A vulture is a bird that preys on the weak and especially the deceased. A vulture will scout for its next victim from miles away. Eyes darting back and forth biding its time - circling its prey at the pivotal moment of vulnerability. A vulture is always depending on weakness. In that weakness, the vulture becomes invigorated and relentless. Thus is the nature of a vulture - prey and devour.

"You're gonna have a wife..." He trails passing me a bottle of orange juice.

"I know" I exhale accepting the bottle before swishing the golden liquid around and chugging it.

In the next few weeks, I will have completed my tour and be on a plane to marry my everything. I have waited for years just to get to this point. I love our fans, but what is keeping me motivated on tour is our wedding date.

It drives every note, every move, every beat.

I just cannot wait.

He nudges me and chuckles.

"You know how to be a husband?"

I squint my eyes at the elderly man and huff.

"Do you?" I quip.

He chuckles again shaking his head as if to say "touché".

"Ok, you smart mouth motherfucker. I was just gonna offer advice."

I take another swig of the gold liquid raising an eyebrow.

I love Bill, but I am too high on adrenaline to be put down by a famous "Bill Lecture". I just wanted to take a moment to breathe in between rehearsals.

"I know how to be a husband. I've been engaged twice and one of those engagements was damn near a decade long. I have enough experience for the job" My tone is steady but I can feel the irritation brewing.

I just wanted to enjoy a moment of peace.

I am not sure if Bill can feel my irritation as well. If he can, he says nothing. Instead, he glances at me as if I said something ignorant.

"I'm being serious Michael. Do you?"

I break our gaze and fiddle with the now-empty plastic bottle.

I have never asked myself this question much less thought of it.

It is a heavy question to ask a man.

"I don't know" I mutter defeatedly.

Bill sighs aloud and places a gentle palm on my shoulder. I meet his gaze waiting for the long lecture that is sure to follow. His eyes are calm and surprisingly judgment is nowhere to be found.

"No one ever does. I am still trying to figure this shit out every day." He offers a small smile dropping his hand. "It ain't like when you on stage. It don't always come naturally" He adds his eyes following the stage crew members as they move equipment around us.

I follow his eyes around for a moment before nodding concurrently.

"One day at a time is my best advice. Ya'll human. Treat each other like it. Don't go back to being that hard-headed motherfucker. Ya'll are a unit now." He continues. "That's it. That's my spill."

With that said he pushes himself off of the wall pausing briefly.

"I'm proud of you son." Is all he gives away before he turns away disappearing backstage.

A beat passes before I muster the strength to move from my own spot.

His words rang over and over.

"Ya'll are a unit now."

Nothing could be closer to the truth.

We are a unit now and I have to protect this unit at all costs.

No matter what, I will protect this unit at all costs because I will be a husband.

I will be her husband.

We will be a unit.

A bang on the door is what pulls me from my slumber. Extremities wrapped around me causes me to pause as I try to make sense of what is happening.

"Michael! Michael, I need to talk to you!" A deep cultured voice calls.

I glance at the being that I am entangled with. A smile spreads my lips as I take her in. She looks so peaceful and with the way the lighting is embracing her it is almost as if she is glowing.

Sparks scatter across my skin as flashbacks of our heated encounter envelope me.

"Michael! Dammit, answer the door!" The voice returns.

I swallow the infuriated groan creeping up my throat. I do not want to wake her. Even if this imbecile does not share the same sentiments.

Slowly I unweave myself from her grasp careful not to bump into our little one. Once freed, I spare her one last glance before turning to answer the impatient fool. I make a pit stop for my trousers and search the room for a blanket to cover her. I manage to find a throw blanket thrown carelessly on a nearby chair.

I grab the plush throw and gently spread it over her. Satisfied with my work I return to my initial mission of figuring out what on earth could be going wrong now.

I barely cracked the door open before I catch him raising his fist to continue banging. For a moment we exchange muted glances. A nuance of this moment from the many moments he has caught me in a compromising position is that I am a married man now. In my moment of pause, I am silently asking him to refrain from commenting on my current state.

His whiskey eyes do not give much away, but he seemingly decides against expressing whatever he felt in our moment of pause.

Good.

"I ain't gonna sugar coat anything." He exasperates scratching his head. "This ain't good Michael. They trynna sue."

