Chapter fifty-three — I'm Next

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December 17, 1987

We're both home now. The journey back was completely silent. There were numerous times where I wanted to speak; to ask Michael if he wanted a hug, or if he wanted to vent his feelings ... but I thought it would be wiser to just keep quiet. He probably wanted time to think everything over. That's how I was when dad died.

I'm unsure as to whether I should talk to him, even now. It's a little risky basing my decisions off of how I felt with dad's death, but ... I'd say that I'm probably the best company for Michael, right now. After all, the one person I needed most was him, when dad passed away.

Michael has walked straight upstairs, to his room. I'm still in the kitchen, where we first entered the house. It's dead silent; it's cold. No warmth radiating like normal. It's almost as if my home ... isn't home. But the temperature isn't the most important thing right now. Perhaps I should check on Michael.

After removing my jacket, I slip slowly out of the kitchen, and into the hallway. Gently, I rest the jacket on the banister, as I make my way up the stairs. Once I've arrived at the next floor, the sound of Michael's faint breathing can be heard from our bedroom. It's rather shaky; brittle. Almost like he's short of breath.

"Michael?" I murmur, using the tips of my fingers to tap the ajar door open. "Am I okay to come in?"

"Free country," he answers dejectedly. Once I've opened the door wide enough to see him, I notice that he's lying across the bed, his head leant up against the headboard. His eyes are drawn down to his hands, which are fiddling with one another at his stomach. He doesn't even look up when I come into his field of vision.

"I can't apologise enough for everything that's happened," I tell him, walking over to the bed, and joining him. With no hesitation, I pull his head to my chest, messing with his tangled curls as I speak. "I mean ... it's insane. We aren't safe here any more. We really need to think about moving. Some place further away. Some place where nobody knows us. Some place where Marco can't reach us."

"I'm next," is all he responds with.

His answer leaves me confused, made evident with the raise of one eyebrow. "You're next? Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because I am next." He swallows, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "He's—He's doing the weakest first. One ... by one. Your father. Uncle Reiss. He isn't going to do Clover next. He isn't going to do you next. He's going to do me. I'm next."

"What would the point in that be?" I frown, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

"I'm ... the only Jackson left. I'm the only Jackson that's still alive. He took Reiss out. He wants the inheritance ... so he's got to get through me."

"You mean, because you're going to own everything?" I question in clarification.

Now I'm thinking about it, Michael is soon going to own maybe even millions of dollars in possessions and assets. Everyone in his family has died, and all his friends have. They all would have had wills with valuables left in them. Michael will receive everything.

"Exactly," he murmurs, nodding his head. "You see now, why I need to tread carefully? Why the three of us need to tread carefully? We're down to our final three. You, me, and Clover. We're all each other has, now. We need to protect each other, and be there for each other. Because one more murder will make us even weaker. And with all the stuff I'm owed, it's going to be me." He sighs through his nose, almost accepting what he's saying as if it's inevitable. "It's going to be me."

My eyes close briefly, to let the words sink in. The idea of Marco trying to wipe us all out is terrifying to me. And for Michael to believe he's next to go, that terrifies me even more. I couldn't imagine a life without Michael, now that we've come so far with our bond and relationship. The best thing to do right now for my own sanity, is to tell myself it won't happen.

"It won't be, Michael." My brows furrow sadly, as I lightly touch his cheek to comfort him. "It could just be a mind game. Maybe he wants you to believe you'll be gone next. He's doing it to scare you, my Angel."

"But what if he's not!" His voice suddenly raises; not at me, but rather at the situation; and the fear he's feeling. "Citria. He's taken my family. My friends. Even Astrix. He's taken your dad. Uncle Reiss. There's only me, you and Clover left. What's the likelihood of him killing you or Clover?"

"Marco is related to me, too. If you were killed, he'd have to murder Clover and I, too. If you died, all your possessions would go to us 'cause we're the only people you have left to give them to."

Now that I'm thinking about it this way, I'm even more scared than before. Previously, I didn't even factor my potential death into it, or Clover's. But it's a legitimate thing that could happen, if Michael is targeted next.

"We're all at risk, Cit." He takes a deep breath, before exhaling out of his nose. "We need to get out of here – all three of us. You, me and Clover need to find a place together in another State far, far away from here. We aren't safe here now."

"But where would we go? Moving would take too much time. By the time we move, Marco will catch on that we're leaving this State. He'll manage to find us somehow; he did the last time."

"Then we're going to die either way." His voice becomes nothing more than a mutter, as his eyes avert back down to his fingers. He fiddles aimlessly with them for a few moments, before burying his head into his hands. "And for the love of God, I don't want any of us to die."

My arm reaches out, and I gently rub his arm. "I know. I know ... "

*  *  *

-Christmas Eve, 1987-

"Christmas Day tomorrow, Michael." A small smile forms on my face, in attempt to try cheer him up a little.

In response, he nods and forces a smile silently. It breaks my heart to see him this way. Since Reiss died, he's been so detached from the world; from everything. He speaks to me sometimes, but the amount of communication between us is slipping. The main thing I want in this world is to help him to regain his trust in me, so he can open up to me the way he used to. He always avoids topics revolving around his feelings, now.

"We're going to have a nice day in everyone's honour, right, Michael?" I add to my previous statement, in the hope that he will answer me this time.

He simply shrugs in response, standing up from his seat. "I'll be ... " He doesn't finish his sentence, but points in the direction of our room and begins to walk to the staircase. With no other words, he's out of sight.

