Superstar, Michael Jackson, murdered his father Joe Jackson on the eve of Christmas, 1979. What drove him to commit such a passionate, heinous crime? Money? Greed? Fame? Th Jacksons and their reputation are sent into a spiral.
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The black car pulled into the gates of Hayvenhurst. The car screeched when it came to a halt over the brick pathway. Michael prepared himself for scrutiny when he noticed that the windows were lit up. Someone was home.
Quincy and him agreed that Michael could stay at his home for a couple of days. In the guesthouse. Michael wasn't particularly fond of this, but he had nowhere else to go. He definitely wasn't staying home and going to a hotel was like fishing for attention.
Michael stretched his neck in the back seat, while trying to get a good view of the house. He hoped he could spot someone through the window, but again, there was only bright light and dusted furniture.
Quincy looked over to Michael once he noticed his jaw clenching. "I can go in there with you if you need me to."
He didn't feel Michael was strong enough to face his family. Not that he was a coward, but he was naive and too straightforward with his emotions. The anxiety that he saw sit Michael down on his couch, emitted from Michael. The same anxiety that made Michael confess. The same anxiety that probably ran Michael out of Encino in Joseph's car. He didn't want Michael on his knees and pleading for his family's forgiveness. He had a feeling that's what would happen.
"Naw, I'm tight," Michael opened the car door and stepped out. He knew that he couldn't avoid it forever, so to lessen the dramatization and suspense, he made his way to the entrance.
He didn't feel brave. He taught himself to brush off his family's feelings, but this was something he'd never prepared himself for. He dreaded it the moment he killed his father. His whole body burned gray.
The cold air nibbled at his skin. His mouth was locked shut, so the many breaths he blew through his nose vaporized in the air. Outside was calm as usual. The half naked trees blew in the afternoon wind and the sun hid behind the wide clouds, supporting a blue day.
He saw through all of this. He knew his family was behind the door; irritated like a team of wild pigs. Still, he lifted his arm and knocked on the door with a fist.
Maria answered the door with a smile. Probably the only genuine one he would receive that day. "Goodday, Mr. Jackson."
He nodded at her as he stepped into the warm home. His family sat in the conversation pit. They spotted him immediately. There was Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, Marlon, Randy, and Latoya. Their eyes jumped between each other before fixing on him. There was nothing welcoming about it. The glares were full of questions and anger.
"You got some nerve comin' here," Jackie stood when Michael was only a few feet away from them. "You thought the news was gon' miss us?"
He decided to stay out of the pit. He could feel their grill at its perimeter.
Marlon and Latoya couldn't even look him in the face for too long. They crooked their necks with their arms folded and avoided his face.
Michael didn't fall under pressure. "The news isn't true."
