 The tallest structure on County Road 39 was the Southern Medley Water Tower, and the rumor was that Troy Nolan didn't scream during his descent of all 129 feet of it. He was a classmate of mine and due to our senior class consisting of only 44 people, his death resulted in quite the frenzy at school. Hayden Christensen wept openly in the hallway and had to be consoled by her boyfriend. Ginger Jackson set up a GoFundMe page in Troy's honor. The proceeds would go to Troy's parents and his brother who was a sophomore. Garrett Locksteed created a memorial PowerPoint slide deck that would be played in two weeks at our graduation ceremony. Don Winston, who turned 18 in February, got a small tattoo of Troy's life dates on his shoulder blade. The most unusual aspect about all the support was that the ones involved, the ones who were the most earnest and affected, had bullied Troy for years. Every cry, financial expenditure or creative avenue inspired by their classmates passing, was amplified on social media with the accompaniment of saccharine deception. Actions were taken for the sole purposes of likes and glorious feedback. The desire for attention was cylindrical and every loop reinforced an idea that profiting attention from a tragedy was not only moral but expected. For example, Don's post of his nearly tattooed skin reached 300 comments in 48 hours. This prompted Garrett to post a sneak peek of his memorial slide deck. After his post received praise, Ginger explained on Facebook how to donate to the GoFundMe she created. When the stir for her post was at its apex, Hayden topped them all with an eloquent post highlighting all the incredible times she had had with her close friend, Troy. She posted her lengthy story on each of her social media accounts and the notoriety of her account earned her a spot on the local news. In the interview, she needed her hands, smiled when necessary, and leaked tears of sorrow between questions. I found it odd that she didn't mention the time last year when she'd made fun of Troy in front of the entire class. I remember that Troy was absent from school for the next three days out of embarrassment. This is not to say I didn't appreciate my classmates' energy being applied to something other than field parties and hiding teen pregnancies from the pastor. cynicism ran in my family. And I lathered my inherited skepticism all over my classmates' intentions. Hell, most of my kin felt the same way I did. My family tree branched all throughout the history of medley. It was one of the smallest towns in the state. So small, in fact, when one municipal traffic engineer had a small roundabout constructed on east over avenue, there were 12 wrecks the following week. Most residents that came to the street expected to find the stop sign that had been there for 50 years, but was met with a complicated junction they'd only seen in films or in the big city. Everyone knew each other in town, and if a stranger ever did appear, they didn't remain a stranger long. People like to know everyone and everyone's business medley folks didn't like unknowns. When a problem occurred, it was fixed or discovered quickly. A month after the accidents, the roundabout was swiftly removed, paved over and a fresh stop sign was posted where the old one used to be that explained why the residents of medley were so perplexed by the southern medley water tower. Troy's apparent accident piqued their interest, but it was what happened next that grabbed the town's attention. My senior class was divided. Half thought it was suicide. Everyone thought it was an accident. But people didn't know what to think when Don Winston wanted to outdo his classmates' digital commemoration by going to the spot where Troy slipped or jumped to snap a photo. He posted a selfie of himself atop the water tower at dusk on Wednesday. The photo was beautiful. The golden clouds melted into the crimson sunset, and the town of medley looked stoic and peaceful beneath. But what peace there had been Wednesday at dusk was gone by Friday afternoon, when a road crew found the crumpled body of Don Winston at the base of the tower. Either the workman's platform was unbearably slippery, or we had the most depressed senior class in medley high school history. Like I mentioned earlier, my family had roots in medley since the town was first organized in 1859. It was my great and great grandfather who led the people in his community to organize and make medley a permanent staple in the state. We're a proud family, and throughout the years my relatives had shown me photo albums, government documents, and handwritten letters about our time here. It was fascinating. So when my grandmother mentioned about a third person who would perish from the water tower, it took me by surprise. What do you mean? I asked her while we both sat on the dingy