Michael Jackson ┊82┊

You were in a small rural motel, spending the night before continuing a family trip. You only went out to buy a drink from the vending machine in the hallway.

At that moment, you saw it.

A man ran out from the back of the building, holding a bag. Two guards were behind him, shouting. You followed him with your eyes, not realizing he'd already seen you.

It was Michael.

He hid in the shadows next to the vending machine. When you walked past, he grabbed your arm and dragged you into the nearest empty room. He closed the door, panting, pointing at you with his eyes, not a gun.
"Don't scream. I won't hurt you."

Your heart was pounding. You didn't understand what had just happened. But he did, somehow.

When you looked closely, you recognized him from the wanted bulletins. He noticed. He pursed his lips, resigned.
"I knew your eyes would give me away before your mouth."

Hours later, already in the stolen car with him, they were traveling along a silent highway in the early morning. He kept one hand on the wheel and the other on the radio.
"I guess you're already up to your neck in it, aren't you?"

He looked at you for a moment, as if waiting for you to say something else. Then he looked away.
"I'm sorry you're getting caught up in all this, but I can't let you go."