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The last notes of ‘Stand Tall’ fade into the roar of the audience as the four of them make their way to the front of the stage: grinning and waving as the lights fix on them and the cheers envelop them.
Julie stands between Reggie and Luke—who grasps Alex’s hand—on the edge of the stage. She shares a delighted look with them both before dropping into a bow, her eyes focussing on the rough grain of the stage as she takes a deep breath.
They’ve done it: Julie and the Phantoms have played at The Orpheum.
Julie takes another breath before starting to straighten from her bow, intent on finding her dad and brother in the crowd. Luke, Reggie and Alex begin to rise too but are instead surrounded in light as the now familiar spectre of pale-purple engulfs them. It burns for a breath longer than normal, the purple taking on a pink-ish then finally a glowing red hue. The colour finally blazes almost white, the crowd wince in the brightness then blink, and Luke, Alex and Reggie are gone.
Julie gasps a juddering breath—she knows this disappearance is different. This time her boys, her band, her family are gone for good. Julie can feel it in her bones, the knowledge settles in them like molten metal, a heart-stopping heaviness filling her chest. She stutters, glancing around her, gulping one, then two and a final third breath before her performance mask slides back into place and she smiles at the crowd, waving enthusiastically (luckily the crowd are too far away to notice the tell-tale glistening of her eyes).
Julie maintains the façade for a couple more seconds before dropping her hands and bolting from the stage, throwing herself into Flynn's waiting embrace. As soon as Julie buries her head in Flynn's shoulder her barrier breaks, a torrent of hot tears running down her face, splashing onto the fur of Flynn's jacket.
Luckily, Flynn doesn't ask what had happened—she already knows. She had been the one to convince Julie she was going to have to let the boys go. Julie, as much as she knows she’s done the right thing, realizes she’s now going to start all over again in her grief. Flynn steadies Julie and strokes her curls gently, rhythmically, guiding the wailing singer away from the stage and back towards the green room, ignoring the confused look the stage hand shoots their way.
Julie doesn't look up as they move, she doesn’t react as the first chords of Panic! at the Disco's set echo down the otherwise empty corridor. Flynn opens the door and manoeuvres a still sobbing Julie into the room. Flynn kicks the door shut behind them and navigates them both to the couch.
Flynn drops herself down in one corner, her arms still wrapped around Julie forcing her best friend to fold unceremoniously beside her. Julie fists her hands more tightly into the fur of Flynn's jacket, sliding her head down so that she lies on Flynn's lap, her tear stained face burrowing into the softness of her best friend’s abdomen.
Rhythmically, Flynn continues to stroke the expanse of Julie's curls, taking deep breaths as she does so, encouraging Julie to match her rhythm. In and out, in and out, in and out. Flynn keeps her breaths deliberately steady, even when Julie burrows her head further—almost painfully— into her stomach.
"It's okay, Jules," Flynn says, her voice barely more than a murmur as her hands continue their path through Julie’s wayward curls. "Everything's going to be okay."
Julie rolls her head back to meet Flynn's soft gaze, opening her mouth as if to respond but only a watery, choked sound makes its way past her lips. Flynn can only watch as a fresh torrent of tears begins. Julie screws her eyes shut and brings both of her hands to grasp at her hair, bringing her forearms together to hide her face.
*****
Julie doesn’t sleep in the week after the Orpheum show—she spends every night watching the minutes disappear, tracking the journey of the moon across the sky and the gradual changing of the light each morning as the sun rises.
( The one night that Julie manages more than a blink of sleep results in her jolting awake, a strangled scream on her lips as she endures the disappearance of Luke, Alex and Reggie for a second time. She dreams that they are on the stage at the Orpheum but, instead of turning to bow to the crowd, the boys grab Julie in an enthusiastic hug; tangible, solid and warm, the hug is the perfect end to the band’s perfect night.
