Mister Nobody – Part 24 | And everything we gonna do we do it

“Lisa Marie Presley’s nightmare: the Princess of Rock’n’Roll in critical condition after a car accident

But was it really an accident or did she throw herself under a car?

Lisa Marie Presley, daughter of Elvis, is currently hospitalized at Cedars-Sinai in L.A. after having been run over by a car and her condition is critical, sources say. Despite assurance from several witnesses that the 49-year old heiress was accidentally hit by the vehicle while she was crossing the street, a source close to the Presley family reveals that this might have been an attempted suicide.

According to –“.

Michael threw the tabloid on the floor and fought the instinct to set it on fire on the spot. He was in a hospital, after all. Pinching the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he exhaled a long sigh and blindly reached over to Lisa’s hand, resting motionlessly on the bed.

“Please remind me to tell the nurses not to leave any tabloids in the room. We don’t need any of that shit… I don’t even know why the fuck I was reading it anyway, so the joke’s actually on me”.

Delicately, he lifted Lisa’s hand and kissed it, again and again, nuzzling her soft skin with his beard.

“You never really told me what you think of me… Of the way I look now, the way I am now…”. His voice was soft and hoarse, fatigued. He hadn’t slept well in over 72 hours, and stress and tiredness were taking a massive toll on him. His back, rigid and sore, felt like it had been beaten with a baseball bat. He was also forcing himself to eat, something he didn’t want but felt like he needed to do to keep his sturdy physical appearance unspoiled. It was becoming a chore.

“Sometimes I wonder, you know? If you still… I don’t know, if you still see, in me, the man I used to be. The man you fell in love with. If you still like me. I do know you love me, Lisa…”, he kissed the back of her hand and let his lips rest there. “But do you still like me? Because… I’m afraid all these demons I couldn’t get rid of… they poured themselves into you. I believe they did”.

He stared at her as if waiting for an answer that couldn’t come, his bloodshot eyes huge and glossy, almost delirious.

“…Did I do this? Did I do this to you? Is it because of me that you…”.

His voice trailed off, and his eyelids fluttered closed and, for the umpteenth time, he fought the urge to cry. He knew he had to be strong.

Michael was convinced that Lisa was there, somewhere, and that she could hear and feel what was going on. That’s why he needed to pay attention, to control himself as best as he could, to only shower her with his love and hope and prayers and good vibes and promises of a future. A future better than this ugly, dangerous, dark present.

“I am sorry, baby. This is bullshit. I guess I’m just tired. We shouldn’t be talking about this. Not now, anyway…”. He scooted his chair closer to the bed, and his lips moved to Lisa’s temple now, kissing her softly. “Let me make it better, sweetheart. You know what? I had a surprise in store for you. I was waiting for you to come back to Scotland… to tell you”.

He caressed her face, very gently.

“Given the circumstances, I’ll make an exception and tell you right now. See? I’m not always a stubborn asshole”. He let out a soft smile, but his eyes remained incredibly sad. “So… Listen up. Here it is. I have found our house, Lise. I’ve found the perfect home… for you and me. I also got pictures. But since you’re sleeping now, let me break it down for you”.

His fingers now moved to her head, the part of her where the war had been going on, the most fragile part of her. Which was a contradiction incarnated, since Lisa had always been hardheaded and stubborn. But, apparently, their lives had always been full of paradoxes, contradictions, absurdities and sometimes bitter ironies. It would have even been funny if it hadn’t been so tragic.

Michael carefully stroked Lisa’s hair, the soft, silky texture as painful as a blade cutting through his skin.

“You won’t believe it, but it’s a really nice house. I know, it might sound incredible, but it looks like the architect who built it had someone like you in mind. And maybe me, too, a tiny bit… We’ll have to move, though… from Peterhead to Musselburgh. But don’t worry Lise, it won’t be a problem… I swear to god, I’d carry you myself if necessary. Bridal style. Like I’ve always loved to do, remember? Trust me… I won’t… I won’t let you fall… Never again”.

He paused and bit down on his bottom lip, just looking at her, hoping for a miracle. Praying that she would just open her eyes and bitch about the fact that he had chosen their house without even a second thought and – above all – without her knowing it. As usual.

In that very moment, Michael would have paid for her to open her eyes and scold him.

It didn’t happen. Lisa stayed still, like a beautiful statue, her gorgeous face apparently relaxed, her eyes closed. Michael sighed and kissed her on the cheek, a feathery kiss.

He cleared his throat and raked his fingers through his hair.

“So… um, it’s contemporary, but built in traditional Scottish style and it’s very close to the sea. I made sure of that, Lise, ‘cause I know you love it. We’ll take beautiful pictures, right? Like the ones we took in Peterhead…  It’s huge, too… more than 8,000 square feet total… so… you know… when the kids visit us… when they –“, he swallowed, “they can play. In the garden. There are a magnificent marble-floored hall and a sweeping oak split staircase… you’ll love it. Me, I like the kitchen. Because it’s really big, and I can already imagine us getting frisky in there. And everywhere else… you know how I get when you’re around. Uh, by the way, Lise… you should see the lounging area overlooking the garden, with the giant oak tree. Our new kissing tree, just like at Neverland. So romantic. And the master bedroom… God, babe, you’ll see, we’re gonna be so naughty in there”.

He bestowed another kiss on the corner of Lisa’s mouth. His eyes felt sore and, once again, he fought against the need to cry. The beep, beep, beep of the machines monitoring her heartbeat, her breathing. The tick-tock of the clock on the wall.

“Anyway… you know why I know it’s the right house for us? Because there’s a nicely equipped private recording studio in the western wing. For you. For your songs. You’re so talented, baby, you shouldn’t give up on music. And I can help you if you’ll ever want me to. Plus… guess what? I’m not even joking. Apparently, the previous owners were an opera singer… a soprano… and a classical dancer. They moved to England and sold the house. And that’s why there’s also a dance studio. Can you imagine, baby girl? It’ll be like living in Hidden Hills once again. Only better. And I’ll even dance for you if you want me to, I promise… I tried, you know? I can still do it”.

He stroked her head.

“It’s a done deal. It’s ready for us. It was made for us. We just need to go back home. And that’s why… that’s why you gotta open your eyes, baby girl. Today’s the big day. Get ready. Rest some more and then wake up, Lise. I ain’t giving up on you, ever, so just wake up and look at me”.

“I love it. Where do I sign?”.

