The déjà vu seemed to attack him in waves of familiarity, reprinting itself onto his skin.
They say photographs can't capture the true essence of something the way our naked eyes do. They must be right. Kieran didn't feel this weight on his chest when he saw the photograph, but now it left him gasping for air.
"Ghostie?" Lennon whispered, standing close.
He almost forgot he was with him.
"I've been here," Kieran blurted, blinking rapidly, "I don't know how... or when but I have."
Lennon looked down, eyes widening when he noticed the ravenhead's feet sinking into the cement. "Um," he peeped, "Are you okay?"
"I need to go inside."
"It's Saturday. The theater closes on weekends."
Kieran wasn't listening, storming towards the entrance as if tranced. His feet dropped deeper and deeper into the surface, swallowing him up to his knees—
"Stop!" Lennon cried.
At once, a dozen eyes were on him. He didn't have his phone pressed to his ear.
"I'm sorry— sorry," he rambled nervously towards the murmuring passersby. He reached Kieran with a few big strides. "Look at you! You're sinking," he hissed.
The ravenhead finally snapped out of it, levitating back to ground level. He met Lennon's big eyes with his own, equally horrified.
"I don't know— I don't— That never happened so quickly before." Kieran instinctively reached for Lennon, seeking stability, but his hands went right through him. Shaken, he curled himself into a ball and crouched down.
"Hey."
Steadying his breathing, Kieran slowly reopened his eyes. The chestnut boy had kneeled beside him, concern layered on his features and camera bag on the floor.
At this point, everyone around them must've thought Lennon had gone mad. But his attention had zeroed in on none other than Kieran.
"What just happened?" the chestnut boy asked gently.
Kieran sighed, eyeing the few women who stand by the pavement staring. "I think I got overwhelmed— in a bad way. It happens. Just— never that deep, never that quickly."
More worry laced into Lennon's eyebrows as he blocked out the sunlight with his arm. "I want to help you."
"I'm okay," the ravenhead intercepted. He inhaled, rising back onto his feet. "I just need to find a way in."
Lennon didn't defy his decision this time. "Is there a back door of some sort so people can quit staring at us?"
It was as if the question had sparked an immediate response from Kieran. "On the left side, under the wing," he said, clasping a hand over his mouth immediately afterward, "I don't know why I know that."
"Let's go then. If it makes you feel better."
They rounded a corner, reaching the door partially hidden behind two parked trucks and a giant oak tree. It read in big bolder letters—
STAGE DOOR
"It's locked," Lennon said, gaze narrowing at the buttons demanding a passcode.
"That's perfectly fine," Kieran replied without batting an eyelid. His body had evolved past the laws of physics.
"Hey but—"
Kieran turned to face the prominent frown on the chestnut boy's mouth. It thickened the air of innocence around him.
"What about me?"
The ravenhead shrugged. "Wait for me or you're free to leave. It's your call."
"I want to go in with you," Lennon insisted, readjusting the camera bag strap on his shoulder. Leaves casted shadows down the side of his lightly freckled face. "I've never been inside an empty theater before. I want to see what it's like."
"Lennon." He was still unfamiliar with the name. "You do know you'll be breaking in, right? You're not above the law."
"You're a ghost!" the chestnut boy answered enthusiastically, "You can bust me out when that happens." His cheeks heightened with a smile.
"Oh, no," Kieran chuckled nervously, hands raised in surrender, "I'm not invincible, Lennon. I'm just here to collect my afterlife ticket and I'll be on my way."
The boy's eyes grew to the size of saucers when Kieran leaked vital information. "Afterlife ticket?"
The ravenhead sealed his lips after that, swiveling around to abandon Lennon.
"Wait—" Lennon pounced after him but was blocked by the solid surface Kieran disappeared through.
The chestnut boy slumped onto the ground, back against the door as a minute dragged by. Well, this wasn't the first time he'd been abandoned. He began counting every white car that passed by, burying his disappointment deep within him. But then—
"Over here."
Lennon perked up, searching for the source of that voice and realizing Kieran was waving at him through an open window nearly two meters off the ground.
"Think you can climb this?" he asked, pointing down at the high stack of trash bins, baskets, and buckets.
"Yes!" Lennon exclaimed, not wanting to waste another second before Kieran could change his mind. Stumbling over his feet, he clutched the indents of the brick wall and hauled themself up.
"Please be careful," the ravenhead winced.
It took a good thirty seconds and a few scratches for Lennon to throw himself into the building, landing not so gracefully on the hardboard floor.
"Are you okay? I was gonna open the door for you from the inside but that didn't work." Kieran crouched down next to him, holding a hand out to help the boy up. "That's an awful lot of scratches."
Stupidly, Lennon reached for it, only to erupt into muted laughter when he realized his mistake. "Socks has done worse."
"Another reason why you shouldn't keep that beast."
Lennon found his balance, checked the state of his camera, and finally scanned around the room. He spotted himself in the large mirror on the wall, lined with round light bulbs. Chairs tucked neatly under each station and powder sprinkled on the floor.
"Stage makeup," Kieran elaborated.
Lennon raised his camera and a satisfying click punctured the silence.
"Come on. We don't have all day."
Kieran moved with a purpose, eyes set on his tasks while Lennon wandered aimlessly after him. It was quite the labyrinth, the two of them peaking into hollow rooms every few steps. The white walls were gray with the lack of illumination and the carpet cushioned their footsteps. Though Kieran had no problem not making a sound.
"I wonder what happens during the opening days," the chestnut boy noted to himself.
