... And There She Was

Chapter 34

He knew it was a lot to ask, but Bill hadn't hesitated one bit to drive all the way to Neverland to collect some personal items, on Michael's request. The bag now lay at his feet, full of fresh clothes, toiletry items and personal sentiments. One such thing sat in his lap, and as his long fingers traced gentle circles on the back of her smooth hand, he read aloud the words in his soft tenor. The words spilt from him, his lips delicately wrapping around each and every syllable, hoping the familiar words she loved so much would pull her back from wherever she was.

"My very dear Sarah," Michael started, the folded paper sitting in his lap as his long legs extended outwards, resting on the cot opposite him. The letter was so often read, the creases in the paper had softened.

"The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.

Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure—and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine O God, be done. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing—perfectly willing—to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.

But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows—when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children—is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me—perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar—that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.

Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.

But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the brightest day and in the darkest night—amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours—always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.
Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for me, for we shall meet again.

Sullivan."Michael re-read to himself the last couple of paragraphs, before folding her hand-copied Civil War document back up and laying it gently in his lap."That's your favorite letter, Zo," he said quietly, leaning to his left to rest his head on her bed. "I know some parts of it are...kinda bleak...considering, but....I know how much you love it anyways."His left hand reached up to tickle his fingers down her arm, drawing over and over the phrase "I (heart) you"."Maddie and Jake stayed the night, but I got them a suite at the hotel across the street to go relax in for a while. She'll be back later, I'm sure. She's....so big, Zo. It's...really,really tough to look at, at the same time it's so blindingly beautiful. I felt the baby push right against my hand and nearly jumped back ten feet," he laughed. "I mean, I've felt all my brothers babies, but none of them ever did that. It was almost like it wanted to...to reach out and touch me." He took a long pause. "I had to excuse myself to the bathroom," he whispered. "It was hard. To feel. That."

He reached into his pocket for the familiar tube of lip balm and swept it across her dry lips.

"I saw your tummy today. The nurse came in to check your sutures and told me I could go if I wanted, or stay. I stayed. The scar won't be...that bad. In fact, I think it might end up becoming beautiful. I promise to love it as much as you love my burn spot, and my skin, and my gnarly, calloused dancer's feet, no matter what you say. Promise."

He squinted as the sunlight hit its blinding afternoon position in the expansive blue sky. Reluctantly slipping his hand out from underneath hers, he toddled over to the window.

This was her favorite time of day.

It was January, and its breezy afternoons didn't often let this hour occur, but somehow, the seasonally abnormal, golden sun was dropping further and further down into the horizon, blanketing the whole of Los Angeles in its umber glow. This was a summertime glow, or even an autumnal glow, but not a January one.

Never in January.

"You should see it, Zo," Michael said, walking over to the blinds at the window and adjusting them to deflect the rays. "It's just how you like it. Magic hour. Like when we're down at the lake in the gazebo. Or on the paddle boats. Or on the patio making dinner, you yelling at me that I got the gas up too high on the grill and 'goin burn the whole joint down."

He looked over his shoulder at her form, still motionless under her blankets. "You're missing it..." he trailed off with a sigh.

He rarely ever noticed the whirl and hums of the machines anymore, the beeps and clicks of the monitors as they kept their tallies. It was as if they had become a part of an eerie infinity in his mind, a neverending melody that wasn't so much heard as it just...was.

Easing into the chair that had molded into a part of his person over the past 56 hours, he reached down into the bag and came out with another piece of reading, this time an old, leather bound book. He grabbed a quick bite of his peanut butter sandwich, then gently bent back the front cover, a subtle cracking sounding from its spine.

Again, he read to her. His mellifluous voice flowing over the words like warm honey.

"All children, except one, grow up...."

__________________


(click)

"Top story tonight. Pop superstar Michael Jackson...has been married since early '84!"

(click)

"...what we do know is that she was admitted with complications of a pregnancy."

(click)

"...rumors are that Michael met her when she was only 16 years old, the extent of their romantic relationship and when it began is unknown."

(click)

"...now showing footage of Frank DiLeo, literally throwing a reporter out of his press conference for inquiring about whether the father of her child was actually her husband."

(click)

"...yes Paul, you have a point. With what we know of Jackson, the argument is completely valid that there lies a possibility that Miss Jansen was receiving monetary compensation of sort to be his wife and bear his children."

(click)

Silence.

It was a good thing the remote control was attached to Zoey's bed, or the thing likely would have been flung in the direction of the television, as seemingly every channel in the country was filled with clueless reporters spewing their vitriol, speculations and assumptions. It wasn't enough that Frank had given a press conference where he graciously and (somewhat) openly answered questions (to a certain extent), the press had to take what he said and twist and turn it to meet their own needs. To make their own headlines. To drum up their own curiosities.