Michael grinned appreciatively, his eyes wandering around the private recording studio. The equipment was mainly top notch – just a little improvement here and there, and he was pretty sure he could set the room up perfectly for Lisa. He wanted her to have the chance write and record some new songs if she wanted to, and in all honesty, he couldn’t wait to hear them. A little push in that direction surely wasn’t going to hurt.

Lisa’s music had always been a free window to her soul; a medium used to express what spoken words weren’t able to convey. Michael himself had understood so much through her songs. How angry she had been with him, and the reasons why she was disappointed… but also the love that she still felt for him through the years, against all the odds. It was hidden there, beneath the surface of anger, resentment and hurt. At some point in their long, on and off relationship, Michael had started to learn more about his ex-wife through her songs than through their limping, uneasy conversations, scattered amongst their all-consuming, intense, hot sexual encounters.

“I take it you like the idea of having a private recording studio, Mister Murphy. I didn’t know you were interested in music”.

Michael kept staring at the console and smiled slyly, an amused expression on his face.

“Actually, I am not,” he lied. “But my lady is… so this one’s for her, really”.

He looked up at the realtor.

“I think I’ve found what I was looking for.”

Miss Carroll smiled at him, very widely, nodding her head. She was an attractive forty-something woman, and Michael had a feeling she had a weakness for him. It was the third time he saw her: first, he had contacted her and met her in her office in Edinburgh, where she had shown him several mansions that had the potential to be interesting for him and Lisa. The second time, she had shown him a house in Aberfeldy that was a tiny bit too similar to Neverland to attract him. In fact, the property had made him feel uncomfortable. Sadly, Michael was no longer able to link Neverland to only pleasurable memories – those were there, sure, but so were the many reminiscences of intense pain, disappointment, and abuse he had endured over the last, frantic years of existence of his public persona.

No. He was looking for something different – something reminding him of a precise moment in his life when, theoretically, everything could have been perfect. Also, something less grandiose than his former property – for obvious reasons. Lying low was undoubtedly an aspect of his new life that couldn’t be ignored.

He and miss Carroll had therefore met once again, and this time the realtor had hit the bull’s eye with a mansion that Michael felt had been built from a figment of his and Lisa’s imagination.

“What’s the name of this property, again?”, he had asked her, while his fingers skimmed lightly on the mixing board, on those knobs and levers he knew precisely how to use to generate the most beautiful melodies.

“It’s Ròs House… With means the house of roses”.

Michael felt his heart tingle, remembering how many times he had showered Lisa with bouquets of roses… those flowers had witnessed the rollercoaster that their love for one another had been. White and pure, reverent and secret at the very beginning; then red, like their untamable passion and courageous devotion; pink to underline their moments of perfect and undiluted happiness; yellow, to communicate intense jealousy; coral red to express their undying carnal desire. And finally blue, symbolizing an unattainable, impossible love.

“Perfect,” Michael said, his eyes remote.

“So, Mister Murphy, I understand that you want to close the deal without your fiancée being present?”. Miss Carroll’s voice couldn’t hide a slightly frivolous undertone. She was on a fishing expedition, and Michael perceived it. He played aloof – an art he had mastered for his entire life.

“Yes, Miss Carroll. My fiancée is currently in Tennessee for a business trip, but she’ll be back soon. And I want this to be a surprise”.

The woman rose an eyebrow.

“Well, another confirmation that she’s a very lucky lady, then… Let me show you the final part of the house”.

“No need. I’ve already made up my mind”.

Miss Carroll smiled at him and started walking out of the room.

“I can see that. But it’s my job to show you the entire property. And the last room is peculiar… you might want to have it refurbished”.

Her swaying her noticeable butt suggestively while walking in front of him did nothing for Michael.

Amateur! The lady had no idea that his fiancée had the absolute best asset in that department. Plus, she also had his heart – and no other woman was going to have access to him.

And so, he had finally seen the dance studio – something he was not prepared to. He stayed at the entrance, his mouth slightly open, fighting the urge to remove his glasses to observe, with his very eyes and nothing in between, the room inundated by the natural light of the afternoon.

It was perfect. Practically a replica of his private dance studio at Hidden Hills, only slightly smaller. The wooden floor looked brand new; the mirrors were spotless, every detail flawless. Michael’s heartbeat raced in his chest, as the old pull found its space within his soul. That desire to dance he was born with, and he had once lived for. It was the first time it indeed resurfaced since 2009. Michael knew it was because his heart was finally at peace.

“See, the previous owner was a classical dancer, working for the Royal Opera House in London, the Saint Davis Hall in Cardiff and theatres all over the United Kingdom. Recently he moved to England with his wife, and that’s why this amazing property is up for sale, now. It’s a great mansion… Practically new. They didn’t spend much time at home”.

Michael’s mask slid back into place.

“I understand. Well, I could always turn this studio into a gym. You know… or a weight room”.

He noticed the woman’s eyes quickly roam up and down his body.

“It could be an option. And you wouldn’t even need to renovate it. You’d just have to put your, um, equipment in the right place”. Her look suggested that she had a reasonably clear idea of where Michael’s equipment should be put.

He gave her a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“So…”, Miss Carroll cocked her head to a side and sighed, “You want me to get the papers?”.

“Definitely. I want the deal to be closed as soon as possible”.

“Well then, let me go get them, they’re in my car. I will be right back”.

Alone in the studio, Michael took his time to observe and take in every detail quickly. Then his gaze fell on the image reflected in the mirror. In front of him stood a 58-year old guy that resembled his old self somehow, and yet was utterly different. He stared at his feet, remembering that he was wearing loafers that day. Talk about opportunity!

Maybe he could… – But no. He was so out of shape. Too old. Way heavier than he needed to be to dance. Make it about 55 pounds heavier than his former self. A 180-libs art dealer versus a 125-libs professional dancer. There was no match, really, and yet… Maybe he could… Try.

His entire body moved on autopilot, and he slid, literally glided weightlessly on the wooden floor. His movements almost as smooth as he remembered them to be, he moonwalked in a perfectly square-shaped motion, his arms and hands and every muscle in his body following flawlessly. It was automatic, wholly natural and, all the while, he stared at himself in the mirror. When he stilled his movements, a full smile appeared on his face and the image of his younger self, overlapped to his reflection. The mind of a human being could be incredible that way. Michael was there, in the here and now, and yet he was somewhere else, in the past. In his dance studio at Hidden Hills, on a late autumn afternoon, after having danced his heart out for hours.

