Chapter sixteen – Alone Time

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In the morning, I wake up before Michael does. The only reason I know this is because, well ... he's sleeping by my side, on my bed. He has his face down, his curls scattered around his head, and he's lying on his front. Also, he has one arm around me, from when he was getting me to sleep last night. That was such a nice gesture, to me.

Seeing him like this is rather adorable. The way he's so out-of-it is just so cute. Before any more thoughts can take over my brain, I check the clock and note the time: 7:27am. I don't want to wake Michael up yet; he must be tired after having to do everything all day yesterday.

Another thing – I don't want to shift positions, because his arm is draped around me from when he fell asleep last night. The last thing I would want to do is disturb him because of my own discomfort. So, for now ... I'll be keeping still.

However, my words might as well be taken back, because Michael stirs a little in his sleep. I hear him groan softly from the initial grogginess of waking up, before he shifts positions, removing his arm from around me. He uses the arm to cover his forehead, then uses his fingers to brush the stray curls from his face.

It's then that he rolls over and sees me lying next to him, "Oh ... morning," he greets me, his voice husky because he's only just woken up, "Are you feeling better today?" he asks quickly.

A small smile forms on my face, "A lot better now, thank you, Michael. How are you feeling today?"

He stretches his arms where he lies, rubbing his eyes, "I'm great thanks. Just ... not so alert yet. What time is it?" he questions.

"Not even a half past seven," I reply, watching him roll onto his back so he can lie properly, "So ... we're seeing the police today about that recording, right?"

"Uhm-hmm," he speaks, closing his eyes momentarily to rest them, "But first ... I need a morning cuddle from my best friend," he hints playfully.

I take the hint immediately, lying in his arms and letting him embrace me, with me returning the favour. He inhales deeply, before letting it go as a sigh, "You know ... your friendship makes me feel so happy, Citria. It really does."

A rush of warmth and joyfulness builds up inside of me, "Thank you Michael. Yours does, too ... never doubt that for a second, okay?"

He snickers softly, "Of course. We're forever and a half, remember?"

I nod my head a little, to indicate my answer, "Yes ... I remember."

Then, he lets go of the hug, and checks the time himself, "Oh, it's past seven-thirty; we better be getting ready to go hear the recording," he starts, getting out of the bed and making a move for his own room so he can get ready.

I'm glad I made Michael stay in my room last night. It just felt ... right. He's my best friend now, and it was completely out of innocence. Nothing dirty or bad at all. Just complete innocence.

Besides, I don't feel for Michael in that way, anyway! He's just my best friend. The best friend with gorgeous eyes, sweet black curls and an adorable little doe face. Plus, it's entirely possible for a male and a female to be best friends ... and that's exactly what we are.

"Meet me downstairs for breakfast. We'll go straight after, okay?" I ask in clarification.

Before he leaves the room, he turns to face me from the door, then nods, a closed-mouth smile playing on his lips, "Sure. I'll be twenty minutes." He slips through the door, closing it behind him, leaving me alone to get ready myself.

*  *  *

"Good morning Mr Jackson; Miss Espinosa. I think you both know why you're here today?"

The officer has us sat down in a little room at the police station, and I can feel Michael's hand tensing up with fear. When we were walking here, he began to feel really anxious – on the brink of a panic attack. Imagine knowing you're about to find out who killed your family and friends? That must be an enormous thing for him.

Anyway, I managed to bring him here, despite how much he was shaking and tearing up, and here we are now. At the moment, he's still shaking a little, with his hand in mine for support. It's probably a good job I'm here, otherwise I have no idea how he would be coping.

Michael nods at the police officer, "Yes ... something about a recording, right?" he answers.

The officer brings out the tape recorder, "Yes, Mr Jackson. It was taped at approximately 12:36pm on August 16, 1987. Does this date and time sound familiar to you?"

Michael takes a moment to think, averting his eyes upwards in thought, "Uh ... yeah. That was about ... ten minutes before I discovered everyone ... d-dead ... " He trails off towards the end of his answer. My thumb brushes over his knuckles comfortingly. Nevertheless, a tear falls from each eye as he shifts his gaze downwards, "But that's the date they died, sir ... "

The officer nods, setting the tape recorder to play, "Then I think you should listen to this, Mr Jackson." The officer then presses play.

Loud breathing is heard immediately, sounding as if it's rather close to the recorder. But then, a voice tries to speak into it.