"Mad at the tv again?" Maddie asked as she waddled into the room, rectangular Styrofoam container in hand.

"Always," Michael sighed. "Anything good?" He asked, motioning his head towards her box and the succulent fragrances that had started to waft his way.

"Burrito with extra beans and cheese and sour cream. You want?"

"No thanks. We'll only need one person with raging flatulence in here."

"I do what I can," she smirked, leaning over Zoey to plant a kiss on her forehead. "Nothing yet?"

"Not yet. Dr. Morgan said any minute now. That's, I guess, the average at least. How long she's slept compared to other people having gone through the same thing."

"Good. I'll sit with her while you go shower."

"Where's Jake?"

"Meeting. He'll be by later."

"Ah. And do I need a shower?"

"I can smell you from here, so....take that how you will."

Feeling comfortable with Maddie holding vigil over his wife, Michael shuffled towards the room's salmon tiled shower and let the hot water beat down on his tired, stale skin. His previous rushed, frantic trips to the bathroom so as to not spend a second more than necessary away from her side, gave way to him taking his time this go-round. He soaped up, he washed his hair, he ran his large hands over every inch of his body as the water attempted to massage away the aches and pains of sitting in a chair for hours on end.

He felt like a human again. Not that it hadn't been all he had done for three days, but he also took the time to reflect. Not so much on the past and his life with Zoey, but...the alternate future, what had almost been, the desolate outcome they had so narrowly escaped.

Inside of Michael, a new place began to hurt. He squashed it down, forcing himself to not be sad over what almost was, but to rejoice over God deciding to let her stay.

Dry and dressed in a fresh pair of black pants, white undershirt and red plaid flannel, he re-entered the room, to see everything the way it was when he had left.

Unfortunately.

By now, the light outside had left, and the sky was a limitless horizon of blackness. He cracked open the blinds just enough to look up at the stars, some visible, though most hidden by the unpleasantly dense downtown smog.

He ached for home. For Neverland. For his life, for the woman he loved. He ached for sitting on their back patio, curled up on a lounge chair as they stared at the stars. The brilliant, clear, untarnished starry night skies that hovered over them every night, the countless dreams and wishes of the world's people held in each vibrant twinkle.

Michael clutched the shirt fabric over his heart, his shoulders slumped.

"Maddie. She's in my bones," he whispered, clenching his eyes shut tightly. "She's....she's of me. What would I have done?"

He lifted his damp eyes up to the sky, once more.

"What would I have done."

__________________________

Everything moved in slow motion. A languid, viscous flow of activity swirled around her being, as she wandered the infinite hallways. Her feet made no sound, her breath broke no air. She didn't sleep, she didn't eat.

No one paid her mind. No one looked at her. No one even moved to get out of her way. It was like they could walk right through her. She wouldn't even feel the whoosh of air dragging across her skin as a nurse breezed by. Or the scent of medicines and chemicals.

She rarely heard noise, other than the gentle hum of....whatever it was where ever she was. She traveled down hallways towards the glow of white light, thinking perhaps it was a promise of something that lay beyond. Instead, she always found herself right back where she started.

It was like a bizarre maze that had no beginning or end, she voyeuristically watching life as it happened around her, as it remained completely unaware of her presence.

She didn't know how she had got here.

She could see him.

She could see...her. Lying in the bed, sleeping. Him at her side. Always at her side. She saw him read the letter, and somehow knew the last part, saying it herself at she matched up the movements of his mouth to the words she knew all too well by heart.

'... But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the brightest day and in the darkest night—amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours—always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by...'

She longed to reach out to touch him, but the warmth of his caramel skin never settled underneath her palms. The curls of his raven hair never ran between her fingers. The satin pillows that were his lips never upon her cheek.

She couldn't even hear him.

She could see his tears, and would get close enough to him to see them glisten under the harsh lighting of the room, but trying to reach up to wipe them away....and nothing. They would stay.

She had known their faces the second they walked towards her. Dozens of people in the hospital, and not one pair of eyes had given her mind, yet she was all they could see. Their palms...she could feel. Their embrace....she could feel. Their voices...she could hear.

They were just how she had remembered them, like the past 11 years hadn't happened.

Like they had never left.

"Why can't he feel me?" She asked. "Doesn't he know I'm here?"

"Not always," Kazik replied, wrapping a strong arm around his daughter's shoulders.

"Unfortunately," Liddie chimed in, she wrapping her arm around Zoey's waist.

Zoey hovered over her own body and studied...herself. The rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Her hair, her face. She was seeing herself, the way he saw her. She tried to grab herself, tried to shake herself out of whatever it was she was in, but just as with everyone else, her hands never found anything solid.

