SO… For those of you guys who know about Jordan Chandler and Gavin Arvizo, and are probably laughing at my mistake or something… lemme explain. I wanted to infuse the money-grubbing Chandler daddy into the story, but I also wanted the kiddo to be a cancer survivor, just like Gavin Arvizo, so I put 'em together and… Voila! We have a cancer survivor with a ruddy bastard for a father. :) enjoy!
CHAPTER 2: DECISIONS
Gavin Chandler slammed his science textbook shut, his mind miles away from the test he's supposed to be studying for. It's been two weeks since Michael received the letter from court, or so Gavin thinks, because the MJ molestation case media frenzy has been going on for two weeks now. It's been crazy, hell yeah. He's almost like a celebrity, with all those annoying press people buzzing about wherever he goes. One time, as he was on his way to the cafeteria for lunch, a blinding flash of light came out of the trash can he was passing by. He was startled, no doubt, but he kicked the bin's lid off to reveal a sleazy photographer covered in sour milk cackling like mad. It gets too annoying, and even freaky… he wonders how the stars take it. Especially the really big ones like Lady Di, Tom Cruise, Madonna… and Mike.
Mike, Mike, Mike.
Gavin groaned. He still couldn't quite believe what he did to his friend, after everything Michael did for him and his family. But what was he to do? He'd rather die than live with his dad, away from his mom. But still… drag Michael into their family problems? Satan's probably busy preparing a welcome party for me now, he thought glumly.
"Hey." Danielle, his sister, said blankly as she stepped into Gavin's bedroom. Danielle is two years older than Gavin but seemed to be less mature than him when it comes to the lying Gavin had to make. She understood that Gavin was frightened by their father's threat, but she was still against his brother succumbing to their father's evil. She knew well enough not to argue anymore though, because she couldn't stand her father saying he wouldn't listen to an annoying and idiotic fifteen year-old crybaby who thinks and acts like a whimpy kid in diapers. As she made her way through Gavin's cluttered floor, her brother went back to leafing through his science book in a lame attempt at studying.
Apoptosis is the natural death cells take when they are no longer capable of performing their cellular duties due to… blah, who freaking cares? He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to tune out his sister's shuffling noises.
Okay. Focus. Read the stupid book and get this "study sesh" over with. He stared at the book, trying to get his brain to remember all the terms and stuff. Cancer cells, unlike healthy ones, cannot undergo apoptosis. They also reproduce quickly, the next set of cells more dangerously damaged than the parent cells. Gavin shifted his eyes from the book to the window, suddenly interested in the fluffy white clouds, shoving all thoughts of cancer into a little drawer at the back of his mind. What the hell… I'm gonna have to study anyway. He skipped the paragraph explaining cancer cells and tried to really study, but Danielle's scuffling around his room distracted him.
"What the hell are you doing in my room, anyway? If I don't pass my test tomorrow, don't go crying again if I blame you!" he said, his tone seeping with irritation. He threw a furious look at his sister, who went on peering under pillows and stuffing her hand into little nooks and crannies in search of something as if she didn't hear her brother's reproving statement.
"Danielle! What in the world are you looking for?" he asked, standing up from his seat to walk over to his sister. She was burrowing her head under his bed, where he'd secretly stuffed his Michael Jackson albums, posters, shirts, magazines, action figures (or dolls, according to Danielle), and everything else he owned that had the slightest connection to the King of Pop, away from his father so he couldn't throw them out. At first, he was sure that hiding them under his bed was a really lame idea, but that's the only place where they all fit. Besides, his father never bothers coming up to his room, let alone poke his big head under Gavin's bed, like Danielle was doing now.
"Gavin, where'd you put your- Aha!" Danielle cried in delight, her voice slightly muffled from under the bed. She stood up then settled on Gavin's bed, clutching a photo album containing pictures from their very first visit to Neverland.
"Your little Neverland down there is a little bit dusty; I think you should clean it," she told him, patting dust off her yellow shirt. She looks around his unorganized room and decides to add "and the rest of your nest, too."