"Michael ... I've done a terrible thing! A truly terrible thing! I k-killed our family; our friends! At f-first it seemed like a good idea, b-but now I feel like ... I feel sick to my stomach! I want to die! I'm sorry Michael! Th-The gun is in my hand right now! I'll shoot it right now! I-In fact ... I'll let you hear me come to my downfall, so you can finally be gone of me and have clear evidence! M-Michael ... I'm truly sorry! I hope you find it in y-your heart to forgive me!"

A click is heard, perhaps from a gun, and then all of a sudden, a loud gunshot crashes, almost deafening me. It makes Michael jump, too. Then, before the recording ends, one final thing is said.

"I hope we can end our feud now, cousin Michael ... "

Well, I'm none the wiser as to who it is ... but I bet Michael is. My head turns to Michael, and all I see of him is his curls, as – during the recording – he took his hand out of mine, and now his head is buried in them. All I can hear now is his loud sobs. He's shaking violently, too. I think he knows who made the recording.

"I'll leave you two alone to discuss this. We can't really set up a trial, because the criminal is also dead. I'm sorry, Mr Jackson," the officer apologises, before leaving the room.

My hand lightly touches Michael's back, "Do you know who it was now, Michael? ... " I question. He uncovers his face, exposing his reddened cheeks and teary eyes, so I give him my most sincere smile, "Who was it, Michael?"

He struggles to answer, but eventually he does. That isn't before he's covered his face once more, though, from grief.

"Astrix ... it was my enemy cousin Astrix ... "

Astrix ... the cousin he told me about when we first met. The cousin that he hated, and who had a mutual feeling of hate for him. The cousin who made Michael leave the family reunion. The cousin that caused the deaths of all those Michael knew and loved ...

"Michael, I'm so sorry ... " I frown, tugging at his arm, which eventually leads to me pulling him entirely into my embrace. He really does need a hug right now, even if he hasn't asked for one, "So, so sorry, Michael ... "

All he does is break out into loud sobs, his tears soaking my shoulder. It seems that each time he grows happy, something happens to ruin it again. It's really not fair at all. But that's exactly why I'm here for him – because he needs someone for when those happy moments are ruined. He needs me because he has no one else but me – or at least, not really.

After about ten minutes of him crying against me, my hand reaches up to his curls, and I pull away from him gently, looking him in the eyes, "Come on, Michael ... I think we better go home. You can have all the time in the world to do whatever you want, there."

I stand myself up, hauling Michael up out of his seat too. He nods silently, so we begin walking out the building, and back home again.

*  *  *

The walk back was completely silent. I wanted to give Michael some time to think in the fresh air as we walked, so he could clear his head a little. Now, we're home again, and ... he's still remaining silent.

Finding out who murdered his family is obviously a lot for him to take in. It's one thing having someone murder his family in the first place, but he's heard the murderer kill himself as well, which has probably scarred him for life. I have to admit that it's frightened me a little, knowing someone recorded themselves committing suicide.

At this moment in time, I'm sitting in the living room, whereas Michael is in the front garden. He gave me the impression that he wanted a little alone time, so I've given it to him so he can do a little more thinking.

The only thing is, that leaves me wondering what to do with myself. Every time Michael wants alone time, it gives me random spare time that I'm forced to kill. He never tells me how long his "alone time" is going to last, so I'm never sure whether to occupy myself with a long-lasting activity, or a short-lasting one.

Perhaps I could read whilst I wait for him. It's actually one of my hobbies, so I could do. Then again ... I always read; it's become slightly boring now. Maybe I could do a little bit of sketching, like Michael did a few days ago. I still have the side portrait of me that he drew that night before the police came. Maybe I could draw some flowers, or trees. That's what I'll do.

After managing to find some spare paper and a few different coloured pencils, I make my way back into the living room, looking around for some inspiration; something I can sketch. My eyes come across a vase on the mantlepiece, which has flowery patterns and different colours, so I focus my attention on that, and begin to draw.

First, the basic vase shape, with a thick base that gradually thins out towards the top; then leaves in colours from pastel blue to cream, and lilac to baby pink; and finally beautiful little flowers, with a pure white outline to make it stand out.

This vase means everything to me ... simply because it was the last thing I received from my mother before she passed away. She gave it to me for Christmas last year – only a month before she left us all.

I still remember the day as if it were yesterday ...

-January 17, 1987 – seven months previously-

Her hand was holding mine loosely; she was becoming weaker and weaker, and there was nothing I could do about it. My heart was racing, my eyes filling with tears at the idea of mother leaving me. She had been my rock for my entire life – all twenty-five years of it. Seeing her go would break me.

"I love you," I managed to tell her, my voice giving out from the emotions I was feeling.

