Saving Michael Jackson

Is this actually it?

The moment I see him, everything inside me collapses in a way I can't explain. He's there—but he isn't how I remember him. And for a second, I understand something I didn't want to understand: even when you travel through time, even when you rewrite your path to reach someone... you don't get to choose when you find them. Michael looks up at me. And immediately—Something in his face changes. Not recognition first. Embarrassment. Like I've walked into a moment I was never supposed to witness.

"Michael—" My hand flies to my mouth, tears already breaking loose before I can stop them.

"Oh my God..." I take a step forward. He lifts his hand. Not aggressively. Not cruelly. Just enough to stop me. "Don't," he says quietly. His voice is tired in a way that makes my chest hurt. "I don't want you in here. Okay?"

My throat tightens. The room feels too small for what's happening inside it.

"Please don't do this," I whisper. "I need to talk to you."

His eyes drop to the floor like he can't hold mine without breaking something.

"We'll talk later," he says, firmer now. "Leave the room."

The words land like a door shutting. I don't move.
My knees hit the ground instead. I don't even feel them touch the floor properly.

"I'm begging you," I say, my voice cracking open. "I'm begging you—just listen to me. After that, I'll leave. I promise." Silence. He doesn't look at me.
That silence is worse than anger. It's distance.

"I lied," I rush out before I lose the courage to speak. "I know you know I lied." A breath catches in my throat. "My name is Allison. That's not even fully true. I lied about where I'm from too—but not to hurt you. I swear I didn't come here to hurt you." His fingers twitch slightly. I keep going before I lose the thread.

"I'm here because of today. Because of this day. Because I know what happens if I don't stop it."
My voice drops. "Conrad Murray didn't help you sleep. He... he made you sleep." I swallow hard.
"And you never woke up." The words feel like they're burning my tongue on the way out.
"The ambulance was too late. He was too busy covering what he did—covering you—and you just—" My breath breaks. "You died, Michael." I shake my head quickly, like I can erase the sentence. "And I can't let it happen again. I can't watch you die again." My hand reaches for his without thinking. When I touch him— He goes still. Not looking at me. Not reacting. Just staring past me, like something in the air has shifted only he can see.

"Michael?" My voice turns small. His eyes don't blink.

"Michael..." I whisper again.

Then, slowly, his head turns toward me.
Like something has snapped him back into the room. But his expression— It's different now.
Strange. Alert. Sharpened. As if something I said opened a door in his mind that should've stayed locked.

"He killed... me?" he says slowly. The words don't sound like confusion. They sound like confirmation. My stomach twists. I nod. Because I can tell—he believes me. And I don't know whether that saves us or destroys everything.

"He is here," I say quickly. "He's still in this house. I saw him. I stopped him."

A silence follows. Heavy. Pressing. Then the door opens. Too suddenly. Too loudly. Conrad Murray walks in. And everything freezes.

Michael stands up immediately. The shift in him is instant.

"You," Michael says. One word. Sharp enough to cut air. He points. "You were supposed to make me sleep," he says, voice rising, shaking. "Instead you overdosed me!"

Murray's face changes in an instant—confusion snapping into alarm. "Michael, calm down. What are you talking about?" His eyes flick to me. "What are you doing here?" He laughs, but it's forced. Thin. "Michael, this is ridiculous. Your security must have mistaken this stranger for a fan. I'm calling them right now." He turns toward the door.