He remembered that day very well: he was emotionally sore after his first real fight with Lisa, a few months into their marriage. It was nothing, really – he would have learned, with time, that two pigheaded partners could clash and yet still love one another just the same, or maybe even more – and yet he was miffed.

Thus, he had gone to the studio and danced, and danced and danced, sweating out his frustrations and sadness. The early afternoon had turned into an orange-tinted evening when Lisa had finally appeared at the door.

He had seen her, out of the corner of his eye, leaning against the door frame, her arms crossed over her chest and those bright cerulean eyes he could so quickly drown into, impenetrable and apparently unreadable. He had decided to ignore her and had kept on dancing, oblivious to everything but the dance itself.

Eventually, as the music playing in the background started to fade out, she had slowly stepped into the room. Michael had thrown her a glance and had walked over to a nearby bench, dabbing the sweat from his face with a towel. His white V-neck t-shirt was drenched and he had taken it off, letting it fall on the bench and grabbing a clean one.

“Can I come in?”. Lisa’s voice was calm and even.

“You’re already in.” Michael had done his best to sound neutral. But the truth was, he was so happy to have her there. He wanted nothing more than patch things up with her.

Wasting no time, and in perfect accordance with her straightforward personality, Lisa had moved closer, entering his personal space while staring up at him, her eyes softening. She had taken the clean t-shirt from his hand and had placed it back on the bench.

“Lisa… Careful, I’m all sweaty”. Suddenly, even his voice sounded more relaxed.

“I know… I love you like this”. She had glided her hands on his naked chest, and Michael had felt the air tighten around them. His body had immediately responded to her touch. It happened every time. Lisa’s fingers had slid behind his neck, raking through his damp hair and she had pulled him down to her mouth, kissing him softly on the lips.

“I am sorry, baby…”, she had whispered. “I didn’t wanna fight.”

He had placed his hands on her waist, loving the feeling of her warm skin through the thin fabric of her t-shirt. Closing his eyes, he had smiled against her lips and reciprocated her kisses.

“Me neither… And I am sorry, too”.

“Let me make it up to you…”. Her voice was almost inaudible, while the temperature of her body seemed to rise by the second.

“You don’t have anything to…“.

Michael’s voice had trailed off as her hand reached down in between them, finding him already hard and ready. Some parts of his body not only didn’t hold any grudges but also had no shame.

“Baby…”, he had sounded just slightly out of breath, and it had nothing to do with having danced for hours.

“Let me make it up to you,” Lisa had repeated, her soft voice in perfect contrast with the firm grip she now had on his painful erection. Michael had swallowed hard, his heart racing into his chest, as she began to rub him through the fabric of his sweater pants.

As she started to kiss his neck, accompanying her lips with butterfly caresses of her fingertips, her other hand had reached into his gym pants, taking him, holding him, stroking him the way she knew he loved. Michael had shuddered in anticipation.

Lisa’s kisses had traced a path down his chest, on his stomach and sides, and his muscles had twitched under her lips. Slowly, she had kneeled in front of him and had looked up, piercing him with her eyes as she gently pulled his pants down just enough to have what she needed within reach.

“Watch me, Mike… Don’t look away”.

His chin almost touching his collarbone, Michael had stared at his wife kissing him, licking him lovingly and finally taking him into the warmth of her mouth and had fought hard to keep his eyes open. Electrical shocks ran through each one of his nerve endings. He had taken a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his hand on Lisa’s head now, guiding her movements, the pleasure already unbearable. He was at her mercy, and it felt so good.

Lisa had let him go for a moment, still stroking him slowly, giving him the time to regain a bit of self-control. All the while, her eyes had never left his.

“You like what you see, mister?”. Her voice raspy, that sexy drawl more evident now, just like the hot, smoldering looks she gave him. She was just as turned on as he was. Lisa loved to go down on him just like he loved to go down on her. It had always been that way – a pure, complete attraction, acceptance and adoration of the other’s body.

“Fuck, yes,” he had replied, gently urging her to take him into her mouth again. Of course, she had complied, and he had thrown his head back, the expression on his face of perfect, ecstatic rapture. Then he had suddenly remembered that they were in a room where all the walls were mirrors. He had opened his eyes again, welcomed by a seamless view of what she was doing to him from every angle. He had jerked and flinched in pleasure as Lisa kept inflicting the sweetest torture imaginable, both with her hands and her mouth, knowing exactly how to stimulate him, to pleasure him, to suck him and touch him, to slowly push him towards the abyss of his physical and emotional fulfillment.

Lisa’s hand had reached back and had rested on his ass, inviting him to take the lead. Michael knew what it meant. The intoxicating feeling of sexual power and dominance was something he reveled in, and even though he was well aware that the roles were reversed, and he could only do what she allowed him to, the sudden sensation was always empowering and thrilling.

Sighing and moaning, he had bit down on his bottom lip, lowering her gaze on her.

“That’s it, baby… come on… Take it. Just like that”.

He knew he pushed her to the limit, but he was also sure she was game – they knew each other’s body like their own and, when it came to sex, almost everything was not only allowed but cherished like a precious thing, a valuable way to communicate on an even deeper level.

She had held him in his hand and kissed him thoroughly.

“You look even sexier when I’m down on my knees… Tell me how good it feels. I want to hear you say it”.

“It feels amazing…”. Michael’s voice came out a bit strained. “I love it when you go down on me… Keep going, baby girl…”.

Dominance and submission. The overlying and slight interchange of roles had the power to turn on the heat even more, for both of them.

Letting him go for a moment, she had gently started to kiss and nibble at his pelvic bones and lower abdomen, sending shivers down his spine.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to have you in my mouth…”.

He had chuckled, breathlessly.

“Yeah?”.

Lisa’s eyes had looked up at him, mischievously.

“Yeah. I don’t know why, but you turn me on even when you piss me off, big man”.

“Well, that’s… convenient…ah”. He had gasped, feeling her mouth closing on him once again. “Oh yeah… there you go… good girl…”.

His choice of words, which had been entirely natural and not planned, had been appreciated and Lisa’s moans and purrs had reverberated into him like a diapason. He had started to shake, his legs trembling.

“Baby… oh, fucking shit! I’m about to come”.

