Inheritance [Michael Jackson FanFiction]

Chapter 2

– a month later -

The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels beneath me resonates through my seat, a steady heartbeat accompanying the journey to Blackstone. The soft hum of conversation and distant laughter form a muted backdrop to my thoughts as I clutch the worn and blood-stained envelope in my hands.

It held a letter, elegantly written, which revealed the path to Blackstone. The ink seemed to dance on the page as it directed me to a modest ranch northwest of the main city — a place where Michael, the key to my father's legacy, was said to reside.

My excitement was mixed with apprehension as the train travelled farther into this unknown region. The thriving cities I had known were very different from the villages we passed. Wooden shanties and rough-hewn structures dotted the landscape, a stark reminder of the untamed frontier that lies beyond.

Inside the carriage, the low hum of conversation surrounded me. A grizzled man in a worn hat exchanged stories with a weathered rancher, their dialogue a symphony of tales from the untamed West. I couldn't help but eavesdrop, absorbing the rugged cadence of their speech.

The key in my hands felt colder now as if mirroring the chill that danced through the open windows. My thoughts drifted to Michael Jackson—a name that echoed like a distant melody. I wondered about the man my father had entrusted me to find. How does he look? What ties him to my father?

I stared out at the vast expanse, my gaze settling on the horizon where Blackstone awaited. The thought of Michael lingered in my mind, an enigmatic figure tied to my father's past. Does he share the same weathered features of those in the train? Is he a stranger, or could he be someone we once knew?

The sun dipped below the mountains, casting long shadows across the rugged landscape. The train rumbled on, drawing closer to Blackstone and the unknown. In the fading light, I couldn't help but let my mind wander, conjuring images of Michael Jackson—a silhouette against the backdrop of the Wild West, a man whose connection to my father's legacy remained shrouded in mystery.

As the scenery shifts, the man seated next to me, his fedora casting a shadow over his rugged face, leans in with a half-smile.
"You headin' to Blackstone, miss?" he drawls, his words hanging in the air. I nod, keeping my replies curt. His presence is like an itch I can't quite scratch.

"Business or pleasure?" he presses on, shifting in his seat. I glance at him, my polite smile masking a growing discomfort.

"Personal," I mutter, hoping my brevity would discourage further conversation.

But he persists, like a pesky fly buzzing around. "Well, ain't that somethin'." He chuckles nervously, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape route.

The train's rumble fills the awkward silence that follows. I look out the window, pretending to be absorbed in the passing landscape. He takes the hint momentarily but then leans in again, closer this time.

"You got family in Blackstone, miss?" he probes, his breath uncomfortably close. I shift in my seat, regretting the choice of taking the one next to the window.

"Just following my father's wishes," I reply, my tone sharp. I'm not here for idle chit-chat, especially with a stranger who seems intent on prying.

The man, undeterred, clears his throat and attempts another line of questioning. "Your father, he a resident of Blackstone?" His eyes squint as he studies me as if trying to decipher a hidden truth.

I sigh, irritated by the persistent intrusion. "No, he's gone. Passed away." The words hang heavily between us, a brief moment of sobering silence.

His discomfort seems to grow, and he fidgets in his seat. "Ah, sorry to hear that, miss. Didn't mean to pry." The unease in his voice is palpable, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.