"I hate this," she whispered, watching Michael trying to not nod off at her bedside, trying and failing to hold his heavy head up in his hand, to only have sleep claim his body, his head unceremoniously crashing to the bed, jolting him awake once more.

"He loves you very much, Zoja," Kazik whispered, he too staring at the man that had been the lucky one to claim his beloved daughter's heart. "He is good man."

Zoey longingly stared at Michael, never before having seen him so...broken. "He is," she whispered back, barely audible.

"You deserve it," her father replied, straightening up a little, puffing his chest out a bit. In his eyes, Michael had been sent to Zoey not only because he was her match, but because a void in her life needed to be filled with love, the love that few could give her, and the kind of love that had been denied of her, the moment they knew that he and Liddie were no longer sitting in their car, that fateful night. The moment they knew they had traveled...elsewhere.

"Just remember, Zoey," her mother said. "No matter what happens with you, with your life, you must always hold faith in him. Everything else, even the sadness, the heartbreak, the disappointments, they will disappear. And he will keep your strong. And you will keep him strong. Through it all. That is what true love is. Promise?"

"I promise." Zoey leaned down on her own face and tried to blow out a puff of breath upon her cheek. "Wake up, me."

Nothing.

"It's funny—we got married the exact same way you guys did. Just us. In a city hall. With two friends. And a pig. I didn't even have a wedding dress. I don't think I realized at the time how identical the ceremony was. I—I had a picture of you guys in my pocket the whole time," she lamented, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I wish you could have been there."

A warm smile formed upon her father's lips, as he dipped down to catch her gaze. His kind eyes met hers, and his brow slightly crinkled. "We were," he grinned.

"Mom...Dad...is this....I mean....what's heaven like?" Zoey asked, feeling something familiar brew up inside her. Feeling an emotion she'd felt time and time again. Sadness?

Her beloved parents stood before her, both shaking their head. "No."

"Then...stay. Please...stay. You can stay!"

"No, we can't."

"Please," she pleaded, collapsing into their warm embrace. "I want to hug you for forever."

"We love you Zoey," Kazik and Liddie whispered into their daughter's crimson mane. "But....Zoja?" Kazik placed a fingertip under her chin and lifted her eyes.

"Hmm?"

"One day...not today...you will find out what heaven is like. We promise. But until then, you belong here, in this world. With him..." he trailed off, the small family once again staring at her love. "And wherever you go, we will be there, looking over you. How does the letter go again? 'A soft breeze upon your cheek? The cool air fanning your temple? It shall be us...passing by.'"

Liddie placed a kiss upon her cheek.

"My sweet baby Zoey," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her soft ear. "You have to go back now."
____________________________

All alone. Again.

Maddie had gone back to the hotel to sleep and rest her sore lower back, stretched to its maximum by the heavy load in her belly.

It was 3 o'clock in the morning, and the traffic in the hospital reflected that.

Quiet.

Still.

Just the ever present hum and whirl of machines, the beeps and clicks of monitors.

He woke up with a horrid kink in his neck, having accidentally fallen asleep in his chair, his torso slumped over onto her bed, instead of supinely in his cot. Rubbing the back of his aching shoulders, he quickly checked over her form to make sure nothing had changed during his slumber. And nothing had. Hands, feet, and body were in the same position. He arched up in his chair, the weary joints of his body crunching and crackling under protest and walked stiff legged around the room, trying to unfold and unjam his long body, but then immediately returned to his 'home' and plopped back down into his chair.

"Zoey?" He whispered, his lips brushing against the delicate hairs of her arm. "Baby?"

Nothing.

"Zo?"

Nothing.

"Squishy?"

All the fine hairs on his body stood on end, as he felt what could only be described as a bolt of electricity shooting through him. For a split second, he felt weightless. Like he was sharing his own space with that of...someone else. He would swear he might have even felt fingertips tickle his temple. At first he thought he was hallucinating, when he saw the corner of her mouth twitch. And something of a whimper escape from her closed throat.

"...ohmygod..."

Her throat pulsated, as the delicate skin rippled from top to bottom, her swallowing reflex engaged.

"Zo?"

With a crinkle, her lips parted.

"Zo? Zoey? I'm here. I'm here," he whispered, inching his body further into her, but still on her side. His large hand cupped her forehead, as he soothingly stroked her hair.

The tip of her pink tongue pushed in between her lips, as Michael reached over with his free hand to her mobile table, and pinched an ice cube between his fingers.

"Here," he said, dragging the cube across her lips, giving her parched mouth and throat its first taste of moisture in nearly four days. Every swallow was excruciating. Her head rolled a few centimeters on her pillow, as she finally regained consciousness.

"Squishy," Michael whispered, a single tear of joy delicately dancing down his cheek as he saw her eyelashes began to twitch. "Look at me. I'm here."

