts.

“It’s been two weeks! And they won’t tell me what happened, but I barely see them… it’s like they’re trying to keep away from me!” She can’t smother the offense out of her voice. “And they’re doing a really good job of it! I swear — I could be in the same room as all three of them and not even notice. That’s how lifeless they’ve gotten.”

Flynn shakes her head. “That isn’t like them.”

“They’re hardly like themselves at all! Two weeks since they got back, and — and they’re so wrong, Flynn, it’s like they’ve forgotten how to be right! And… it’s getting worse, every day. I don’t know why, but I can feel it.” Julie bites her lip. “I can feel them, Flynn. Slipping away from me.”

Flynn weighs the problem for a long minute, glaring down at her lap. There’s a reason Julie knows exactly who to call for Crisis Mode; the same reason Flynn brought her special problem solving notebook, with its worn spine and paint blotches all over the cover. No matter how big the problem is, Flynn has a solution. They might not always be safe, or sane, or sensible, but Flynn always has a solution.

“So, we really need to find out what happened.”

And sometimes she’s very good at stating the obvious.

Julie draws in a deep breath. “Yeah, Flynn,” she says, stiltedly. “We really need to.”

“And the boys aren’t talking?”

“Not a word.” Except for their apologies, their constant apologies. If Julie has to look into Luke’s sad, empty eyes as he says “I’m sorry, Julie,” one more time, she’s going to have to exorcise him.

Flynn is so deep in thought, she doesn’t notice the ink splotches leaking onto her problem solving notebook. She’s got her ‘don’t bug me, I’m thinking’ face on, and her leg is bouncing a mile a minute; it’s so dynamic, such an alive gesture that Julie can’t help being hypnotized by the movement. (Luke used to fidget all the time, but now he just lies still, like all the energy’s been sucked out of him…) It sucks her in, gouging a gaping wound of nostalgia in her chest; she’s so distracted, she doesn’t realize Flynn is speaking, until her name rings out in a yell.

“Ju-lie!”

Blinking, Julie snaps out of it. Flynn’s leaning forward, determination blazing in her eyes like a firecracker, and not almost knocks Julie off her feet.

“If they won’t tell us, then it’s simple,” she says. “We’ve gotta get the whole story from someone else who was there.”

Julie’s brows furrow. “I doubt we can just march in to Caleb’s club and bully him into telling us what he did.”

Flynn shrugs… but a smile twitches at her lips, spelling nothing but trouble. “Who said anything about asking Caleb?”

The thing about having a weird, magical, musical soul connection with the three ghosts haunting your home: you never miss it until it’s gone. You also really take it for granted. Julie never realized before how convenient it’s always been. Long before the Orpheum performance and breaking Caleb’s stamp… the bond has always been there. It grew in quietly, like ivy spreading through an abandoned house, filling up spaces in her chest she didn’t realize were hollow. It didn’t happen all at once; every smile, every joke, every written word and shared harmony on stage, it grew stronger. After every performance, Julie could feel her boys a little more… and she never realized how used to it she was, until suddenly, that bond is gone.

She can’t feel them at all anymore. That’s the terrifying part. It’s like… she’s had the vines torn out, violently, without her consent… except they were entrenched so deeply, they took her ribcage with them, and now she’s just empty.

So, yeah. Radio silence on the other end of the soul bond, this awful feeling of absence, and no way to conveniently contact her 90s boy band, because they don’t know what cell phones are.

When she tells this to Flynn, she stares at her for a very long time, her face diplomatically blank.

“Yeah,” she finally says. “Normal people, we don’t have that.”

“I’m normal,” Julie grumbles.

“Haunted is not normal. And that’s fine, that’s good! You’re doing great — I mean, you were before everything got messed up. But normal people? When we wanna talk to ghosts, we’ve gotta go full horror movie.”

Julie’s brows quirk. “What,” she says, with incredible patience, “is ‘full horror movie’?”

Flynn leaves her in suspense until that weekend, when Carlos’s little league game has he and their dad out for a few hours. Julie’s alone in the house — Flynn cackles like a witch when she says this — and, apparently, it’s the perfect time to “full horror movie” Julie’s house.

“My Dad’s going to kill me!” she exclaims, as Flynn draws a circle in chalk on her living room floor.

“Relax, Jules! It washes off!” She pauses, frowning at the chalk stains on the carpet. “Pro bably.”

Julie groans, but helps Flynn lay out the candles.

She’s never done a seance before. She’s never done anything spooky, actually. Julie’s not a horror movie fan. Before the boys crashed into her life, she didn’t know much about ghosts, because she had no interest in them. Flynn knows way more than Julie when it comes to these things; she enjoys her annual Halloween scary movie binge a bit too much.

So, Flynn is the once to do all the chanting and seancing and summoning of ghosts. Julie’s just along for the ride.

“Spirits from the great beyond, 
we call upon your power,
Grant us your ear,
Lend us your voice,
Give us the answers we seek tonight.
We call upon the spirit of —“

Flynn breaks off, wide eyed, and gestures frantically at Julie.

Julie blinks, and swivels, thinking for a second someone’s appeared behind her — but then she realizes Flynn’s looking for her to fill in a gap.

“Uhh… Willie?” she suggests.

“Need a little more than that, Jules,” Flynn stage-whispers.

“I don’t know his name!”

“Nothing? You don’t have anything?”

“No! I’ve never even met him before!”

“Oh my gosh.” Flynn presses a hand to her face and has to take a deep calming breath, before abruptly switching back into her “summoning spirits” voice. “We call upon the spirit of Willie!” She emphasizes the name like Madonna or Beyoncé . “Join our circle, speak to us tonight. Appear before us… now!”

She claps her hands. Nothing happens.

They wait for a handful of tense seconds before Flynn slams her hands together again.

“Now!”

Nothing.

Flynn’s brows are starting to furrow, and a horrible despair pools in Julie’s stomach. It was a long shot anyways, but it was their only hope. Willie was the only one who might tell her what happened to her friends. Without him… they’ve got nothing.

“Just give him a minute,” Flynn says, staring intently into the darkness.

Willie , Julie thinks, and squeezes her eyes shut. It’s like fumbling around in a pitch black stadium. She doesn’t know him; she’s never seen him; she has no idea who she’s looking for, aside from this is someone who Alex loves.

And it’s almost enough — because she loves Alex too, and echoes of that love reverberate in her empty chest, like a melody hummed into the darkness. The song is gone, now… but she remembers it by heart.

She focuses on those remnants of Alex inside of her, and calls out into the darkness. Willie ?

For a long time, there’s nothing. Not a flicker, not a spark, not even a whisper.

Julie keeps searching.

Willie. Alex loves him. Willie. Alex would do anything to protect him. Willie. Alex got hurt for him. Willie!

The air shivers. A chill pulses through the room, like a wave sweeping over their heads.

Only when her best friend gasps beside her does Julie open her eyes.

“Oh,” she says out loud — and it’s like a massive weight lifting off her chest. “Hi, Willie.”

The figure in the middle of the room glances around him slowly, as if waking from a dream. He raises his hand a second too late — a delayed reflex, like he can’t be sure they’re talking to him.

“You’re Julie,” he says, in a soft, low voice. It’s not a question.

“And I’m Flynn,” pipes up the third party in the room. When Julie turns, she finds her best friend’s eyes wide, painted fingernails digging into the knees of her jeans. Flynn is breathing hard and quick, the way she does when she’s trying hard not to freak out. When Julie nudges her, Flynn flinches. “I can see him,” she blurts, gesturing to Willie. “Can you see him? Should I be able to see him?"

Julie shrugs, and reaches for Flynn’s hand, squeezing tight. “We’re all in the circle,” she points out, and something in Flynn’s shoulders relaxes.

Willie takes a step forward, but the shadows cling to him like molasses, weighing him down. 

No matter how hard Julie looks at him, she can’t see him clearly. His features are indistinct, blurring before her eyes. He’s half-hidden by the darkness, as if it's trying to swallow him up. The candlelight doesn’t touch him. When he spreads his arms, it flickers through him. His bronze skin glows, his dark hair dances around him. Willie’s eyes are pitch black, dull yet illuminated by a muted flame, glow reflected as if in a foggy mirror. He is a mirror — caught between life and death, a portal between the two worlds who does not understand how he’s come to be here. 

His gaze locks on Julie, and she meets him in turn. Understanding dawns on Willie’s face.

“How — how did you —“

“It’s okay,” she says softly. “You’re safe here.”

Slowly, Willie shakes his head. “Never safe. Especially not here.”

A chill runs down Julie’s arms. Caleb knows where she lives — they know that, the boys said he kidnapped them right out of her studio on the night of the Orpheum performance — but he’s never breached their safe haven since. At the same time, Alex has been careful to never bring Willie around the studio. (They’ve never said it, but Julie suspects the boys have been trying to protect her — however far Caleb's terrible power extended, they didn’t want her within reach.)

But does it really matter anymore?

“You’re still under Caleb’s power.” That’s not a question either. “Is he… hurting you?”

Willie breaks their gazes, looking away, 

“I’m sorry,” Julie says softly. “I wish there was something we could do…”

“You can’t do anything.” There’s an awful wrench in his voice; it strangles Julie’s heart in her chest. “Stop trying. Just… just stay away. It’s the only safe thing.”

“For me, or for the boys?”

Willie doesn’t answer.

“They didn’t stay away. They went after you, Willie… they were trying to help.” She takes a deep breath, clenching her hands to steady herself. “And when they came back, they were different. They’re broken, and… and fading, and they won’t tell me why.”

Still, Willie doesn’t meet her eyes. Julie leans forward, on her hands and knees in the circle like she’s ready to lunge at him.

“Just tell me! Please… you’re the only one who can tell me what’s wrong.” She holds her breath. “I know you were there. You saw everything… I see it in your eyes.”

Finally, Willie lifts his head. The candlelight glistens like liquid gold on his cheeks; it takes a minute for Julie to recognize his tears.

“We can fix it,” she says softly.

“No,” Willie answers. “You can’t.”

It’s a long story, and Willie tells it as best he can.

“I kept telling Alex not to bother… that the best thing he could do was stay away. He escaped Caleb once, and… and I’ve never seen Caleb so mad. It’s never happened before! No one breaks his stamp… no one gets away from him. He hated the boys after that. I knew if he ever got close to them, if they were ever reckless…”

Willie drags a hand through his hair, and winces like it pains him. “But I was the reckless one,” he sighs. “If I really cared about Alex, I’d have stayed away.

“You can’t blame yourself,” Julie says softly. Willie shakes his head.

“I knew how dangerous it was, but… he convinced me there was hope. That he could set me free somehow… that you guys could win my soul back from Caleb. I knew better, but I wanted to believe him. So bad. That was my mistake.”

“You died skating in traffic and your soul’s owned by an evil magician ghost,” Flynn pipes up. “I think you’ve made a few mistakes in your —“

Julie elbows her. Flynn cuts off with a gag.

Willie, to his credit, doesn’t argue; he shrugs it off and nods, like he’s thought of all of this before. “Hanging around Alex was a mistake,” he continues. “Every time I had to hurry back to Caleb or could feel Caleb in my head… Alex worried even more. I kept telling him to wait, to hold off until he had a plan, but…”

“Something bad happened,” Julie says softly. Willie nods.

“He saw Caleb jolt me. That’s… what set him off. Caleb was in a really bad mood, and he just does that sometimes, it’s how he controls us when we’re far away… but Alex saw it, and he got scared.” He hugs himself tight, like he’s trying to hold himself back. “I… had to run to Caleb after that. There was no time to — but I begged him not to do anything stupid.” A shadow passes over his face. “I don’t know why he did it. God, I… if the guys hadn’t come, I’d I hadn’t been so careless… I’m sorry, Julie.”

Something bitter and burning surges up Julie’s throat. “Stop apologizing,” she says, with more heat than she means. Willie flinches. She forces herself to soften.  “Just… tell me what happened.”

Willie takes a breath, braces himself, and meets her eyes.

“Alex and the guys showed up at the club that night. They snuck in, laid low… Caleb was in the middle of performing, so he didn’t notice them. I was dancing with the ensemble, but… when Alex got close, I could feel him. They didn’t have a plan. They thought they could just… steal my soul back and walk out with it, right under Caleb’s nose. And they actually got close. They made it back to Caleb’s dressing room, where he keeps all the souls… before he caught them.”

Julie’s breath catches; her lungs are filled with ice, and every breath burns, every one of Willie’s words chokes her. She needs to hear more. “What did he do?” 

Willie swallows, and squeezes his eyes shut. “He… brought them onto the stage. An encore, he called it… and he couldn’t control the boys, but he could control us. He… he…” His breath catches, and trembles. “He made us hold them still. And… he summoned the boys’ instruments.”

“He can do that?” Julie gasps.

“Caleb can do a lot of things.” The shadows cling to Willie’s face as if they’re trying to smother him. “He told the audience that… three former members of his band had decided to retire. They’d no longer be performing… period.”

Julie’s fingernails dig into her palms.

“Dante smashed Reggie’s bass, right in the middle of the stage. It shattered like a snow globe. Reggie… he let out this cry, like a tortured animal, and then he just… fell. In the middle of the stage. No more fight, nothing, he just — just —“ 

Willie shudders.

“Luke… he froze up when Reggie went down. Like — like he wanted to help him, but didn’t know how, and he wasn’t even looking at the instruments, or the crowd, he was just looking at the other guys… Fuego slammed his guitar, and it was like he got electrocuted or something. Luke just… kinda twitched, and he flickered a little, and, and —“

A sob threatens to tear from Julie’s throat. She forces it down. It feels like it wants to kill her, to rip her in two; she’s so focused on not shattering under the weight of Willie’s words, she barely notices he’s stopped talking.

Thank god for Flynn — at Julie’s side, gripping her hand like an anchor, willing to ask the questions Julie can’t.

