Saving Michael Jackson

Back to 19th June 1988

"Okay, so... first words?" Linda asks, already flipping open her notebook as she sits beside me.

"Umm..." I rub my temples, trying to focus. "Gonna make a difference... gonna make it right."

She writes quickly.

"Alright... and he said something about a hotel, right? Heart... hotel?"

My stomach tightens.

"Heartbreak Hotel." The words come out faster now. "This place is Heartbreak Hotel... take my hand, I'll take you there."

Linda pauses, then smirks.

"These would make great Tumblr quotes."

I don't laugh.

"I've heard them before," she adds, tapping her pen against the paper.

"It's not funny," I snap. "I'm freaked out."

She raises her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay."
I lean closer, staring at the words she wrote.

"Add this too—You know you've got to stop it... make that change."

"Girl, relax," she mutters, scribbling it down anyway.

We both fall silent, staring at the page.
A book?
A movie?
A song?

It could be anything. Or nothing.
Three hours pass like that—guessing, overthinking, going in circles.

Finally, Linda drops her pen and leans back.

"Ally... it's been three hours. These words don't mean anything. Just let it go."

Maybe she's right.
Maybe I just want something to happen.
Something bigger than this boring, predictable life.

I stand up and sit next to the window

"I'm putting music on," Linda says suddenly. "I hate this silence."

I almost tell her to turn it off—but then I freeze.
A familiar voice fills the room.

Will You Be There by Michael Jackson.

Love me like a mother... will you be there?
My heart skips.

"Ugh, this song makes me sad," Linda mutters, skipping it.
Next song.
Man in the Mirror.

"You remember when Grandpa played this?" she smiles. "Where were we?"

"Los Angeles," I say softly.

She laughs, but her eyes glisten. "I only played it so we could sneak out to that party."

I grin. "He loved Michael. That old idiot."
We both laugh.
Then—
You've got to stop it... yourself... make that change...

My smile fades.
My heart drops.
Those words.

"Wait..."
Linda skips again.

Another song starts.
Heartbreak Hotel.

Heartbreak hotel... hope is dead...

"STOP!" I shout.

The music cuts off.
Silence.

"Oh my God," I whisper, rushing to her notebook.

"Oh my God, oh my God—"
I flip through the pages, pointing at the phrases.
"How can i be such an idiot? It matches. All of it."

Linda leans in.

"...So that guy was just quoting Michael Jackson?" she says.
I stare at her.
"Yes!"

She groans. "Great. We treated a fan like a psycho. We could've been bonding over songs!"

I laugh, covering my mouth. "I know!"

A knock interrupts us.
We both freeze.
"Who is it?" I call.

"Is it my brother?" Linda sings.

"Linda," I whisper.
She rolls her eyes and opens the door.
"I have a package for... Allison?"

I rush over and take it. "Thanks."
The door shuts.
Linda flops onto the bed. "Ooooh. Secret admirer?"
"Yeah," I smirk. "From Grandpa."
I open the package.
Inside—
A bottle of pills.
Before I can read the label, Linda snatches it from my hands.

"Oh... guess it's mine," she says quickly.
Too quickly.

Her expression shifts—just for a second.
Fear.
I notice.
But I don't say anything.
We never talk about her illness.
Not directly.
We laugh, we go out, we pretend everything is normal.
Like cancer doesn't exist.
Like time isn't running out.

By midnight, we're in bed. Lights off.
"Gosnight," Linda whispers—our little tradition.
"Do you think I'll ever get married, Ally?" She asks

There it is.
That tone.
"That's a dumb question," I say softly. "Of course you will. I'll help you find the perfect dress. You'll scream, cry... and find some weird guy who eats Cheetos with yogurt with you."

She laughs. "What's wrong with that?"
"It's disgusting." I laugh
Silence settles between us.
Then—
"What about kids?"

I close my eyes.
I hate these questions.
"I think..." I whisper, "you shouldn't think about the future."
She doesn't respond.
"You're here now. That's what matters. Life doesn't ask us what we want... so why should we question it?"

"I wish Michael Jackson was still alive," she says quietly. "I would've told him everything."

"I know," I whisper.
And slowly... we fall asleep.

The next Day...

Voices wake me.
Strange voices.
Not English.
I blink, my vision blurry.
This isn't my room.
The walls. The furniture. The air.
Everything is wrong.

"Linda?" I call, panic rising.
No answer.

There's an old TV in front of me—one of those bulky ones no one uses anymore.
My heart starts racing.
I run to the door, throw it open—
A hallway.
Not mine.
Not even my building.

"I was kidnapped," I whisper.

Panic explodes in my chest as I run downstairs.
At the reception, a blonde man looks up, startled.
"I was kidnapped!" I blurt out. "From my apartment—I was with my roommate—she's gone—I don't know where she is—please help me—"
I break down.

He picks up the phone, speaking rapidly in another language.
Another man approaches, dressed in white, carrying a black bag.
He smiles.
"Ma'am... are you taking any medication?"

"What?" I stare at him. "No! My friend is—but she's missing—"

"Are you sure? Thorazine? Prolixin? Trilafon? Memantine?"

"What the hell are you talking about?!" I shout. "I said I was kidnapped!"
They exchange looks.
Whispering.
Like I'm not even there.
Like I'm the problem.
Am I...?
No.
No, this isn't real.
I collapse into a chair, shaking.
Then something catches my eye.
A flyer.
A newspaper.
All of it—
Not in English.
My breath stops.
I look around.
Signs. Name tags. Voices.
None of it is familiar.

"Oh my God..."
I run outside barefoot.
Above the entrance—
A sign.
Heartbreak Hotel.
My blood runs cold.
A car screeches to a halt in front of me.
I barely notice.
I just run.
Faster.
The streets look... wrong. Different. Older.
Then I slam into someone.

A woman in vintage clothes stares at me like I'm insane.

"Please," I gasp. "Help me. I don't know where I am."
She hesitates.
Then says, slowly—
"Where are your parents?"

"I—I live in America. I was kidnapped—"
She frowns.
Then gently says:
"Listen to me, darling... you're in Germany."

My heart stops.
Germany?