The Boy in the Photograph ↪ Brallon

Chapter 6; Aerial

Dallon left with a certain kind of vigor in his step. He took a note of the initials on the notebook not bothering to look inside to its contents. He was going to go visit Sarah and ask her more about the boy in his photograph And said picture was tucked neatly in his black leather coat.

He took the stairs in hopes on walking off some of his self built stress.

Reaching Sarah's door he reached up with his right hand in a fist prepared to knock but he stopped himself short. Dallon looked from his hand to the door then to his feet, he ran a hand through his hair, a thin layer of sweat beginning to form on his face. He wiggled his toes a little, screaming at his legs to move which they finally did but only for him to begin pacing up and down the hallway.

What am I thinking?

Why wont this dead guy stop clouding my mind?

Who in the world is Brendon Boyd Urie?

Stomping now back and forth rhythmically brought the attention of Sarah and she swung her door open angrily, her wreath shuddering slightly, with however much strength a frail old woman can really muster.

Dallon popped his head up, mid stride his foot hung in the air waiting to meet the ground. He made eye contact with Sarah. Without a word she glared harmlessly and waved Dallon in. He set his foot down softly not to stomp anymore now more aware of his large legs and the annoying noises they really do create.

She closed the door behind him and turned around grabbing a house cane to support her weak legs. Sarah gestured to one of the two old chair in her apartment. Her front door opening up to her living room with a slight entry way in between. Dallon kicked his black converse off and opted for the far left chair as that one seemed to be the less-used one.

"I knew you'd come back to me." She sat in the right chair across from Dallon, him still trying to clear his thoughts and listen to Sarah. "I knew I still had my womanly charm." She laughed happily and slapped her knee a bit, obviously finding her own joke hilarious. "I'm kidding you Dally, I just didn't expect you so soon." She smiled goldenly at Dallon, his mouth turned upwards in an attempted smile at the nickname and her joke. Not particularly humorous to him though so he failed in the smiling department for now.

"Well I just..." He paused, his head now clear of the previous aquamarine fog that so plagued him, but he decided to continue speaking anyways,"I found a book." Dallon stopped not totally thinking ahead in his words and what he is to say next.

"Well thats good. Not enough young people truly understand the power books hold, they tend to hold their cellular phones tighter. Books are good for you, I think you should read it." She finished beaming lightly at the tall boy next to her.

Dallon could only nod, still pondering. He looked to his left at the coffee table next to him, taking in the various momentums of this womans life, and smelling the soft glow of what must be Sarah's perfume. Residually he spoke again, "Its not like, a book book, its a notebook," He broke,"With like, writing in it..." He scratched his chin rubbing his finger across one particularly long piece.

"Then read it." She persisted.

"But I don't even know who's it is! What if I get in trouble?" Dallon exasperates suddenly feeling very hot, slight sweat forming on the back of his neck.

"If it was written, it was meant to be read." She countered, she slowly then rose to a standing position, supporting herself on the arm of her chair reaching for her house cane once again. Sarah audibly popped her hip then gestured waving her hand up for Dallon to stand with her.

He opened his mouth one last time to speak again but Sarah shook her head. Motioning a zipped mouth with her fingers and pretendedly threw the key away over her shoulder. Dallon mimicked her actions nodding looking down to her.

"Read." Sarah said and closed the door.

And Dallon proceeded to do just that. He walked back upstairs and opened his apartment. Still dingy and really required a lot of dusting and sweeping. The first thing on his list of "items to be dusted" was the notebook.

He walked to his office and his nerves started to get the better of him as his hands began to tremble and the sweat from earlier on his neck becoming more heavy and traveled down his spine coldly. With a shaky he hand he reached for the book but then promptly shoved his hand in his jeans pocket. And began pacing anxiously around his study. Aquamarine fog returning heavier than before and threatening to drown him totally.

Brendon floated into the hallway, rising from where he had sunk into Dallon's chair and watched him pace. He nibbled his finger nails, sharing the same anxiety as Dallon. It had been over 100 years and Brendon had not forgotten what he wrote in that book. It contained his poetry and after every few poems he summarized his day, his feelings, and... the last entry, his last and final demon

Why he killed himself.

But somewhere in the back of his mind over these years he had managed to suppress how exactly he died. For a decade he was angry, furious even. He could simply not comprehend why he had died. Who had did it, why, for what reasons had Brendon Boyd Urie, the young poet died so young?

While the flustered ghost boy too drowned in thoughts Dallon had mustered picking up his unknown guests journal. He brushed the cover free of the old spun webs, of a spider long dead. His fingers grazing over the hand carved flower, detailed and intricate patterns of dots, line, and curls beautifully danced the leather. Colors once stained had now nearly faded all back to acorn brown.

He slowly pulled the cover open to the first page, almost like creaking open a long sealed door on an ancient house. However this book was Brendons house and Dallon had not yet been invited in.

Before Brendon knew what he was doing Dallon got solidly thrown against the far wall in his study. The notebook fell to the ground harshly. Brendon's eyes have now gone completely black and the small start of dark horns protruded from his forehead. He held his hands out in a pose that kept Dallon pinned to the wall. Brendon's nails had grown significantly and he stared at them with his large moon sized eyes. He looked right at Dallon and he could swear they made real eye contact, even for just a splitting moment it happened. Right before Dallon took a huge breath and passed out.

Ghost boy gasped and nearly dropped Dallon but rose his left arm shakily holding him up still staring at his deformed nails. Holding him up in the air was only like holding a baby, and both of those things made him deathly afraid to drop. Both floating Brendon moved his arm to the right a bit making the unconscious Dallon float to his bedroom with him.

Brendon choked back a sob as he ever so gently laid Dallon on his new unmade bed. Hoping desperately that he hadn't killed Dallon with his rage, and now the tears really did start flowing, he covered his mouth with his hand, then cried more when he felt his sharp demonic nails touch his cheek. Brendon took one last long stare at Dallon, waiting for a reward of his chest raising and falling. Which he sighed, relieved moments later as he saw his organs all still working. He broke his eye contact with the unconscious boy and floated back to study petrified.

Closing his deep sky eyes Brendon managed to calm his shaking down and now the only thing left disheveled was his mind in scrambles. He saw his journal still laying on the ground where it was so rudely tossed from Dallon's large protective hands. It splayed open to the front page, it read the first in printed cursive text, "Property of Brendon Urie" and the address of their apartment. He reached his claw-like hand out to turn the next page, and surprisingly he could touch his notebook now without rage hate or deep sorrow filling him. But he could not turn the page, it felt like stone, and the numerous amount of pages just felt like curvature of stone. He pulled the page again, nothing. For the life of him...death of him he pulled again nothing. So then he tried to just pick the book up off the ground. It still stayed cemented.

Defeated Brendon sunk down to the floor of the doorway to the office. He closed his eyes and for the first time sense he died dreams came. But they came in rushed frightened waves. Dallon's showing no different.

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