“And Alex?” When Willie takes too long to answer, Flynn presses like a hot iron. “What happened to him? It’s a lot harder to smash a drum set.”

“Yeah,” Willie agrees, with a tiny, rueful little laugh. “But it’s easy to snap the sticks.”

Julie’s breath catches. When she looks up, Willie’s eyes meet hers… and, in their darkness, she reads everything she needs to know.

“I didn’t want to,” Willie says softly. “I… didn’t have a choice. Caleb was in my head… he made me do it.”

“Oh god,” Julie mutters.

“And Alex…” Willie’s voice is as haunted as the far-off look in his eyes. “He didn’t fall. He didn’t cry. He just… was so, so still. Like he’d turned into a statue. And… he was looking at me like I’d, like, like —“

He breaks off with a shudder, turning away from the girls. Julie hunches in on herself; when Flynn squeezes her hand tightly, she grips back with all she’s worth. 

Sometimes, it’s easier not to know the answers.

Horror settles over them like a curtain, drowning out the rest of the world, and smothering all sound within their tiny bubble. They’re quiet for too long. Long enough for the swirling nausea in the pit of Julie’s stomach to settle; for Flynn to begin glancing nervously at the candles; for Willie’s shaking to die away.

Only when he’s still again does Flynn shatter the silence, like taking a hammer to a window.

“So… lemme get this straight. Your evil ghost boss tortured these boys on stage, in front of a whole crowd… and I’m not gonna ask how no one did anything, because hello, rich people… but he destroyed their instruments in front of everyone, and somehow this… sucked the life out of them?”

“It’s not that simple.” Willie hugs himself tight enough to bruise. “The instruments… were their souls. It happens sometimes, with ghosts… when you live for something, you take it with you. I lived for skating, so my soul’s tied to my board…” He shrugs, looking down. Notably, Willie doesn’t have his skateboard on him right now; it’s nowhere to be seen. “The guys lived for music, so those instruments… were a huge part of them. The things literally keeping them tethered to earth.”

“And now,” Julie says softly, “their souls have been destroyed.”

Again, Willie meets her eyes; and again, he nods, like a funeral notice and plea for forgiveness all at once.

“I’ve seen it happen before. Caleb did it to a friend once.” A shadow passes over his face. “And it’s the worst kind of pain in the world. You can’t feel… anything. Not the wind, not the sun, not another lifer when they pass through you… we were already dead, but losing your soul is dead- dead. There’s… no going back from that.”

It takes too long for his words to sink in. Julie doesn’t want to believe them  ---  she wouldn’t, except she’s seen it with her own eyes.

“So what happens?” asks Flynn, voice soft with horror.

Willie looks sick to his stomach, glaring down at the ground as if one look up at them will turn them into stone. “Eventually,” he admits, “the ghosts fade out of existence completely. It… doesn’t take long.”

As icy realization settles in her gut, horror swells up to take its place. Julie chokes. She leans forward, wrapping both arms around her stomach, as if she’s suddenly been slashed and her organs are spilling out. It’s impossible to keep everything in when it feels like she’s being torn apart. Like your own poisoned hot dog , her brain supplies cruelly, and she can’t swallow back a sob.

Suddenly, Flynn’s arms are around her shoulders. She’s like a steel support, propping Julie up, keeping her from crumpling. As Julie leans into her side, Flynn holds her tight, murmuring soft, soothing words into the crown of her head.

“It’s okay, Jules… I know, I’m sorry, just breathe…”

It takes too long to remember how to breathe. When she looks up again… Willie’s still there. Julie is surprised. She wasn’t expecting him to stay.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, and something better than despair flares in Julie’s chest — fury.

“I’m so sick of everyone apologizing to me!” She lurches forward; Flynn doesn’t see it coming, isn’t quick enough to hold her. “I can’t stand it! I’m so sorry, oh my god — that’s what people say when someone dies!” It’s all they can say; Julie heard the endless mantra of I’m sorry for your loss on loop for months, spoken in varying shades of sympathetic and self-conscious. No one knows what to say in the face of unimaginable loss, so that’s the best they’ve got: I’m sorry.

The boys… even Willie, even Flynn. They’ve all given into it already. Given up. Like they’re dead already, and all that’s left to do is grieve.

Well, Julie thinks, screw that.

“You seriously think that’s it? That we’re not going to fight it?” She swivels between Willie and Flynn, eyes blazing. Suddenly, they’re both looking at her like she’s a stranger — and it twists Julie’s gut in a sick, satisfying way. They should be afraid. Afraid of letting it happen, and doing nothing.

“No.” Julie shakes her head, voice low and fierce. “That’s not happening. We’re not letting this happen.”

“There’s no way to fix it—“ Willie pipes up.

“We’ll find a way!”

“A way to rebuild their souls?” Even Flynn’s voice is tentative; even she looks uncertain. Flynn is the most determined person Julie knows, and if even she doesn’t believe —

No. She doesn’t know the boys like Julie does. She hasn’t felt them in her chest, held their hearts in her hands, sung along to the melody of their souls. She doesn’t know.

(She doesn’t know what it’s like to lose someone.)

Julie narrows her eyes and squares her jaw. She looks between her two companions, and something in her face leaves them wide-eyed and speechless.

“Whatever it takes,” Julie declares. “There’s always a way to save someone. But no way are we giving up without a fight.”

One small problem: There’s no restoring soul objects, Willie says. Once they’re gone, they’re gone forever.

Which makes sense — in the weird, ghost-logic sort of way where nothing makes sense, and you just have to roll with it. If the boys can somehow touch Julie, walk through walls but flop down on her couch no problem, be heard when they play music, but stick their heads out of the fridge while her Dad’s cooking and he has no idea —

Ghosts don’t make sense. Ghost logic runs on loopholes. So… doesn't that mean there should be a loophole for this, too?

“Think about it,” Flynn insists. “The guys wear all their nineties clothes, and they turn invisible as soon as they go on their bodies, but appear again when they take them off. Right?” Julie nods. “And when Alex bribed Carlos into ordering him a Dirty Candy sweatshirt online, and everyone was super mad about it… when he wore it, it went invisible, right?” Julie nods again. “But that was brand new! He didn’t own that in the nineties.”

“You’re trying to make sense out of ghost rules,” Julie points out. “Ghost rules make no sense.”

“It’s true,” shrugs Willie, who’s been haunting Julie’s living room for the past three hours. They’re… not actually sure he can leave the circle. They may be holding him hostage. (Which is one strategy to get back at Caleb.) In their defense, Willie really doesn’t seem like he minds being here; they pulled a dining room chair over for him, and he’s playing Connect-Four on Flynn’s phone. Willie’s fine.

“I’m saying —“ Flynn flails her arms like an interpretative dancer for emphasis. “If they can get new stuff, why can’t they get new instruments?”

“You can’t get a new soul, Flynn,” Julie says.

“Sure you can, Carrie eats two for breakfast every day.”

“Caleb eats three,” Willie pipes up.

“Guys!” Julie exclaims.

“My point is —“ Flynn pauses for dramatic effect, long enough that Julie could actually scream. “We can get new instruments, the boys can attach those to their souls, and problem solved, like boom!”

She slams her fist into her palm. Willie jumps.

“Uhh, actually,” he pipes up, “I think it’s a little more complicated th—“

“It’s worth a shot,” Julie cuts in, locking on Flynn with rapt attention. “Let’s do it.”

And honestly? Yeah, it probably is more complicated than that. The boys’ instruments didn’t just mean the world to them — they were the same ones they played when they were alive. Sentimental value isn’t something you can replace, no matter how glossy the new model is — her mom’s piano is over twenty years old by now, but Julie wouldn’t trade it for the world. If something happened to her piano… it would absolutely devastate her.

But it wouldn’t destroy her. If she got a new one, she could still play it, and still love it… because ultimately, it isn’t about the instruments. It’s about the music.

The instruments are just… how you make music happen. So, yeah — their best option, their only option, is to get the boys new instruments.

Which is how Julie and Flynn end up at Trevor Wilson’s Malibu mansion at four thirty on a Tuesday afternoon, knocking on his patio door.

“How do you two keep getting in here?” Carrie demands as she throws the door open.

“We scaled the built-in waterfall! Nice architecture, by the way.” Julie shakes a flash flood out of her soaking wet curls, and flashes Carrie her least suspicious grin.

Carrie’s eyes narrow. “Sorry,” she says, moving to slam the door shut. “We just had all our drowned rats exterminated.”

Flynn moves with terrifying speed. Her foot lashes out, catching in the door; in a second, half her body’s wedged in the frame, and Carrie really can’t slam it closed without cutting her in half.

“Actually,” Flynn says, with a saccharine sweet smile, “we’re not here to talk to you.”

That one actually seems to hurt Carrie’s feelings. “You — what?”

“We’re here to talk to your dad,” Julie contributes, wedging her way in over Flynn’s shoulder. “Is he home?”

To put it nicely, Trevor Wilson is not thrilled to see them.

Things have been awkward — well, even more awkward than they were before Julie’s friendship with Carrie imploded — with Trevor ever since the Orpheum performance. After that night, Trevor Wilson had to go on an emergency long “spa retreat”, vanishing from the public eye for nearly two weeks. When he reappeared again, it was at Julie’s door — exchanging awkward pleasantries with her Dad, staring at Julie like she was an angry chihuahua about to bite him, then spending an… agonizingly long half hour in the studio with his former bandmates. Julie had to play ghost translator. The guys had some choice words for Trevor that she absolutely couldn’t translate. No one had a good time that day, and Trevor left looking shell-shocked.

They haven’t seen him since.

There’s no good way to really talk about it. Trevor knows that Julie’s in a band with the ghosts of his dead bandmates; Julie knows Trevor used to be Bobby, where exactly he stole his songs, and all of his most embarrassing teenage stories. There’s a level of mutually-assured awkwardness on that alone, and it doesn’t exactly translate to friendly conversation. The boys say they want nothing more to do with Trevor; he hasn’t come around the studio since; and, honestly, Trevor Wilson has been taking up space at the very back of Julie’s mind.

Until today.

Today, they actually need his help.

The first thing Trevor says, cutting them off halfway through their pitch, it: “I really don’t want to be involved.”

Flynn stops cold. Her mouth clicks shut. She takes a large step back, appraising this grown man like he’s just tried to convince her an onion is a dessert. 

“Sorry,” she says, “did you miss the part where we said, ‘evil ghost magician destroying their souls’?”

“Honestly, this is all a little over my head,” Trevor admits. “My guru says there are forces in this world beyond what we’re meant to comprehend in this lifetime, and evil ghost magicians seem like one of them.”

Flynn’s eyes narrow. “Comprehend this: your boys are dying. Again.”

A shadow crosses Trevor’s face; he flinches full-body, like Flynn’s just punched him in the gut. “They’re not my boys anymore,” he points out. “And how can they die if —“

“They’re already dead,” Julie finishes, her voice soft and solemn. “But that doesn’t mean they can’t feel pain, Trevor. They can still suffer, they’re still afraid. They can’t die, but they can still… stop existing.”

It’s like they’re cutting into him with knives. A shudder runs through Trevor’s broad frame; he has to turn away.

“You want me to — what? Buy exact replicas of the boys’ old instruments?”

“Or have them made, if you can’t find exact copies,” Flynn agrees. When Trevor glances up at her, she shrugs. “We’re two broke high school kids. How are we gonna be able to afford a guitar, a bass, and a whole drum set?”

Trevor nods. “So you go to the richest guy you know.”

“The richest guy who owes these boys a favor,” Flynn agrees. “It’s pretty convenient, actually.”

Again, with the gut punches. Trevor’s breath catches; he takes a step back, lowering his head, glaring at the floor for a long moment. When he finally looks up, his attention is trained not on Flynn, but Julie.

“It’s really bad, huh?” he says — and somehow, he sounds a whole lifetime younger.

Julie nods. “I’m losing them,” she admits softly. “We’re losing them. All over again.”

Trevor’s dark eyes glisten.

“I know you lost them a long time ago, but this… this might be your chance to make it up to them. To… save them, the way you couldn’t back then.” Trevor’s breath catches, and Julie wonders if she’s being gone too far. Still, she can’t stop. “And maybe… maybe it would be a first step to healing the hurt left behind.”

That’s a big promise. She can’t guarantee the boys will appreciate Trevor replacing their souls for them — she’s not even sure if this plan will work. Maybe it’s cruel to promise him something that might never come to be, but… Trevor’s entire face has lit up, and he looks so determined, so certain, that Julie can’t regret it.

Within the week, three familiar instruments are sitting in Trevor Wilson’s living room; a red-and-white bass, a gleaming blue guitar, and a brand new, polished drum kit.

They’re perfect replicas, down to the ‘Julie and the Phantoms’ logo decorating the drum cover. Trevor even got Alex a brand new pair of sticks; he’s clearly polished the guitars himself, and set them out with more care than he’s ever handled a music award.

“Will these work?” he asks, eyes wide, young and eager. Julie meets his gaze, and offers him a thin smile.

“Let’s hope so.”

It’s a start. It’s a plan. It’s the only plan they have.

And maybe they were naïve, but when it doesn’t work, Julie still ends up heartbroken.

The boys look up at her with sad eyes, as their hands pass straight through the new instruments meant for them. They didn’t look hopeful from the very moment they saw them — like they knew somehow it wasn’t going to work — but Julie held onto something golden and glowing and desperate. At once, that light in her chest is snuffed out. The boys step away from the instruments, heads hung low, and she wishes she could just scream.

“It’s no use, Julie,” Luke says, voice low and pained.

“It means so much that you’re trying… but Caleb didn’t just destroy our instruments. What he did —“ Alex’s eyes fall; his face darkens. “There’s no going back from what he did.”

“So I’ll figure something else out!” Julie swiveling between her three despairing bandmates, desperate for something… anything. Alex can’t meet her eyes; Luke looks like watching her hurts him; and Reggie doesn’t say a word, barely seems to notice she’s there. Even standing right in front of her, they’re so far out of reach. Julie can’t stand it.  

