The chirp of cicadas chases me down. It reminds me of him. It's my fault, mine! I'm sorry, please just forgive me James, I know you hate me but please. I'll fix it, I promise. I promise, I promise I promise i promise ipromiseipromiseipromise... I see that last time in the back of my mind as the cicadas continue their symphony. It makes me want to cry, to scream, to claw at my face and get these memories out of me, but I can't. Mom and Dad are here. I can't lose it now, in our car, or they'll put me back in therapy. I can't go back to that. I barely survived the first time without lashing out. We go down an autumnal road, by leaves in crimsons and maroons and golds and marigolds. Apples hang from branches colored in so many shades of brown it makes my head hurt. I try to hold onto what's around me ("center yourself, Medley!"), but I just sink further into the sound of crickets, and it drowns me. And the worst thing comes to me: memories. James and I sat on the windowsill, watching videos on his phone. I snorted as I took a bite of popcorn. "Dude, why would a cat ride on a dog? That's so fake." "It's entertainment, nothing more, nothing less," James says in a mockingly scholarly voice, ripping open a bag of Doritos. I kissed him on the cheek. "Well, make the entertainment more realistic." "I didn't make it --" he pushed a piece of hair from my cheek "--and make it as realistic as what?" "Star Wars," I declare, "is very realistic." "Bro, it's star ships, laser swords, aliens and light-speed. How is that realistic?" "Because I say so." He had only chuckled. Our new house is about four hours from our old home. Three hours from our former town's cemetery. It feels like worlds away instead. I examine the new house. It looks ancient. Rickety. I wouldn't be surprised if we found a dead body in there. Coffins and mourners flash through my mind, making me shudder, but I bite down on my tongue to keep my panic in. I can't go back. Then I can't fix what I've done. Stay here. Stay present. You can do this, Medley. I repeat the words in my mind as I walk up the wooden stairs behind Mom. Dad unlocks the door. It's dark inside, dark enough for me not to be able to see a foot in front of me. And it's cold. It feels as if a dead, freezing hand grips my skin. I grab my bags from the car and proceed to haul them up the stairs to my room. The stairs creak with my every step, making me jumpy.at every turn. I settle down on the bare bed after I finish and close the door, stuff my face into my fluffiest pillow, and let it out. I had been watching a Star Wars movie -- Episode V, to be exact -- when the officers knocked on my door. I went to open it and they came in. "Where's your father?" one asked. "Probably in bed, but what --" I began. "None of your concern." He pushed past me and went upstairs. I rushed up after them. "Wait. Why do you need to see my dad? What's going on? Why --" "Shut it." The officer stalked up and burst into my parents' room, who were reading in bed. "Put your hands where I can see them!" My mom seemed shocked. "What's going on?" My dad was even more so. "Sirs, I don't know why you think you need to come in here, but --" "Michael Jones, you're under arrest for the murder of Daniel Gray." I breathe. In, out, in, out. I'm alive. I'm okay. Stop hyperventilating, Medley, or you'll get one of your attacks. Stop! You're not there. You're okay. You're fine. You're okay you're okay youreokayyoureokayyoureokay.... Dad knocks on the door. "How are you doing, Medley?" "Just working on unpacking!" "Well, it's dinner time. Chinese take-out," he says. I grin despite the fact he can't see it. "My favorite. Give me five minutes and I'll be down." "Alright." I rush to make it seem like I had actually been unpacking, not having an episode, shove a sweater over myself, and run downstairs, smelling the orange chicken and fried rice. No egg drop soup. Thank God. I wouldn't be able to survive over a bowl of it. Too many memories. Be present. Be present. You're... not home. But that's more comforting somehow. "So, you excited for school tomorrow?" Mom asks, somewhat awkwardly. I don't look up. "Not really. School is school. A bunch of boring stuff I won't use." "Not necessarily --" Dad begins. I glare. "Dad, when the heck am I going to use parabolas?" He tilts his head. "I thought you liked math." "Well, I don't," I declare. I stuff a large bite of chicken into my mouth, not leaving any room for argument. Mom and Dad stare at each other, but don't say more on the subject, thankfully. (Cont below)
Mom turns to Dad. "How is the job search going?" He used to be a doctor, but no one wants him in their hospitals any more. He perked up. "Well, there's this one place a few hours away that's considering it!" I look at him. "They don't care about your... history?" Mom looked at me. "Medley!" "It's a valid question," I snap. Dad sighs. "So far, yes." I immediately feel guilty for bringing it up. "Sorry," I whisper. Done with my meal, I rush upstairs. "Medley --" Mom begins. "Tired. Going to bed. Bye." I slam myself into the mattress when I'm in my room and let the tears fall. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault it's my fault it's my fault itsmyfaultitsmyfaultitsmyfault... I went to James's house the next day. I told him everything, hurriedly enough that when I was finished, I was panting. My panic had consumed me, and it kept flashing out like the cut of a knife. I gasped for breath, feeling like the walls are pressing against me. An old friend of mine, Laura, had anxiety back when we still talked. I never had problems with it before then. I was sweating despite the fact I was shivering. I couldn't move, but tears still managed to flow. James took the mess of me into his arms and held me tight. "Shh, it's okay." "He didn't do it," I whisper. "He didn't do it. He didn't do it." "I know," he agreed. "He didn't do it He didn't do it he didn't do it he didn't do it hedidntdoithedidntdoit..." James held me tighter. "We'll help him. I promise." "Hedidnthedidnthedidnt..." "Hey, look at me," he said, quietly. I didn't. I couldn't. "Hedidnthedidnthedidnt..." "Look at me," he said a little more firmly. He turned my head upward to look at him. "We will fix this. But we can't dwindle on what didn't happen. Stay here. Stay present. Stay with me." I pant. "Stay with me. Listen to the sound of my voice. Stay here. Stay present. Stay with me," he said soothingly. And he brought me back from my panic. "Medley, wake up!" I do so, groggily and reluctantly. Who decided that there should be school on Mondays? They are the most demonic beast to ever live. Well, other than Him... I rush out the door, but instead of going to school in the car, I take it down another road. It's time. I took James with me when I found a way to fix Dad's problem. The cicadas chirped loudly as I told him what it was -- a summoning. The spirit is known to solve your problems for you. You have to say His name five times in the middle of a forest to do it. So we do. "Jihik, Jihik, Jihik, Jihik, Jihik!" A bit of smoke appeared, affirming He heard us. And He would help. The drive is a few hours to the graveyard. But I can fix my mistake. I can fix it all. The court case went in Dad's favor, and we had a big dinner with James's family to celebrate. The cicadas were loud that night. That was when James and I heard the creaking -- and we were the only ones. We followed the noise into my bedroom. And a creature was there -- horned, huge and winged. Jihik. The path into the cemetery is dirty, but it'll be worth it. I'll fix this. I'll fix it, I swear. "Nothing is free," He chuckled. "Now, it's time to pay the price to get your wish." "What's the price?" I asked. "One of you. Since it was your wish, you get to choose." I dig in the dirt. I can do this. I can. "James," I whispered. I was too afraid. And James collapsed as Jihik evaporated. His heart had stopped beating. I set up the summoning. "Jihik! Jihik! Jihik! Jihik! Jihik!" I yell over James's body. The smoke comes. James's fingers move. "No, Medley... why...?" The world blackens. I’m paying the price this time. But the last sound I hear are the cicadas.