-Michael's Point of View-

My heart is in so much pain. My chest is constantly heavy. Nothing that anybody does is making me feel happy, or even like myself. There's just an awful numbness that runs through my entire body. A numbness which is keeping me up at night, and causing me exhaustion during the day. A numbness which is ridding all my motivation and enjoyment of anything and everything. A numbness which is preventing me from even feeling any emotion.

Right now, I'm just ... existing.

Arriving at our bedroom, I slowly open the door and enter. The first thing I do is lie on the bed on my back, using my arms as a pillow. My eyes naturally draw to the ceiling; there's some red tinsel on the light. As I look around the room, I note the tinsel adorning the curtain pole, the top of the closet, the desk – and all a sickly shade of red or gold.

I don't understand the fascination with Christmas. It's just one day in the year where you have an excuse to eat whatever you want, open presents, and wear a ridiculous paper crown whilst the rest of your family reads awfully-unfunny jokes from crackers.

Then again, I don't even have that now. I have no family to read awfully-unfunny jokes from crackers to me. As for opening presents ... the only thing I wish for is to feel like myself again. To feel loved and valued, and have my family and friends back. Eating whatever I want is tricky, because I have no appetite now. I can't eat even a quarter of a meal without feeling the urge to throw up.

Of course, I hide that from Citria. I say that I'll save the rest for later, and once she's asleep, I throw it out so she won't see it. She hasn't discovered it yet. If she did, it would just stress her out, and she'd constantly be on my radar to make sure I eat. I appreciate her care and support, but sometimes it's difficult to communicate with her and tell her how I really feel.

My eyes avert to the corner of the room, where all my family's presents are stacked. I told Citria that we would open them together in honour of my family tomorrow, but they don't really seem to interest me any more. Opening presents without my family watching has absolutely no appeal to me whatsoever.

I did buy Citria a present, of course, and I'm pretty sure that she got me one, too. I'm really hoping she will like what I've gotten her. It's the only present I care to witness being opened – alongside whatever she has gotten for me, obviously. I also got Clover a little something, because she mentioned that she got me a present. Plus, she's by herself in the house now. Logic would say she should live with us, and the other house be sold.

Sitting up on the bed, my head turns to the window. It's dark out, and there's frost clustered on the glass, partially blurring the view outside. Just seeing this makes me shiver; I'd hate to be out there at this time. But if I hadn't have met Citria, that could have been what happened. Citria is the reason I'm still alive right now.

But I don't deserve this. I don't deserve to be alive and well. I don't deserve to have a roof over my head, food to eat and clothes on my back. My entire family is gone; every friend I've ever had is gone. I am the only Jackson left. The only biological Jackson. There is not a single other person on this planet with my blood. And that ... that really kills me.

Unless I ever had a son, I'd be the last Jackson to exist. It's a possibility, but it seems unlikely. Maybe in the future, when I find it easier to come to terms with everything that's happened lately. I just don't want to bring up a child in such an unsafe environment – namely, one with Marco walking free. I don't want that for any child of mine.

Drawing my eyes back down from the window, I sigh again, through my nostrils; my eyes moving along the patterns of the blanket underneath me, on the bed. The bed seems to be my favourite place at the moment; the only place I feel comfortable in. I'd probably live in this room, given the choice.

*  *  *

"Merry Christmas, sweetie," my mother wishes me.

With a smile, I take the gift from her hands. Excitement is filling every part of me, but I'm trying not to show it because I'm basically an adult now. Getting excited would not make me look cool at all. As I gently untie the ribbon, and pull back the wrapping paper, I find the most amazing gift I could ask for.

"Thank you so much, mom," I beam, with subtle attempts to hide my excessive content. "These will be perfect for going to the roller disco with Eleanor."

As I bring out the chrome red and black roller boots from their box, I can't help but admire them like a child. Red wheels; black laces; and a gorgeous metallic red shoe with black Nike-style check marks on the sides by the heel. I always wanted my own roller boots, rather than having to borrow from the disco every time I went. I'm sure Eleanor will love these on me!

"I'm glad you like them, Michael." She clasps her hands together, satisfied that I like the gift. "Just don't go scuffing them up on the first time wearing them."

"Count on it, mother. I'll take care of these like they're my children." A small, casual grin finds its way onto my face as I look back down, and admire the boots once more.

*  *  *

-Citria's Point of View-

As I slide my bedroom door open, I find Michael asleep on the bed, clutching a bed cushion in his arms, as if he's hugging it. Dinner is ready now, so I'll have to wake him up. He does look adorable, though.

Shaking him lightly, I softly call his name. "Michael ... sweetie ... " Receiving no response, I make a move towards the cushion he's holding, and I try to prise it from his grasp. "Michael?" I repeat.

His eyes suddenly flick open. "Leave the boots alone!" he cries, but then realises where he is and what he's doing. "Wha—but—my mom and—Christmas and—" He pauses a moment, and covers his head with his hands. "I was just dreaming, wasn't I? ... "

"You dreamt of your mom?" I question, sitting beside him on the bed. He nods, looking genuinely upset because he thought it was real. "I'm sorry, Michael. But will you come get some food? Dinner's ready, now."

Again, he nods, forcing himself out of the bed. He doesn't wait for me; instead, he walks by me towards the staircase, and descends alone.

Breathing a sympathetic sigh, I rise from the bed, and follow after him.

~~

What are you thinking right now? What's going to happen to Citria and Michael next?
Also, I've finally finished writing this story! (Although I haven't published the rest yet. All in good time, though!)
I hope you enjoyed this chapter!