“I’m not giving up on you guys! Just… trust me.” She appeals to each of them with wide, earnest eyes. “Trust that I can fix this.”

The boys are quiet for a moment too long. It hangs in the air like a promise unkept — a truth no one is brave enough to voice out loud.

Luke’s the one who finally steps forward. Julie forces herself to meet his eyes, even though it hurts. “Always, Julie,” he sighs… and if things were normal, this would be the point he cupped her cheek, or tucked her curls behind her ear, all tender comfort and affection. Now, he can only stand close — close enough that she should be able to feet his heartbeat, the heat of his breath, if he has any of that. Instead, Julie feels nothing at all… except the pain rolling off of him in waves, like radiation pulses of guilt and grief. Luke’s eyes are suspiciously wet. “We just… don’t want you to get your heart broken.”

Julie shakes her head, and has to fight the urge to laugh. “And what do you think’s gonna happen if I lose you?”

Good news is, they’re never going to find out… because she’s not letting it happen. Absolutely not.

Julie Molina’s not giving up without a fight.

“Ideas!” she announces to her assembled war council the next day. Her councilors… are less enthusiastic, this time around. Flynn melts back into the couch, heaving a massive sigh.

“I could… try to find another weird ritual online?” She flaps a hand toward the dining room. “It worked with this guy.”

Willie looks up from the fidget toy he’s been playing with in the middle of their hastily reassembled conjuring circle. He waves awkwardly. The girls wave back.

“I don’t know how reliable weird online rituals are.”

“Well, they’re worth a shot!”

“What if we accidentally turn the boys into chickens or something?”

“So, we avoid rituals with the word ‘chicken’ in it! Easy!”

“Or teddy bears, or actual bears, or — what if we get ourselves possessed?” Julie hunches her shoulders. “What if we end up hurting them even more?”

It’s painfully obvious neither one of her friends has a good answer. Flynn shrinks in her seat; Willie hugs himself tight, rubbing anxious hands up and down his arms.

“Actually,” he pipes up, voice a little hoarse. “I kinda had an idea.” 

When all eyes turn on him, he shrinks in on himself even more.

“It’s just… it’s not about the instruments, really, is it? But what they meant to them when they were alive. So… maybe that’s the key. They need something personal, something… to connect the new instruments to what they used to have in life.”

Julie and Flynn exchange glances, twin expressions of realization dawning on their faces. When he puts it like that… it sounds like the simplest thing in the world. Of course it’s not as easy as just getting new instruments — if they don’t mean anything to the boys, then they’re just wasting space.

“Where can we get personal items from the boys, though?” Julie’s brows furrow. “A lot of their stuff’s in the loft, but… they’ve gone through it all already. I feel like… it needs to be more special than that.”

“So, we’ve got to look further.” Willie pauses for a second, bouncing on his heels, before snapping back towards them. “Alex’s parents kept a few of his old things. I can get something.”

“Steal something, you mean,” Flynn points out.

Willie shrugs. “It was Alex’s stuff to begin with. Call it… lost and found.”

“That’s a nice word for it.” Julie rolls her eyes… but inside, she’s turning the idea over and over like a washing machine spin cycle. Something personal for each of the boys. Willie can handle Alex; she knows the Pattersons have kept a lot of Luke’s stuff, it wouldn’t be so hard just to borrow something… and Reggie…

“One problem,” she says softly. “We don’t know where Reggie’s family is.”

Flynn arches her brows, whips out her phone, and holds it up like a full deck of aces. 

“Oh, yeah,” Julie agrees. “That’ll work.”

Flynn asks for ten minutes; it takes her six. She tracks down Reggie’s obituary very easily, then traces the names of his parents as far as the Internet will let her. Of his father, she can find little trace… but Reggie’s mother is a glowing grandmother who shows off her younger son and his family in all her Facebook photos, rides horses in her spare time, and is really into book club. Her relationship status says she’s single… and lives all the way out in Tennessee.

Flynn, Julie, and Willie exchange dubious glances.

“No way can I poof that far without Caleb noticing.” Willie shakes his head. “He’d put me on such a tight leash, I’d start choking. Then I wouldn’t be able to help you guys at all.”

Julie shakes her head. “So, that idea’s out. It’s not like we can fly to Tennessee and ask the Peterses if they held onto any of Reggie’s old things.” From the looks of it, the family has clearly moved on with their lives anyway — a sad contrast to the Pattersons, still living like shadows in their forever home, their son’s old bedroom turned into a storage closet.

Flynn’s voice comes out small and sad when she asks, “So… what can we do for Reggie?”

The answer, when it finally hits, seems obvious… and, when Trevor Wilson finds Julie standing at his front door, he doesn’t look surprised to see her.

“Did you electrify the fence?” Julie asks casually. Her curls are standing on end, slightly singed.

Trevor sighs, and opens the door wider for her.

If she knew a little less about Trevor’s history, about the ghosts he’s spent twenty-five years hiding from… she might be surprised to find he hasn’t held onto many memories. All of the old Sunset Curve relics were stored up in the loft; if Trevor wanted them, he’d have taken them out when he gave the house to Julie’s mom. The past had its place, though, and clearly it wasn’t in Trevor Wilson’s superstar life.

He hangs his head when she asks, shifts uncomfortably, and looks for all the world like a sulky teenager.

Julie narrows her eyes, unimpressed. “If the answer’s no, you can just say no.”

“No,” Trevor blurts out. His face screws up in frustration. “I mean — no, it’s not that I don’t have anything of theirs, it’s just — it’s been a long time, okay? There’s not much left. I dunno what you’re really looking for —“

“It’s for the instruments,” Julie interjects. “Anything to make them a bit more… theirs. Anything to bring them home."

Trevor is quiet for a very long moment. When he finally speaks, he looks like he regrets it.

“Yeah, okay. I think I have the thing. C’mon.”

She follows Trevor through the half-familiar halls of his seemingly endless mansion. Once upon a time, Julie knew this place like the back of her hand; she could probably still find her way around alone, though they’ve redecorated a bit since her friendship with Carrie imploded. Countless sleepovers, where Carrie’s dad told them stories about rockstar life, let them style his hair and do his makeup, played Dance Dance Revolution with them until his hip gave out… when Julie was growing up, the Wilson mansion was practically her home too, and she used to think Carrie’s dad was the coolest.

Her boys wouldn’t agree… but they hate everything about Trevor, for reasons she can’t pretend aren’t valid. They’d probably resent him even without those reasons… because he’s not the Bobby they left behind. 

Bobby got a chance to grow up. Her boys didn’t.

Does this thought haunt Trevor too, every time he closes his eyes?

He leads her all the way up to the top floor of the mansion — the area of the house Julie’s frequented least over the years. In fact, she’s only been up here a few times… enough to be awed by the collection of awards and accolations, the proof of a legendary career. Scattered amid the platinum records are shelves full of eclectic odds and ends. Trevor has always been a collector; he’s prided himself on bringing back a souvenir from every place he’s visited on his multiple world tours. None of it’s what you could find in a gift shop — shrunken heads, bronze statues, tiny altars and ornate jars. Trevor Wilson’s “memory hall” could easily pass for a museum… and clearly, he’s been selective about which memories from his life he wanted to keep.

But he leads her all the way to the back of the room, to a little black cabinet built into the wall… and when he opens it, Julie comes face-to-face with her ghosts.

The photos are faded with age, the frames dented and glass cracked in one corner… but these little touches of authenticity ring true to the faces staring out at them. Julie’s blinded by Reggie’s bright smile; Luke, with his arm thrown around Alex’s shoulder, Alex grimacing in put-on irritation; and, between the three of them, a darker boy with lank hair and a half-smile on his lips.

Recognition doesn’t come immediately. It hits her like a stone when it does.

“Oh,” she mutters. Trevor chuckles, dry as parchment paper.

“What? Surprised I was ever young?”

She’s seen Bobby's face on the album cover, of course, but… this is different. This feels real. The Bobby messing around with his friends in these photos fits right in with them, like a missing piece. His smile is so natural, so young and carefree; he’s laughing in one shot, and looks happier than she’s ever known Trevor Wilson to be.

Trevor tracks her eyes, and heaves a sigh. “Life,” is all he says, shrugging broad shoulders.

“They wouldn’t know,” Julie replies. Trevor flinches.

Around the framed photographs, cluttering the other shelves, are odds and ends that don’t mean anything at first. A few old guitar picks with teeth marks still gouged into them. Some beaded jewelry, obviously handmade. A few battered old notebooks — and Julie’s stomach flips to think who they belonged to before Trevor took possession of them. Old cologne, the kind a teenage boy would wear. A bottle of black nail polish that clearly hasn’t been opened in years. Some old cans of — is that spray paint? A woven rainbow bracelet. And, sitting off to the side, pushed away almost like an afterthought… a large bottle of guitar polish.

Trevor reaches for it, confirming her suspicions. Julie leans back, grimacing. “Is that… from the nineties?”

Trevor chuckles, pulling the bottle off the shelf. “Hey, this was top of the line back then. You couldn’t buy better than this. Reggie saved up for months… he was real particular about his girl, y’know? Took care of her better than he took care of himself.” Trevor makes a face. “And that guy could spend hours fixing his hair, so that’s saying a lot.”

Julie snorts, then clamps a hand over her mouth, embarrassed. Trevor just huffs.

“Before every show, he’d polish his bass to a shine… it was part of his routine. I, uhh… made it part of mine, when I started performing big shows. It… felt like having him close, I guess.” 

She tilts her head at a tiny plastic owl sitting on the shelf. Trevor pokes it lightly with his pointer finger, and the head bobbles.

“Alex and Luke had this whole thing, collecting McDonalds toys. They got really into it for a while. Who had more, who could get a whole set, that kinda thing.”

“You guys ate a lot of McDonalds, huh?”

“A lot of whatever we could. We didn’t have the cash to spare… whatever was cheap, I guess.”

Another stab of sympathy ripples through her chest, for these poor boys who had nowhere to go. If it hadn’t been the hot dogs… maybe it would have been something else. The thought leaves her feeling queasy.

Trevor hands her the bottle. Julie takes it carefully, and holds it like a precious thing.

“Thanks. This is, uhh… I think this will really help”

Trevor shrugs, carefully avoiding her gaze. Looking between them — the goofy young Bobby in the pictures, and the lonely grown man who stands before her — Julie can see the resemblance. They’ve still got the same eyes: dark, thoughtful, and somehow lonely. Haunted.

“I know the boys will appreciate it,” she says softly.

Trevor still doesn’t look at her. “Yeah, yeah. Good… good luck, Julie.”

He closes the cabinet, and the past is laid to rest all over again.

As far as Trevor’s concerned, it’s probably for the best.

It’s not like Julie makes a habit of visiting her elderly neighbors in her spare time… so, Emily Patterson is understandably surprised to find her standing on her front doorstep.

“Julie! Hello, dear, it’s nice to see you again.” Emily opens the door a little wider; the smile on her face is an echo of her son’s, nothing but genuine. “This is an unexpected surprise.” 

Julie smiles back, flawlessly polite. Still, something must set Emily on edge — probably her trying to put the puzzle pieces together in her mind, and not liking what she comes up with. A shadow suddenly crosses her face. “Did you… find more things of Luke’s?”

“Oh!” Julie… should have seen that one coming. Why else would she be here, really? Suddenly, her excuse seems painfully weak… but she holds up the tray in her hands anyway. “No! Actually, I, uhh — I made brownies!”

(It’s one of Luke’s fondest memories, the ones he’ll confide in quiet moments with a faint, sad smile on his lips. He and his mother, baking brownies in the kitchen on Sunday afternoons. Emily taught him to measure ingredients, to mix it all together until the batter was smooth, to clean up as he went along… Julie would never trust him alone in her kitchen, but if his former bandmates are to be believed, Luke has a talent for baking. 

Julie asked him if he wanted to help her make brownies for his mom. Luke didn’t stir from the couch; he stared right through her, as if he didn’t even know she was there.)

Still — the plan, obvious as it is, works. Something in Emily’s face softens. She opens the door wider.

“Luke and I used to bake all the time,” she chatters a few moments later, bustling around the kitchen to fix them both tea. “When he was younger, I had to stop him from licking the bowl clean before we could put anything in the oven… that boy feared nothing. Not even salmonella.” Her laugh cuts off in something a little twisted — like she’s remembering all over again how her son died. Julie grimaces, picking at the woven pattern of the kitchen placemat. 

“He really must have been…” She trails off, struggling for the right word. “Extraordinary.”

Emily’s face is gentle around the edges, her eyes soft. “He really was. You know…” She pauses, chuckling to herself. “I used to attend his parent-teacher meetings, and that’s all his teachers had to say. How bright he was, how clever… how much potential he had. Luke’s English teacher used to rave about him. All of his essays were outstanding — he had a gift for worlds, and such a natural eloquence. One teacher even called him a prodigy.” Her smile takes on a note of sadness. “Of course, he didn’t turn in half of his assignments. Didn’t… have the interest, I guess.”

“Or the time,” suggests Julie, her voice soft. “He must have worked… really hard on the band.”

“The band.” Emily’s voice is heavy with feeling. “Of course. He put everything he had into that band… those boys.” Her voice softens. “His dreams. I just wish —“

She cuts herself off. Julie waits patiently… but Emily doesn’t continue. She only shakes her head, and takes the kettle off of the stove.

Julie’s nerves hum as she watches Emily prepare plates for them. She doesn’t know how to lead into this; talking about Luke is a good start, but there’s so much Emily holds herself back from saying. Will she even want to talk about it? And with Julie, of all people, basically a stranger?

“Do you…” She clears her throat, frowning down at the table top. Her fingers drum restlessly over the polished wood. She searches in the dark, and seizes upon the only solid thing she has to offer.

