September, 1995
They were going to die.
Reggie Peters crouched low on the floor of the stage; gaze riveted on the fire burning around them. The pyrotechnics that had seemed like such a cool idea hadn't gone off during the last chorus of "Now or Never". Instead, it'd exploded, throwing sparks straight up into the curtains and the Orpheum's stage. The wood was ancient; it'd caught in seconds, and now everything around them was on fire. Bobby Wilson had been able to jump off the stage as soon as the fire had started, but Reggie, Alex, and Luke hadn't been so lucky. They'd abandoned their instruments and retreated to the center of the stage, clutching each other in fear.
Alex Mercer's drum set made a horrible sound as it burned. The mylar drum skins melted the metal shells holding them, making them crash down with a terrible clang of noise. Reggie's bass guitar's strings snapped with the heat, and it felt like Reggie's heart was snapping with it. Feel sad later, he ordered himself. They had to survive this first.
"What do we do?" Alex shouted over the roar of the flames. He was crouched beside Reggie, hands gripping his shoulders tight enough to hurt. His blue eyes were wide enough to reflect the flames.
"We have to get the fuck out of here!" Luke Patterson said. He was on Reggie's other side, jaw clenched.
"How?" Alex cried. "The fire—"
"I know!" Luke cut him off. "We should make a run for it."
"Everything's on fire," Reggie said. He was sweating in his leather jacket, from both the oppressive heat and raw fear. Don't panic, he thought. Don't panic, don't panic!
"Do you want to burn to death?" Luke's hand was wrapped tightly around Reggie's wrist. "The back of the stage isn't burning as badly as the front. We should go out that way."
"We should wait here." Alex's voice was shaking and Reggie could hear how close he was to losing it. "For sure Bobby's called 911 by now. The firefighters—"
"Aren't here!" Luke shouted. "We have to save ourselves!" He turned towards the back of the stage, pulling Reggie with him. Alex followed, hands still gripping Reggie's shoulders.
There was a loud crack and a large piece of the overhead catwalk crashed down just in front of them, spraying them with sparks and shattered glass and sending them sprawling. The flames roared, turning the world a violent shade of orange. Reggie's lungs were immediately clogged with smoke. His eyes streamed. His heart pounded; ribs tight with terror. He really didn't want to die. He pulled himself back to his hands and knees, head spinning from the lack of air. Alex was beside him, coughing weakly. Luke was still lying on the stage, eyes closed. There was a trickle of blood down the side of his face.
"Luke?" Reggie asked, then screamed, "Luke!" when the other boy didn't move. He scooped Luke into his arms, heart hammering. Don't panic!
"What's wrong with Luke?" Alex's voice was shrill. "Is he dead?"
Reggie didn't know. "We have to get out of here!" But they were surrounded with thick walls of orange flame. The heat was stifling; there was no air. We're going to die. What should have been the best night of their lives was going to be their last.
"Reggie," Alex whimpered. He'd grabbed Reggie's upper arm for comfort, tears glinting in the fire's light. Reggie held onto Luke's limp form, eyes wet from smoke and despair. He could feel the panic rising in his chest, spreading like electricity throughout his body. Don't panic! He told himself desperately, but it was too late. The fear built, like a tidal wave of power sweeping through him. It burned like the fire around him, like he was being consumed. He could feel it, screaming at him to Get out! Get out! Getoutgetoutgetout! And then he was screaming out loud as his whole body lit up from the inside. The light engulfed him, Alex and Luke.
The stage came down in a crash of heat and flame.
September, 2020
Julie Molina exhaled deeply and hung her head.
She hadn't been inside the studio since before the last trip to the hospital. Not since her mother had gotten sick, really. The idea of being in there, of playing music when her mother was suffering, had felt like the worst kind of betrayal. And then after she'd gone...
She looked to the far end of the studio to where her mother's grand piano stood, neglected. It was covered in a large, white sheet to protect it from dust. Julie remembered placing it so carefully with her father when her mother first went to hospital. Just until she's ready to play it again, Julie had thought. That day had never come.
She wiped a tear from her eye, then another, lip trembling. Don't cry, she rebuked herself. She'd cried enough already in the year since her mother had died. She should be done with it by now.
"Tough day, huh?" Willie asked.