Or—it is—until Julie is hit by some form of magic that freezes her on the spot. She cannot blink, cannot scream, cannot reach out to help her boys as they are slowly, inch-by-inch and screaming, engulfed by purple flames which rise from the stage. Julie can feel the raging heat of the furious fire, it licks at her, searing her outfit and blistering small patches of her skin; the pain she feels is incomparable to the tearing sensation in her heart as the boys continue to weep and scream.
Julie can only watch on in horror as, eventually, each of the boys is fully engulfed in the flames. Reggie’s head is covered first and Julie cannot breathe as his fire glows white-hot for a moment, his howling screams crescendo before Reggie and the white-flames disappear, a small pile of ashes the only remnant of the bassist. Alex is absorbed into the flames next. He shrieks, high-pitched and loud as the last of his blonde-hair vanishes, the flames surrounding him flare brightly before Alex, too, is reduced to a pile of grey ash.
Devastated, Julie turns her gaze towards her final bandmate. Luke seems to be fighting the flames, twisting wildly as he beats his hands on the fire that creeps up his body. Inevitably, Luke’s efforts fail to hinder the progress of the flames and soon, all that Julie can see is his wild eyes, clinging to her gaze desperately as he screams. The magic holding Julie keeps her eyes locked on Luke as the white flames consume him entirely, only allowing her to tear her eyes away when the fire disappears, leaving behind a third and final pile of ash.
Julie snaps her eyes closed, gasping and shaking as she clutches her hands to her chest. She feels no pain on her skin anymore and so, hoping against hope, she opens her eyes. Her heart stutters as the scene in front of her remains: three piles of pale-grey ash in a semi-circle around her. Julie glances between them, processing, snatching a breath before something in her brain clicks and she screams. The wail tears it’s way up her throat, clawing at her vocal chords as it forces it way past her lips.
Julie is torn from her dream by the anguished shouts of her father as he shakes her roughly by the shoulders.
“Julie, Julie, hey! WAKE UP!”
Julie startles awake, her scream still fresh on her lips as she thrashes before realizing she’s in her bed, in Ray’s arms. She stares at him; her pupils blown wide, chest heaving, traces of blood on her lips as Ray considers her, tightening his hold on Julie as her hands unclench briefly before latching onto his t-shirt.
“Shh, shh, mija ,” Ray says into the top of Julie’s hair. “You’re okay. It was just a nightmare.”
Ray’s reassuring tone causes Julie to crumble again, burying her head into his chest, not trying to hide her wracking sobs. The pair spend the rest of the night wound together, Ray powerless to stop the heartbroken cries that consume Julie.)
*****
After that one heart-stopping night, Julie gives up trying to sleep at all and her father looks at her more sharply each morning, cataloguing the deepening shadows under his daughter’s eyes, the growing tangles in Julie’s unkempt hair and the frown that looks to be permanently etched on her lips.
Julie goes about her day listlessly, silent and slow, not reacting to the world around her. Ray thinks that she is worse now than she was when Rose had died and, although Ray won’t say the words out loud, he is terrified. He is a father terrified of losing his daughter.
Julie finds one of Reggie’s flannels under her bed covers one day when she’s bundling them together to carry to the studio: the lack of sleep and general zombie-like state has prompted Ray to contact her old therapist, resulting in an argument between Julie and her father. Being in the house feels stifling, like she can't breathe. Ray and Carlos eye Julie with concern each time she appears from her room. Julie feels their eyes and something in her brain tells her she should respond but the thoughts are swiftly lost in the dense fog of her brain.
Julie agrees—after a mostly silent battle—to Ray’s suggestion that she visits Dr. Turner. In her mind, Julie thinks she should feel something about being forced to return to her old therapist but she can’t bring herself to care and any potential emotions remain buried in her grey thoughts. Instead, Julie decides to remove herself from the house, hoping—incorrectly—that by taking herself away, Ray and Carlos will stop worrying.