She had grasped his ass more decidedly, keeping him in place, wordlessly telling him what she wanted him to do, the clamping of her mouth on him deadly, now. Resistance was futile, and he had just let go, allowing himself to climax in her mouth, making himself drown in the most intimate contact ever, yelping and sighing and cursing, almost crumbling under the forceful assault of his powerful orgasm. He knew that he was the only man Lisa allowed to do anything of that sort to her and, once again, the heady feeling of triumph and completion had heightened his pleasure even more. There was absolutely no other place he wanted to be, no other woman he needed.

He was helplessly in love.

Breathing heavily, he had pulled her up and kissed her, again and again, and then, never letting go of her lips, had picked her up and had started walking to the door.

Lisa had laughed.

“Hey! What are you doing? You’re such a punk!”.

“What? I’m just dragging my lovely wife to my den…”.

She had chuckled again and had buried her face in the crook of his neck, her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Michael caught a glimpse of Miss Carroll at the door and snapped out of his reverie. Good thing, since the risk of getting all sprung and bothered, was more than realistic. He beamed at the realtor, very politely.

“All set?”. All the while, he extracted a fountain pen from the breast pocket of his jacket.

“Yes.”

Miss Carroll held a folder in her hands.

“You know, Mister Murphy, I think I’ve finally realized who you are.”

Michael’s eyes remained calm and passive.

“You did?”.

“Yes… I’ve read something online, and I believe you’re Miss Presley’s fiancé. Am I right? That’s why your face looks familiar”.

“Yeah, it must be because of that.”

“A fiancée interested in music, and currently in Tennessee for business… it was like all these random bits suddenly connected into my mind”.

Michael just grinned and played with his pen.

“So… are we moving to the kitchen to look at the papers?”.

“Sure. How is Miss Presley, by the way?”.

“Very well, thank you, Miss Carroll.”

“She’ll love this property.”

“I’m sure she will.”

“Mister Murphy?”.

“Yes?”.

“How does it feel? You know… being the partner of someone so famous?”.

“Ah… I wouldn’t know.  We don’t pay attention to that. We live a pretty ordinary life”.

Miss Carroll laughed.

Michael was almost dozing off, and yet his voice couldn’t stop humming a melody to Lisa. His chin resting on the mattress, his hand rhythmically stroking her head, he kept his eyes closed and muttered a tune, hoping she would hear somehow. Hoping his voice could bring her back to him.

At first, he didn’t even register Priscilla’s presence. He realized she was in the room when she shuffled her feet slightly, and then cleared her throat. Michael stilled his movements and went quiet suddenly. Then, too exhausted to worry about his former mother-in-law, he straightened his sore back and turned to her.

“Mrs. Presley… I didn’t hear you come in”.

She was standing by the door, her ice-blue eyes moving from Lisa to him. She gave him a strained smile. She looked tired.

“It’s Priscilla for you, Ethan. I told you. Nice to see you again, by the way. I was hoping you would stop by… There’s still a room waiting for you at my house”.

Michael stood up and unrolled the sleeves of his shirt.

“Ah… Yes. I am sorry I haven’t had the chance to talk to you personally about that, it’s just…”.

“Yes, Riley told me you didn’t want to leave Lisa Marie’s side.”

“Exactly.”

“I appreciate and understand.”

Michael nodded his head and studied her.

“Well…”, Priscilla walked over and caressed her daughter’s cool forehead. “Since doctor Collins is coming over to check on her, and the awakening process will take a few hours, you might come home with me and take a shower, maybe rest properly for a moment. We can also have your clothes washed, dried and ironed”.

Michael made a face. Priscilla did have a point. He had taken quick showers in the bathroom of Lisa’s room, but he knew he looked like shit. And probably didn’t smell as good as he would have liked.

“Don’t you want to look at your best for my daughter?”.

Priscilla’s voice was weaker than usual and, for the first time in his life, Michael noticed a definite hint of fragility and pure fear on her face. Apparently, the lady was human after all. He felt honest compassion for her.

Sighing, he smoothed down his crumpled vest.

“I suppose you’re right. But I’d like to have a word with doctor Collins before we leave”.

“Sure. I’ve already spoken to him. You go. I’ll stay with Lisa Marie”.

Michael half-smiled, politely.

“OK. And… thanks for your hospitality, Priscilla. I appreciate that”.

She stared at him for a moment and then, unexpectedly, squeezed his hand for the shortest instant.

“Thank you for being here for my daughter.”

Then she just sat down on the chair he had occupied for so many hours, her eyes lost in thought, both her hands cradling Lisa’s. Michael furrowed his eyebrows and blinked, seeing his former mother-in-law under a different light, for the very first time. Lisa’s accident had taken a toll on Priscilla, and she looked suddenly older, thinner, fragile. Nothing like the unbreakable ice queen he had come to know through the years.

Shaking his head briefly, he walked out of the door and found doctor Collins waiting for him in the corridor, checking something on his tablet.

“Good morning, doctor.”

“Mister Murphy… Hello”, Collins studied him carefully, “You look tired.”

“I’m good. But I was planning to leave for a couple of hours and freshen up properly”.

“It’s a great idea. Miss Presley will need some more time to regain complete consciousness, anyway. You can take a well-deserved break, and we’ll keep monitoring her”.

“How long do you think it will take for her to wake up? I don’t wanna miss the moment”. The lack of control over things that were important to him was still incredibly frustrating for Michael. That had not changed.

“Well, every patient is unique. What I can tell you is that the swelling in Lisa’s brains has reduced significantly during the last three days, just like we expected, and that her system has effectively flushed out any residual trace of drugs and alcohol”.

Michael frowned.

“Are you saying that she doesn’t have an addiction?”.

Doctor Collins had shrugged his shoulders.

“According to our new blood tests and to the number of substances we found, or better, lack thereof, she doesn’t. Not from a physical point of view, anyway. I would say she had only recently started to take anti-anxiety medications. From a merely clinical point of view, there is no trace of long-term use whatsoever. Same thing with alcohol. The amount in her blood was not alarming, per se, but of course, the fact that she had mixed it with her medications was not good. It is necessary that we assess her psychological conditions once she feels better, though”.

“Yeah… I understand”.

Oh, he understood alright. Lisa had started taking pills only after leaving Scotland.

“She is, all in all, a healthy woman. And her body has been responding very well to our treatment. Technically speaking, her head injury has to be considered mild and can still be defined as Glasgow Coma Score 13-15, which it’s not a bad thing at all… because these patients tend to do very well and often recover completely. Most of them suffer no residual effects. The fact that Miss Presley can breathe on her own and does not need a ventilator is another good sign”.