“We try to hold onto memories, I think, as much as we can. It’s easier than… holding onto the real things that belonged to them. Those just hurt whenever we look at them, like they’re still here just to remind us that they’re gone… but memories are easy to pack away, I guess."

Emily’s gaze is soft, nonintrusive. It makes Julie feel comfortable in spite of herself.

“We donated most of my mom’s clothes after she died,” Julie admits. “Most of her stuff either went into storage, or… we couldn’t stand having it around. My dad cleared out a lot of the bedroom they used to share together. It was… really hard for him.” She shrugs. “But her studio — the place where she used to play music? We couldn’t make ourselves touch that for almost a year. There was just… too much of her in it.”

“Like a time capsule,” Emily concurs softly. “It almost feels like… living with a ghost, keeping all their old things around.”

Julie swallows. “Did you… Luke?”

“Yes,” Emily replies. “For a long, long time. We couldn’t make ourselves…” Her lips purse; she forces back a sudden rush of emotion before it can betray her, and pushes forward. “Then, finally, we did. A lot of it got donated. Some of it we gave to Mitch’s nephews. There are… still plenty of his things in the basement. His old room has his dresser, his bed, but… we mostly use it for storage now.”

Julie thinks of her mother’s studio, a time capsule of years gone by; her mother’s trunk, all the things she couldn’t bring herself to look at; the relentless energy which drove Tía in those first few weeks to clean out the house, to donate and box things away, to clear so many of Mom’s things out. It felt like… erasing her, scrubbing her clean from their lives. Julie had hated her aunt for it at the time, just a little. Now, she understands.

“It makes it easier, doesn’t it? Letting it all go?”

Emily nods, meeting Julie’s gaze. “It’s necessary,” is all she says.

Luckily, the brownies shift their conversation into something more cheerful. They sip their tea, eat their desserts, and make friendly small-talk for nearly an hour. The entire time, Julie’s mind is racing. An opportunity — a window. A few minutes, that’s all she needs. She’s not sure what she’s looking for, but she’ll know it when she sees it. She just needs a chance.

By four-thirty, the visit is definitely wrapping up. Julie folds the tinfoil over her brownies again — Emily insists she couldn’t possibly keep them — and moves to place her dishes in the sink, before Emily plucks them from her hands with an, “I’ll take care of that, dear!”

Julie should be on her way out the door, but she has one last errand to run.

“Umm,” she says, and Emily looks up at her, expectant. “Actually, could I use your bathroom?”

“Of course, dear! It’s at the end of the hall, the last door to your left.”

The good thing about the Patterson house is, it’s not large. It’s all one story, with stairs in the kitchen leading down to a basement. There’s the living room connected to the kitchen, which leads into a single hallway, and the hallway connects the rest of the house together. Julie files past several half-open doors — bedrooms, closets, an actual computer room, like it’s still the late nineties — until she reaches the inevitable bathroom.

Julie stares at the door to her left, then spins around, and pushes open the closed door to her right.

As soon as she steps in, she knows. It doesn’t look like his room anymore — there are no posters and photographs on the walls, no mess of dirty clothes and crumpled papers littering the floors — but impressions of Luke are still imprinted wherever she looks. The walls are patterned in soothing blue; there are a few slightly lighter squares in the wallpaper where posters must have once stood. The frame of a bed sits in the middle of the room, the mattress bare; boxes of junk have been piled on top of the bed, just for a place to put them. The room smells dusty, and is poorly lit; clearly, no one comes in here often anymore.

It’s still Luke’s, down to the very floorboards. Julie can’t imagine having a room like this in her house. It was one thing, with her parents room, but… at least that didn’t completely belong to Mom. There was still life there, even after she was gone.

This room feels like a tomb.

Julie holds her breath and steps inside, allowing the door to creak closed behind her. Most of his stuff is gone, Emily said, donated or packed away… but there are so many boxes here. They crowd the room on all sides, stacked on top of each other, overflowing with old clothes and Christmas decorations. In the midst of all the junk, there’s got to be something… something of Luke’s, something that’s still here…

Her eyes fall on the dresser. Of course.

Julie feels a bit like an intruder, tearing through drawers that haven’t been opened in decades, still filled with personal items. What happened to boundaries? It’s for a good cause, she reminds herself, shoving chewed up erasers and pencil stubs out of the way. It’s for Luke, and that’s enough to drive her forward, pawing through one drawer after another.

There’s not much in here. A few old school notebooks, some crumpled homework pages, a few torn ticket stubs from the nineties. All things no one would miss, or think to throw out. Julie smirks as she pulls out a crumpled page covered in doodles — messy stick figures who she recognizes by the drumsticks and bass. She tucks that one in her pocket; the boys will get a kick out of it later.

(If they even have a later.)

She needs something personal, something meaningful. Gritting her teeth, Julie throws open the bottom drawer —

There.

Crumpled in the bottom of the drawer, half-buried under an old math textbook, is a faded guitar strap. It’s patterned with red roses, and what looks like — thorns? tacky, Luke — but it’s real, clearly well-used , and when Julie pulls it out, it doesn’t fall to pieces in her hands.

She breathes a sigh of relief. It turns into a laugh halfway, and then a sob catches in her throat.

It takes her a minute too long to collect herself. Carefully, she tucks the guitar strap under her sweater and steps out of Luke’s room. She ducks into the bathroom, flushes the toilet to cover her tracks, and hastily washes the dust off of her hands before stepping back into the kitchen.

Emily smiles at her, completely unsuspicious. Julie smiles back.

“Thank you for inviting me in, Mrs. Patterson,” she says. “Really. You’ve helped more than you know.”

Help comes just in time.. because the boys are getting worse. 

Hour by hour, minute by minute… they just keep fading. Julie can’t keep track of the steady progression of losing them; it’s like falling asleep when exhausted, feeling yourself pulled steadily under, but unable to fight the current.

Maybe that’s how it feels for them, too. All Julie knows is, every time she sees them, they’re even further out of reach.

It takes a few days to get everything together. The instruments have been sitting in the loft, unused and ignored. Julie hauls them down and places them center stage, where they belong. She locks Luke’s strap on, and polishes Reggie’s bass to a shine. Alex’s new bass drum bears the Julie and the Phantoms logo again. She gets them as close to the originals as possible… and from there, has no idea where to start.

Getting the boys to just use the instruments didn’t work the first time. They’ve got to try something different this time around… but what?

It doesn’t help that she hardly ever sees the boys anymore. They’re barely in the studio. They’re barely anywhere.

Julie doesn’t know where they go when they’re not around. Luke, she figures, has his parents’ house. Alex has been spending a lot of time with Willie — she knows, because Willie’s been coming around every day now, and every day he’s a little more desperate, eager to try anything. Reggie…

Well, she doesn’t know where Reggie goes. He has nowhere to go.

They all come back to the studio at night, though — pale and washed out, moving robotically, as if going through the motions of existing. Their stares are blank, eyes full and empty. They barely talk to each other anymore, let alone Julie. She waits for them to return as long as she can, but sometimes…

Sometimes it’s easier just to go to bed. Easier not to see them.

Luke is the worst out of the three, she thinks, because he’s so… different. Wrong in every way that counts. Luke Patterson is made of mercury, ever changing, never holding still. He’s restless, fueled by a fire in his chest that refuses to go out. Now, that flame has been smothered. He used to bounce around wherever he went, treating furniture like an obstacle course and solid walls like suggestions. These days, he just wanders — still unable to hold still. Julie sees him meandering the garden like a zombie sometimes, head bowed low… or he paces the studio, staring at the decorations on the wall, new additions and the old relics of Sunset Curve, like he doesn’t recognize any of it. When Julie speaks to him, he fights to hear her, to respond with a shred of himself. He’s fighting the hardest… but still losing, more every day.

Then again, maybe Alex is the one most changed. Brave, gentle Alex, who always tried so hard to be strong. Now, he’s weak as a kitten; Willie has to carry him back to the studio one day, because Alex sways and seems like he’ll collapse when standing on his own. He curls up on the couch then, chin resting on his drawn-up knees, and stays there for hours without moving. His vacant eyes stare off into the distance… and it takes Julie too long to notice how they droop. He blinks them often to keep them open; but Alex is fighting the tide of sleep, and sleep is winning. That becomes a constant, after that night. Something is trying to drag Alex down into the dark, and it’s getting harder and harder for him to keep himself awake.

“He dozes off sometimes,” Willie admits. “I tried to let him rest, but… then I couldn’t wake him up. He started to… it looked like he was...” He swallows hard, eyes flickering down. Ice water ripples in Julie’s stomach. Alex has looked so washed out lately; she can look away for one moment, and out of the corner of her eye swear she sees him fading.

“What happens if he doesn’t wake up?” she asks softly. 

Willie looks away.

Whenever all three boys are together, though, it’s obvious who’s hurting the most. Reggie. Reggie, who’s so hollowed out now, his eyes are grey instead of aquamarine. Reggie, who drifts like he’s caught in an ocean current, so far out of reach he barely seems to hear the other boys anymore. Reggie, who sits so still, so lifeless now, drawn in on himself like he’s trying to shrink.

Julie finds him alone in the studio one day, early in the morning, when the shadows are still long and the world is quiet. He’s hunched in the shadows, head pressed to his knees. She wouldn’t have known he was there if she hadn’t accidentally spotted him; they’re all still and silent now, but Reggie’s the worst.

“Hi, Reggie,” she says. He doesn’t look up.

Something painful twists in Julie’s gut. After a second’s hesitation, she sits beside him; she knows it will only hurt, but she had to try to coax him back to life. To try something… anything. She starts in on her day, telling him funny stories; when he doesn’t respond, she hums his favorite songs… and, when all else fails, Julie begs him.

“Please, Reggie. I know you’re in there. Just… look at me.”

He lifts his head to her — very slowly, like it pains him. It’s the first time he’s moved all morning. His skin is white; his eyes are empty. When his lips move, it seems to take a tremendous effort.

“Who…” He pauses. He looks around. His brows furrow. “Where?”

An icicle stabs deep into Julie’s chest. “What?”

“Where am I?” Reggie’s voice is almost too soft to hear. “Where… how’d I get here?”

“Reggie,” she says, choking.

He looks at her again, and there’s nothing in his eyes… pure nothing.

“Who are you?”

That night, she sobs so long and hard, she tears her throat raw. At some point, the boys must regroup, and figure out some of what happened. It’s late enough that Julie should be asleep, but isn’t, when twin poofs resound in the dark of her room.

“Julie,” Luke says softly. When she raises her head, he and Alex are standing like statues beside her window. At the sight of Julie’s tears, pain flickers across Luke’s face. Alex remains blank.

“It’s not his fault,” Luke says. “He didn’t mean to.”

“I know that,” Julie practically sobs.

Luke isn’t so far gone that he can hear that without flinching. “It’s just… hard sometimes, to remember… I forget too. When I’m alone.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Luke.”

“We’re trying, really… you gotta believe we’re trying.

Of course she believes them. She knows how hard her boys are trying not to slip away. But it’s never been more apparent now that there’s no time to waste.

Julie is up before dawn the next morning, hunched in the studio, polishing Reggie’s bass until it gleams. She digs one of his old flannels out of the loft, and wraps it around the instrument like a birthday gift; then she props it upright against the couch, leaving the bottle of polish sitting beside it.

Her heart pounds hard in her chest. The studio is deafeningly empty. Flynn wanted to be a part of the rescue mission. Willie begged not to be left out. They’re still working on coming up with a plan, still trying to figure out how a guaranteed way to win the boys’ souls back — and they’ve worked so hard, they deserve to be here, but —

But there’s no time.

Julie can’t bear to wait any longer… and neither can her boys.

She takes a deep breath, and stares out into the dark studio.

“Reggie?”

No answer. The world is still and silent. Julie swallows hard, fighting through her own fear.

“Reggie. If you’re there — if you can hear me —“

No. He can hear her — he has to. Wherever he is, whatever’s left of him… Julie knows, the moment she plucks a note, that Reggie can hear it.

She knows a few basics of guitar-playing; a bass is different, but not unfamiliar. Julie’s hands are sure and steady. She plucks out each note, letting it ring through the room… and as a melody picks up, she begins to sing.

Don’t blink,
No, I don’t wanna miss it…

It feels like lifetimes ago, that day when she snatched the boys from Caleb’s grasp. They were there for her then; she needed them as much as they needed her, and they saved each other.

Now, it’s all Julie can do to fight — fight to save them.

And it’s one, two, three, four times
That I try
For one more night

She’s never played an acoustic version of this song before… yet somehow, the notes flow through her naturally. Julie doesn’t question it, doesn’t wonder. She’s reaching out — with her voice, with her soul — fumbling around in the darkness for anything familiar. A flicker, a spark — a hand reaching out blindly. Anything to grasp onto, and to pull.

Come on, Reggie, she thinks as the song flows through her. I need you now.

The second he reappears, she feels him.

It’s a tangible feeling in the air — a suddenly heaviness, as though something is weighing the shadows down. At first, Julie doesn’t see him; he lingers in the darkest corner of the room, still as a statue, hunched in on himself. It takes a moment to find him, and even longer for him to find himself.

Julie plucks the strings on his bass, as if calling him towards her. Come on, Reggie. Come on.

He moves out of the shadows. One step, then another — he’s uncertain. Julie keeps her eyes trained on him, and sings.

Whatever happens,
Even if I’m the last standing
I’ma stand tall…

He’s staring at his bass. There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes, like sparks of red flame.

I gotta keep on dreaming
Cause I gotta catch that feeling
Whatever happens
Even if I'm the last standing
I'ma stand tall…

He reaches out.

Before he can touch the bass, Julie grasps his hand.

And she can feel him.