"You mean opening nights. Shows, performances, choirs. It's buzzing with preparation most the time," Kieran responded without much thought.
His words startle him into a halt and Lennon with his lack of an attention span accidentally walked right through the ghost. "Sorry," he apologized anyway, a cold shiver shredding through his body.
Kieran's hand was pressed against the wall, staring hard as if he was summoning his memories, willing them to come back to them. He failed.
"Lennon."
"Yes?"
"I need you to talk."
The boy's eyebrows crunched at the untimely request. "Huh?"
"I need you to talk to me— ask questions. As many as you want. Just don't stop talking."
Lennon stilled. It had always been hushing and pained reminders to be quiet. It had always been organizing his thoughts and revealing the only ones that mattered before he bored someone to death. Never— never this.
"Did you just ask me to talk your ear off?" He needed to know his mind wasn't playing tricks with him.
"Yes. Go on. You've already done it on our walk here. Might as well continue."
Lennon let out a half-giggle, half-snort. "If you insist, Bartholomew."
Kieran huffed like he was offended. "Which part of me looks like a Bartholomew?"
"I don't know," Lennon admitted, an added skip in his step as he gestured at the curtained doorway near them, "But I do want to know where this leads to."
"The main stage." Once again, the words spill out of his mouth like an unleashed secret.
"Have you been here?" the chestnut boy interrogated as he pushed the cloth out of his face and ducked under it. They were enveloped in denser darkness, no window to provide them light. The stale odor of leftover popcorn and sweat reached his nose.
Kieran's answer came automatically. "Yes," he spoke, "Go on, Lennon. I need you to jog my memory."
Unfortunately, the boy took a different path. "Have you lost your memories, ghostie? Is that what happens when you die?"
"No, Lennon." Kieran treaded carefully towards his voice, just as blind as he was. He didn't know why he was so afraid to trip and suffer a concussion despite having achieved immortality.
"No?"
"No."
"Then what are you forgetting?"
"Dying doesn't mean you lose all your memories. I just died differently." He purposely kept it vague. "Lennon, ask me how I've been here."
The boy obliged as he felt along the walls for a switch. "How have you been here?"
"I was a backup dancer for a Don Quixote performance th-three years ago?" Kieran spluttered, the end of his sentence tilting up into a question. He shocked himself with the revaluation. "I was a... dancer?"
Suddenly, the room flooded with brightness, Lennon's finger on a light switch as he gawked confusingly at the ravenhead. They mirrored each other's expressions.
"Close your mouth. I'm just as shocked as you are." Kieran cursed under his breath, hands trembling as he stepped over the metal poles laid on the floor. "What even is Don Quixote?"
"Do you want me to ask you?"
"No!" he rushed to say, frantic, "I don't need to dig any deeper. I just needed to know why this place seemed so familiar. That's it. That's all I need."
Lennon could see the fight in him. The inner conflict that seized his jittery movements. The fear that controlled his clenched fists. Maybe the term lost soul was most fitting, but he had not a clue how death worked. If death was supposed to bring people peace, Kieran certainly didn't look at peace.
"Let me help you," he murmured, lathering each syllable with thick sincerity, "I'm serious. Let me."
"No."
He had it coming. It didn't puzzle him any less though.
Lennon frowned. "Why?"
The ravenhead rubbed his eyes as if a ghost was capable of being tired. "Lennon, we've reached the end of our deal," he steered the topic away, "You've brought me here. Thank you. Now take a picture of me to hold up my end of the deal, and then please, leave."
God, that was cold.
Defeated, the chestnut boy merely nodded. He approached the place where heavy curtains hung in sections and motioned for Kieran to follow him onto the stage.
"No." There it was again— the fear.
"I want my subject to stand on the stage," Lennon stated, presenting his client voice, "Please cooperate."
Hesitation latched onto Kieran's chest, his eye twitching involuntarily. Lennon resisted the urge to clap when he eventually stepped forward.
Standing on the elevated stage in front of a sea of empty seats stirred something in the ravenhead. There was a pit in his stomach where the butterflies' wings had wilted— except he never knew there were butterflies in the first place.
Lennon had launched himself off the platform, searching for the right angle to shoot. The opened skylights provided rays of warm sun as Kieran stood cold in the middle of it all.
"So," the chestnut boy started after a long, awkward pause in their conversation, "You're a dancer."
Kieran visibly cringed.
"Wanna pose for me?"
Kieran met his eyes through his viewfinder. "I can try."
Lennon waited patiently as he shifted around, adjusting his limbs effortlessly even though his wary expression told a different story.
"You're a natural," he voiced his encouragement.
Kieran had his arms raised in an oval above his head, left foot pointed outward. He felt incredibly insecure in his skin and Lennon noticed immediately.
"It's okay," he coaxed, lowering his camera for a moment, "Everyone gets a little nervous in front of this guy for the first time." He jostled his camera. "Take a deep breath and pretend I'm not even here. It's just you and the stage."
But that was exactly what Kieran didn't want. The essence of this place was drilling into him like a dully-sharpened blade.
"Just take it." His words came out harsher than intended.
Empathic, Lennon did as told, fixing his depth of field before capturing the shot.
Kieran's arms fell immediately, cradling into his chest to stop himself from violently shaking. He watched the chestnut boy stare down at his camera.
Lennon made a noise of bafflement.
"What?"
He approached the edge of the stage and showed the ravenhead his screen.
There, in the middle of the stage and the gorgeous streaks of sunlight, in the spot where Kieran had posed— stood nothing.