“Which means that she’ll be back to normal right away?”. Michael couldn’t hide the hopeful expression in his eyes and doctor Collins half-smiled at him.

“Well, it depends on what you mean by ‘right away.’ She will still need to be closely monitored for several days. Traumas like the one she suffered must be taken very seriously, that’s for sure”.

“That’s for sure,” Michael replied mechanically, trying to stifle the soaring hope into his heart and doing his best to stay focused and rational.

“What I can tell you is that, for people with mild brain swelling like Lisa, the mortality rate is less than 2%. We have no reason to believe she won’t wake up completely in the next six, maximum twelve hours. Of course, a period of confusion and disorientation often follows any traumatic brain injury. Agitation, nervousness, restlessness or frustration could also appear”.

“Well… she’s usually kinda like that anyway, so I don’t know if that counts…”, Michael said, clearing his throat.

Doctor Collins chuckled.

“I see. I just want to make sure that you, and the rest of her family, understand very well that uncharacteristic behavior may occur. Once again, if everything goes as we believe it will, Miss Presley will gradually but steadily get better. To answer your question, patients like Lisa can recover completely in about six months”.

Closing his eyes, Michael threw his head back and tried hard to relax. His muscles felt sore and stiff as if he had run for miles for days, without a break. The water sprayed on his face, and he raked his fingers through his hair, exhaling a long sigh. He did his best to enjoy the warm shower, trying not to think about the fact that the only thing he wanted was to go back to the hospital.

Lisa was waking up, and he needed to be there for her, with her.

He knew very well that the first faces she would see after opening her eyes were going to be those of the nurses and the doctors, but he wanted to make sure that Lisa knew that he was there, too. He, and her family. Not for a second, she had to think that he had abandoned her.

Michael stayed in the shower for a long time. After arriving at Priscilla’s, he had excused himself politely and, once in his room, and he had collapsed face down on the bed, falling into a dreamless, pitch-black sleep almost immediately. He had woken up after an hour, disoriented and confused, scratching his head and wondering, for a minute, where the fuck he was and why he was not at Lisa’s bedside.

Then he had remembered. Priscilla’s invitation and her last words before he had gone to his room: “Can I have a word with you, after you rest?”.

Michael had nodded his head.

“Absolutely, Priscilla.”

He had detected a strange look in her eyes but was way too exhausted to pay too much attention to it. Whatever it was that Priscilla wanted to say to him, he needed to be clear-minded and a bit more refreshed first. He was pretty sure the ice-queen was still a force to be reckoned with, after all, even if she apparently loved Ethan Murphy.

Michael trimmed his beard and mustache and shaved his neckline, combed his hair back with his fingers and some wax and methodically applied his cologne. He wanted to look and smell nice for Lisa. Then he got dressed in the last clean clothes he had in his duffel bag – everything else, the Presley staff had confiscated to have it washed and ironed.

Throwing a last glance to the mirror – did he look ordinary and believable enough in his black slacks and jacket and simple, white button-down shirt? – he walked out of the room and climbed down the stairs.

As if she had read his mind, Priscilla was waiting for him in the hall.

“Ethan… you look much better. Come, let’s have some tea. We’ll be driving back to the hospital in a little while”.

Wordlessly, he had followed her into the kitchen, noticing that no staff was around. It was just the two of them.

Priscilla, her stance as straight as an arrow, almost rigid, turned her back to him and got busy at the kitchen counter.

“Please, have a seat.”

Her tone was courteous and polite but held an undercurrent that didn’t allow any refusal.

Michael sat down at the kitchen table and studied her cautiously. Where was all of this going?

“Did you get some rest? Are you hungry? Do you want me to cook something for you?”.

“I did sleep for a while, thank you, Priscilla… for your hospitality. And no, I’m fine, thanks”.

“You know… we Southerners are welcoming by nature”.

It might depend on the color of your guest, but OK, interesting concept of hospitality, Michael thought. He still remembered the contempt Priscilla had bestowed on him when she had realized what was going on between him and Lisa. The black boy from Indiana surely wasn’t going to put his claws on her lily-white baby girl.

“Yes, I’ve heard of that,” he replied, grinning.

“I wanted to talk to you about Lisa Marie’s conditions…”. Priscilla placed a cup of tea in front of him and then sat down across the table, clasping her hands in front of her.

“Did the hospital call? Is everything alright?”. Michael did his best to make his voice sound calm and collected. Inside, he was panicking.

Priscilla blinked her eyelids and sighed.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean that. Yes, everything is just the way it was when we left… which means good. I was talking about Lisa’s paranoia. Did you know anything about it?”.

Straight to the point. Michael frowned.

“Paranoia…? No, she didn’t say anything to me… why? What happened?”.

“Well, a little while after coming back here, Lisa has started to show some worrying signs of… obsession. Especially during the last couple of weeks, she told me she was convinced that someone was after her… following her around. Keeping tabs on her movements. We spoke about it because she thought it was the Church… or worse”.

Under the table, Michael’s hands closed in fists.

“And was it?”.

Priscilla’s eyes kept studying him in a very subtle way.

“No, it wasn’t. I’m leaving the church, something that is not known to the public yet, but I still have contacts amongst its ranks who can help me out if I ever need it. I immediately perceived Lisa’s behavior as worrisome, and I conducted some investigations by myself, without her knowing. I wanted to find out if there was any truth in what she said”.

“Was there?”. Michael’s voice sounded calm. The calm before the storm.

“No.” Priscilla paused and let out a joyless smile. “It was all in her head. I believe what happened is that she had a nervous breakdown. And I know… I do know, deep down in my heart, why she did”.

Michael didn’t reply.

Priscilla sighed.

“It was the predictable end of a long ongoing process. One may think that what happened with her latest husband has something to do with Lisa Marie’s emotional fallout, and they wouldn’t be entirely wrong. The fact is, she was married to that man for ten years, and he sucked her dry. Took advantage of her. It took me a while to accept that he used my daughter… but eventually, well… I caught up”. She grimaced. It was hard, for her, to admit that she had been wrong all along. Lisa had told Michael how her mother had contributed in pushing she and husband number 4 together, how she had used her influence on her daughter to, once again, impact her decisions. It was nothing new for Michael – Priscilla had played a huge role in destroying his and Lisa’s marriage, too.