couch in her living room. Always in threes, she whispered. It always takes in threes. That's right, Graham. Bad luck does come in threes. Luck has nothing to do with it. She said and stared at me with those baby blue eyes. It seems to have taken roost on the water tower this time. You stay away from that tower. What's wrong with the tower? She struck me on the ear. It was a blow that smarted the side of my face all the way down my neck. But what was more painful was the fact she had done it. My grandmother had never struck me before. I'm not telling you this to rouse your macho curiosity. It's a command, a demand. Don't go to the southern medley water tower. You understand? I nodded in agreement, holding the side of my face, my eyes welling with tears. It was then that I noticed my grandmother had tears in her eyes, too. Like I told you, cynicism runs in my family. That and rebellion. The walk to the water tower was a short one. And I couldn't have asked for a more beautiful Saturday afternoon. A chain link fence wrapped around the base of the tower, but a rusted section allowed for easy access. Or it used to. It had seen the workers of the local water supply district were tired of stupid teenagers climbing and falling from their tower. So the rusted section of fence had been replaced and a brand new padlock hung on the entrance gate. I didn't care. I wasn't going to climb the tower. I only wanted to see what enticed Tony and Don to the point they were willing to risk their lives. I studied the area for a while. The tower property was nestled in a square cut into a strand of pine trees. The property line was well defined because the water supply district paid a local landscaping company to keep up the area. The tower itself was bulbous and bell shaped, with a small walking deck around the top studded with antennas. To put it plainly, it was an average water tower. My grandmother's words came back to me. Don't go to the southern mentally water tower. You understand. I understood. But my curiosity had me in a vice grip. I stood looking at the tower and wondered who would find it so alluring. I remembered that my deceased classmates had made their voyages to the tower at night. So I made the decision to return closer to dusk. I'm not telling you to rouse your macho curiosity. Too late, Graham. The sun was dipped halfway under the horizon when I returned to the property lines. The pines were sprawling ink stains to the orange glow of the horizon. The tower itself stood tall and proud above everything else. And I craned my neck to an uncomfortable degree to see its peak. A red light flashed intermittently on the very top. Perhaps it was the light that did it. Perhaps my fallen classmates had been high or drunk when they decided to scale the tower then got disoriented by the strobe effect. Two vehicles roared by while I watched the tower. But I hid behind a tree when they passed so I wouldn't be seen. It wasn't illegal to view it, but something in me wanted my presence to be unknown. Despite what I'd thought earlier, the tower did have a slight allure to it. The way it rose taller than anything else in sight was a taunt like whoever climbed it had achieved something worthwhile. Even its shape, the bulbous top and angled bars that went down the supports like a zipper had a dynamic to it in a way that seized the attention of the eye. It seemed that even though it was manmade, mother nature had not only allowed it in her world, but respected it. I was pondering these ideas. When I saw the person on top of the tower, it was a brief glance, but I had no doubt someone was there since the sun had not disappeared completely. Always in threes, I thought to myself, which classmate was at this time? Was it a friend of mine? Was it a classmate who would try to gain popularity from the other's deaths? Regardless, I knew I couldn't wait for the wet smack of a 17 year old body hitting the earth. Before I found out, I could stop this. I must stop this. Before I knew it, I climbed the fence and used a metal hinged box as a lift off point. I jumped off at as hard as I could, and my fingers found the bottom rung of the ladder. Pulling myself up was much too difficult. And as I regained my breath on the third rung, I promised myself to work out more. I climbed. A light breeze found me after I topped the crowns of the trees. I was very high up, but refused to look down. Vertigo would capture me and never let go if I saw how far my feet were from solid ground. I continued up, rung after rung, that red light becoming larger and brighter every flicker. When my hand found the walkway, I called out to the person, but there was no response. I couldn't see anyone then, but I knew they could hear me. Maybe I could talk some sense into them before they did anything drastic. I got a good foothold on the walkway and made my