Chapter thirty-six – Evidence

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-Three days later-

The sound of the phone is what wakes me up – it wakes Michael, too. He turns over on the bed, so that he faces me. It's quite a cute sight; his curls are tangled and messy, and they're here, there and everywhere; he has a couple of dark marks on his cheek from where he's been lying; and his lashes are coated with a damp substance which just makes him look adorable.

"Michael, it's the phone," I groan softly from tiredness. "Who's getting it?"

"I'm not. Forget Marco and his pathetic self. Not answering the phone again," he hisses, his voice clearly indicating he's fatigued.

"Then I'll get it," I answer, stretching my aching arm and leg muscles, before slowly crawling out of bed. Clumsily trudging down the stairs, I arrive at the phone, picking it up with my fingers and placing it to my ear. "Hello?"

Half-expecting Marco to be the person to talk, I prepare myself to hang the phone up. However, when someone completely different speaks, I almost have a mini heart attack.

"Miss Espinosa, this is the Gary Police Department."

My eyes widen, despite how sleepy they feel. "O-Oh, okay. Would you like me to get Mr Jackson for you?"

"If you could, that would be great."

"Please hold." Removing the phone from my ear, I cover the mouth piece, before calling upstairs. "Michael, it's for you!"

"If it's Marco, tell him to go away. Hang up!" he calls back, his tone sounding frustrated.

"It's not Marco!" I reply. "It's the police!"

"Coming," he says, without raising his voice. Moments later, he arrives at the top of the stairs, before walking down almost as clumsily as I did. "I could've sworn they said the case was closed."

"I'm not sure. They just said they wanted to speak to you," I tell him, a high level of uncertainty in my tone.

"Right." He takes the phone gently from my grasp, holding it to his ear. "Hello?" Whilst the police officer speaks, he stands listening, leaning his back against the staircase. "Oh, really? Uh ... would you like us to come down? Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Okay. Thanks. Yeah ... okay. Bye."

"What is it?" I question, watching him place the phone down. "Is it important?"

He furrows his brows, pulling an unsure face. "Well ... they said they had something to show me concerning the case. They said that it was closed, but they've found something that'll open it again."

"Oh God," I breathe. "Do we have to go down to the station?"

He nods. "Yeah. That's okay, isn't it? Because I can go on my own, if you like."

"Of course not!" I answer in a heartbeat. "Don't ever think it's not okay; this is your family, after all. I'm coming with you."

"Okay ... thanks. But we've got to go as soon as possible, so I'm going to get ready now," he informs me. He then makes his way back upstairs, heading into the bathroom.

"Gosh," I murmur to myself, walking back up to our bedroom to get dressed.

*  *  *

"Good morning, Mr Jackson; Miss Espinosa," the officer greets us, leading us into one of the rooms in the station. "I understand you've been called in today?"

"Yes," Michael answers softly. It's fairly obvious that he's nervous right now. "So ... what is it you wanted to show us?"

"I'll show you momentarily. First of all, I would like to talk to you briefly about what you're going to see. Is that okay with you?"

"Of course," Michael says, nodding his head.

We both sit down opposite the officer, at a table, and we watch as the officer brings out a box – a rather large box, at that. It doesn't seem to be too worn; it looks, perhaps, a few months old at the very most.

"Now," the officer starts, patting the top of the box for no apparent reason. "This box contains material that could be used as evidence in court. Because of this, you'll need to place a pair of gloves on your hands; we don't want your fingerprint to contaminate what's already there." He hands us a box with latex gloves inside; Michael takes his before handing me some, then we listen as the officer speaks further. "You realise that because of the contents of this box, the case has had to be re-opened. You understand that?"

Michael nods nervously, seemingly curious about what's inside. "I understand that."

"Good. This box was found in the garden at your home yesterday afternoon, and when we opened it for investigation, we discovered a few things that weren't known at the beginning of this case." Slowly, he opens the box, to reveal what's inside.

And inside the box, there are many pieces of paper, some folded, some just little chunks that have been torn off of corners, and some just worn down a little. The expression Michael has upon his face matches mine at the moment – confusion.

"What are these?" Michael demands politely, lifting a piece of paper from the box to examine it. "Notes? Letters? What?"

"Perhaps both," the officer states. "But we thought it would be best if you read them all."

Michael takes a torn corner of paper, reading the words on it. "He's a psycho," he murmurs aloud. He then takes another one. "Death is close ... " Then another. "He'll kill me else ... " Tears form in his eyes as he reads another, "Didn't want to do this."