My heart plummets to the pit of my stomach. Maybe not literally, but my heart is figuratively in the pits of my stomach.

"You're sick. So fucking sick up there." I bridle, ripping the post-it in two."I'm not paying that shit. You don't deserve a lick of my hard-earned money."

Evan shrugs impassively at my reaction, his plaster smirk still held high.

"That's nice to know Mike. Just know, I'll see you in court soon. If that's how you want to play. You see, I tried to be nice-play fair. But with big bankers like you, I can't. So, I'll do the next best thing. Watch you half-white ass falter in court."

I believed it was truly over. I thought we rid ourselves of that monster. I thought that our lives were finally beginning and that this new chapter eradicated all that forewent where we are now.

I believed it was truly over.

"You thought I was going to let you take my family away from me? Did you really drill in your studded ass head, that I would allow you to fill shit in my son's brain?! Hell no! You're going to get what you deserve you piece of shit! Dumb ass wacko Jacko! That's all you'll ever be! I-"

I want this to be over.

"John says to give him a call when you can. He mentioned something 'bout stoppin'em from going public. I'm having a few trusted contacts investigate." He pauses for a beat analyzing me. "We gone handle this."

I shift my gaze to the wall adjacent to me with a scuff.

"It was already handled. Right Bill? It was already fucking handled!" I finally combust.

"Michael I--"

I tip an index finger to the air ceasing his sentence.

"No Bill. I don't care for the excuses. I just... I just want to know how the fuck..." I inhale deeply. "How in the fuck is he able to do this? I paid the son of a bitch!" I exasperate.

Bill takes a moment to breathe as well.

I do not know when I began pacing, but now somehow I have given myself a small square to dig my feet into as I go back and forth.

"Michael, call John." Is all he gives away, his voice even despite my irritation.

I shake my head following the outlines of the square. I am attempting to soothe myself enough to not act out erratically.

"I don't want to speak to fucking John right now." I gripe my tone low and dangerous.

My body is heating up.

My thoughts are pervasive clouding any decent cognitive skills to reprimand my emotional responses. I do not want to deal with this. Not today. Not ever.

"What's going on, baby?" The words escaped her softly spoken.

My pacing ceases.

I cannot tell her.

I do not know how to tell her.

"Michael? Baby, what's going on?" She pushes concern laced in her tone.

Bill remains silent and even in his silence, I know exactly what he is saying.

Tell her.

I meet her gaze wishing I did not have to be the one to steal her glow. She is draped in her "Mrs. Jackson if You Nasty" plush cotton robe. A gift from "It's Janet, Miss Jackson if You Nasty" herself. It was an amusing gift and even more amusing seeing Jesse adorn it.

Unfortunately, there is nothing amusing about my next statement.

"The Chandlers are back and they are planning on suing me and possibly going public." I rip the bandaid off.

I quiver in anger their names felt like fire slipping from my tongue. Saying what they are planning on doing to our family felt even worse. I have never hated anyone in my life more than I hate those Chandlers, especially Evan.

"I thought... I-I thought it was over" She stammers her eyes dancing between Bill and me searching for reassurance.

My rage subsides.

My thoughts begin to declutter.

I do not want to have my family in this position - not again.

Therefore I approach her with a small smile one for good faith and take her palms in mine.

"I am going to fix this. I'm going to call John now." I reassure her bringing her hands to my lips. "I'm going to fix this"

Her eyes hold mine for a beat they are so meek and hesitant. I do not blame her. These people are pests that refuse to go extinct no matter how many times pesticides are sprayed over their colony.

On the other hand, I need her to believe me.

I need her to believe in me.

"Hey Applehead, you are the only grown-up I know who likes playing these games." He states as if he has come to some sort of realization.

I chuckle and load up my super soaker devising a plan on how to take advantage of his distraction in order to gain the final winning point.

He spoke with his back to me his head hanging low.

"Yeah, well that's because they forgot how to have fun..." I lull tilting the gun upward slowly so as to not startle him.

"Exactly, it's pretty damn sad." He sighs.

I roll my eyes at his foul language. I have been trying to break him out of that bad habit. He is far too young to be cursing like a sailor. He always disregards me. I know I am not his father, but someone needs to guide him.