“Truth is… once you reach a certain age, you’re somehow forced to re-evaluate your behavior and try to take stock of your life. And I realize that… well, my perception of things might have not always been… correct”.

Michael squared his jaw and stared at the cup of tea on the table, his stomach suddenly closed.

“I have seen my daughter’s health and well-being deteriorate during the last seven years… maybe even longer than that. For a long time, I decided just to pretend it was not happening. You know, Ethan… Believe it or not, I’ve always wanted the absolute best for Lisa Marie. The trauma she suffered when her father passed away has haunted her for her entire life and somehow influenced her choices… especially when it came to men”.

No, you influenced her, Michael thought. Or at least, you always try so hard, until she heeds your advice. He didn’t say anything, though. He just stirred his tea, quietly, his eyes transfixed on the delicate porcelain cup.

“She was probably too young when she got married the first time… and problems arose quickly. Her second marriage – well, as I am sure you know, was to the most famous man on the planet and I still believe my concern back then was more than justified. Lisa Marie thought she was equipped to face the circus that his life was… but the truth was, she was not. And I think Mr. Jackson eventually realized that, too”.

She paused for a moment, letting her words simmer, and Michael threw her a neutral glance. Then his gaze fell back on his cup of tea. It somehow felt much safer than staring at the beast right in the eyes.

“Her third marriage happened, once again, too quickly and, I suppose, also as a form of retribution regarding some… um, private matters that were going on in Lisa Marie’s life at that time”.

Michael’s eyebrow rose slightly. He put the spoon back on the saucer, very carefully. Oh yeah. Lisa’s marriage to Cage had been the result of a pure act of retaliation, desperation and an attempt to get Michael out of her system. It hadn’t worked out that great – since she was back in his bed only a few days after the wedding.

“I’m not even going to talk about her fourth husband since I believe his actions speak louder than words. The point is – I know, now, that not only he was unable to help Lisa Marie, but he also weighed her down. And she was already dealing with so much…”.

Finally, Michael looked up at her, and they stared at each other for what seemed an eternity.

“My daughter was never the same after her second husband passed away,” Priscilla said, very evenly. “…Until you appeared”.

Michael swallowed. His entire body felt numb. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

“So now there’s you…”. She blinked her eyelids, very slowly, her face an unreadable mask, the air around them suddenly so thick that it could have been cut with a knife. “How should I call you? Ethan… Or Michael?”.

His lips felt parched, and he honestly didn’t know what to say.

Priscilla rested her hands, palm flat, on the table and she stared at him with her ice-cold eyes.

“Please, remove your glasses.”

“I… um.”

“Please.” Her voice softened a tiny bit.

Aware of the thin layer of sweat now covering his forehead, Michael complied. He took off his glasses, carefully placed them on the table, and then looked up at Priscilla again.

Her eyes bore into his, and he felt frozen in place.

Then Priscilla slowly let out a long sigh and the expression on her face, up until that point practically unreadable, changed, showing… relief?

“I never thought I would say this, but…”, she whispered, pinching the bridge of her nose, “…Thank goodness. Thank god it’s you”.

What?

Michael snapped out of his freezing state and squinted, cautiously.

“Priscilla, I…”.

Her eyes still closed, she grinned weakly hearing his voice, his real voice and showed him the palm of her hand.

“I don’t want to hear anything right now. I need you to let me finish, first”.

Michael closed his mouth and exhaled a shaky breath.

Priscilla collected herself and took a sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving his, as if she needed a minute to accept the reality in front of her.

“Michael… You haven’t seen, first hand, how hard Lisa took your…”. She shook her head. “…I thought she would never get better. Then somehow, it looked like she did, but the truth was, a part of her had just withered and died. A huge part of who she was. And I realize now; I had contributed to that. So, I started to wonder… what if I had just supported her? What if I had just given you two a chance, and acted accordingly? I thought you didn’t love her, that you had ulterior motives to want her, but eventually, even I have come to realize the honesty of your feelings. I did not like you one tiny bit, but I also have to say that I never did anything to truly get to know you or to change my mind about you. And… You gave me a chance to… More than once”.

Yes. He had tried, so hard, despite the hurt and confusion realizing the disdain, Priscilla felt for him, to give her all the space, time and opportunity to get indeed to know him. To understand that he, indeed, loved her daughter. But Priscilla had never walked through that open door. She had always chosen to remain outside, judging him.

“I thought you wanted a trophy wife. That you wanted to score the Presley girl. Elvis’ daughter. Like a prize. It never occurred to me that you had chosen her for who she was. I thought you only wanted her for her DNA… she would have been the perfect mother for your children, after all”.

Michael winced, the memory of the miscarriage Lisa had suffered still so painful and present.

“Then you did the unthinkable. You had your kids with someone else… someone who didn’t hold any social or musical prestige. That was when my certainties started to crumble. But even then, you were just so… unpredictable, Michael. I couldn’t trust you. And the only thing I would see, every day when you and Lisa were not together, was my daughter’s pain”.

Michael closed his eyes. He had to admit Priscilla had a point, there. He had suffered because of Lisa, because of the string of losers she had at some points chosen to string along, but he had hurt her too, several times, and mercilessly. Being a father himself, and being older, he now knew where Priscilla’s grudge came from.

“And yet here you are, again. I have to presume you no longer hold any power or influence”.

“I don’t,” Michael said, his voice revealing a hint of bitterness.

“I do not intend to dig into the reasons why you decided just to disappear. They do not concern me. I am a businesswoman myself, and I’ve been in this business long enough to imagine you must have had some good reasons to do what you did”.

“Yes,” he merely replied, his face now back at being a calm mask.

“What I do want to know is… is my daughter safe with you? Are you in danger?”.

“She is. I am not in danger. Not anymore”. Michael stared at her, thoughtfully, and watched her contemplate his words.

“You have no reason to be back. You can’t marry her, obviously, because it would put your new identity at risk. You don’t need her money because I know you’re still wealthy. Right now, probably wealthier than she is. So, what other reason would you have to come back to her other than… the fact that you truly love her?”

Michael could almost see the wheels spinning sharply in her head.

“…Michael, do you love Lisa Marie?”.

“Very much.” He squared his jaw and swallowed back the emotions flooding his chest.

Priscilla exhaled a sigh, and her entire stance relaxed.