My brows knit together in confusion as I watch him read these notes. Each one contains a frightening message of only a few words, but even those few words scare me.

Michael takes another note from the box, reading it aloud. "You ... " He pauses, his breath catching in his throat, almost choking him. "You have to die ... "

"My God," I gasp. "Who wrote all these? ... "

Michael takes a folded-up note from the box, opening it up and reading it out for me to hear.

Whoever should read this,

I don't know if you'll be a Jackson, or just a stranger. Chances are you'll be a stranger, because by this time, all the Jacksons will be gone. Every single last one of them. Today is August 15, 1987, and tomorrow is the family reunion. I've been living in England for the past few months, but at the moment, I'm on a flight over to America for this event tomorrow.

This letter is killing me to write, in all honesty. Maybe by the time someone reads this, I'll be back in England, away from this terrible reality.

The thing is, I'll be in a lot of trouble by tomorrow. I'm going to have to live with the guilt of what I do tomorrow, for the rest of my life. But I have no choice. I have no choice at all.

He's forcing me to do this. He's physically forcing me to do this, otherwise I'm going to die. He's going to force me to kill everyone I've ever known and loved, and I don't want to. But I have no choice. I have no choice at all.

I want to apologise to everyone in advance for this horrible thing I'm going to do. The truth is, I never disliked anybody—

Michael closes his eyes, pausing a moment because his voice has broken too much to continue reading. He presses his hand against the table, breathing heavily to compose himself.

The truth is, I never disliked anybody – especially my cousin, Michael.

At this, Michael gasps, tears falling down his face uncontrollably. "What!" he cries. He clears his throat, desperately trying to stop his voice from faltering any more.

To be honest, Michael is a great man, and I wish he didn't hate me for what I've done. But now ... he's never gonna know that I don't hate him, because by tomorrow, he won't even be alive. Maybe it could be the last thing I say to him – I'm not sure how it's going to be.

I'm sorry, everyone ...

Astrix J.

Michael furrows his eyebrows, looking visibly confused. "But why doesn't he have any choice! What does he mean? H-He actually liked me! But—" His eyes catch sight of another piece of paper in the box that he hadn't seen yet, so he takes it out, reading it again.

Michael,

You've gone somewhere. I don't even know where. But you're not here. I've been at the reunion only a few minutes, but soon I've got to make the biggest mistake of my life. But I have no choice. I have no choice at all.

Everyone's being lovely towards me, and I wish I could return the favour ... but I can't. This is killing me inside, honestly. Nobody can see me writing this now, as I've excused myself and gone upstairs.

I'm not ready to do this at all. I'll never be ready to do this at all. He's assuring me that it's a good idea, but I'm failing to see the good side of it—

Michael looks up from the letter, at me. "Who was assuring him that it's a good idea to kill my entire family?" he asks hopelessly. "My God ... " Inhaling deeply, he continues.

But I'm failing to see the good side of it, to be honest with you. Part of me is glad that you've gone, because I don't want to do this to you. Your mother seemed so upset when you left, but she understood because she knows you dislike me. I don't blame you either, really.

But the thing is, no matter how much I don't want to do this, I have to. If I had the choice, I wouldn't be here, just so that I wouldn't have to see everyone's happy faces before their deaths. But I have no choice. I have no choice at all.

I love you all ... even you, Michael. I've been made to lie about my feelings for you all, because in reality, I never hated any of you. Any negativity from me hasn't been my choice. It's been his. He threatened to kill me if I didn't do this. So much for him being my friend.

So please don't blame me.

Blame him.

I love you all,

Astrix J.

Michael lets the letter slip between his fingers, and the olive colour of his face's skin seems to drain, turning pale. I wouldn't say he looks sick – just in shock.

"Michael ... " I breathe, getting out of my seat. I come up behind him, wrapping my arms around him; he's still sitting in the chair, frozen stiff.

"Mr Jackson, when you are done with the evidence, you may leave it in the box, on this table. I'll be back in shortly to collect it again, so we can investigate further," the officer announces.

"But wait ... " Michael calls him back, looking at the officer with a forlorn expression. "Why have you re-opened the case if we know Astrix killed everyone?"

"Because, Mr Jackson," the officer starts, sighing sympathetically. "In the letter, Mr Astrix Jackson refers to another person. You read the letters yourself; someone told Astrix to commit the crime. Therefore, we must investigate to find out who that person was."

"Oh." Michael's voice is reduced to a mutter as he looks down at the table, his eyes seeming to go out of focus.