I do not mind being that someone.

"Hey, Jordy?" I call readying my stance.

He turns around still lost in thought.

"Yeah? What--"

"Watch your mouth!" I cackle spewing every last bit of water from my gun onto the poor unsuspecting kid.

He grimaces but laughs all the same.

Once depleted of all contents I drop the gun and walk over to the soaked victim.

"Shouldn't have been cursing, Jungleman." I tease nudging his head with my index finger. "Let me grab you a towel."

"Hey Applehead, I wish you were my dad!" He calls after me.

A smile spreads my lips.

I wish the same.

I am going to save this kid and be whatever he needs me to be. 

He deserves that much.

The past week has been a blur. A figment of my imagination is the way I like to express it. There is no other way to construe how one moment I was marrying the love of my life, making love to her, and the very next I woke up in deep shit.

What are the odds of this occurring in the average Joe's life?

I cannot speak for that man, but I am sure he has yet to be falsely accused of child molestation by the very family he tried to help. That man is surely not trying to keep his pregnant wife calm knowing she wants to go home, but we can't. Surely Joe is not stuck in Ireland hiding out well beyond his honeymoon because he will be arrested in the states otherwise.

That man is lucky.

I have been trying my darndest to pivot my thoughts solely on the man in front of me as he goes on and on about where to go from here. We recently added Frank back to the team and he is due to land here tonight. There are others, but I have been so overwhelmed with the what is what or the who is who that I stopped trying to recollect.

Overwhelmed is a word I have become synonymous with weary is another. I am living in a nightmare and day by day it beginning to unfold for the world to see.

"Michael I-- Michael are you with me?" His voice is nasally and laced with annoyance.

I had long checked out of this conversation. He knows it, but he decided to proceed anyway. It is as if he intentionally tries to piss himself off. Especially when he is asking me aimless questions.

"John, you know I haven't," I answer unabashedly.

He opens his mouth to say something, but seemingly decides against it and instead chooses to clear his throat.

I stifle a smirk.

He knows better than to provoke me. My irritation and my impatience move in tandem with one another these days, so I am more liable to bite a head off or two these days.

"Well do you have any questions for me?" He sighs defeatedly.

I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the desk my ankles following suit. I take one moment to think. I have a whole gamut of questions that desire answers. I just do not know if I truly want the answer.

Therefore, I inhale deeply and exhale slowly uncrossing my arms and ankles. I step up to John and dart my eyes into his. I need him to understand me. To see me.

"Do you think I am innocent?" My gaze never leaves his.

If I am not mistaken I saw something flicker in his eyes. I do not know what it was, but it caused something to drop inside of me.

Regardless of this notion, he nods in concurrence not missing a beat.

"You know I do" He attempts to assure me.

My eyes shift to my penny loafers. I wish I was on the stage right now. Dancing my heart out. Letting God lift me to that preternatural place only a few have seen. Allowing him and that experience to envelope me and cast away my plights of this world.

My eyes return to his gaze. He is waiting for a smile or reassurance that I believe him.

I don't.

"Get the fuck out. You're fired." I grit.

I waste no time listening to his excuses as he scrambles to pick his mouth up off the ground. His stammers, his statistics, and his lack of faith can be shoved up his ass.

"He-He just fired me." Is the last thing I hear before I slip into my private quarters.

Serves him right.

"You're telling me that I can have ice cream, cookies, and cake in my sundae!?" He exclaims eyes wide and mischievous.

I shake my head charmed by his innocence. I made sure he consumed his daily recommended food groups throughout the day, so I figured splurging on dessert would not hurt him.

"Yes, jungleman! Anything you want, just keep in mind to pace yourself." I chuckle watching him already taking off towards the mini parlor.

My smile widens. He is such a great kid. I truly hope our little one is just as easygoing as he is.

"Michael, I really can't thank you enough for all of this." A gentle voice joins my side.

I stuff my hands into my pockets suddenly feeling timid. Being praised has always made me feel insecure. Jesse does it so much and she has warmed me up to accepting it more, but I still have many moments where I just cannot seem to shake that tug of diffidence.

"June you know I care about you guys. I just want you guys to enjoy yourselves." I offer her a smile small, but genuine. "I mean it"

She nods and sighs contently.