“Then be there for her. I can tell you’ve changed, too. I’ve come to realize that she’s always needed you. Now she also needs to heal. She needs to find peace. I want to be there to see her get finally better and this time I know, you can help her. I also understand that you were never Lisa’s enemy… And that is why I am no longer yours”.

For a moment, Michael wondered if he was still asleep in his room and this was all a dream. Because it sure as hell felt like a parallel universe. He was speechless.

“I am going to tell you now what I should have probably told you back then. Take care of my daughter… Or I swear to god, I will fuck you up. And I won’t even need to reveal your real identity to do it, so don’t even start worrying about that…”. He saw every trace of weakness disappear from her face, her polite tone only slightly betraying her steel core. “Are we understood, Mr. Murphy?”.

“We are,” he simply replied, looking straight at her with a self-confidence that, for a moment, he hadn’t thought he could feel. “How did you find out? Was it during your investigation?”.

Priscilla sneered.

“Oh, no. Of course, I’ve managed to know more about you, but you are spotless. My investigators discovered nothing about you. A job well done, I have to say. It happened this morning… at the hospital. You were humming a melody for Lisa Marie, and you hadn’t realized I was in the room. Unless Ethan Murphy was a perfect Jackson’s impersonator, you were not who you said you were”.

New York, Beth Israel Medical Center North, December 1995

Lisa straightened her back and blinked her eyelids several times, trying to get rid of the red haze fogging her eyes.

“Mr. Morey. I can guarantee you that, as long as my husband does not tell me, personally, that he doesn’t want to see me, I am not going to leave this fucking hospital”.

Morey’s face looked flushed, his forehead gleaming with sweat. Lisa Marie Presley-Jackson was not someone you could underestimate and the tense mood she was in, clearly, was not helping. They had been trying to prevent her from entering Michael’s room for almost twenty minutes now, but she was not relenting.

Only 24 hours earlier, a shouting match had ended with Lisa storming out of the room and leaving the building. Her face pale, eyes huge, she had not uttered a single word after slamming the door shut behind her back.

Of course. She had just discovered that one of the many reasons – together with low blood pressure and dehydration – why her husband had collapsed was intense stress. And part of that stress was because he had come to know that his wife had just found out about Debbie’s pregnancy and miscarriage. Michael, the man who truly believed in marriage and family, had gotten another woman pregnant. In a lab, but still.

Lisa had been furious.

Apparently, she had miscalculated the nurse’s convincing powers and ability to interfere in someone else’s marriage, but also Michael’s determination to have a kid right there and then. A kid that, apparently, he believed Lisa was holding back from him for the sake of it, just because she could. Which was not at all was what it was about – and that infuriated her even more.

At the same time, she was worried stiff for him. Getting reliable information about her husband’s health had been torturous. Nobody, within his entourage, seemed to be willing to communicate with her. Her entourage and her mother were also doing their best to keep her away, all the while whispering in her ear. This is the right time to leave him, Lisa. He’s weak now, and he won’t have time to react. See? He’s impregnated a surrogate behind your back, Lisa, what kind of husband does that? How can you honestly believe he loves you?

All the fucking vultures around the two of them were suddenly ruffling their feathers. Each one of them had their agenda.

She had never felt more alone and isolated in her life.

He had never felt more lost and confused in his life.

After going back to their apartment at the Trump Towers, Lisa had spent the night awake, alternating moments of pure apathy with crying jags.

She had finally come to know, by secretly hiring a private investigator, not only about Rowe but also about the extent of Michael’s illness. He had collapsed on stage, at the Beacon Theatre, during rehearsals: that, she had known right from the start. Mainly because it was on national TV.

What she didn’t know, because someone was withholding information from her, was that he had gotten down suddenly, hitting his face on the grate of the stage, both hands by his side, his microphone still in one. The man she loved and currently wanted to strangle personally had fallen face-first onto a fucking metal grate, risking to break his skull in the process, and had been out cold, scaring to death the entire staff. Some of the people who were there had even wondered if he had suffered a heart attack.

Lisa was petrified, and the only thing she was aware of was the racehorse happening into her heart. Two horses were running: the first was Rage, and he had been at the top of his game for a while. But then Worry had caught up and now was winning, hands down.

Pushing her hurt and disappointment to a side, Lisa had realized that she had to go back to the hospital. She could not stand the idea of leaving Michael with the memory of her shouting at him, to the point that he had asked her to leave.

Now Lisa stared at Michael’s manager and doctors, waiting for them to grant her access to his husband’s room.

“Let me see him,” she repeated, her voice sounding calmer, now.

“Mr. Jackson needs rest and peace,” one of the doctors chimed him, trying to sound reasonable.

“I do too,” Lisa replied sternly. “And that’s why I have to see my husband. If he asks me to leave, I will, but until then, I know where my place is”.

Eventually, they had relented, and Lisa had observed the string of bodyguards and hospital personnel opening like the Red Sea in front of Moses. Quietly, and feeling all eyes on her, Lisa had pushed down the door handle to Michael’s room.

He was asleep, and she took some time to stare at him quietly, her eyes suddenly flooded with tears. She and Michael were drifting apart, and she had no idea what to do to avoid the laceration that, bit by bit, was tearing her heart to pieces.

Michael’s face was relaxed but ashen, his cheeks and chin showing the shadow of a three-day stubble. He looked sick but still otherworldly beautiful.

Lisa bit down on her bottom lip. Her soul shattered when she realized how much she loved him still, and how the mere idea of losing him held the power of effectively killing her.

She walked over to him and sat down on the chair by the bed, and he immediately opened his eyes, blinking. He turned his head to her, and she registered a slight surprise on his face.

“I thought you were gone for good.”

His voice sounded raspy.

Lisa sniffled.

“I can be… if you want me to”.

Michael diverted his gaze and sighed, his expression revealing infinite sadness. Blindly, he reached out and touched her forearm, and Lisa immediately covered his hand with hers.

“Why are you back? You gonna scold me some more?”.

She let out a humorless chuckle.

“No… It’s too late for that, anyway. The damage’s done”.

“Then why are you here?”.

“Because I love you. And I am so worried about you”.

Michael’s grip on her forearm tightened.

“Do you want me to go, Michael?”.

He finally looked at her.

“No, I don’t.”

She lifted his hand and kissed it, first the back, then the palm. He stared at her, and his eyes softened, as his fingers gently caressed her face. She leaned into his touch, and a single tear slid down her cheek. Michael caught it with his thumb and grimaced, her pain reverberating through him.