He rolls his eyes at her and smiles a little. His eyes fall on the photo album, which Danielle is now leafing through. He sees a picture of Michael and Bubbles, that funny chimp. Then he sees another one of Bubbles, with himself: young, balding, and sick with cancer, but with a bright, bright smile.
"What did you get that for?" he asked, reaching for it. Danielle pulled it away from him, frowning.
"What?" he complained, trying to pry her fingers off of it.
"Wait, Gavin, just wait. I won't steal it from you, just wait a second." she instructed. He folded his arms over his chest and looked inquiringly at Danielle. She flipped to the first page, which had no photo, but had Michael's autograph. Gavin gulped at the sight of it, reminded of his disloyalty.
"Tell me something," Danielle started, her voice detached. Her eyes were staring at the autograph, but they were vacant. "Michael has these exact same pictures in print, right?"
"Yeah, we had them printed at the same time. Why are you asking?" he countered suspiciously. But Danielle didn't answer; she went through the album page by page, her hands quivering.
"You have to call Michael," she said with a wobbly voice. She was still leafing through the album, as if in search of something. Gavin saw pictures of himself laughing, Danielle with Muscles the snake around her neck, their mother hugging a smiling little Gavin, Michael and the three siblings by the train, Gavin's oldest brother beside Bubbles…
"Why?" he asked as she passed a picture of the mini theater. She hesitated, slowly turning page after page, buying her time. A photo of the playroom, Michael smiling with Gavin, a stolen shot of Danielle chugging down something from a mug… Gavin noticed that in the pictures, they were already in their jammies, getting ready for a slumber party.
"Because…" Danielle started. She was onto the last page, and Gavin could tell she didn't wanna see that last picture. Gavin wrinkled his forehead, thinking what on earth could that picture be? Danielle knew what's on that last picture, but she didn't wanna see it and confirm her biggest nightmare. Oh God, Michael has to get rid of his pictures, she thought, her fingers still fumbling along the edge of the page.
"Because?" Gavin prompted, dying to see the last picture. Danielle sighed. Might as well get it over with… she thought, although she knew that the picture would only be the beginning of all their worries. She turned to the last page, shutting her eyes in horror.
"… of this." she whispered. Gavin just stared with his mouth slightly open. The whole place, even the chirping birds, fell in stunned silence.
A happy little Gavin was staring out of the picture, his balding head resting on Michael Jackson's shoulder. Michael was smiling, too. They were sitting cross-legged, side by side. They were in matching blue silk jammies the way you would see young twins dress up. Nothing was actually horrifying about the picture… except the fact that they were both in Michael's king-sized bed. Even that fact isn't scary, but now that there were accusations against Michael being a child molester… what would people, especially the jury, make of it?
"It's not like we slept in the same bed," Gavin's thick voice broke the silence. "You know I slept in a guest room, we just wanted to check what Mike's room was like. We're sitting on the same bed… so what?" he continued, momentarily forgetting that he's the one who filed for charges.
"So you're gonna tell everyone the truth now, right?" Danielle asked hopefully.
"Can't it wait?" Michael yelled furiously into the receiver. He paced back and forth as he listened to Frank DiLeo, his manager. It was around eight o'clock in the evening, and bright stars were scattered across the dark sky. Michael finally plopped on the rattan sofa on the patio, where Claire was huddled, hugging her knees to her chest.
"Tomorrow? Frank I-" he was cut off. He stood up and started pacing again. Claire pulled her shawl tighter around her as the chilly air blew past. She closed her eyes, listening to Michael's pacing and the waves gently crashing on the shore. Tap, tap, tap, Michael's pacing created a relaxing, steady rhythm. This guy creates music even in the most random situations, she thought with a smile.
"Frank, can't Thomas just work things out? I left every legal matter to him, I'm sure he's capable- of course, but-" Frank cut him off again. Claire opened her eyes to watch Michael, still pacing, one hand on the phone and the other one on his forehead. He was frowning as he listened to Frank.
Leave it to Frank to make Mike worry, she thought. Until Frank's call this evening, Michael had smiled through their stay in Hawaii. But seeing how easily the problems can get to Mike… it made Claire feel like a failure. She's been trying extremely hard to keep him happy, but if one phone call can crease his forehead with worry, how would he take all the problems when they get back?
