Love Conquers All _The Sequel_

Chapter Thirty Four - NJH

Mary's POV:

I blink.

Not the kind of dumbfounded, quick blink that you blink in order to display confusion. Not the kind of annoyed blink where you flutter your lids and roll your eyes. No, I blinked the kind of blink where you close your eyes tightly and give yourself a brief mental pep talk that prepares you for the world you will, moments later, open your eyes to. That kind of blink where you address your emotional state and try to keep calm. The blink where you furrow your brows, shake your head slightly, inhale deeply, and then open your eyes, slightly more ready to live.

And then, when my eyes are no longer shielded by the somewhat comforting darkness of my eyelids, I can see Michael's face. On the contrary, he is blinking that dumbfounded, slow but punctuated blink. His eyes fluctuate between opened wide and shut completely. His pupils search my face, darting here and there. His lips are parted slightly and turned downward. Contradictory to my eyebrows, which are tilted upward in a cry of sadness, his are cocked in a lopsided furrow. A dumbfounded expression.

The tears have stopped streaming down my cheeks, and I can feel them drying, the salt sticking to my skin. As they evaporate, my face begins to feel chapped and tight. Michael's song has left me feeling worse than ever, although I know it was an attempt to lighten the intense cloud of grief hanging over our heads.

One moment Michael is smiling and singing, and I am crying. The next moment, I am closing my eyes and swaying back and forth, hiding in my own mind, and Michael is silent. The moment after that, my eyes are open and Michael looks like this: confused, and staring straight into me. The weird turn of expressions leaves me unnerved.

"Y-You..." Michael sputters. My heart palpitates with sudden anxiety.

"Did you not feel that?" He mumbles.

I swallow, preparing to talk, knowing that my raspy, fleshy throat is going to creak the moment I vocalize.

"Feel what?" I ask. My voice is smooth and unwavering. My face drops and my eyes fly apart. I grab my neck, and it's soft. I breathe out loudly, testing the breathability of my lungs.

I hold my hands out in front of me, and my skin is pale and elastic again. My fingernails are pink and trimmed. I can see my legs; they are long and slender, back to the way they were before I changed. My fingers fly upward to my cheeks. My face feels incredibly soft, everything just feels furry in comparison to the scaly, slimy, sticky skin I had not too long ago.

Then my hands move to my scalp, where I can actually feel my silky, wavy hair, draped down my skull and resting across my shoulders.

I laugh. And it's a normal, melodic, belly-shaking laugh that I haven't experienced in so, so freaking long. I look at Michael, my grin incomparable to any other, and his facial expression finally begins to shift away from "dumbfounded" and more towards "joyful surprise," matching the mood I wear.

He begins to laugh, too, as he throws his arms around my neck and hugs me. We look at each other, purely shocked. And now is when even I blink that confused blink, although I have a smile pushing up against my cheeks as well.

"My song! It must've reversed you!" He says loudly with a clear voice which counters his previously raspy, tired voice.

"Mirror! I need a mirror!" I shout, cackling wickedly. I can't wait to see how not-ugly I am now. Finally, finally finally finally, ET is gone forever, never to return. Ever.

Michael begins to scramble around, frantically searching for anything I can see myself in. After darting off into an unknown hallway, he returns soon after with a small handheld mirror. He leaps across the coffee table and lands beside me on the couch, handing over the reflective glass.

Inside the mirror, what I see is so, so refreshing. Rosy cheeks, brown eyes, full lips, and firm skin. Even the wrinkles I had previously attained from my murdering-spree week have vanished entirely. I am completely back to normal, and this moment goes on the shelf next to the all the other best moments I have experienced here at Neverland.

I have calmed down a bit as I set the mirror down on the table, and look at Michael. We both let out a final breathy giggle, and then look away.

"What time is it?" I ask.

Michael looks up at a clock hanging in the corner of the room. "'Bout midnight," he answers.

"Well, this has been an eventful day," I state.

"Yep," Michael replies. "I'm ready to clock in."

We stand and head for bed.

A peaceful ending to a chaotic day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Niall's POV:

"March! March! Left, left, left, right, left!" I scream hardily at the top of my lungs. My feet match the rhythm of my voice. I lead the massive mob of people behind me. In my right hand is a flaming torch. We all are making our way to the warmly glowing house in the distance. Michael and Mary's house.

I promised I would get my revenge. I promised that they hadn't seen the last of me. And they haven't. I've got a surprise coming for them.

Just wait. They'll see soon enough.

The people marching with me... They aren't just any people. I have gathered the most infamous members of the press and the paparazzi- I am marching with one massive collection of scheming, lying dogs hungry and hounding for any morsel of juicy information.

I've given them a promise: Michael Jackson, still alive - staged death. The biggest headline ever to make the papers. I'm practically handing the news over to them. They question my authenticity, so I'm leading them to the news itself.

This is my revenge. Mary loses Michael to the rest of the world, and Michael loses everything. A prefect doom.

And, just for a touch of extra infamy, I brought Eminem alongside me. He obviously has some sort of distaste for Michael like I do.

"Left! Left! Left, right, left!" I scream even louder. I lift my feet high and slam them down with force as we near the house.

"Dude, we're not an army," Eminem says. "Chill."

I spit. "Just lose it," I remark, smirking at him before I look away. He shrugs me off and we continue marching.

I love this revenge and I love my clever mind. She refused my love so I'm refusing her the privilege of loving anyone else.

We reach the front door. The reporters all around me swamp towards the windows, clicking photos by the dozens, millions of front-page stories already swirling through their significantly shrunken minds.

I pound on the door with my fist.

"Open up!" I scream. "I am Niall James Horan, and I am getting my revenge!"