Forever and a Half || Michael Jackson

Chapter Fifty - Reminiscing

Chapter fifty — Reminiscing

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December 8, 1987

It's been less than twenty-four hours since I buried my father's ashes, and I still regret leaving the cemetery. It's obvious I can't live there, but ... I wasn't ready to leave. Michael made me so much happier, though; the way he held me in his arms as it snowed all around us, and the way he kissed me ... It made a sad day just a little bit better.

Today, I don't really feel like doing anything. I'm normally something of a productive person, but ever since dad died, it's kind of been the opposite. Michael has probably been more productive than I have this month, despite having lost his entire family, minus Reiss.

But I absolutely adore the idea of celebrating Christmas with everybody this year. It'll make the bitterness of losing everyone just a tiny bit sweeter. I have no idea what to get for Michael yet, but I'm sure I'll think of something. He told me that he already knows what he's going to get me, but he just needs to get it. He's so sweet.

"Michael?" I call him softly, earning his attention. We're both sat on the sofa together, but he was watching one of those home video shows he likes. Once he's watching those, it's difficult to take him out of his trance. He doesn't respond, so I repeat. "Michael?"

This time, he hears me, so he turns his head to look at me. "Hm? What, Cit?" Automatically, a smile forms on his face.

"Do you want to do anything today?" I question him, raising my brows to show my genuine interest.

He licks his upper lip in thought. "Um ... " He then opens his mouth, but hesitates, so he closes it again.

"What were you going to say, Michael?" I ask. "Come on; tell me."

He sighs gently, shrugging casually. "Well, I was going to say ... I'd like to go to my old house, and just ... I don't know. Maybe there's still some stuff in there that I didn't know about. I'd like to explore it a little."

"But won't the police need to keep it exactly as it is for the investigation?" I frown, rubbing his knuckles with my thumb comfortingly.

"I thought about that." He purses his lips as he thinks. "Perhaps if we asked permission ... or if an officer came with us; make sure we don't take anything important – even though we know who did it."

"Perhaps that could work," I evaluate briefly. "You sure you want to go there? It won't hurt you too bad?"

He shakes his head. "No. I'm ready to go back. It's been four months, now. I know I'll be emotional, but ... it won't feel as raw as it did before ... I hope."

In understanding, I nod my head. "Okay. We can get in touch with the police and find out for sure about what we can do."

*  *  *

Two hours later, and we've been told we can go to the house, as long as we have an officer with us. They're still investigating the house all over, and normally they wouldn't let people go to the crime scene. However, because by now they know we wouldn't wreck anything or sabotage anything, they're trusting us to go.

Now that it's a little more real, Michael seems a little nervous. We're walking with the officer to the house, and he's got his head down, and he's looking at the floor. His hands are stuffed into his winter coat's pockets. His curls are half-pulled back into a pony tail, whilst the rest of his hair is loose. His baby strands are freely moving around in the breeze, but he doesn't seem to notice nor care.