"Damn, Frank! Do I look like I'm in the proper state to record it, huh? Tell him the stupid album can wait!" he yelled as he stopped pacing. A cold tingle ran down Claire's spine, both from the freezing wind and from seeing Michael furious.
She walked up to him to give him a small hug, then went on inside.
She could still hear Michael yelling then pleading then yelling again out on the patio, so she ran to the bathroom to get away from it. She locked the door behind her and crumbled to the floor, clutching her hair in her hands. A tear slid down her left cheek. She wiped it away, trying not to break down completely. Then came another, and another, until she was sobbing uncontrollably.
Like a little movie, the conversation she had with Michael on the beach on their fourth day in Hawaii ran through her head. He had been thanking her for bringing him here, away from all the problems. He reminded her that this was her idea. But Claire had been thinking: what if this wasn't a good idea? What if we go back and he would be overwhelmed? What if this little escape didn't do him any good?
Seeing Michael laughing without a worry in the world lifted Claire's spirits, but also left her with a lot of doubts. Before leaving for Hawaii, she actually thought that this little vacation would do Michael wonders. And yes, Michael is happy now, but what will happen once they go back? Claire fears for the worst: that this light, refreshing trip would make Michael's problems even harder to face. Claire broke into another round of tears as she grew more and more afraid of bringing Michael back to California. Her tears flowed down her cheeks ceaselessly, falling down to her yellow sundress.
What am I doing? she thought, straining to stop herself. She pulled her hands off her hair and counted to ten.
One… two… three… four… she took a deep breath.
Five… six… seven… the tears stopped streaming.
Eight… nine… she took another deep breath.
Ten… now what? She looked at the horrible mess in front of her. Opposite her was a floor to ceiling mirror, reflecting her wasted image. She was slumped dejectedly on the floor. Her brown curls were tied into a ponytail, but hair stuck out of it in places, just like a nest. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. She buried her face in her palms, rubbing the remaining tears off her eyes.
Familiar footsteps from outside startled Claire. She froze, straining to hear if Michael was coming towards the bathroom. They were coming closer and she started to panic. In a hurry to at least wash her face, she jumped up from the floor, not noticing that her shawl had slipped from her shoulders. Her foot caught on the edge of the slippery shawl, and she fell forward. She watched in horror as her body seemed to fall in slow motion, her face coming closer and closer to the tiled edge of the bathtub. A small scream managed to escape her throat as her forehead hit the cold, hard, and squared edge.
Michael rushed to the bathroom, startled by Claire's scream. He rattled the knob, but it was locked.
"Claire? Claire, open up! What's wrong?" he called out, his voice thick with worry.
No answer.
He dashed to the kitchen, were all the keys are kept. He grabbed a keyholder with around twenty keys of the same size and tried thrusting them in the knob. On his twelfth try, the door opened. Michael gasped in shock as a bloody mess greeted him. Claire was slumped face forward on the floor, and her head is cushioned by a pool of gleaming scarlet blood.
He dropped the keys and kneeled by her head, grabbing a clean white towel off the rack. He pressed the towel against her forehead, where blood was gushing from. With his other hand, Michael reached for the phone by the tub, his fumbling fingers dialing 911 in a flash.
"Are you calling for fire, police, or an ambulance?" the operator inquired.
"Ambulance. Right away, please. She might lose t-"
"I'll connect you to an EMD, sir." the operator cut in. Sure enough, Michael found himself talking to an emergency medical dispatcher.
"She's got a cut in her forehead, and she's bleeding heavily. She may have hit her head hard on the tiled edge of the tub." he said impatiently, still pressing Claire's forehead firmly.
"Okay, sir. May I take your name and the patient's? And your current location?" the dispatcher asked.
"The patient is Claire Denworth. I'm Michael Jackson. We're in Maui. Kauhale Resort." He answered. The dispatcher didn't answer for a few seconds.
"C'mon, she's losing a lot of blood." Michael said in a rush, half pleadingly and half impatiently.
"Uh, sir. Let me verify. Claire Denworth and Michael Jackson, right?" The dispatcher regained ability to speak again.
"Yes!" Michael groaned in exasperation.
