My breathing jagged, I enter the dark empty space, holding my flashlight in my sweating hand.

"M-Michael," I whisper, wishing for nothing more than for him to be here.

Feeling the cold of the room hit my skin as I enter the room, my nervous sweat begins to feel soothing and cooling to me.

A single bolt of lightning strikes outside the window, and I jump from the suddenness. Moments later, I hear a thunder clap, and stand frozen for a moment.

"Michael... I could really do with you being here right now," I admit a little louder than a whisper.

Venturing ever-closer to the window, a shiver slithers down my spine, leaving an eerie feel lingering on my torso. I let out a sharp breath before shining my flashlight towards the direction of the curtains hanging either side of the window.

I swallow hard, and feel my breathing quiver ever-so-slightly. I'm not afraid of the dark – I'm afraid of what's in it – and knowing that there could be something in this darkness feels threatening to me.

I hear a sudden clatter, and I turn my entire body to face the other side of the room. After seeing nothing, I return my intent gaze on the window.

'Something's out there,' I think to myself. 'There must be.'

I finally pluck up the courage to tread closer to the window, and my feet take me slowly towards it. Feeling something slim – almost like the tip of a bony finger – run down my side, to the top of my leg, I gasp and shine the flashlight towards the direction of my lower torso – only to find nothing.

I cautiously reach the window, and let my fingers rest lightly on the windowsill. I peer outside, to see what was keeping me awake, only to find nothing but the leafless trees swaying in the night breeze in my garden.

I hear another noise behind me, and I shine my flashlight in that direction once I've turned my head, but again, nothing is visible. I keep my stare fixated in the general direction of the noise I heard, for a few moments more, just in case I see anything.

My breathing hard and heavy now, I feel another light touch – this time, starting from my earlobe, slowly running down my jawline, until it reaches my chin. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, hoping that all of this is a dream – that I'm not really feeling the touches and hearing the noises – but something in me tells me I am.

"Michael, stop this..." I beg softly, hoping that it's only really him behind all this.

'But how could it be him?' I ask myself. 'He died long ago.'

Mentally telling myself off for such an assumption, I slowly yet nervously turn my head to face the window – only to see a tall, dark, shadowy figure treading slowly between the trees, in a long, dark, wispy cloak which trails behind by at least a foot.

I fight myself not to scream as I clasp my mouth tightly shut and close my eyes, praying this isn't real. But when I open my eyes again, there it is, still walking through my garden – almost like a ghost dressed in black.

I try to force my legs to move, to run away from the window and to my room, so I can lock myself in there for the night and hide under my blankets – but I stay where I am. Something is compelling me to stay where I am.

I try to push myself away from the windowsill with my hands, but I can't even move. It's almost like I'm paralysed with fear.

"H-Help me," I plead with fright, aiming my speech at anyone who can hear me.

I remain silent, my eyes almost being forced to look at the ghostly figure outside my window, following it as it makes its way through my garden. It suddenly comes to a stop in the middle of the garden, and turns its head to face the window.

I let out a shaky breath – which I didn't realise I was holding – as the dark figure lifts its head, revealing two bright, glowing red eyes – almost like demon eyes. That's not even the scariest part – the fact that it's spotted me is.

I try with all my might to move away from the window, but despite this, I don't budge. It's like the atmosphere surrounding me is forcing me into place. I feel tears form in my eyes as I watch the ghost-like person, and then suddenly, he vanishes into thin air.

I heave a sigh of relief, thinking my worries are over, but then as quickly as it disappeared, it makes a return – right on the other side of the window. I let out an ear-piercing scream, feeling its deadly red eyes penetrate me.

I try to turn my body to make a dash for my room, and this time, I'm able to move. However, as soon as I turn around, the red eyes meet me again – this time, face-to-face.

'Don't show any signs of fear,' I tell myself. 'This man has the potential to kill you.'

I swallow, and remain completely still as the figure gradually steps closer to me. Its steps are slow and creepy, and with each one, I feel more fear building up inside of me.