The world seems to explode in a burst of light and color. Suddenly, Julie’s not playing anymore — Reggie’s bass is playing itself, the notes rippling out through the room. Julie’s voice sparks over the melody, and she feels it swallow them both up. She and Reggie, drowning in music, like being enveloped by the most familiar blanket… and it’s warm, and it’s safe, and it’s home. Julie sings, and Reggie mouths the words along with her. His thin voice rises above the music, growing stronger with each line. Julie smiles. Reggie grins back.

And it's one, two, three, four times
That I'll try for one morе night
Light a fire in my eyes…

Reggie’s eyes are getting brighter. Color floods back into his cheeks, flushing them bright pink. The definition returns to his form, the strange fuzziness at his edges fading away. Suddenly, he’s solid. Suddenly, he’s here, he’s glowing, and grinning at Julie, and it means everything in the world.

With every note, he comes back to life, and Julie’s heart soars.

It feels like it’s over too fast. The song ends, as all songs do… and for an instant, Julie’s terrified she’ll lose him again. She clutches his hand tighter than ever, desperate eyes locking on him. Only then does she realize…

Reggie’s glowing.

A golden aura emanates around him, rippling like a veil of static electricity. It doesn’t feel like anything; Julie’s hand, twined his own, is unchanged. The flow is coming from Reggie, from within Reggie… and, when Julie glances down at his bass, it shines just as brightly.

“Reggie?” she asks, barely daring to hope.

Reggie makes a tiny hiccuping noise in reply; the tears in his eyes are almost overflowing. Julie doesn’t give them the chance. She throws herself forward, catching him around the shoulders. Reggie manages a strangled ‘oof’, but that’s all he has the time for, before Julie’s squeezing the air out of his lungs.

“Julie, Julie, my ribs —“ But he’s hugging her back, burying his face in her hair. From the way his shoulders hitch, Julie can tell he’s crying. She just hugs him tighter, shaking him back and forth, like she never wants to let him go. Reggie inhales shakily into her neck; she buries her own tears in the soft fabric of his flannel, which smells so like him, so perfectly Reggie —

They stay like that for a long time. She’s not sure how long. She loses track of the hours, as hazy dawn fades into morning and the studio fills with light. Reggie doesn’t leave with the shadows; he stays right there with her, as solid as ever.

“I can feel again,” is all he says. “Oh man, Julie, I got so lost…”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, not even hearing the irony in her words. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“We shouldn’t have gone. We messed up so bad…”

“You should have told me!”

“We should’ve.” Reggie thumbs the tears from her cheeks, as if he’s not still crying too. “You could’ve helped us a lot earlier. But we were scared, Julie. It’s scary, to… lose everything that makes you you. The other guys are still really scared.”

She sets her jaw. “Not anymore. We got you back, right? We figured it out.” She gives him another little shake. “We’re going to get the others back too.”

Reggie smiles at her like she’s the sunrise, and melts into her hug again.

By the time they’re interrupted, they’ve probably been in there for hours already. When the studio door opens, a rush of spring wind floods into the room. Julie’s head shoots up; she blinks owlishly against the bright light. Flynn stands in the doorway, hands on her hips.

“Jules! What the heck? You text me all weird at like, five in the morning, and don’t even answer afterwards — what did you mean, ‘It’s time?’ What are you —“

Flynn takes two steps into the studio and goes very still. “Whoa,” she says, blinking at Julie.

No. Not Julie.

Blinking next to Julie, at the space beside her on the floor, where Reggie’s still hugging her.

Reggie blinks back, mouth forming a tiny ‘o’ of surprise. His face is so expressive — Julie hadn’t realized how much she missed that — and it’s easy to see when his shock turns into realization. 

“H-hey, Flynn,” he says. “How’s it going?”

Flynn’s eyes are huge. Somehow, she still manages to play it cool.

“You know,” she says, straightening up. “It’s… going.” One step closer, then two — she’s standing right next to them now, as Julie’s head swivels back and forth between her two friends. “You look… good.”

“Aw.” Reggie huffs, running a nervous hand through his hair — he hasn’t bothered styling it lately. “Way to flatter a guy.”

“Better than you have been, I mean. Less…” Flynn makes a tiny coughing noise. “Less ghostly.”

“Yeah.” Reggie nods his head, like someone waking from a dream. “Yeah, I feel better.”

“That’s great… good for you.”

Slowly, Flynn holds up a hand… and, just as slowly, Reggie raises his own. There’s a moment of held breath, before their palms come together in a very tangible high five.

“Whoa,” Reggie gapes, while Flynn stares wide-eyed at her palm. “That’s new.”

New, and wonderful, and too confusing to understand right now… but somehow, Julie’s okay with that.

It’s enough to have Reggie close, and know he’s not going anywhere any time soon.

The day after saving Reggie, Julie can’t get out of bed.

Her head pounds; her joints ache; her limbs feel hollowed out, completely drained of energy. When she tries to sit up, the world dips around her, and she sinks back into her bed, exhausted.

Flynn texts to check up on her multiple times during the day, but Julie barely has the energy to text back. She tells her Dad she’s come down with a flu; he makes her pollo guisado and kisses her forehead, commenting that she feels a little warm. Julie doesn’t — she knows she doesn’t have a fever, knows whatever sickness has taken hold of her, it’s not natural — but she accepts the care anyways.

It’s all worth it, because Reggie barely leaves her side all day.

“This is all my fault,” he frets, bouncing anxiously in the beanbag chair beside her bed. “Whatever we did, Julie, I took so much energy — you spent it all fixing me, and now you’re sick, I’m so sorry —“

“Reggie,” she mumbles, and it’s exhausting even forcing the words out. “I don’t care.”

His face falls. Confused hurt flashes in his eyes. Julie sighs.

“I don’t care… that I’m hurting. You’re okay now. You’re gonna be okay, and that’s what matters most.” She sits up a little more, though the effort drains her completely, and the world spins by the time she’s upright. “I’d do the same thing fifty times over, just to save you guys."

Reggie’s cheeks are red — and it’s such a relief to see him alive again, emoting and colorful, instead of so washed out. He bites his lip to hide a smile, and his eyes look a little watery. “Good news is,” he says, “you’re only gonna have to do it two more times.”

Luke and Alex. Right. Julie slumps back against the pillows, bracing herself.

“But not for a really long time! Like — like, a week, at least! You’ve gotta get your energy up, okay? That means lots of rest, and lots of feeling better.”

Her head is spinning again. Julie fights to focus. “Do the guys… have that much time?”

Reggie shrugs, taking a sudden interest in Julie’s jewelry tree, heavy with her many accessories. “Sure,” he replies, “they’re hanging in there.” He’s quiet for a moment, toying with a beaded necklace like he’s grateful for the distraction. When he finally speaks again, it’s almost reluctant. “I, uhh — tried to talk to them last night. To tell them we found the fix, that they’re gonna be okay. It was really weird, Julie. Like… they were right in front of me, right? But it was like they weren’t there at all. I couldn’t reach ‘em, they… they just looked right through me. And they sound so hollowed out, so…”

He swallows. A tiny crease appears between his brows.

“I remember that feeling. It’s the worst thing in the world… ‘cause it’s just nothing. No feeling at all. And the longer it goes on… the worse it gets.”

A tiny shudder runs through him. He clasps a hand to his chest, like he’s grateful for the pain — grateful to feel anything at all, after being numb for so long.

Julie shifts in bed, making the mattress creak. When Reggie looks up at her, she’s got a hand extended, reaching out for him. He hesitates only a minute… but she beckons him closer, pulling him into bed beside her. As soon as he’s fit himself in under the covers, Julie curls into him, fitting herself against his body like a puzzle piece. Reggie embraces her, hugging her tight. He breathes against the crown of her head, absently playing with her curls. Julie inhales the rich scent of him, feels the reassuring warmth of his flannel and the solid pillow of his chest, and the relief is so great, she could cry.

He’s come back to her. He’s really, truly back. And most importantly, he’s not hurting anymore.

Reggie’s right — she knows that. The best thing now is for her to heal, to build her strength up and recover before making any more moves. If whatever she did to save Reggie took this much out of her… clearly, playing with souls is dangerous.

But somewhere out there, not too far away, but completely out of reach, her boys are suffering. Luke and Alex… empty, in pain, fading away. And Julie’s the only one with the power to save them.

A restlessness slithers in the pit of her stomach. If she had the energy to move, she'd probably try to act on it right now.

At this moment, though, Reggie’s holding her too tight. Julie melts into his embrace without even meaning to… and by the time she finds herself fading, it’s too late to wake up. She doesn’t have the energy to fight, anyway.

For now, relief is enough. Reassurance is enough. Rescuing one of her boys is enough.

The rest… can come another day.

She means soon, of course — but not, like, literally the next night . Julie expects she’ll have a little time to bounce back, to plan, to decide who next and how they’ll do it… but life (and death) never works out according to plan. 

It’s funny. Alex has always been the patient one.

But Reggie is gone in the middle of the night when Julie’s jolted out of her sleep. For an instant she’s alone, fumbling in the dark for rhyme or reason. The next second, Willie is calling her name. His voice is choked, ragged with desperation; he’s hunched on the floor with a body in his arms.

Julie tumbles out of bed. “Alex!”

“He’s going, Julie, he’s going, I can’t —“ Willie forces the words out through a sob; he clutches Alex desperately, shaking him in his arms like a rag doll. “Alex, please, come on, you gotta stay awake!”

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“He won’t wake up, Julie! He can’t keep his eyes open!”

“Alex!” 

She hits the ground on her knees beside Willie. Alex is limp and heavy in his arms; his head lolls back, face slack, eyes shut. When Willie shakes him, he doesn’t stir. Julie tries to cup his face, and her hand passes right through him.

“He’s going,” Willie gasps. “I can feel it, Julie. He’s so cold.”

Julie can’t feel him, but she can see. See straight through him, to the pattern of her carpet beneath Alex’s back, and Willie’s knees folded underneath him. Alex is going transparent. He’s fading before their eyes, and even Willie clutching him close isn’t enough to anchor him.

They need something bigger.

“Come on,” she says hoarsely. “Let’s get him to the studio. We need… he needs…”

His drums. His music. Something to anchor him, something personal — was Willie able to get it in time?

Wide eyed, Willie only wastes time nodding before poofing out. Julie forces herself to her feet. It takes much more energy than it should; she can barely stay standing, once she’s upright, but she pushes herself on without falling. Her mind is on the studio, on the drum set sitting pre-assembled in the shadows. Eyes on the prize, she coaches herself as the stumbles down the stairs. Make it out to the studio; make it to Alex before it’s too late.

When she gets there, Willie has Alex laid out on the floor in front of his instrument. His head is pillowed in Willie’s lap; his eyes flutter, half-conscious but not really aware; and laying beside them are a pair of moldy, faded wooden sticks.

“That’s —“ Julie blinks at the trophies as Willie holds them up. “Eww.” 

“I know, I know! His parents have most of Alex’s old things in storage, and they threw a lot out… but his mom kept these in her bedside table.”

Julie gapes. “You stole them from his mom’s bedroom?”

“You stole Luke’s thing too!’

“Yeah, from a closet!”

“Well, I didn’t have a lot of options!” Willie flails, almost dislodging Alex in his panic. Alex grunts, which is probably a good sign.

Julie bites the bullet, and grabs the moldy guitar sticks. They feel… soft in her hands. Ew. It takes so much brainpower to not think about that, she hardly even remembers how exhausted she is as she collapses behind the drum set.

Which leads her to a much more obvious problem: Julie has no idea how to play drums.

She flails a little, fumbling with the sticks in her hand. One accidentally thuds against the snare drum, with a discordant boom. Willie winces. Julie shuffles backwards, holding up both hands, and tries to figure out what goes where.

“Okay, Alex! I’m gonna need you to work with me here.” She looks down at him, a little desperate. “I need your help.”

Alex doesn’t even stir.

“He’s too far gone, Julie, he can’t —“ 

Willie cuts himself off with a soft murmur. He bends over Alex, the feathery tips of his hair caressing his brow. His hands are tender on his jaw, cupping his face gently.

“Hey, Hot Dog. You with me?”

Alex stirs, just the slightest bit. He makes a noise that sounds like a whimper.

“There you are…” Willie’s voice is agonizingly proud. “I know, babe. I know it hurts. I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry, Alex.” He presses his forehead to Alex’s own, swallowing down a sob. “I’m sorry I did this to you. I’d do anything to take it back. It’s all my fault, I was the one…”

He cuts himself off. There’s a far-away look in his eyes, as though he’s replaying the image, the sound and sensation of drumsticks snapping over and over in his head. A tiny shudder courses through Willie’s body.

“I did this to you,” he finally manages. “And I’m sorry. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But Alex… you gotta fight, okay? You gotta hang in there. You’re gonna be okay, you can beat this because you’re strong — god, you’re the strongest person I know — and I know you can do it, okay? You can make it through.”

Willie pauses. He takes a deep breath, and presses the words into the crown of Alex’s head.

“I’m never gonna let you get hurt again. I promise, after this… I’ll let you go. You don’t have to forgive me. After what I did to you, I don’t —“ He cuts himself off, breath ragged. “I’ll let you go, but you’ve gotta do this for me, Alex. Please… wake up and fight.”

There’s no reason it should work — no way anything should stir him to life, when Alex is already so far gone. He’s mostly transparent in Willie’s arms, like a twilight shadow, a fading memory… but when Willie presses the plea against his brow, Alex stirs.

“What… do you mean?”

Willie startles awake. His eyes are wide, like he’s dreaming but desperately wants to believe what he sees. “A-Alex?”

“What… d’you —“ Alex tries to push himself upright, but doesn’t have a fraction of the energy. He slumps back in Willie’s arms; Willie scrambles to cradle him.

“Shh, shh, don’t try to talk…”

“No.” There’s a note of stubbornness in Alex’s tone. “You said  —  why would you say that?”

“Alex, don’t!”