His swollen heart palpitated in his chest when those full lashes finally raised up, and his gaze was finally locked onto the most beautiful, most perfect, most fulfilling, most cherished set of mahogany eyes he ever could have hoped to see.

"Hey baby," he laughed through his tears, still stroking her forehead. "Hey. I see you."

"Hmm," she squeaked.

"I know it hurts. Here," he said, again letting her dry lips suck on the ice cube. "Better?"

"Hmm," she replied, taking a deep breath into her lungs, letting it out slowly through her mouth. Her tongue searched the dry caverns of her mouth, and her lips pursed as she struggled to make words.

"P....p...."

"Shh...shh...."

"P...puh....Peanut," she finally managed to warble, and Michael melted into the warmth of her hand, which had just reached up to cup his cheek. "Hi." He grabbed onto her hand and pressed it further into his own flesh, needing to feel it more, needing to feel it harder, to make sure this wasn't, again, some wistful dream. He giggled through his tears when he opened to eyes to see she was still here, looking at him with her chocolate orbs. He raised him bum out of his chair to plant a feather-light, delicate kiss upon her closed lips.

"Your breath stinks, Squishy," he laughed.

Her body rumbled in faint chuckles as well. "Shh...sha..up..."

It was her.

Michael reached over to hit the call button for the nurse, and no sooner than 10 seconds later, Marla and Dr. Morgan had whisked into the room.

"Zoey? Sweet heart?" Dr. Morgan asked, pulling up her eyelids and flicking a light-stick thing-a-ma-jigger across her sight. "How do you feel? Follow the light please. How do you feel?"

"I'm....s—sore."

"I know you are, honey. Do you know where you are?"

"H—hospital."

"Can you tell me who this is?" He pointed to Michael, as he continued his inspection of her with various tools.

"H—hus—husband."

"Can you tell me who the president is?"

"Bush? B...Bush?"

"And.....how many fingers to do you see me holding up?"

She squinted at the wiggling digits in front of her. "Four."

"Good job, honey. Good job. Welcome back to us," he smiled. "Mr. Jackson?" He motioned over towards a corner of the room a few feet away. Reluctantly, Michael released his grip from, and out from under his wife.

"She seems to be just fine," Dr. Morgan whispered, placing a fatherly hand upon his shoulder. "All her vitals and responsive signs are coming in strong, so I don't have any reason to believe she's suffered any long term effects from the blood loss and trauma. I'll leave you two alone in the meantime, and if you have any other issues, just hit the nurses button and we'll be right in."

"Thank you, Dr." Michael said, throwing his arms around the unsuspecting doctor, who could only squeeze him back in return.

"My pleasure. See you in a while."

Zoey only stayed awake for twenty minutes or so, before drifting off again into a slumber, though unlike the motionless, catatonic coma she'd been trapped in for days, she stayed pleasantly mumbly, mobile and fidgety. Each time she moved, Michael heart would race in his chest from excitement.

A couple hours later, she woke up again and plopped a heavy hand down upon Michael's head, as he dozed off at her side.

"Mike?" She whispered.

"Huh."

"Mike?"

"Yeah baby? I'm right here," he said, jolting awake.

"What happened to me?"

The question he'd been dreading. The question that had no happy answer.

"You had an accident," he replied softly. "You got sick."

"Sick?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his knuckles down her smooth, flushed cheek. She had begun to regain some of her rosey color. Her freckles started to come back from their ashen depths.

"I can't....remember..." she asked, her brow furrowed in curiosity. She knew she had been in the hotel and not feeling well, but then everything after that is a blur of blackness.

Then, it struck her.

She could see it on his face, she could read it in his eyes. She knew, that he knew, what she was realizing. She felt the stinging ache across her belly, and not just a simple tummy ache or a cramp, but the pain of something more severe. Like she'd been cut. She didn't need to feel with her fingers, she didn't need to see it.

She knew.

She felt it inside of her, inside of her bones. The emptiness in her womb.

"I don't have a baby in me anymore. Do I." She whispered, as a tear fell from the corner of her eye and streaked down her temple.

Chewing back his frown, Michael could only shake his head.

He started at the beginning. How she fell sick. The ambulance ride. The emergency room. The...complications. The surgery. With each new bit of information, the sadness took a better grip on her, though through his story, she remained silent, holding onto his hands for dear life.

When he finished, when he delicately scooched her body to the side so he could very hesitantly crawl up into bed beside her, when he pulled her into his arms and back against his strong chest and rocked her body, when he weaved his feet in between hers, when he kissed her forehead and promised that no matter what, everything would be okay as long as they had each other...there was only one phrase she could say.

Over, and over and over. As together, they finally mourned.

"That's not fair."