"L-Leave me alone," I demand shakily, regretting it seconds later.

The figure continues to walk towards me, and it's by this time that I realise I probably won't live. I can't even try to make an escape, as its large frame is blocking every possible route out.

Its body is soon inches away from mine, and I begin to feel petrified just thinking of how my life could end. It reaches a single hand out, and its bony forefinger meets the sensitive, goose bump-covered skin of my arm.

I draw a sharp breath, anticipating the end of my life. I know it's coming soon; I can feel it and tell just by how this person is acting towards me. What's more, I feel too scared to protest about anything, so I feel I must cooperate with this person.

"Michael, if you can hear me, I need you..." I whisper painfully.

'Again, why do you call for him?' I scold myself. 'He's gone, there's no way he can save you now.'

A tear falls involuntarily down my cheek, as I finally manage to take a step back – better than being directly opposite the... creature.

But as I take the step back, the figure takes one forward, and I feel the small of my back press harshly against the window pane behind me.

'Damn,' I curse mentally.

The person's red demon eyes burn through my soul, and I begin to feel the need to give up. I'm not going to live as long as this ghost-like creature is here.

'No, you're better than this,' I tell myself. 'You've got a shot of surviving. Just make your escape. You have nothing to lose!'

Suddenly feeling an adrenaline rush, I stare at the figure's eyes for a single moment more, then I bolt towards the door as quickly as my legs will take me. However, this doesn't last long, as by the time I've reached the door, the red eyes are meeting mine again...

... And then he makes a grab for me.

*

"Michael, that's cheating!" I giggle with childish glee, throwing a water balloon in his direction.

He skilfully dodges it, before throwing one at me, and catching me perfectly upside the head.

"Another point to Jackson!" he taunts, doing a little victory dance across the garden.

I grab another water balloon, before throwing it at him again – this time hitting his chest like a professional. He gasps from the sudden coldness coming into contact with his skin, and jumps high up, taking his knees into his embrace in mid-air, before landing back on his feet.

He's always been agile – as the King Of Pop, he naturally has a dancer's body. Not just that – he has a lot of energy, so he can pretty much do anything his heart desires.

I've been his best friend since 1997, and now in 2009, he's still the superstar he was back then. He's taken a lot of time out of his music work to spend time with me – not because I forced him to, but because he wanted to.

Even with him aged fifty, and me aged twenty-one, our childish innocence makes our mental age lower. I was only nine when we became friends, and him thirty-eight.

All through his toughest times, I've defended him. When I was seventeen, I had to stand by him and defend him through his weary child molestation trials in 2005 – of which he was acquitted of all charges, and rightly so.

He's due to start his comeback tour in just a few weeks – This Is It. He hasn't let me attend a single rehearsal – or his kids. He says he wants to keep his plans a surprise for us, so we can truly see the art from his eyes in modern times.

I've known his kids since they were all born. With his oldest son born the same year I became friends with Michael, his daughter born the year after, and his youngest son born in 2001, I've known them since day one, and they're all wonderful to be around.

"I think we should go inside now," Michael suggests.

"Yeah, your kids'll be wondering what we've been doing for the past hour," I chuckle.

*

"L-Lacey?" Jermaine, Michael's brother, speaks tearfully down the phone to me.

"Jermaine, what's up?" I ask in concern.

"Just get to the hospital, quick!" he orders hysterically.

"Okay, I'll be there in five," I assure him.

Taking the short drive to the hospital, I arrive to see Marlon – another of Michael's brothers – waiting outside to greet me, surrounded by mobs of fans.

"Lacey!" he cries.

"Marlon, what's going on?" I ask desperately.

"It-It's Michael!"

I feel my heart rise into my mouth, and I take a deep breath.

"Michael? What about Michael?"

"We wanted to get you here before Jermaine spoke to his fans," he starts to explain.

"Why? Marlon, you're scaring me."