Julie turned to her friend, forcing herself to smile. She knew Willie would appear. He'd been in her life since her Gift first manifested when she was five. He always knew when she needed his support. She nodded. "Dad asked me to clear out the studio."
"You could say no," Willie said reasonably. "He probably wouldn't mind."
"Probably." She sighed. Ray Molina was a good man, and maybe the best dad among her friend group. If she told him she didn't want to pack up her mother's things, he wouldn't make her. "But it's been a year, you know? I should be able to do this."
"'Should' isn't the same as 'can'," Willie said.
Julie straightened her back. "But I can," she said with more confidence than she felt. She turned to face him, taking in his familiar features. His light brown hair hung in soft waves to his shoulders, and his dark brown eyes, always so kind, were looking at her with compassion. The skate key he wore as a necklace was around his neck, as well as his white puka shell choker that should've made him look like a jerk, but somehow suited him. His whole vibe was nineties grunge meets surfer dude and she just loved it. She loved him like the older brother she'd never had in real life. He was her best friend.
"I wish I could hug you," he said softly.
Julie's smile faltered. If she could ever use a hug from Willie, it'd be today. "I wish you could, too." They stayed quiet for a moment, each lost in their thoughts before Julie took another fortifying breath. "I suppose I should get started."
At that moment one of the studio's huge doors opened and Flynn came running in, long braids flying.
"Julie!" she said, immediately embracing her friend. "Your dad said you'd be in here."
Julie hugged Flynn back. "What are you doing here? I thought you had homework?"
"I do, but I just got this sense that you were going through something, and that I should be with you." Sense was the name Flynn used for her Gift, which was a limited Precognitive ability. It wasn't great. Instead of any specific knowledge, she'd just get a vague idea. It created more anxiety than anything, but sometimes it was helpful. Like now, when Julie actually needed the support.
"You're so sweet." Julie hugged her again. "And, yeah. I am, I guess. Dad wants me to clear out the studio."
Flynn made a face. "Are you ready to do that?"
"Yeah." Julie nodded. "Sure."
Flynn's look was skeptical. "You sure? Because you weren't able to perform in class today, and I'm thinking the two things might be related?"
Willie looked at Julie questioningly. "You didn't perform? But today was—"
"My last chance, I know." Julie grimaced as she thought of the pain of that moment. She'd thought she'd be ready, but as soon as she sat down to the piano, it was like everything inside her just...froze. She'd run out of the room in humiliation and despair. She sighed. "Willie's here," she explained to Flynn.
"Hi, Willie," Flynn said, with a small wave in totally the wrong direction. Flynn had never seen Willie, but she'd never doubted Julie's word he existed. Julie would always love her for that.
"He's on my right," Julie said with a laugh. "And he says 'hi.'"
"Tell her I think her outfit is hella fly."
"And he thinks you look really cute today."
"And that's why he's my favourite!" Flynn smiled brightly in Willie's general direction. "Tell him I got the jacket at that vintage store on Hollywood Boulevard."
"I can hear her." Willie laughed.
"He can hear you," Julie repeated.
"Sorry." Flynn looked chagrined. "I forgot."
"Again," Willie muttered. He turned back to Julie. "But about your performance today. What happened?"
"Nothing happened. Which is the problem," Julie sighed. "I didn't sing. Talking to Willie," she explained to Flynn, who nodded.
"It was really sad," Flynn tried to say to Willie, but ended up looking beside him instead. "Well, not the performance part, but that Julie's been kicked out of the music program."
"Kicked out?" Willie asked, aghast. "How could they do that?"
"I haven't been able to do anything musical for all of sophomore year." Julie shrugged with more nonchalance than she felt. She knew if she thought about it too hard, she'd start crying all over again. "I can't really blame them."
"Talking to you and Willie at the same time is hard," Flynn complained. "I can never hear his side of the conversation."
"Sorry," Willie said to Flynn, then grimaced. "Tell her I'm sorry?"
"He's sorry," Julie repeated.
"It's not his fault," Flynn said, "it's yours." She smirked.
Julie laughed. "Useless Gifts for the win!" They hi-fived each other.
"It's not a useless Gift!" Willie said to Julie. "Well, not to me."