With that, the officer exits the room, leaving Michael and I alone. Softly, I sigh, as I sit back in the seat next to Michael. "They'll find out who did this, you know. They'll find out who led Astrix to doing this."

Michael nods slowly. "Good. Because when I find out who it is—" His voice suddenly raises, "—They're going to wish they were dead, too!" In a rage, he whacks the box of notes and letters, causing it to fly across the room, and all the pieces of paper to fall out and flutter around.

Quickly, I hold his arm to stop him from doing anything else. "Michael! ... I know you're angry; I would be too. But you have to let the police do their job, and you have to calm down. You need to realise that Astrix ... he wasn't exactly behind all this. Someone else was. There's no need to be angry at Astrix as much any more ... "

"But he still killed my family, Citria!" He forces his hand away from my grasp, but then seems unsure on where to look, or what to do. "I-I mean, he didn't want to! But he did!" His eyes then close slowly, as he inhales deeply to calm himself down. When he next speaks, his voice is a lot quieter. "Look ... he didn't want to kill everyone. He was forced to by someone very dangerous. I'll give him that. But my point is, he still did it. He still killed everyone I've ever loved. I won't give him that."

"And I get that," I answer, resting my hand atop his to comfort him. "Now look ... we need to tidy the evidence up; it's gone everywhere. But then, I think we should just go home and have some time to think about everything that's happened this morning. You agree?"

Again, his eyes avert to the ground, and he nods in defeat. "Yes." He then stands up from his chair, before starting to pick up the letters and notes from the floor. I help him to put them all back in the box, and soon enough, it's all done, meaning it's safe to take our gloves off.

"Now ... let's go home, okay?" I offer, taking his hand. "Because I think you need time to think about everything that's just happened."

Quietly, we leave the station, before returning home.

*  *  *

When we're home, Michael lets out a sigh. "Gosh, it's warm ... I'm going to go and change clothes, into something more Summer-friendly."

"Okay," I answer, as he walks upstairs.

Whilst he's doing that, I head into the living room, collapsing onto the sofa. Honestly, we seem to find something new every day involving the case. At least it's all contributing to solving the mystery and filling the gaps that we don't know.

As I'm about to grab the TV remote, I hear Michael calling my name. Dropping the remote onto the sofa, I get out my seat, before walking upstairs to our room. When I get there, I open the door to see that Michael's wearing a shirt that isn't done up at the front. It takes all of my effort not to stare too long, admittedly, at his exposed chest.

"Little help please," he chuckles softly, but with pain still evident in his eyes. "And I see you lookin', sweetheart."

"You got me," I remark playfully, making my way towards him to help him out. "But seriously, how can you not do those buttons up?"

"I'm sorry. These buttons are difficult," he snickers.

"More like, you're a wimp," I tease. "Why couldn't you have chosen an easy-to-do-up shirt?"

"This one matches my curls," he jokes, a small smile forming on his face. "Nah, I'm kidding – I just wanted to wear something different for once. I'm always wearing the baggy red shirts; I thought it would be nice to have something you've never really seen before."

"Okay. Well, it's nice to see you're smiling, Michael. I'm glad about that." My fingers squeeze his cheeks, causing him to let out the most adorable little giggle. "Aw! You're so cute when you're happy."

He licks his lip shyly. "At least I'm cute sometimes, then."

It's then that I give him the classic "Are you serious?" look. "Really Michael? You expect me to take you seriously when you say that?"

His small smile changes to a mischievous grin. "But you love me."

A mellow smile forms on my lips as I lean in and briefly kiss him. "Of course I do."

"That's my girl," he answers. "So, what are we doing for lunch?"

"Good question. I could make us a little something if you like," I suggest sweetly. "You need to relax a little, anyway."

"That sounds great. Thank you." He smiles again, before turning around to head out the door.

Realising he's left his previous clothes on the bed in a pile, I go over and lift them up to put away, or to wash. As I fold the pants, a little piece of paper flutters out of the pocket, to the floor.

Michael then turns around, noticing I'm still in the room. "Oh, sorry! I forgot to put them away. Let me do that." He approaches me, taking the pile of clothing from my hands, but then he spots the paper in my hand. "What's that?"

"Just some paper. It must have gotten into your pocket when you hit the box and made all the notes and letters fall out," I reply, unfolding the paper.

"Does it say anything important on there?" he inquires.

My eyes widen as I check the note. It's only a single word, but that word automatically reveals so many different answers to the many different questions we've had all morning.

"Marco ... "

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Ooh! Things are starting to make more sense? I'm not sure. I hope they are! xD
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)