Forever and a Half || Michael Jackson

Chapter Fourteen - Sick

Chapter fourteen – Sick

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-September 5, 1987-

"Michael, it's for you!" I call from the telephone. The police have been in contact again, with more news, but they want to tell Michael what it is first, "Michael!"

It's only 6:45am; the telephone ringing is what woke me up this morning. I would have happily stayed asleep for another hour or so. But no ... the police simply had to call this early in the morning.

"What?" Michael's voice finally breaks the silence in the hallway. He sounds weak though ... almost like he's sick. I'm going to have to go upstairs and get him myself, aren't I?

"Please hold," I speak down the phone, resting it on the side and heading up the stairs to Michael. Arriving at his room, I open the door to find him in bed, looking paler than a sheet of paper – no exaggeration, "Michael ... what's wrong?"

His eyes remain closed; he doesn't move a single muscle, "Citria ... I think I've got some sort of bug. I feel awful ... " he answers limply.

Terrific, Michael's sick. Just what we needed. Poor guy ...

"The police are on the phone Michael. They have an update on the investigation," I inform him softly, "What should I tell them?"

He groans softly, covering his face with both hands, "Please tell them to ring back later ... or get them to tell you what they want to say, and then you can tell me. I don't know ... " he suggests quietly.

"Okay Michael. I'll come back up in a few minutes, alright?" A look of sympathy spreads across my face.

"Okay ... " He nods with his reply to clarify his answer.

I make my way back downstairs, getting back to the phone and placing it to my ear, "Yeah, uhm ... Mr Jackson can't make it right now. Can I take a message?" I offer politely.

"Yes," the officer replies, "Could you tell Mr Jackson that we've managed to investigate all the other bodies found at the scene of the crime, and we've been able to successfully identify bullet wounds in everyone. The only suspicious part is that one of the bodies' bullet wounds were located in a different area to everyone else's," he explains, "That, and we found a piece of evidence that pretty much gives away who was behind everyone's murders."

"Oh God ... " I murmur, "What did you find?"

"After investigating the scene of the crime yesterday, we were able to recover a tape recorder, with a recording on. When Mr Jackson is available, we would like to play you the recording, if that's convenient."

A deep breath can't help but escape my lips, "Of course. As soon as Mr Jackson is available, he'll get in touch. You've been most kind," I say nervously.

"Alright. We'll be in touch. Good day, Miss Espinosa."

"Good day ... " I reply, hanging up the phone and setting it back on its receiver. My finger and thumb punch the bridge of my nose, "My God ... "

"Citria!" My little quiet time is interrupted when I hear Michael's desperate calls from upstairs, "Citria!"

Making my way upstairs, I think of the possible things Michael could be calling for. Does he want something? Need something? Is he in trouble? I guess I'll find out in a second. Once I'm upstairs, I enter Michael's room, seeing him in the same position as I left him in.

"Michael ... are you alright?" I ask sadly.

His breathing has become heavier, and he's sweating like God knows what, now. It's the worst I've seen him, health-wise.