He guides me through the masses of fans, and we both run through the corridors to get to... wherever we're going to. We soon arrive at a door leading in to a hospital room, and I suddenly feel a rush of fear.

"You don't have to go in there," he informs me. "Because what's in there might hurt you for life."

"Why?" I ask. "Is Michael in there?"

"Yes," he replies. "But he's—"

Before he can say another word, I open the door, expecting to see Michael looking at the doorway with a warm smile...

... But instead, I see a limp, weak Michael, lying pale and unconscious in a hospital bed. I widen my eyes and tears quickly form, having never seen him in this state before.

"No," I breathe tearfully. "Marlon, please tell me he isn't—"

"I'm so sorry, Lacey... I did try to tell you before you came in," he replies, a single tear running down his face.

"Lacey!" I hear a familiar voice cry loudly.

I turn my head to see Michael's little sister Janet, tears staining her face, and her eyes bloodshot and red. I immediately walk her way, and embrace her in a tight condolence hug.

"I'm so sorry about your brother!" I sob.

"He had a whole life ahead of him," she cries into my chest.

"He had children, fans and family," I add dejectedly, pulling away from her.

I peer into the room again, but the sight sickens me. I can't even look without feeling the urge to throw up.

My best friend is gone...

*

The red eyes are burning through me just with their glare. Just centimetres away from my face, I know that any moment, I'll cease to exist in this world.

"Please..." I plead sorrowfully. "I'm twenty-seven, I have a whole life ahead of me..."

Its icy grip is clinging to me, crushing me, suffocating me slowly. All I feel is pain. All I hear is silence. All I fear is death...

... And all I see is memories of Michael and I.

*

"You really want to go on the Merry-Go-Round again? This'll be the fourth time, Lacey!" Michael laughs.

"Yes!" I squeal.

"You and your little nine-year-old desires," he mutters to himself in amusement.

"Applehead, you know you want to ride it too!" I grin.

"But I have a baby boy waiting back at the house, sweetheart. Grace is having to look after him!" he replies softly.

"Hmm... one more time, then we can go home. Can I hold Prince when we get in?"

"If your mommy lets you stay for tea, you can come inside and play with Prince for a while, of course."

"Yes!" I pound the air with my fist, feeling excited.

"Ah, but wait," he smiles. "I'll need to ring your mommy, first, Lacey."

I sigh dramatically. "Okay, Michael."

-

Mother let me stay around Michael's house, so now I'm playing with Prince. He's very small, and very cute! It makes me want to have a Prince of my own, because he's so adorable. I can't wait to be old enough to have my own Prince.

"Okay Lacey, I need to feed him now," Michael tells me as he enters the room, holding a feeding bottle for Prince.

I kiss Prince's forehead before stepping away, and Michael feeds him. I watch Michael as he sits cradling his son, gently tipping the bottle so Prince can drink – it's very cute.

"Can I feed him, Michael?" I ask sweetly.

"Gee, I don't know... I think I should help you, sweetheart. Come sit on my lap here."

He pats his lap with the hand containing the bottle, and I sit comfortably on his lap, before taking his hand—with the feeding bottle in it—and we feed Prince together. Michael looks down on me with a warm, inviting smile, and then bends down to kiss his son's forehead as we feed him.

*

"Get in there, Michael!" I taunt.

He's shooting his short film for "You Rock My World", and he's filming the kiss scene at the end. It's rather amusing, seeing as I've only ever seen him kiss Iman in Remember The Time.

I hear Chris Tucker make a funny remark about how badly Michael kisses, and Michael pulls away mid-shot, and bursts out laughing.

"Chris!" he laughs. "That was my best take, man!"

"Sorry, but man, you were getting into it a little too much there, Mike! Remember that pretty young thing is probably married or somethin'!" Chris says defensively.

I let out a giggle, and Michael sighs, trying not to laugh. "Can we redo that take?"

"Sure, Michael," the director says. "And... action!"

Michael runs onto the set again, at the same time as his co-star – who, to be honest, I keep forgetting the name of – and their kiss is depicted through their silhouettes, creating a romantic atmosphere.