“You said it, though.” Alex pushes himself up, and it’s terrifying, with how little strength he has. Every movement seems like it could be his last; he’s a car driving on dregs, and any second, he could break down for good. But he seizes hold of Willie’s sweatshirt, knotting his hand in the grey fabric and holding on tight. There’s a spark of something in his hazy eyes; something frustrated, nearly furious. Emotion, Julie realizes, and hope soars in her chest.

“I’m sorry,” Willie says again, and Alex shakes his head.

“You said… ‘don’t give up.’” His voice wavers with the exertion of speaking. “So how can you ask me to give up on you?”

Willie looks up at him; their eyes lock, dull and lifeless against dark and overflowing. He exhales in a shudder that ruffles Alex’s hair, and runs an adoring hand over the back of Alex’s head.

“Please don’t let go,” is all Willie whispers. Whatever he means — of hope, of life, of me? — Alex hears him.

“Never,” he exhales… and, with the last of his strength, Alex throws his arms around Willie’s shoulders.

Willie holds him tight, clutching him with all the strength Alex doesn’t have. He lifts his gaze to Julie, as if remembering she’s there; he nods once, decisive, and Julie’s hands tighten around the drumsticks.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She only knows she has to play. She starts up a rhythm  — simple, slow, but as she gains confidence she plays faster.

It takes her too long to realize what it is: Alex’s drum solo from Stand Tall.

“Right now, I’m lovin’ every minute…” The words come to her naturally, flowing like air from her lungs. “Hands down, can’t let myself forget it… ‘cause everything is rushin’ in fast!”

The more she plays, the more she sings, the more the song soars around them. Willie’s never heard this one before — but he picks up the tune, and begins to hum it, low and soft into the crown of Alex’s head. Gently he rocks him, encouraging him to sing along… and though Alex barely has the strength, he finds the words anyway.

Whatever happens,
Even if I’m the last standing
I’ma stand tall…

There’s no explaining what happens next. At first, Julie thinks it’s her imagination — because drums don’t glow, drumsticks can’t be luminescent, tiny fireworks can’t explode with every pound of percussion. It’s impossible… but the drum kit in front of her is suddenly radioactive, and the sticks are humming in her hands, and the purple glow is swelling, soaring with each note.

It swallows her up. Julie’s vision explodes in purple… and suddenly, she’s not playing the drums at all. Something else is playing for her, controlling her hands, moving her body to the music; her rhythm is frantic and flawless. Even as she plays, her head spins. Something inside of her has come alive, like an inferno roaring to life inside of her chest… and the heat is unbearable. It burns and it’s ravenous and it wants to consume her. Something has grabbed hold of her soul and is tugging. Julie, because it is all she can do, tugs back.

GIVE UP, a voice in her head hisses. It’s nothing human, insidious and intrusive, like static roaring over her own thoughts. For a second, it almost swipes Julie off her feet. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TRYING TO DO.

Julie thinks of them all — thinks of Reggie laughing, Alex’s bright grin, the light in Luke’s eyes when he’s got an instrument in hand — and something in her crystallizes. I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I’M DOING, she shoots back. I’M NOT GOING TO STOP.

The drums are her battle, and she’s determined to win. The words flow out of her as she plays… and the pressure in her soul grows greater. The static roars. It feels like smothering smog, like fireworks exploding in her chest and rocking her ribcage, like an ancient, rotting hand curling around her throat and trying to steal the words from her lips. Something is strangling her…

YOU DON’T HAVE THE POWER, GIRL. 

Julie’s voice rises in the song, as familiar as her own heartbeat. Nothing can stop her from singing — not even this intruder, whatever it is.

YOU DON’T HAVE THE POWER TO STOP ME, she replies.

Julie slams down on the drums. The purple world around her explodes.

And something in her snaps.

She’s felt it before — the unnatural magnetic sensation deep within her soul, the night that it shattered and brought her world down with it. This… is different. It’s not shattering. It’s something snapping back into place, stronger than ever before. It’s like a bridge being rebuilt, a rubber band stretching itself out again, and it ties Julie’s soul to something else.

Something… new.

Huh, she thinks, as the last note of the song fades out. That’s different. That’s…

Alex, definitely Alex. She can feel him again.

But also… someone else.

Julie’s head shoots up. Her eyes widen, breath catching in her throat. In front of the drumset, Willie and Alex stand tall, with their arms wrapped around each other. They’re staring deep into each others’ eyes — too deep to notice that they’re both glowing. A deep golden iridescence emanates from them both, clinging to them like an aura. When Alex lifts his head, it shimmers… and when he looks at Julie, his smile is just as bright.

“You did it,” he exclaims. “Julie…”

“You’re back,” Willie says, like he doesn’t dare believe it.

“I feel whole again!” Alex laughs out loud, and spins back to Willie, cupping his face with one hand. Only then does he notice the glow. His eyes widen. “W-Willie…”

“Willie,” Julie echoes, stepping out from behind the drumset. The drumsticks slip from her hands and clatter to the carpet — all polished wood and shine, suddenly looking brand new — but Julie doesn’t notice. 

She reaches out. Willie doesn’t flinch away. His eyes are wide and curious, a little dazed, a little excited. When Julie’s hand lands on his shoulder, he gasps.

The next second, Julie throws herself against him, and he finds himself with an armful of squirming lifer.

“Whoa!”

Alex is still laughing, doubled over, braced against his knees. “Yeah, she does that!”

“We’re huggers,” Julie exclaims. “We’re all huggers here!’

“But what — I don’t —” Willie’s words stumble over each other, but he doesn’t sound frightened. He sounds like he’s feeling himself over, checking for any bumps or bruises… and he doesn’t find what he expects. “I don’t feel him anymore,” he whispers. “Caleb. It’s like he… like… he doesn’t have a hold on me anymore.”

“Oh,” Julie realizes out loud, flashing back to the purple glow, the static, the intrusive, suffocating sensation bearing down on her. So, that was Caleb. She knew they wouldn’t get along.

Willie draws back, his eyes wide. “Am I… free?”

A smile blooms on Julie’s face. She lunges forward again, hugging him tighter.

He is free now — and a part of her, as much as Alex and the other boys are. Willie will never have to fear Caleb again. He’s one of Julie’s phantoms… and he’s under her protection.

That just leaves one to go.

Two bad things happen in the next few days though, that makes prioritizing Luke’s cure impossible.

The first bad thing: Julie’s “flu” gets worse.

A lot worse.

Overnight, the world fades to a haze of dizziness and pain. Every muscle, every cell of her body aches; at times, she feels like she’s floating above it all, melting into a fizzy haze which leaves her reeling. Her vision dips and swirls whenever she has the energy to open her eyes. Dimly, she’s aware of the world around her — of people, her people always by her side — but Julie is far out of their reach.

“— fever’s gotten higher,” a distant voice that sounds like her father says.

“— gonna be okay?” asks a blurry, Flynn-shaped silhouette.

Julie murmurs something that turns into a groan… and time distorts in the seconds it takes for her voice to die out, because suddenly sunlight is streaming through her window, and a warm hand is on her forehead.

“Ay, cariña, pronto te sentirás mejor…”

A pair of dark eyes blink down at her, warm and gentle; familiar lips purse in a tender smile. Julie feels warm all over, like she’s melting out of this world.

“Mami?” 

The hand on her forehead goes still.

“Just rest,” the woman’s voice says after a minute, and Julie has no idea why she sounds so sad. “You’ll feel better in no time, mija.”

The world fades out again. Somewhere in the passing of hours, in the shivers and spasms and mind-melting exhaustion, Julie is only aware of one thing: she’s never alone.

When she is finally able to open her eyes — to really open them, and see what’s around her, for the first time in she-doesn’t-know-how-long — the room is dark, and someone is sitting in the bean bag chairs at the foot of her bed.

Julie shifts. Her mattress creaks. The figure springs to his feet, all wide-eyed and startled.

“Willie,” she murmurs, and he offers her a smile.

“Hey, Superstar. Hangin’ in there?”

Julie licks her lips, and forces the words past a dry throat. “Where — where’re—“

The boys. She’s thinking of all of them, but her mind is on Luke, Luke, Luke. She hasn’t saved him yet; he’s still hurting.

Then something pulls tight in her chest, and releases all at once, like a giant exhale. Suddenly, Alex is kneeling at her bedside, one hand braced against her bed frame. There’s a tiny smile on his lips, and his eyes are gentle.

“Take it easy,” he says softly. “The best thing you can do right now is rest.”

“Alex —“ she croaks, reaching out a hand. Alex twines his fingers together with hers, and for a moment, Julie just savours the feeling of him — here, and close, and hers. Then, at her side, the mattress creaks, and she feels a gentle hand running through her curls.

“We’re all here,” Reggie says softly. “We, uhh — clear out when your Dad comes in, ‘cause that explanation can probably wait ‘til later, but… we’re here with you, Julie. Okay? And you’re gonna be okay!”

“You’re gonna be fine,” Alex agrees. “You’ve just got to get your strength back up.”

Julie tests her own body, trying to lift herself up from the bed. She fails miserably. Her brows furrow. “I feel like… I got hit by a truck.”

Over Alex’s shoulder, Willie snickers. “We were the truck.”

Alex elbows him, and Willie promptly sobers up… but a smile flickers across Julie’s lips. It takes everything out of her, but it feels good to smile again.

It would all be so perfect… if there weren’t someone missing.

“Luke?” she asks softly.

The boys exchange glances over her head. Something strange ripples between them, an unspoken conversation Julie can’t hope to keep up with; she only recognizes the worry on Willie’s too-expressive face, the careful mask on Alex’s, and the ever-determined smile on Reggie’s.

“Don’t worry,” Alex promises. “He’s hanging in there. Right now, just focus on getting better.”

“Yeah. Luke’s gonna be fine.”

“We’ve got plenty of time.”

Julie tries to hold onto their voices… but they’re dissolving , all three of them, fizzling and fading and falling away. Her eyes are losing the battle to stay open.

“He’s gotta know,” she manages, talking through a mouth full of wet concrete. “He’s gotta… know… there’s hope…”

“He knows,” Alex swears. “We promise, Julie. He knows.”

Their reassuring smiles are the last thing Julie sees before the darkness takes her under again.

She doesn’t see them slump as soon as they’re sure she’s sleeping again; doesn’t see their smiles drop away; doesn’t see the uneasy looks they exchange over her head.

“Should we have told her?” Reggie asks, his voice small.

Alex’s expression doesn’t change; he remains stone-faced, shaking his head. “No way. If she found out… you know how she’d take it.”

“She needs to get better,” Willie agrees. “Telling her the truth…”

“We can’t hurt her,” says Alex. “Not anymore.”

All three boys nod, and settle back into silence without another word.

Julie’s so sick, drained from all she’s done to help them; the last thing she needs is to know the second bad thing that’s happened since she’s been out.

Luke is missing. He’s gone, without a word, without a trace.

And it seems like he might be gone for good.

It's not like the other boys don’t search. That was the first thing they did, after Alex bounced back with his new soul intact: find the last member of their band, and show him that help’s on the way. The problem is, when they looked for Luke that night, they couldn’t find him. The next morning, Julie got sicker, and Luke never turned up, but they all thought he would eventually, at some point.

He just… never did. 

No one can find him, no matter how they search. He’s not in the studio; he’s not lurking around Julie’s house; he’s not haunting his parents’ home, or the Orpheum, or Julie’s high school. Luke is just gone. No word to anybody, no warning… he’s slipped through the cracks like he was never there at all.

Or… like he was here, and isn’t anymore.

“He wouldn’t leave,” Reggie tries to insist. “Not without saying goodbye!”

Alex’s voice is low and troubled. “It's not like he scheduled it, Reg. It’s not… something he can help.”

“But it’s Luke! He’s the strongest of all of us!"

Reggie’s words hang in the studio for a long moment; the silence that follows is an axe hanging over their heads, ready to fall at any moment. Willie hugs himself, hunching his shoulders; Flynn, from her seat on the couch, leans forward, elbows on her knees.

When she speaks up, her voice is very small. “Luke wouldn’t leave Julie. No way.” She doesn’t flinch as the eyes of three ghosts — or former ghosts, whatever they are now — turn on her. “He’s so gone for that girl, it’s not even funny. If he knew how sick she was, he’d be here.”

“Which means he doesn’t know,” Alex concurs softly. “Which means…”

Again, the axe over their heads. It glints in the silence.

“No,” Reggie says, voice wavering. “N-no way.”

“We don’t know for sure,” tries Willie.

“No,” agrees Alex. “But we do know Luke.”

They don’t stop looking. They watch his parents’ house for hours — nothing. They stall the Orpheum, visit all of Luke’s favorite haunts, searching for even the smallest trace of him.

They find nothing. He’s nowhere — nowhere at all.

And no one wants to say it… but as the hours melt into days, and the days turn into a week, no one knows what else to believe.

Julie’s fever finally breaks six days after she took a turn for the worse. By then, she’s gained a lot of strength; she can stay awake, and the delirium has mostly gone. She can at least recognize Tía Victoria now, and is alert enough to enjoy her pollo guisado, so she really must be on the mend.

Still shaky, though. Her first time out of bed in days, she gets woozy after five minutes. Her father frowns, and insists he’ll bring dinner up to her. Julie eats in bed again that night, and falls asleep watching New Girl.

She's not sure what wakes her, or how long she’s been asleep. All she knows is, the room is dark, and she’s not alone.

A motionless figure lingers in the shadows, silhouetted against her bedroom window. Julie blinks at him, but the intruder doesn’t say a word. Somehow, she doesn’t need him to; she already knows.

“Luke.”

Her voice breaks whatever spell has been hovering over them. Luke stirs, and shifts into the moonlight. His eyes are dark; his brows are furrowed, shoulders hunched; he’s watching Julie intently, and if she didn’t know better, she’d even call his expression worried.

“Where’ve you been?” she whispers.

Luke lowers his head, a shadow falling over his face. “Just…” His voice falters. “I — around.”