"Are you guys staying in the guest house tonight or returning home?" I ask now turning my gaze to other children leaping and bounding through the grounds.

"We will be staying. If that's ok with you?"

I shrug my shoulders indifferently. I do not mind the Chandler's staying. I just have to check with Jesse. She is always wary about offering them hospice here.

"Just let me verify with my other half." I chuckle envisioning her puckered face as I present the question of their stay.

Her disdain for the Chandler's is not amusing, but I do love how spicy she gets around them. I think it is a perfect balance in loo of my tendency to be more lenient.

"You know Jordy would really love to stay." She presses on the idea. "Maybe you guys can have a boy's night?"

I furrow my eyebrows and turn to the short woman bemused by her latter proposition. It is not the first time she has presented this to me and lately, Jordy has been doing the same. It is jarring for some reason and I just cannot place why.

I have many kids pleading for a sleepover party or clinging to me and proposing that I never leave their side. It is all innocent. This instance is no different.

Therefore I offer another shrug.

"Just let me talk with Jesse. Ok?" I fuss with the linen of my pockets maintaining a tight smile.

I cannot tell how she felt as I have chosen to avoid her gaze altogether. I do not want to cause anyone to feel somber, but I have to set boundaries.

"Ok" Is all she gives away her tone emotionless.

The truth is I do not believe I need to ask Jesse because I know the answer. She will decline the idea and I completely understand. In fact, I agree and I do not require any further persuasion.

Boundaries.

That is the key factor right now.

Boundaries.

"Cochran. That's the guy that is going to get you out of this mess." He states confidently a cigar hanging loosely from his lips.

I cannot comprehend why a man willingly ruins his lungs every couple of hours by nursing that think death log. My only qualm is him nursing it anywhere near me. The compromise offered is him holding it in his mouth unlit like a pacifier.

I scratch my nose a new tick of mine I have done numerous times when aggravated or nervous. I have tried many times to remain patient throughout this process, but as the days go by it is becoming more and more of an arduous task. There is always something new appearing from thin air.

First, it was the initial notice of an alleged impending lawsuit.

Next, we discover that I have been forewarned to remain in Ireland in order to circumvent a possible arrest.

Subsequently, I had to fire John Branca for being a waste of space.

Presently, I stand drowning in a sea of hesitancy regarding my and my family's future, the people I can trust, and the next moves from the Chandler's.

I am drowning and there seems to be no floaty or coast guard in site to liberate me from what could only lead to my internal death.

"When is he coming, Frank?" I ask finally glancing at the man and taking note that his cigar is now being fiddled between his fingers.

He sucks in air stuffing the cigar inside his interior suit pocket. Shifting his gaze to meet mine he exhales a heavy sigh.

"Tomorrow, kid."

I immediately scuff.

I presume what I am experiencing -- What my family is experiencing right now is not defined as an emergency.

Tomorrow.

It is always tomorrow.

No.

"No, Frank, I don't give a fuck about how, but he needs to get here today." My tone is firm my daggers unwavering.

He runs a palm over his bald spot with another sigh.

"Michael, it's the middle of the night in California. He will be--"

"I said I don't give a fuck Frank! Those sons of bitches are coming after me and my family! What the fuck do you people not understand about that?" I fume standing from the chair I occupied for the past twenty minutes waiting for news.

I can see the gears churning in his head and the rage sizzling in his eyes. Unfortunately for him, I am disinterested in how my actions impact him. I do not pay these people to make me wait on them.

A beat passes before either of us speaks. With me glaring and him glancing at me as if I am some sort of villain.

"Alright." He breaks the silence shoulders rising and falling as he takes a moment to inhale and exhale. "I'll get him here." He adds removing the log from his suit pocket.

He places it in his mouth before shuffling his hands across his suit as if to be searching for something.

"You're not lighting that thing in here." I grit rolling my eyes when curses beneath his breath in response. "Let me know when he's on his way."

With that, I leave the man to his own devices vexed and fatigued from this new saga in my life. I know I am supposed to maintain myself when dealing with others. I know I should be grateful that I can afford high-powered help. I know I should be confident about the future because I know I am innocent.

I know this.

Yet, I want to scream.

I want to scream so the whole world can hear me wail.

The world needs to know that Michael Jackson is human, too.

I am human.