"Aw, thanks!" Julie pretended to bop him on his shoulder, just stopping before her fist would connect and ruin the illusion that he was alive. "I'm glad I can see you, too."
"What are you going to do? About school, I mean?" Willie asked. "Music means so much to you."
"I don't know. Ms. Harrison said she'd tried to get me more time, but Principal Lessa wouldn't do it. She said I could apply for next semester, but..." She let her voice trail off.
"That sucks," Willie said sympathetically. "At least next semester's just in a few months?"
"If I can play by then," Julie said softly. She looked back at where her mother's grand piano sat at the back of the studio, surrounded by windows and the lush greenery of the several plants her mom had kept there. Her father was the one to water them now. She could remember vividly sitting at the piano, bathed in sunlight through the windows, singing her heart out as she and her mom wrote yet another song. The memory squeezed her chest and she had to look away.
"You'll do it," Willie said with a comforting smile. "It'll be fine."
Julie smiled back at him, hoping it reached her eyes.
"If Willie's encouraging you to try again next semester, then I'm all for it," Flynn said. "I refuse to go through the music program all alone."
"He is," Julie said.
"Good." Flynn nodded decisively. She eyed the large studio space that could easily have fit two cars end-to-end had the Molina family been so inclined. "Where do you want to start?"
Julie licked her lips, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. "I don't know?"
Flynn eyed her, seeing her discomfort. "Let's start with the loft."
"That's just old stuff from before we moved in," Julie said. "It's not my mom's."
"Exactly," Flynn said with a wink. "And besides, I Sense something..." She went over to the shallow stairs leading up to the square loft area that took up half of the studio space. In a moment she'd returned, thin square box in hand. "There is a ton of junk up there," she said. "Like, garbage bags full of stuff, and musical instruments! And, I found this." She held out her hand.
"Yeah, the instruments are from the family that was here before," Julie said. She took the CD from Flynn. It had the words Sunset Curve in white styled lettering against a black background. "What's this?"
"It's a CD," Willie said helpfully. "That's how we played music before MP3s."
Julie rolled her eyes at him. "I know what a CD is, and MP3s too, by the way. I meant who's the band?"
Willie looked at it. "No idea. They must have been after my time." The casual way Willie talked about everything he'd missed was heartbreaking.
"Willie doesn't know the band," Julie said to Flynn.
Flynn opened the cover and took out the disk. "I've never heard of them either. But I'm pretty sure that my Gift led me to it for a reason. Let's play it!"
Willie shrugged and Julie said "sure," equally as indifferent. She wasn't a huge fan of 90s music, but if Flynn wanted to play it, she was game. Flynn went over to the ancient CD player they'd never removed from the studio. Flynn popped out the tray and placed the disk inside, sliding it shut. Right away the room was filled with fast, hard-hitting drums and wild guitars. It was definitely rock and roll, and definitely catchy. Julie and Flynn grinned at each other as they listened.
"They're really awesome!" Willie said. "That drummer is totally rad!"
It was true. The instrumentation was on point and the male voices blended perfectly. And the lead—Julie just managed to stop herself from shivering at the way his voice made her feel. Listening to his voice was like drinking her Tia's special hot chocolate: rich, warm and spicy. She felt her excitement growing as she listened. There was something to this music, like it was forming a connection to the deepest part of her. It was more than a catchy tune, it felt like it was wrapping itself around her. She closed her eyes, transported.
There was a sudden burst of brilliant golden light, bright enough to hurt even with her eyes closed. The music turned off and then there was someone yelling. Someone young, and male, and kneeling by the old leather couch.
Actually, three boys, Julie realized through her shock. One blond and two with brown hair. The blond boy looked like he'd been dragged through a fireplace. His face and pink T-shirt were smeared with ash, making his blue eyes almost florescent in contrast. He was sitting on the floor like his legs had given out and he looked like he was in shock. The first brown-haired boy was lying on the couch. The streaks of soot on his face were terribly dark against his unnaturally pale skin. There was a trail of blood trickling from a cut on his temple. His eyes were closed.
The second brunet boy was wearing a black leather jacket with a red plaid flannel tied around his waist. There was a line of ash across his cheekbone and his green eyes were wide with fear.
"Help!" he said again, voice frantic. "Luke's been hurt!"
Authors Note:
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Word Count: 2568