Saving Michael Jackson

Meeting Bill Bray

A black limousine waited behind the hotel.
The night air felt colder than before, or maybe it was just me.
Michael walked beside me while four or five bodyguards surrounded us. Everything still felt unreal. The concert, Germany, him—all of it.

I sat down beside him in the limousine, pulling the black coat he had given me tighter around myself. It smelled faintly sweet, like expensive perfume mixed with something warm.
I looked down at my hands.
I wasn't lying, i had been kidnapped.
Only... my kidnapper seemed to be some kind of time-traveling freak.

"Do you know what he looked like?" Michael asked softly. "Did you already call the police?"

I kept my eyes lowered. The truth sat heavy in my chest.
How exactly was I supposed to explain this?
Oh yeah, I met some creepy man in 2020 and now I'm in 1988.

"Go to the police," Michael said to the driver. "Tell them everything."

"What?" I looked up quickly. "No!"

"No?" Michael turned to me, confused.

"Yeah, I mean—" I sighed. "You know what I mean."

Without saying anything, he looked at the driver.
"Drive us to the station."

"Look," I said quickly, sitting up straighter. "We would only look stupid if we said, 'Oh yeah, I got kidnapped,' when I don't even know who the man was."

Michael looked at me for a second.
"We would look stupid if we didn't go and leave that creep out here." He paused. "How do you know it was a man?"

I pressed my lips together.
Idiot.
Why did I say he?

"Well..." I shrugged awkwardly. "Most kidnappers are men, so..."
Michael tilted his head slightly.

"Women can be kidnappers too, Cindy."

"Okay, yes," I muttered. "But I just don't feel comfortable going. Please, can we just let it be?"

"You are not going," he said gently.

I blinked.
"What?"

"My driver is going." He smiled a little. "You're coming with me to Los Angeles."
My jaw dropped.

"I'm going back to America?" I nearly shouted.
"Oh Lord—finally! I can't wait to tell Linda all this."
I laughed before suddenly stopping.
Michael was looking at me.
Not weirdly.
Just... carefully.

"What?" I asked.

His expression softened.
"I'm glad you're happy now."

A smile spread across my face before I could stop it.
"I am!"
I clapped my hands together excitedly.

"Sir, but what about the tour—" the driver couldn't finish his sentence because Michael interrupted him.

"It's such a lovely night today, isn't it, Cindy?"
Michael says, while looking out the window.

I blinked, then smiled.
"Indeed."

The limousine felt better than my own bed.
Actually—way better. I leaned back into the soft leather seat, trying not to look too impressed.
Then my eyes landed on the small television.
Tom & Jerry.
I turned to him slowly.
"You watch this?"

Michael looked over.
"Yeah," he said simply. "It's funny. Makes me laugh."
Suddenly he pointed at the screen.
"Look at him! He gon' fall directly in the trap—look, look!"
He started laughing, clapping his hands together like a little kid.
I couldn't help laughing too. Not even at the cartoon. At him.
The way he laughed...
The way his eyes lit up...
God.
Was this really happening? Was I seriously spending the night with Michael Jackson?