“You haven’t come to see me,” she says, in her sternest Tía Victoria voice. “I missed you.”

Luke’s head hangs low. She can’t see his expression, and his flat voice gives nothing away. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t be sorry. You’re back now,” she declares, and reaches a hand towards him.

Luke doesn’t move. Julie’s hand hovers there for a minute, before slowly dropping away.

“You… are back,” she says slowly. “Aren’t you?”

For a long moment, Luke says nothing. His edges seem to blur into the shadows. When he shakes his head, it’s like he becomes even smaller.

“I’m sorry, Julie. It didn’t work.”

“What?”

“The new guitar.” His voice rings deafeningly flat. “I tried playing it. I put the strap on, I held it in my arms. It… it felt like nothing. There wasn’t anything there.”

Julie swallows hard past the sudden lump in her throat. “That’s okay,” she says shakily. “You… need my help. I’ve got to be there, and —“

“Julie, it’s not gonna happen.”

Something hot and furious flares in her chest. Julie sits up straighter, eyes narrowing. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said — and that’s a high bar, believe me. What are you even talking about, Luke?” She stares him down, fierce gaze piercing the shadows. “We’ve got it figured out! We know how to help, how to fix you — I can fix you. If you’ll just let me.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t let you.”

“What?”

“You’re not gonna make yourself sick over me.”

“That’s not your choice!”

Anger is hot like acid in her mouth, and tastes just as bitter. She practically spits it at him. “You’re the one who had to go and be an idiot, you’re the one who lost your freaking soul, and now you’re the one who left — so, no! You don’t get to give up, Luke! You don’t get to play some kind of self-righteous guy who just cares about me when you — you —“

She runs out of steam so quickly, it leaves her hollowed out. In the aftermath, Julie is left blinking at him, breathing hard. He hasn’t flinched in the face of her eruption. His stillness is so unnatural, so wrong… it settles in her veins like ice water. A shiver runs through her. Unconsciously, she finds herself bracing, as if ready for a blow.

“But that’s not you, is it?” Because Luke is a lot of things — reckless, stubborn, infuriating — but he’s never still, and he’s never known how to give up. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t, unless… “What’s this really about, Luke?”

Luke flinches, and looks away.

“Everything’s quiet,” is all he says. “The music’s gone. There’s nothing left, Julie. I can’t feel it anymore, can’t even hear it. There’s no more music.”

There’s the punch. It knocks her breathless.

Who is Luke without music?

“Your guitar,” she says quickly. “You’ve got to try —“

“I don’t want the guitar.” He steps back, shaking his head like it hurts. “It’s not mine anymore.”

“We’ll make it yours!”

Luke turns away, allowing the shadows to swallow him up. Julie lunges forward, reaching for him — but she’s half a second too late.

“Even you can’t bring back music,” he says softly. And then, in a voice filled with so much pain, he almost sounds like the Luke she knew… “I’m sorry, Julie.”

He’s gone before she can call after him, and Julie’s left alone.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Alex mutters, head in his hands.

Reggie, curled up on the couch with his knees drawn up to his chest, hugs himself. His gaze darts between the others in the room, unable to stay on one person for too long. “It’s Luke,” he tries, like this should fix everything. “He doesn’t quit. He’d never give up just ‘cause…”

“Because he ‘doesn’t have music’ anymore?” Alex’s voice is hard as a stone, his expression flat. “You know how he gets with the metaphors. Music’s never been just music to Luke.”

“It’s… a part of him,” Willie concurs softly.

“More like all of him,” interjects Flynn. “From everything I’ve seen, that boy eats, sleeps, and breathes music.”

“Actually, we don’t have to —“ Reggie cuts himself off as five unamused stares turn on him. “Uhh. Nevermind.”

“Music’s who Luke is,” Flynn concludes. “When you’re that crazy about something… you don’t know who you are without it.”

For a moment, everyone is silent, just taking this in. Realization settles over them like smothering smog.

“It was different for us,” Alex finally realizes. “We all had different things still tying us to ourselves. Reg… you had people like Julie, people you loved. I…” He clears his throat. “I had love too. Just a, uhh, different kind. But Luke…” As his words trail off, the color drains from Alex’s face. “For him, it’s always been about the music, before anything else. Without that… he doesn’t have anything to keep him fighting.”

No one speaks. No one can. In the corner of the room, Julie sits, still as a statue. Willie looks troubled; Alex, queasy; Reggie, like he’s going to cry. And Flynn… Flynn just looks angry.

“That’s garbage.”

Her words cut through the tense atmosphere like a knife. When all eyes turn to her, they find her standing, fists clenched, jaw set in a teeth-shattering clench. Her eyes are blazing.

“That’s crap,” she emphasizes. “And, you know what? It’s selfish! It’s not like he doesn’t have people — he’s got so many people who care about him. Who want to help him — who can help him, who know exactly how! And he’s… giving up, like they don’t matter at all?”

“Luke communicates with people through music,” Alex retorts. “It’s how he connects.”

“Bullshit,” Flynn spits out; Reggie and Willie both flinch. “So many people care about him. If he really cared about them, he'd fight! He’d try! He — he —“

Her words die off. She seems to sense she’s gone too far — but no one in the room condemns her for it. Slowly, Flynn shrinks back into herself, anger draining from her drop by drop. Her words hang in the air, even after she’s stepped away from them.

An unexpected voice breaks the silence. “I get it.”

When the others look up, Julie is sitting up, staring straight ahead. She doesn’t flinch, even as their curiosity pierces her. “I’ve been there,” is all she says. “I know what it’s like… to lose music. Once that’s gone, yeah… it’s easy to feel like you’ve got nothing to live for.” She swallows hard. “I get exactly where Luke’s coming from… because I’ve felt it too.”

Flynn looks devastated. She takes one step towards her best friend, then falters. 

“But,” Julie says, looking up at her, “I made it back again. You’re right, Flynn — there’s so many good reasons to fight, and people are one of them. Remembering what you love… and who loves you back.”

When she turns to the rest of the room, there’s something resolute in her eyes.

“We’re not giving up, and we’re not letting Luke give up either. We’re going to fix this!” 

She plants her hands on her hips, staring them down — one friend to another, all connected to her in their own way, and all staring at her now like she’s hung the sun in the sky. 

“And,” Julie says, smiling, “I know exactly what we have to do.”

This time, when he answers the door, Trevor Wilson really, really isn’t happy to see them.

“You made it past the security gate, huh?”

Julie’s lips twitch. This time, she and Flynn were able to walk right in; apparently someone told the guards to give them permission, if they ever turned up again. Sure enough, Trevor doesn’t look surprised to see them. He just looks like he’s found toenail clippings in his smoothie.

“We need your help,” is all Julie says.

With a sigh, Trevor opens the door wider.

And sure, of course, she always knew it was possible to ask for too much — to push a guy too far — but she wasn’t sure what those lines were, or where Trevor drew them, until her next question definitely sets them down:

“I’m sorry. What you’re asking for…” Trevor takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and shakes his head. “I can’t do it.”

Julie blinks at him. She’s not sure if she’s astonished or furious. “Don’t you get it? You’re the only one who can.”

“You’re asking too much from me!”

“Are you kidding, dude?” Flynn blurts out, always ready to take a hammer to the piñata. “It’s just a guitar!”

Instinctively, Trevor sidesteps, blocking the two girls from the shiny white electric guitar mounted on the wall. Like they’re going to steal it or something. Just because it’s the same guitar Trevor Wilson played with at his ‘03 Grammys performance, and just because the same guitar has appeared on three award-winning album covers—

“My guitar!” Trevor shoots back, voice sharp.

Flynn arches her brows. “Actually, pretty sure it belonged to Luke.”

Piñata, meet hammer.

Because yeah, that’s the origin story Trevor Wilson didn’t disclose in his Rolling Stones profile piece. For most of his early career, he was playing his dead best friend’s guitar. He made himself famous off of the shiny blue instrument that once belonged to a boy with dreams too big to be contained — a boy whose name was Luke

Julie steps up, diplomatically inserting herself between her best friend and the only person with the power to save her other best friend’s soul. “Trevor, please,” she tries, in her steadiest voice. “We need something real. Something that really means something… and Luke’s guitars are all a part of him!” She gestures to the wall, ignoring the way Trevor flinches. “Even this one. Even after all this time.”

“So what does that mean, huh?” There’s fire in Trevor’s voice, a quaking ferocity bordering on fury. “I’ve held onto a piece of him for all these years— yeah, I realize that! Why do you think I never play this guitar?” He lets the question hang in the air for a moment, as if reminding the girls — this guitar is mounted on the wall for a reason. That hadn’t occurred to them before… but one look at Trevor’s face, and they don’t have to guess why. Guilt is etched into the lines in his brow; the shadows falling over his face drip with grief. 

“I can’t touch it without feeling him with me,” he says quietly. “I don’t play ‘My Name Is Luke’ anymore, ‘cause… it’s not right with any guitar but this one.” Trevor swallows hard, then shakes his head. “I’ve kept him with me for twenty-five years. I don’t know how to give him up, Julie.”

The worst part is, Julie understands. In some ways, her heart breaks for him.

She would just… have a lot more sympathy if the real, actual Luke wasn’t on the verge of fading out of existence forever, because he doesn’t have the right freaking guitar.

“You’re not giving him up,” she tries, hoping her voice sounds gentle. “You’re… giving him a chance.”

Trevor raises his gaze to her, as skeptical as he is exhausted. “Saving him, right?”

Julie’s mouth presses into a determined line. “That’s the plan.”

Something flickers in Trevor’s face, like a locked gate being rattled violently, on the verge of breaking open… but at that exact moment, Julie’s companions choose to break a promise. She knew she was asking a lot from them — historically, the phantoms have never been masters of the “stay quiet, stay out of sight, stay out of trouble” game — but sometimes, Julie has to wonder if they even try.

At any rate, her two dead bandmates suddenly poke their heads out of Trevor’s hallway awards, with twin reassuring grins — somewhere between “ yeah, we know we’re not supposed to be here,” and “of course we came to support you, Julie!”

It’s infuriating. She can’t stand them. She loves them more than anything in the world.

“If anyone can do it, Julie can,” Alex declares. He pauses, second-guessing himself in favor of playing it cool. “With… our help, obviously.”

Reggie has no such pretenses of coolness. “Yeah!” he exclaims, bouncing on his heels. “We’ll do it together!”

Julie allows herself just a moment to be reassured, letting it wash over her like a wave of warm water without letting it show on her face — a game she’s mastered by now, and she only hopes Flynn, not used to being able to see the guys, has an equally good poker-face. When her attention swivels back to the conversation, though, she immediately realizes Flynn isn’t the one she should be worried about.

Trevor’s frown like a statue, staring down the hall; his face is the color of off-milk, eyes bugging out. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

Two ghosts, actually. Two very familiar ghosts.

“G-guys?”

Right. Because if Flynn can see the boys now, it makes sense that other people can, too. Especially when they’re marching around in the open, not even trying to hide.

This hadn’t even occurred to Julie — and, from the startled looks on Alex and Reggie’s faces, hadn’t hit them, either. Now, it’s like an anvil dropping on all their heads… but no one’s taken the blow worse than Trevor.

“W-Wait a second…” Alex stammers, over his former bandmate’s strangled, raspy breathing. “Bobby?” 

Trevor shudders.

“You can see us?” Reggie asks, like he doesn’t dare to hope. He takes a single step forward, then stops; his wide eyes search their former bandmate’s stricken face.

It seems to take everything Trevor has in him to nod, slowly, like he’s fighting twenty-five years of rigor mortis. 

“Yeah. Guys…” He exhales, and trembles with it. “You’re okay? I mean, you’re— after whatever happened, you —“

“We’re okay,” Reggie affirms softly. “Julie saved us.”

Trevor swivels towards Julie, something intensely vulnerable in his eyes.

“Trevor helped,” she tells the boys, smiling.

“I —“ And suddenly Trevor is the one fumbling for words, eyes wide, like she’s just pushed him into the zoo’s lion enclosure. “I just… had some stuff laying around…”

Alex’s brows arch. “Our stuff. You kept it.”

Trevor shrugs, and has to look away. “Yeah. Always.”

For a long moment, none of the former bandmates say a word. It’s as they’re standing there, staring at each other, connected for the first time in twenty-five years — and even in spite of all the time that’s passed, they still look better for it, more complete, as though some missing piece of themselves has finally slotted into place. Julie sees this, and it all comes together; finally, she gets it.

“Trevor,” she says abruptly. “Will you do one more thing for us?”

Trevor turns back to her, eyes wide in question. It only takes a few seconds, though, before something crystallizes in their depths. From the moment he came face-to-face with his bandmates, there was never any doubt.”

“Yeah, Julie,” says Trevor. “Anything.”

After everything else has fallen into place, the hardest thing turns out to be getting Luke where they want him.

It’s not like he’s got a phone, so they can’t exactly text him. Alex and Reggie haven’t heard from him in days. After a quick search of his parents house, the boys confirm he isn’t there, and he hasn’t been back to the studio in who-knows-how long.

The ghosts spend the entire afternoon searching every place they can think of. When they reappear back in the studio, heads hanging low, no one has to ask if they had any luck.

“All I’m saying is — you’re the only person he’s shown his face to in forever,” Alex huffs. “And you didn’t think to ask him, ‘hey Luke, where you been?’”

“Sorry,” Julie bites back. “I was too busy trying to convince him not to fade out of existence!”

“Guys,” Reggie says, hovering anxiously between them.

“I’m sorry! I just don’t see why he couldn’t have left us a note, if he’s not going to even bother telling us —“

“He’s Luke, would you be able to read it?”

“It's the principle of the thing! The consideration! Okay? It’s one thing to think he doesn’t have any other choice, but if he’s just decided to give up, the least he could do —“

“Guys,” Reggie tries again.

“I’m annoyed too, but getting mad isn’t going to solve the problem!”