So, Julie bundles her bedding in her arms, dropping it immediately when the familiar red and black flannel flutters to the ground. Julie snatches it up, burying her face in the worn fabric. She runs the soft panels across her cheeks and inhales deeply, the familiar sweet Reggie scent causing Julie’s heart to clench painfully. She slides the shirt over her top, savouring the way the well-loved fabric feels on her arms, before grabbing the bundle of bedding from the floor and dashing down the stairs, out of the door, across the tarmac to the doors of the studio.
Julie draws to a wavering halt outside the doors; she hasn’t been inside in the week since her boys had crossed over and now, standing in the familiar spot where she had first met Alex, Luke and Reggie, her breath catches. Julie shifts her weight from one foot to the other, tracing the edge of her fingernail down the handle of the door before shouldering it open.
Julie stands just inside, panting as if she’d run a marathon as her barely buried emotions rip their way out of her chest. The bedding she’d brought ends up in a pile on the floor as Julie brings both hands to her face, one to cover her mouth and stifle her wailing cries, the other grabs at the curls on the top of her head, anchoring itself there as Julie tugs fiercely.
Memories flood into Julie’s head, drowning out any other thoughts, forcing her to relive her time with Reggie, Alex and Luke in vivid detail as she sinks to her knees on the cold ground.
*****
It has been a month since the boys disappeared, or crossed-over, or whatever the hell had happened to them, when Flynn stumbles wearily through the doors of the studio. Julie bolts up from where she is sat, her hands trembling as she gently strokes the strings of Luke’s abandoned acoustic guitar a final time before placing it back on its stand.
Flynn brushes her hands down her shirt sleeves, tugging at the flared cuffs, not meeting Julie’s eyes even as her best friend treads her way softly across the studio to stand right in front of her.
“Hey…” Julie says softly.
Flynn glances up, a false smile fixing itself in place. “Hey Jules. How’re you?”
Julie narrows her eyes and shrugs. “Same old, same old. You know?” She fixes Flynn with a look, “you okay, Flynn?”
Flynn nods, but makes no further attempt to explain.
Julie grabs her friend’s wrist and tries to pull Flynn with her to the sofa but Flynn pulls her hand away, wrapping both arms tightly around her ribs. Julie glances between her best friend and the sofa before placing both of her hands on Flynn’s shoulders. Flynn begins to pull away slightly but Julie grips her upper arms and lowers her head, moving into the other girl’s gaze.
“Flynn, tell me what’s wrong.”
Flynn mutters something under her breath, too quiet for Julie to pick up on even in the silence of the studio.
“I didn’t catch that.”
“My grandad died yesterday,” Flynn says, blowing out a harsh breath and wrenching herself out of Julie’s grip to pace across the room.
“Oh my god, Flynn. I’m so sorry!”
Flynn’s eyes flutter shut and she reaches up a hand to wipe the tear from her cheek. “S’okay.”
“It’s not okay,” Julie says, “I know how not okay it is. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
"I didn't want to add my grief on top of what you're already feeling," Flynn shrugs, not meeting Julie's eyes.
"But you thought it was fair for you to carry your own grief plus mine?"
Flynn shrugs again. "It's not that big a deal, Jules. You're my best friend—I want to be there for you."
Julie lowers her voice, almost growling, "And you think I don't feel the same way? You should have told me, I want to be there for you, Flynn." Julie opens her arms and takes a step towards where Flynn stands, still hunched in on herself. "Get over here. Right now."
Flynn looks up, startled. Julie has never used that tone with her before, it was a tone she used to reserve to deal with Luke, Alex and Reggie (and sometimes Carlos). It was firm, not to be argued with but embedded with emotion too. It was Julie's you're-in-trouble-but-I-care-for-you tone, and something about it cracks Flynn's hardened exterior.
Flynn stumbles across the studio space, panting and hiccuping as she flings herself into Julie's waiting embrace. Julie kisses Flynn's forehead softly as Flynn buries her head in the juncture between Julie's shoulder and jaw. Julie squeezes her arms around Flynn's waist and Flynn feels the pieces of her heart slowly drawing back together, melding into one.
