Saving Michael Jackson

The creepy old man

Linda presses play on "Bad" by Michael Jackson, the sound blasting through her laptop speakers.

"Ahh, yes..." she moans, leaning back like she's been waiting her whole life for this moment.

"What?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"I've been waiting all day to hear this song. It's so addicting." Her lower lip trembles slightly, like she means every word.

I get it. I really do. I've loved Michael Jackson for as long as I can remember. When I was five, I used to dance around the house to his music like the world depended on it. Back then, it felt like he was everywhere. Alive, untouchable. Now... he's just a memory.

He died eleven years ago. People say his doctor killed him. I don't know what's true anymore, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. Sometimes I catch myself wishing for something impossible- that I could go back in time, stand outside his door, and stop everything before it happened.
But life doesn't work like that.

"Hey," Linda suddenly says, snapping me out of it.

"Did you leave that disgusting glove on my bed last night?"
She shoots me an irritated look.

"What glove?" I frown.

"The black one. With white stains on it. Come on, you're the only one who has access to our room."
A chill runs down my spine.

"I didn't leave anything there."
The thought of some random glove just appearing in our apartment? Yeah... not comforting.
But before I can think about it any longer, Linda claps her hands together.

"Anyway! I need new shoes. What do you say? Shopping trip—with mommy Linda?"
She wiggles her eyebrows.

I laugh and shake my head, grabbing my jacket as we head out.

The streets of New York buzz around us as we walk. I can't help but think about my mom.
I haven't spoken to her since I left California.
We had a huge fight the night I moved out. She didn't want me to leave. I didn't want to stay. Not when Linda needed me.

My best friend has cancer. How was I supposed to leave her behind?
Mom never understood that.
But standing here now, watching Linda smile like nothing in the world could break her... I know I made the right choice.
She's stronger than anyone I know.

Inside the store, Linda immediately disappears into racks of clothes—dresses, jeans, shirts. Fashion is her thing. Always has been.
Her dream?
Becoming a stylist.
Not just any stylist.
His stylist.

She used to tell me all the time how she imagined working with Michael Jackson—picking out his outfits, helping shape his iconic look.

But no one hires her. Not with her diagnosis.
She was diagnosed with cancer three years ago. Doctors said she wouldn't last long.

Three years later, she's still here.
Still fighting.
Still smiling.
And I'll never stop believing she'll keep doing exactly that.

"Girl, I'm buying this," she announces, holding up a red shirt covered in roses and black hearts.

I bite my lip.
Oh no. She didn't read it.

"Yeah... it looks great," I say, barely holding in a laugh.

"What?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.

"Linda... read it."

She looks down.
"...Make me..."
Her eyes widen.

"Oh my God."
I burst out laughing as she slaps her forehead, joining in.

We leave the store still laughing—until we collide with someone.
Linda's bags hit the ground, clothes spilling everywhere.
"I'm so sorry!" she says quickly, kneeling to pick them up.
The man doesn't respond.
He's dressed entirely in black. Hat, coat, everything. His head stays lowered, avoiding eye contact.

We wait... Nothing.

"Hello?" I wave a hand in front of him, irritation creeping into my voice.
Still nothing.

"Come on, Allison," Linda whispers, tugging my arm.

I ignore her.

"You could at least apologize," I snap. "You knocked everything out of her hands and you're just standing there? What's wrong with you?"

Silence... Then, barely audible-
"Gonna make a difference... gonna make it right..."

I freeze.

"What?" I say

"You know you've got to stop it... make that change..."
His head trembles slightly, like he's caught in some trance.

"Ally, let's go," Linda says, her voice tense.

We back away, but his voice rises behind us-
"Make it a better place... for you and for me!"
We don't stop walking.
Then walking turns into running.

We finally slow down in a nearby park, catching our breath.

"Okay," Linda laughs nervously, "what was that?"

"A crazy old man," I say, still breathing hard. "You've seen those before."

"Not that crazy." She says

"Baby, you're in New York," I sing, making her laugh again.
That laugh.
God... I'd do anything to keep hearing it.

Later, we reach our apartment building.
"Ugh," Linda groans. "When we get home, I'm taking a bath and not leaving for six hours."

"Make it three," I say, pulling out my keys. "I need—"
I stop.
He's there.
The man.
Standing right in front of our door.

"What the hell is wrong with—"
Before I can finish, he grabs my hand.
And looks at me.
One eye is dark brown.
The other... completely white.
Blind.
But somehow, it feels like he sees everything.

A wave of nausea hits me. My head throbs. My body goes still.

"Will you be there?" he murmurs.
My heart pounds.

"Heartbreak hotel... this place is Heartbreak Hotel... take my hand, I'll take you there..."
He presses something into my palm.
A red bracelet.

My instincts scream at me not to take it.
But I do.
Linda suddenly shoves him away, and he stumbles back. His expression twists—calm turning into something dark and furious.

"Get out of here or I'm calling the police!" she yells.
He straightens slowly, glaring at us.
Then he looks at me.
Everything goes black.

"Ally? Ally, wake up!"
Linda's voice cuts through the darkness.
I open my eyes.
I'm in bed.
Back home.
"What... happened?" I whisper.
"Where is he?" I ask, sitting up.
"Where is who?" she frowns.
"The man—"
I stop.
The bracelet.
Still in my hand.
"How did...?"

"Woah," Linda says. "Where did you get that?"
I stare at it, my chest tightening.
"This man... he kept saying things. Heartbreak Hotel.... Will you be there...'"

"Ally," she sighs, "you fainted. That's it. Forget about him."

"I can't," I say quietly. "Something about him... it felt wrong."

"Wrong how?"

I hesitate.
"Sick." I say

She raises an eyebrow. "Like... a cold?"

"No. Not like that. Worse." I shake my head.
"It felt like he was trying to tell me something."

Linda watches me for a moment.
Then she laughs.
I don't.
"We need to find him," I say, standing up. "I have to talk to him."

"Absolutely not," she says immediately. "He's dangerous."

"I won't be able to sleep if I don't."
She steps in front of the door.
"No. We figure this out together. But you're not going near him."
I hesitate.
She's scared.
And honestly... I am too.

"Okay," she says, softer now. "Let's just think. We have the things he said."

I sigh, taking off my jacket.
"Okay."
But deep down...
I know this isn't over.