“Please… don’t cry”. How weak and hoarse his voice sounded. Lisa sniffled and took his hand, kissing his wrist now, with feathery kisses, detecting goosebumps under her lips.

“Did you eat anything?”.

“Yeah… I just had some jello. It tasted horrendous”.

Lisa scoffed, joylessly.

“Come here, baby…”, he mumbled.

She leaned over just as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and kissed him. His lips were soft and warm, and the natural scent of his skin immediately took her into its familiar embrace. Lisa’s heartbeat raced into her chest and, once again, she did everything in her power to stop the tears from falling.

“There are so many things we have to talk about…”, he said, actually surprising her. Michael didn’t like confrontations.

“Not now, though. You need to get better first. And then I will probably kick your ass”.

He caressed her face with his free hand and pulled her in for another kiss. And then another one. And another one.

“Can you at least believe me when I say that I love you, Lise?”. He pulled back just slightly to look at her and a painful pang slashed him when she cleared her throat and averted her gaze.

She smiled, uncomfortably, and blinked back the tears, rolling her eyes and exhaling a sigh.

“You know what I believe? That you need to shave”. She ran her fingertips over the raspy stubble on his chin. “Want me to help you out?”.

His heart rate kicked up a notch, and he felt glad for the sudden truce.

“You aren’t gonna slash my throat, are you?”.

She made a face and stood up, walking over to the bathroom.

“O ye of little faith… you are not aware of my immense talent as a barber, yet”.

She reemerged a couple of minutes later holding a razor, a bottle of shaving foam and a wet towel.

“Sit up and stand still.”

Wincing, he obeyed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You feel better today?”.

She started lathering his face with her fingers, her eyes avoiding his and focusing on the task instead. All the while, he watched her intently, his love for her soaring by the second. Despite the fights and the power struggles, those were the moments when he remembered why he had chosen her, why he had married her, why he wanted her.

“I do. Still a bit sore and weak, but I am getting better”.

“You do look better.”

She lifted his chin slightly.

“Hold still…”.

The light, raspy sound of the razorblade on his skin felt comforting, and Michael closed his eyes for a moment. Lisa noticed his Adam’s apple move and grinned, just slightly.

“Hold still…”, she repeated, in a whisper, running the blade along his jawline.

They stayed quiet until she finished shaving him. As she lovingly cleaned him up with the wet towel, she cocked her head to a side, then to the other, looking rather pleased with herself.

“There. All done. You’re back to being your old, nice and smooth self”.

He ran his hand on his cheek.

“Good job, indeed.”

“How does it feel?”, she asked softly. She was talking about the shaving, but also about something else, much more critical.

“A little closer to normal…”, Michael simply replied, looking up at her with his huge, dark eyes. Dangerous, gentle eyes that could rip you to shreds.

“OK, let me put these -“.

Lisa stepped back, and he took her hand, pulling her in instead and making her sit on the bed, next to him.

“Stay here. Lie down with me”.

“I am not sure it’s allowed to lie down with a patient,” she protested half-heartedly.

“I don’t care. Take off your shoes and come here. Hold me”.

Lisa complied, with a sigh. She lay down by his side and rested her head on Michael’s chest. She felt his arm around her shoulders and closed her eyes, listening to his slightly accelerated, steady heartbeat.

“Just hold me for a while…”, he whispered, kissing the top of her head, his lips lingering there.

The apocalypse was near, right outside the door, and they were pretending they were in a safe place.

The first thing Michael saw when he opened the door, as his heart drummed furiously in his throat, was Lisa’s cerulean eyes.

His legs suddenly felt weak, and he staggered for a moment, his hand automatically resting on the door frame.

Lisa blinked, repeatedly, and a barely visible smile grazed her lips. She was sitting up slightly on the bed, and her hand stroked the mattress as if inviting him to come closer.

Doctor Collins had welcomed him and Priscilla telling them that Riley and Ben had left only five minutes earlier, directed to a flower shop. They planned to inundate their mom’s room with flowers, and they were going to be back in a little bit.

Lisa had awakened.

The slow process of regaining complete consciousness had started a few hours earlier, and slowly but steadily she had succeeded, no problem whatsoever. Doctor Collins couldn’t hide the satisfied expression of a professional who has done his job flawlessly, and Michael had hugged him, even lifting him off the floor for a second. Collins had patted him on the back, chuckling.

“One thing, though… Currently, Miss Presley does not need to be overly stimulated on a sensorial or emotional point of view. In fact, I will have to assess the amount of flowers her kids are planning to bring into her room. You can go in and stay with her for a little while, but only one person at a time”.

Obviously, Michael had let Priscilla go first. All the while he had waited just outside the door, literally sizzling with emotion, unable to stand still, pacing back and forth. He was a mess.

After about twenty minutes, Priscilla had emerged from Lisa’s room, her eyes glossy and her face more relaxed. She had looked at Michael, and he had merely nodded back at her, inhaling a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Now, facing the woman he loved, finally awake after five days of pure terror, he didn’t know what to say or do. She looked beautiful, and yet so incredibly fragile. But she was alive, and her eyes looked bright and inquisitive. She was conscious and lucid.

“Lise…”, he croaked out, a storm of emotions suddenly overwhelming him.

Again, that motion of her hand on the mattress. She blinked her eyelids and licked her bottom lip.

His breath short, Michael walked over to the bed, slowly, and sat down on the chair, staring at her, his big hand covering her smaller one. She finally felt warmer, more vibrant.

Unable to avert his gaze, Michael realized his vision was starting to get blurred.

“I love you, baby,” were the only words he could barely muster. “I love you so damn much…”.

He saw her swallow and take in a deep breath, her expressive face watching him with immense calmness and immense love, her eyebrows distending.

She took in a couple of more breaths and licked her lips once again, gathering all her energy for what she wanted to do.

“How are you?”, she finally whispered, faintly, her voice barely audible.

Michael’s eyes became huge.

“You… are asking me how I am?”, he replied, throatily. The first thing Lisa had been worried about was his wellbeing.

Lisa nodded her head, a concerned smile into her eyes.

It was then that Michael lost it. Something into his soul just shattered, and he started to weep uncontrollably, his forehead resting on Lisa’s hand, his entire body shaken by sobs of despair and relief.

In the mist and blur of his overpowering emotional breakdown, he felt Lisa’s hand move to his head, stroking his hair, again, and again, and again.

Chapter song