"I-I love you too sweetie ... " she was able to reply. Father was sitting on the other side of mother's bed, holding her other hand in his grasp. She turned her head to him, giving him a weak smile, "I'll always love you both ... but now I'm going to see ... " She was growing weaker and weaker by the second, "I'm going to see Andre now. Don't cry for me ... please."

Father and I both made that promise to her, with every intention to break it. It was going to be impossible to keep my composure after she was gone.

And then, a tiny cough escaped from her lips, before her eyes gradually, slowly, steadily closed, and her hand slipped through my fingers limply. A painful, sickly sinking feeling suffocated me, as I exhaled loudly. No ... she couldn't be gone so soon. There was no way.

My fingers felt her wrist for a pulse, but there was none. Then, I tried her neck, but to no avail. The final place I checked was her chest – right where her heart was. Still nothing.

It was then, that it actually sunk in; my mother was gone. My mother was no longer here for me, or for father. She was up in Heaven with the angels. But even that didn't comfort me in that moment.

"No ... no, mom!" I cried desperately, shaking her body violently, "Please come back! No!" Whatever I tried was no use, and father made sure I realised that. It took him a few minutes to calm me down, as I was experiencing a mini panic attack.

I felt numb in that moment. The idea of having no mother filled me with such a deep depression, and such a deep hatred for the world. It was almost as if I was ready to leave this Earth, just to join my mother ... but then father would have no one. I needed to think of him, too.

Tears stinging my eyes, my shaking hand reached out to stroke my mother's cold, pale face, her skin freezing the warm tips of my fingers.

"Goodbye, mom. I'll take care of father for you ... "

-Present day-

Everything about that day is still etched into the back of my mind. It fills me with deep despair still, even to this day. But when I think about Michael's situation, it makes me feel as if I'm selfish; he lost everything. At least I still have my father.

That doesn't stop the pain, though, and it quickly returns when tears form in my eyes. Part of me is glad that Michael isn't here to see me cry, but the other part of me is hoping and praying that he comes in right now, so he can assure me that everything will be alright.

The memories have stopped me from finishing my drawing of the vase. I can't finish it, now my mind is completely busy with other things. The one thing that would make my life complete, would be my mother coming back – and my brother Andre. I miss them both so incredibly much, but nothing is going to bring them back.

Just that thought alone starts me off crying hysterically, making me drop my pencils, and all my paper flutters around me, to the floor. My hands cover my face as I choke back sobs, and I bury my head against the arm of the sofa.

It's then that I hear a gasp, "Cit! What's the matter?" It's Michael. He sounds as if he's completely fine now; maybe alone time has done him good, "Citria, tell me what's wrong!" he demands sympathetically.

He sits down behind me on the sofa, and then I feel his arms wrap around me from behind to comfort me. My head is still buried against the arm of the sofa, so he's kind of technically lying on top of me, yet not lying on top of me, at the same time.

"Cit-wee-ah," he calls my name in a cute voice, "Pwease tell My-kull what's wrong?" he pleads.

Just that voice alone makes me feel more reassured. I lift my head and uncover my face, exposing my red cheeks and teary eyes to Michael. He looks at me, "Oh ... " he frowns, bringing me closer to him. Instead of hugging me, he lies my head in his lap, and starts running his fingers through my hair, "Please tell me what's bothering you, Cit. It's what I'm here for, after all."

The genuine look of concern on his face allows me to confide in him, "I just miss my mother and brother," I explain softly, "It's been weeks since I cried for them, and ... it's all just come out, now ... "

He furrows his eyebrows, "What started it off? Surely something must have turned the "I miss them" switch on in your mind," he says.

I sigh, the calming feeling of his fingers in my hair taking my mind off all the negativity, "Yeah ... I was drawing the vase on the mantlepiece. It's the last thing mom ever got for me ... " I tell him, "And it just took me back a few months, that's all ... "

He scans the floor in the room, noting all the pieces of paper, and the multiple coloured pencils scattered around everywhere, "I get it. Citria, I think you got so emotional now because you've been keeping it in for so long. You've been so busy trying to make me happy, that you've forgotten to look after yourself, and it's ... kind of built up inside of you, and now it's finally come out today ... "

I think he's right, actually. I've been so focused on looking after Michael, that I've not given myself time to grieve over mother properly. Perhaps I should allocate myself a little more alone time in future, so I can think things over too.

"Yeah," I agree, "You're right. Maybe I should think of myself a little more," I suggest, earning a nod of agreement from Michael.

"That's right," he says.

Then, we both remain silent, as he continues to run his fingers through my hair to comfort me.

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So, now we know who killed Michael's family! And Citria has shown her emotions over her mother for the first time. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!