"I'll send an ambulance right away!" the flustered voice of the dispatcher said.
Claire opened her eyes. She blinked several times, taking in the bright light and the smell of ammonia. She heard distant bleeping noises and several voices arguing over the hazards of propofol. She was on a not-too-comfortable bed… or gurney. Realization dawned on her: I'm in a hospital, she thought bluntly, remembering her crying episode, and slipping on her shawl, and screaming before blacking out.
The room was cold, white curtains surrounding Claire's little space. She was suddenly aware of a light breathing noise. And her left hand was enclosed in distinguishable warmth, distinct against the cold room. She turned her head – or tried to – as the bed creaked.
"Ow!" she squeaked, a slight throbbing pain in her head. She reached her free hand out to her head, which as she now noticed, felt cramped and bulky. Her fingers swept against bandage. Michael's eyes flew open, looking at her in surprise. She smiled, but Michael's gaze changed from surprise to worry, so she concluded her smile looked more like a grimace. She tried moving her head again, then winced in pain.
"No, don't move." Michael instructed gently, squeezing her hand.
"What happened?" she asked, pressing her fingers to the temples of her head.
"You hit your head on the tub and you were bleeding heavily. Mind telling me how that happened?" His eyes were full of concern but he raised an eyebrow, waiting for Claire's response.
Claire tried shaking her head, but her lips curled in pain. She clutched Michael's hand for support. "Don't answer that." he said gently, stroking her hair out of her face. She noticed the time as she caught sight of his wristwatch.
"Michael, go get some more sleep! It's only 2:30!" she exclaimed, suddenly noticing his bloodshot eyes and the deep, dark circles beneath them. Michael shook his head and laughed a little. A nurse popped her head in through the curtains to tell them to keep silent – other patients are sleeping - when she saw Michael. The nurse's eyes bulged out of their sockets. She blurted a little sorry and went off with a red face.
"Claire… I have bad news." Michael said after making sure the nurse was out of earshot. He bit his lip, trying to buy his time.
"What?" she prompted, genuinely curious. Michael hesitated, and then took a deep breath.
"I'm afraid we have to go back, as soon as the hospital allows you." He frowned as he searched Claire's face for any emotion. Claire just shrugged, completely blasé.
"I figured as much," she said, still keeping a straight face. "a Frank call could never bring any good news." She laughed at her own joke.
Michael stared in disbelief. Since Frank called, he's been plagued with worry: how would Claire take it? And now, Claire was actually all cool about it, even laughing without a care in the world. Michael felt like something big and heavy has been taken off his back as he chimed in Claire's tinkling laughter.
"So, what did Frank call about?" she asked, her cheeks flushed red from laughing.
"Mainly he begged me to come home. He said I have to work with Thomas on the case. And Quincy is still insisting that I should continue doing Bad." he explained with a yawn, like he didn't care.
"So that's why we're going? For Bad and the case?" she questioned, feeling quite stupid for asking the obvious.
"No! You know me better than that…" he trailed off, insulted. Claire stared in confusion.
"Huh? Why are we…"
"Mother. Mother is in Neverland," he cut in. "If she wasn't, I wouldn't go home at all. She specifically asked Frank not to tell me she's there, that she'll just wait until we get home. Good thing Frank's got a big mouth."
"Frank probably told you so you'd get home… he knows you, Mike." Claire said with a giggle.
"Yeah, probably." he said vacantly. After a a long pause he opened his mouth to speak. "Claire… I have a question."
"Fire away." Claire raised an eyebrow.
"When we go back… do you want to stay in Neverland, or do you want to go back home to your flat?" he asked. Claire couldn't quite read his expression.
"Do you want me to stay in Neverland?" she said, although she already had a decision.
"Yes, of course. But you might not want to." He answered somberly.
Something was blocking Claire's throat as she listened to Michael's uncertain tone. Why is he still doubting the fact that I love him, and that I'll always be there for him? She gulped and closed her eyes, feigning sleep. Soon, she was drifting off to dreamland, where a happier Michael welcomed her with open arms.
Woo! Two chapters done! I'll try to start the next one… but school's comin up so good luck with that.