way to the very top of the water tower. It was twilight when I started my climb, and now the sky was as black as pitch, but there were no stars. And the only sound was the soft whistle of the breeze. Medley glowed in the darkness, and the lights of homes and companies were fireflies from my elevation. To be honest, it was one of the most peaceful times I've encountered. I found the shallow stairs and made it to the apex of the tower. I took hold of an antenna for balance and cold out into the darkness. Damn my cynicism, I wanted to prevent a catastrophe. Then the antenna bulb glowed, the light bathing everything around me in red, including the classmate I came to save. Only it wasn't a classmate. It was perched on a railing and had its head bowed slightly between thick folds of cloth. My view of it was brief, but it certainly startled me. I was alone up here with something. Everything went black again, and the thing atop the water tower vanished into the murky dark. My heart stammered in my chest, and a gust of breeze had me holding onto the antenna to keep me from falling over. I prodded the area around me with my foot, and tried to refocus my orientation. I needed to leave. Now why hadn't I listened to my grandmother? The light blinked again. The thing was off the railing and on the steel grate ten feet from me. The folds of cloth had expanded, and I saw it was not cloth at all, but wings. A pair of eyes, as compassionate and forgiving as a new mother to her infant, stared at me within alluring curiosity. It was not the eyes of evil, but of adoration. They were big and bright, and loved me with an unparalleled fierceness I'd never experienced. I was immersed in euphoria and unbridled glee. Everything I'd known to cause panic or fear had been quelled and replaced with relentless contentment. I was embraced, and the light stopped its intermittent blinking, and I was in a void. Infinite darkness spread over me, around me, through me, but the darkness wasn't forlorn. Hopeful warmth swaddled me entire. It was a new birth of enlightenment, a promise of enduring love. All I had to do was take a stride forward, just a simple step over the railing, and the promise would be fulfilled. An explosion ripped through the pleasure. Then another, and another. I could hear faint screams, human screams, when the red light blinked again, and I realized that the winged thing that had enveloped me earlier in its wings was now retreating down the walkway. I could make out a mouth, jagged with teeth, and the bristly outline of fur. Then the fur turned blue, then violent. Another explosion, another. Fireworks were going off around us. With a tremendous flap of its wings, the thing took to the sky and vanished against the brilliant spectacles of color and fire, and into the night. More human screams came from below, harsh screams, screams of my name. I got control of my bearings and went down the short walkway. The breeze blew the acrid smell of spent fireworks all over me as I made my way down the ladder. My grandmother didn't stop shooting the fireworks until she'd clutched me in her arms. She still screamed curse words at me, but she did so through a stream of tears. I told you, you damn idiot. I told you. She kept repeating. She walked me home, helping me keep my balance. I felt weak and lethargic. My muscles were so sore that the short walk felt like miles. My shivering didn't stop until I was wrapped in blankets in front of a space heater on my grandmother's dingy couch. She excavated a large book from her bookcase and plopped it on my lap. Open it. She demanded. The first page consisted of two photographs, both of my grandmother. One was her high school senior portrait. The other was taken a few years later as she held my father when he was a baby. What? I asked and pulled the blankets up to my neck. She dug around in her purse and removed something, then pulled her face closer, those baby blue eyes inches from mine. She held up a small purse mirror for me. It was difficult to believe what I saw. My eyes had changed from deep brown to light blue, the same color as grams. I turned back to the photographs in my grandmother's senior portrait. Her eyes were brown, almost black. But in the one of her with my father, they were the baby blues I'd always known her to have. I saw it when I was 20 years old. She said, what happened? My father saved me. He knew about it too. I told you to stay away. I wasn't going to let it take you. You knew about that. That thing on the water tower. What is it? She tapped the thick book on my lap. This book has been in our family for quite some time. Everything we know about it is in there. Drawings, sightings, killings, patterns, possible motivations. Unfortunately, there is a lot we don't know, but we are sure of one thing. What? It takes in threes. She whispered. It always has.