I hear a few wolf whistles, and I decide to whistle myself, but Michael refuses to be distracted, and completes the kiss properly.

"Damn, man, I was hoping we'd get him again!" Chris jokes, his speech aimed at me.

"It was worth a try," I chuckle.

*

"And does the jury find the defendant guilty or not guilty?"

My breathing has become shallow, and my mind racing with thoughts. What if he's found guilty? I can't cope with my innocent best friend being put in jail.

"We find Mr Jackson... not guilty of all charges."

I breathe a loud sigh of relief, threatening to cry from happiness. I look Michael's way, and he simply looks drained from the excruciating journey he's embarked in since the start of his trial. He doesn't even seem happy to have been proven innocent – he's in too much pain from the manipulation he's been subjected to.

After a few tedious minutes, we're allowed out of the courtroom, and Michael pads slowly through the main doors, to be greeted by his many fans cheering his name, some holding banners reading "Michael is innocent!" and "Leave the Man In The Mirror Alone!".

Michael goes out to give the verdict to his fans, and they erupt into applause at their idol's victory. I can't help but smile; my best friend has been given justice, well and truly, and he deserves that.

After that, Michael, his family and I all head towards the cars parked nearby, which will take us home.

"Michael, I'm coming to yours to make sure you're okay," I tell him.

"You really don't have to," he states wearily.

"But you're my best friend. Of course I'm going to," I assert.

He gives a faint smile as we get into the car. "And boy am I grateful that I have you; you prove a point to the media that I can have teen-aged friends."

"Is that all I am to you?" I tease. "Just a point-maker?"

"Of course not. You're way more than that. You're my sweetest little friend," he smiles faintly.

His remark earns a smile from me. "That really means a lot to me, you know."

"I'm glad for that."

We begin to drive back to Michael's home – which is no longer Neverland, because it was raided in 2003 for trial evidence, very sadly.

*

"I'll be... I'll be performing the songs my fans want to hear."

"This is it!"

"This is the final curtain call."

Michael gives his fans a peace sign.

"And I'll see you in July!"

He holds both arms in the air, both with his fingers forming a peace sign, and he turns his back on the audience to walk towards the back of the stage. He eventually turns back around to face his fans, and blows kisses to them, sending them into a frenzy.

*

"My brother Michael Joseph Jackson was pronounced dead... June 25, 2009 at 2:26pm due to cardiac arrest and heart attack, induced by an overdose and intoxication of the drugs Propofol and Benzodiazepine. We hope you will respect our privacy during this difficult... difficult time. We love you, thank you."

Jermaine finishes up his speech tearfully, and stands down from the podium he's just spoken from. He enters his mother's embrace, and I feel hot tears forming in my eyes once again.

It's been less than an hour, and I already miss my best friend...

*

"Michael, I need you," I cry softly to myself.

The red eyes are still glaring at me, still slowly leading me to become dependant on death. I would rather be dead than in this situation any longer.

I try to force its grip from around me, but I'm blanketed in its deadly, ghostly cloak, therefore making it worse, in that I can barely breathe.

Thunder cracks outside, and I feel the creature's long, slim finger run down my spinal cord, the sharp nail's tip tearing up my skin. I cry out in agony, only now realising how lethal a simple touch is, but it doesn't stop him.

"Now," he speaks for the first time tonight. "Tell me where he is."

"Where who is?" I ask weakly.

"Him!" his voice booms throughout the room. "Your best friend!"

"M-Michael?" I question.

"You know!"

"He-He's been gone for years!"

"Tell me where he's gone, otherwise you suffer, Lacey Jean Gullivan."

His voice dominant and threatening, I swallow and try to rip my gaze from his red eyes. Before I speak next, he averts his eyes to the window behind me, and I turn my head to see what he has spotted.

Outside the window, in my garden, is a ghost. Not just any ghost – Michael's ghost.

~~

Part two will go up soon! L.O.V.E. xx