“I’m not mad! I haven’t heard from my stubborn jerk of a best friend in over a week, and I was just crawling through his parents’ attic trying to find him — and wow, the Pattersons haven’t cleaned up there since at least ‘95, there are spiders webs up there older than us — but you know what, fine! I’m great!” Alex throws his hands in the air. He’s still got a spiderweb clinging to his sleeve. “I’m vibing! I’m chill! I’m totally woke!”

“That’s not what that means, babe,” Willie volunteers over his shoulder.

“That’s not what that means!” Alex reiterates passionately. “But it doesn’t matter, ‘cause I’m fine! Just wish we could say the same for Luke!”

“Guys,” another voice, much stronger than Reggie’s, cuts in.

When everyone turns, Trevor Wilson is standing with his arms crossed, looking deeply unimpressed.

“Did you try the cemetery?” he asks, voice flat. 

The boys blink at him. Something in their face is a little offended; mostly, they’re just baffled.

“The cemetery,” Trevor enunciates. “He’s buried in Rosedale. His parents got him this really nice headstone.“

“With a guitar,” Julie speaks up suddenly, eyes widening as the memory floods back to her — as vivid as the day she stood by his grave, after a lengthy online search and very long bus ride, marveling at the solid ground beneath her feet, and the idea that someone she loved so much could be nothing but dust and ashes six feet below the earth. “It’s etched into the grave… precious son, the Pattersons wrote.” Her lips twitch. “His middle name is Mitchell.”

“Oh, he’s gonna love that you know that,” Alex mutters. Still, the mention of their graves has both boys shifting uncomfortably; it’s still an idea they don’t know how to face. “Why — why would he be at his grave? We’ve never even found our graves, why would you think —“

“Because Luke’s exactly that kind of brooding artist, when he’s in the right mood.” Trevor — no, Bobby, because it’s definitely Bobby rolling his eyes at his old friends now — says. “I’d bet money he knows where it is.”

“He does,” Julie agrees, breathless. “I told him I visited a few months ago, and he… he asked me for the address.”

She hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t even remembered… until now. Of course a Luke who feels cut off from the world — more dead than ever before — would be drawn to his own grave.

She looks Alex, Reggie, and Willie dead in the eyes, swiveling from one to another until they’re all standing at attention.

“Bring him back,” she orders.

Her phantoms don’t hesitate. They’re gone in two seconds.

This doesn’t give Flynn, Julie, and Trevor a lot of time to prepare. They have to scramble to get the guitar ready in time — but even when it’s retuned, polished, and set up in the middle of the room, it doesn’t feel like enough. Julie stares at the guitar for a long moment, her breath frozen in her chest.

Flynn’s hand lands on her shoulder and squeezes. Unconsciously, Julie leans into the touch.

“We got this,” Flynn whispers, extinguishing a flame of doubt Julie hadn’t dared voice. “You got this.”

“It’s not about music,” Julie reminds herself out loud. She looks between Flynn, her eyes warm and shining, and Trevor, hovering nervously in half-remembered shadows of his teenage home, and smiles. “It’s about the people.”

When Luke finally shows up, they’re ready for him.

Reggie and Alex have to literally drag him there. When they all appear, Luke’s sandwiched between them, squirming like a rat in a trap. He freezes as soon as he takes in the studio. He’s caught; no point struggling now. All at once, he goes still, like he can fade into the background again if he just doesn’t move a muscle.

“Luke,” Julie says.

He doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t even seem to hear her. “I don’t wanna be here,” he tells Alex, voice flat.

“Tough,” Alex replies, and shoves him forward.

He stumbles, and manages to regain his balance just in time to keep from falling headfirst into a broad barrel chest. It takes Luke a minute to straighten up — and only then does he realize exactly who’s standing in front of him, and why.

“Whoa.” He doesn’t sound surprised, or look it — he’s long past that point — but something astonished flickers in his dead eyes anyways. “You,” he says, but falters, then tries again. “Bobby.”

“Hey, Luke,” Trevor chimes. “Been a while.”

“Why’re you here?”

Trevor doesn’t answer. With great effort, he tears his eyes away from his late bandmate, and turns to Julie. Everyone turns to Julie — Alex and Reggie expectant, Willie hopeful, Flynn glowing with encouragement. All eyes on her… and, as Julie’s hands hover over the guitar, she finds she doesn’t know where to begin.

She plucks the opening chords to Stand Tall. The chords falter and die. They don’t feel right.

What else do they have? Edge of Great? Bright? Perfect freakin’ Harmony?

None of it’s right. None of it’s what they need right now.

As her brain whites out in a storm of fog and static, Julie stares down at the guitar. For a moment, it’s all she can see — the familiar eggshell gloss, an instrument she’s seen on her TV hundreds of times, since she was a star struck kid. When Julie was little, she watched Trevor Wilson’s Grammy’s performance enough times to know every word. She stared up at the screen, hypnotized, as his hands flew over the chords, as he strutted across the stage with all the swagger of a superstar and strummed out the lyrics to his famous song.

A song… he hasn’t played in years.

A song Julie’s known by heart since she was old enough to understand what music was.

Luke introduced you to rock.

Music is the way Luke connects with people.

Of course. It all makes sense… because Luke is music.

Tentatively, Julie strums a chord. It rings in the air, deafening. She takes a deep breath, and strums another.

“Julie —“ Luke starts, but Julie doesn’t give him the chance.

“Graffiti’ed names on the Hollywood sign,

Soda soaked lips pursing around a mic,

Fireworks in the parking lot,

Doing all the things we’d better not…”

It’s impossible to mistake the song she’s singing. Even Flynn, who’s never been a massive Trevor Wilson fan, recognizes it at once. Her eyes practically big out of her head. Trevor has gone very still, his face a frozen mask of surprise. Reggie and Alex are gaping, like they’re trying hard not to laugh, and Luke… 

Luke is staring at her like he’s seeing her for the first time, all over again.

Julie braces herself, and powers through the bridge.

“This is how a legend gets made.

This is how they’ll learn my name…”

She locks eyes with her boys, and that’s all it takes. As the chorus bursts to life, Alex and Reggie are right there with her. They play the old song like they just rehearsed it yesterday; the notes flow from their fingers, steady and sure. With their pulse thrumming through her, Julie feels the music in her heart, too.

“One day I’m gonna be

Up in lights

Riding high

Louder than the thunder, better than the storm

Bigger than the mavericks who rocked the world before

Say my name, I’m gonna be

Flying by

Can’t deny

Gonna make you see

Everything I’m born to be

When they say my name

I’ll be…

My name is Luke!”

Her gaze never wavers, piercing Luke like twin dagger blades. He stands, paralyzed, as the melody of his song washes over him. He can’t escape, can’t run away — he can’t even breathe.

At some point — Julie’s not sure when — she hears new voices join in on the second chorus. It’s easy to sing along to one of Trevor Wilson’s most famous songs. She recognizes Flynn and Willie’s harmonies; when she catches sight of them, they’re smiling through the lyrics. The song fills the studio, bursting up and out in waves of energy. It washes over them all; Julie’s nearly swept off her feet. Something in her chest is building, building, like a balloon about to pop. The pressure gets stronger with every note, as her hands fly across the guitar chords…

And still, Luke isn’t moving.

“One day I’m gonna be

Up in lights

Riding high

Higher than the mountains, high above the world 

Playing harder than the best guitar you’ve ever heard!

Say my name, I’m gonna be…”

Come on, Luke, she thinks as the words flow from her lips. You know this song.

She wants to reach out — but she can’t, as long as her hands are still playing the guitar. It’s impossible to interrupt the melody when she’s in the middle of a performance — impossible to connect when the music is taking so much of her. Julie can’t stop playing the guitar without throwing off the whole song… and if she drops the instrument, is she losing Luke too?

Something must give her away. Maybe it’s the frantic rhythm of her hands across the guitar, maybe it’s the desperation in her eyes — but suddenly, Julie’s hands find themselves shoved aside, and a new body pushes into her space.

The guitar is pulled away from her before she realizes what’s happening. The strap settles over someone else’s head… and Julie’s voice nearly falters over the familiar lyrics as she recognizes him.

“My name is Luke!” Trevor Wilson’s voice booms through the studio.

He looks so natural with his best friend’s guitar strung across his chest, playing the song like he was born to do it. Trevor doesn’t miss a note. If there’s anyone who knows this song as well as Luke — better, after all these years — it’s the man playing the instrument now; and he makes direct eye contact with his lost bandmate as he sings.

Luke’s eyes are wide. His face is pale. A shudder runs through him, like he wants to step forward, but something is holding him back.

A magnetic pull draws Julie forward. Her arms are outstretched; the music pulses around her, elevating her every step. She can’t feel herself touching the ground. It’s as though she’s melted into the melody, as much a part of it as it is of her. Every note, every key change and crescendo, rings inside her chest. Her brain is a white haze of sound, hardly registering the song coming out of her mouth, and all she can think is Luke, Luke, Luke.

Her soul is singing.

More than anything, she wants to sing with him.

“And when the world starts moving faster

I’ll be the one they’re chasing after
Shouting my name, what’re they gonna say?
Wanna hear it tomorrow, today …”

Julie reaches out — and for a moment, Luke just stares at her like she’s a stranger, an unfamiliar, foreign thing. Her voice coaxes him; her eyes soothe him.

Come on, Luke, her soul sings. I know you feel it too.

Luke meets her eyes. His hand slips into her own.

And the whole world falls into place. 

It’s like an explosion. That’s the only way Julie can describe it — a blast of a thousand fireworks in her chest, nearly knocking her off her feet. She grips Luke’s hand for dear life; he clutches her back just as tightly. Shimmering sunlight bursts between their twined fingers, radiating out in waves that swallow them both. They’re turning to gold where their hands touch. It spreads through them, solidifying into truth and certainty… and it’s warm all over, like their hearts have turned to honey and are overflowing.

A laugh bursts from Julie’s lips. Across from her — so close, their lips are nearly touching — Luke is grinning. Gold ripples around him, turning his skin bronze and his eyes iridescent. It hurts to look at him — he’s so bright, it’s blinding — but Julie can’t tear her eyes away.

He chimes in on the last line; the final my name is Luke rings out in his voice, and it’s like he’s finally come home.

As the song dies out into silence, they're left with nothing… nothing but Luke, burning like the sun, his eyes locked on Julie like she’s the most amazing thing in the universe. Like she’s the one who’s just come back to life. The music is gone, the song is over… but he can’t stop looking.

“I was wrong,” he says softly. “I had music all along.” 

A smile flickers across Julie’s lips. “I knew it.”

“I should’ve.” He shakes his head, as if waking up from a dream. “You were right there in front of me the whole time. Julie…” He exhales her name like a prayer. “It was always you.”

As the glow around them fades away and crystallizes into something solid in both their chests, a loud voice clears its throat.

“Uhh? Excuse me? A little credit for the soul saving over here?” Alex waves from behind his drumkit, looking spectacularly annoyed. “Cause we were playing backup the whole time!”

“Yeah! Where’s our appreciation?” Reggie pipes up, swinging his bass at them. “If you’re gonna be all lovey-dovey, get a room!”

“This is my studio,” Julie sing-songs, not tearing her eyes from Luke.

“Our studio,” Luke corrects, equally absorbed.

“Heck, it’s practically a living room at this point,” Flynn interjects cheerfully. “We’re all here! In the room! Having to see this with our own eyes!”

“I feel weird about this moment for a lot of reasons,” the forty-year old man in the room adds.

At this joint realization — “right, my ex-bandmate/my ex-best friend’s dad is still here!” — Julie and Luke finally spring apart. Their hands stay locked together even as they spin to face their friends, like they can’t bear to let go.

“Bobby…” For the first time, Luke recognizes his old friend. The smile on his face flickers, but doesn’t vanish completely. “You’re the last person I expected to see.”

“Yeah, well…” Trevor hangs his head, shrugging like a sullen teenager. “What was I supposed to do? Leave you to clean up your mess on your own?”

“You never could.” Luke’s voice almost sounds fond.

Without another word, Trevor unslings the guitar from his shoulder and passes it over. Luke takes it, embracing the instrument like an old friend. He drapes the strap over his head and rolls his shoulders, testing the feel of the instrument. Something seems to click; his smile grows wider, and that much more genuine.

“Thanks for keeping it safe for me, man.”

Trevor’s breath catches in his chest. It takes a second — but he manages a shrug.

“Anytime, man. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” His dark eyes bore into Luke. “Seriously. I’m… so sorry.”

A moment passes… then another… and the world seems to hold its breath.

When Luke steps forward, Trevor shudders, and melts into his old friend’s embrace.

In a matter of seconds, Alex and Reggie have dog piled on top of them, throwing themselves into the mini-reunion. As Sunset Curve wrestles with each other, Julie takes a step back. Automatically, she drifts to Flynn’s side. Flynn seizes her hand and holds it tight, pride shining in her eyes.

“Did we really do it?” Julie whispers. “Is it really over?”

As the chorus of her phantoms’ laughter rings through the studio, Flynn just grins and squeezes Julie’s hand tighter. Something in Julie’s chest is overflowing, spilling golden happiness at her feet; it forms a river through the studio, threatening to wash them all away.

There are worse ways to go out, Julie can’t help thinking, and lets herself smile. Happiness can never be a bad thing; there’s no way to have too much of it. When the alternative is feeling nothing at all, well… Julie will drown in happiness any day.

When her boys finally turn towards her, she’s ready for them. Her soul sings out, and four attached souls respond in kind. Julie opens her arms wide, and is swept away in a storm of hugs and cheers. As Reggie buries his face in her hair and Alex almost lifts her off her feet, she can’t help laughing. At her side, Willie’s grin is bright; and Luke, as always, is staring at her like she’s a new melody he wants to listen to forever.

“Welcome home, you guys,” Julie says… and home has never felt more true.