Flynn draws a stuttering breath, choking back another sob. Julie kisses her again, this time placing a soft kiss on the top of her head, before resting her chin on the braids and beginning to hum.
Caring for Flynn allows Julie to step outside of her own grief, even if just for a moment. Everything rushes at Julie at once: sounds too loud, colours too bright, sofa too soft, but Julie winds her fingers into Flynn’s braids and anchors herself to this moment.
Slowly, Flynn sobbing quiets into deep breaths as she falls asleep in Julie’s lap, much like Julie had done on Flynn’s knee that fateful night in the Orpheum. Julie keeps her breathing in time with Flynn’s, sinking lower and lower into the sofa until Flynn is tucked into her chest, their knees meet between them but it is not uncomfortable, it’s familiar. Outside, the sun begins to set, dimming the studio from afternoon gold, through twilight navy into midnight black as Flynn sleeps.
Julie doesn’t close her eyes for longer than a blink, watching Flynn closely as she sleeps, cataloguing every one of her long eyelashes and perfect braids, until Flynn cracks an eye open.
“You should sleep, Jules,” Flynn whispers, eyes dropping shut again even as she speaks, “everything will be better in the morning. You’ll see.”
Julie rolls her eyes disbelievingly, but Flynn’s words play at the ragged edges of her heart. Julie’s chest tightens as the heavy grey mist of her thoughts gives way to a pure white feeling that makes her heart clench. It takes a few moments for Julie to recognise what the feeling is, what Flynn’s words have inspired within her: hope.
*****
Julie attends Flynn’s grandad’s funeral, providing a hand for the sobbing girl to cling to, and a shoulder for her to bury her face into when it all gets too much. The rest of the funeral party watches as Julie drags Flynn away from the graveside as they begin the long process of refilling it with dirt. Julie takes Flynn to a familiar marble bench, underneath a willow tree, and settles them there, in view of the funeral but out of the way of the sympathetic shoulder pats and “are you okays?” she knows Flynn hates.
Flynn continues to sniffle quietly, one hand wiping her tears away, the other wound tightly in Julie’s, gripping it more and more tightly as Julie’s leg begins to bounce and her breathing begins to stutter.
Flynn knows what’s happening before Julie does, she grabs her friend’s face in both hands, forcing Julie to look at her just as the scream rips it’s way from Julie’s throat. Flynn drags Julie into her chest, smothering the wailing as it rises in volume. Julie has been trying her best to suppress her own grief, to be there to support Flynn when she needs her but there is no way to hold back the tsunami of emotions that slams into her, sending a fresh scream up and out of her lungs.
Julie screeches and sobs; she screams for everything she has lost, the injustice of four lives cut woefully short (three of them lost twice without reason), the terror that fills her entire being when she considers that it might happen again. The delicate hope that had been blooming in her chest shrinks and twists, the grey despair and black grief swirl closer, filling the small bit of breathing room Julie had cleared in her chest.
“It hurts, Flynn. It all hurts too much. They don’t have proper graves I can visit, there’s nothing to let people know they were here with me. I don’t even know what happened to them. They’re just fragments of history now, floating lost in the endless oblivion of death.”
“Hey,” Flynn says, grasping Julie’s face again, “as long as you remember them, they aren’t lost.”
Julie blinks, bewildered and wild-looking.
“Those we love never truly leave us, remember? We’ll find the perfect way to remember them.”
*****
Gradually, slowly and piece-by-piece Julie begins to heal. The aching loss doesn’t ever leave her, and her heart stutters whenever she enters the studio or thinks of the boys or, hell, once it skipped a beat when a runner ran past her, and Julie had caught a whiff of sweaty teenage boy. Julie struggles to find herself amongst the wreckage of her life; she wonders if she’ll ever play music again but then quickly discards that idea instead focussing on feeling like Julie again one day.
Julie is still a mess. She knows it, fuck, everybody who interacts with her for longer than five minutes knows it but she’s better than she was. Dr Turner is doing her best but Julie knows therapy isn’t going to fix the wreck of her heart. It’s not something anyone can really understand. Given the circumstances of her broken heart, Julie can’t even properly explain the situation to Dr Turner— “hey Doc, I am heartbroken because my ghost band crossed over”— so Julie resigns herself to always being a little bit broken, a little bit crazy. Even her dad and Carlos can only push her so far, although they guide her as far as she’ll let them. But Julie is reluctant to let them get too close—just in case it happens again.
Flynn has been Julie’s saving grace through everything. She pushes her way through all of Julie’s barriers, demanding that she be let in, ignoring Julie’s half-hearted resistance and arguing with Julie whenever the curly-haired girl tries to push her away— “I’m poison, Flynn. You need to stay away from me!”; “Fuck no.” . Flynn supports her through the bad days where Julie can’t bring herself to get out of bed, the worse days where she trashes her room and yells that everyone who loves her dies, and the worst days where Julie considers removing herself from the equation.
It’s Flynn who suggests the tattoos. Julie has been looking for a way to memorialise her losses, her family gone too soon, but nothing seems appropriate. She considers plaques, donations to charities, running races and, hell, even buying a bloody constellation for them, but none of the ideas sit quite right in Julie’s mind. One day, Flynn uncovers the sheet music with her mum’s message on the corner, silently slides it across the piano to Julie and something clicks when Flynn whispers, “get it tattooed.”
So, Julie does. Flynn goes with her, allowing Julie to squeeze her hand so tightly Flynn’s afraid bones may snap but she doesn’t so much as think of complaining. Flynn won’t give up anything for anyone, but she’d give up everything for the girl sitting on the tattooist's chair in front of her, grimacing as the needle buzzes across her sensitive skin.
*****
Julie’s fingers trace the raised skin of her forearm, mirroring the delicate script that crosses her skin. She follows the words now permanently etched there: her mother’s looping handwriting ( “Julie, you can do it ♡ Love Mom” ) sits just below the crease of her right elbow, a place she can see at all times. Julie finds the experience of tattoos addictive and it’s not long before Julie wants more. She has the tattoo to commemorate her mum but she needs more; Alex, Luke and Reggie deserve remembrance too.
Julie finds the letters in her dream box, two months after she’d last seen Luke, Reggie and Alex. She finally plucks up the courage to open the small box, knowing it is full of memories of both her mother and her boys. Julie is right, of course, there are lyrics and photographs and ticket stubs and guitar picks and even a cheesy Christmas cracker joke in the box but, on top of all of those memories, she finds three scraps of paper. The edges are torn and crinkled but the messages written on the scraps make them the most precious items in the dream box.
Each of the scraps holds a precious message from one of her boys, and it is these whispers of memories that she decides to permanently etch onto her skin. The ink sits across the slope of her ribs, hidden from prying eyes but clear enough for Julie to see when she needs them. The three messages form a staggered set of lines on her chest, two short messages on one side, the longer soliloquy taking up Julie’s left side, each tattoo precisely following the curve of the rib underneath.
Reggie’s handwriting is clear, a set of small block capitals that read, “you have the voice of an angel, love Reggie” (he had underlined angel three times in his original letter and doodled a small angel cartoon, so that’s how the tattoo has been completed); Alex’s handwriting is more correct, only capitals at his name and the beginning of his message, each letter delicately joined to the next, “You were the best thing to happen to us, love Alex ♡ ” ; and Luke’s endearing, if almost illegible, handwriting appears on the opposite side of her ribs (this writing is more legible than Luke’s normal handwriting had been so Julie knows he tried to make it clear). The message takes up her entire left side and causes Julie to burst into tears each time she re-reads it, a stream of memories bursting across her consciousness as she traces the crooked lettering.
“She is a dazzling star with galaxies in her eyes, wielding a power stronger than gravity, she possesses a voice as golden as sunlight, she is a sight more beautiful than the moon, exquisitely captivating and she deserves everything good and pure that the world can give her.
Yours today, tomorrow and for all of eternity, Luke.”