Chapter 75

I put the bottle down and took a mouthful of the single malt liquor that I’d generously poured in to the glass and let it slide down my throat making me recoil with shock from the way it burned. 

I couldn’t stop; I needed something anything to take the edge off the way I was feeling; isolated and alone. 

I had nowhere else to go and I couldn’t deal with my mother anymore. She was ruining me and her attitude toward my precious daughter was too much for me to take. 

So we were back home – in the house that Michael paid for; all of the belongings that adorned the house were funded by my child’s abuser. I felt sick about it, but I didn’t have a choice.

Casey didn’t mind. She was happy to be home. She didn’t say it out loud, but I had noticed a change in her behavior. She wasn’t as clingy, she didn’t cry as much and she was smiling and talking to me more. Her selective mutism came and went in waves, particularly when she was stressed. 

“Get ready for bed time, honey,” I called out to her from the kitchen. 

I flipped over to the news and took another gulp of the spirit in my glass, feeling myself almost instantly relax. It had been a rough week; a rough and lonely week.

Self-doubt had set in and I was so certain that the DA had begun to lose sight of the fact that my daughter was a victim. He had his own axe to grind and stopped listening to what I was telling him. 

The news flashed on and I saw Michael’s face fill the screen. It was the same rolling footage of him leaving the courtroom with that girl… It was hurtful and a little bit heartbreaking to see that the promises he’d made to me obviously meant nothing if he was so quick to move on. It hadn’t even been six months… 

I muted the TV. I didn’t want to hear how well his defense was going. I was shocked and upset by how quickly his lawyer had cut down our first three witnesses who in my eyes, were incredibly useless and were just making me look like I was looking for my pay day.

The truth was, I didn’t want the money, I didn’t want a life of luxury and I would have never exploited my children… I missed the security. I missed the joy of my daughter upon seeing him. I missed not having to carry the burden of having a sick child on my own.

Maybe I wasn’t able to fall in love with him the way he wanted, but I did love him. It wasn’t perfect, what I felt, but it was all I could give. 

I heard Casey coming down the hallway. She was clutching on to her Big M bear. I had given up the fight of trying to keep it from her. She climbed on to the couch beside me with the bear under her arm. I smiled at her. She looked so sweet in her little pink all-in-one. 

“Are you ready for bed?” 

She nodded. 

I held my arms out to her and let her climb in to my lap. We had a lot of time together like that; it was nice and it wasn’t something I’d allowed myself to have when Michael was around. He was so quick to be the comforter, the consoler and I was used to my role as being distanced and worried and having the luxury of emotionally checking out on her.

That wasn’t fair to her, though. She deserved to be able to rely on her mother for comfort and to be able to say and do the right things. 

I was about to switch the channel before she noticed Michael, but she stilled for a moment. She caught his face on the TV. She started wriggling out of my grip. “Case-“ 

“Nooo!” she exclaimed – the first thing I’d heard out of her mouth in more than a couple of days. I thought she had become distressed, but surprising me, she got off my lap and got very close to the television. She sat down in front of it. 

“Casey, move back, Mommy has to change the channel.”

She shook her head and reached out to touch Michael on the screen. I felt my heart break. “Honey remember… Michael hurt you…” 

“No!” she said again, “Nonono! I want my Daddy!” she said sadly before her voice broke and she began to cry. 

I got up, feeling my tears well up and overflow as well. I scooped her up and held on to her. “He’s not your Daddy, that’s Michael… but not Daddy.” 

“Daddy,” she said again. “Where is he?” 

“Honey…” I began calmly, looking my daughter in to her tearfilled blue eyes. I didn’t want to make it worse but I didn’t know what to do anymore. “Honey, remember Michael hurt you…” 

“Michael…” she repeated again. 

Sometimes with the Mutism, I struggled to know if she comprehended what I was telling her. Sometimes she would repeat what I said as if she liked the sound of it, rather than understanding. It was frustrating. 

She peeled her eyes away from mine to old footage of Michael on the Bad Tour – I wasn’t sure where in the world he was from the footage on the screen, but it could have been anywhere. The kind of crowds he brought in to his hotel each night sometimes blindsided me. 

They showed footage of Michael and Larry side by side, Larry being the pain in the ass he always was, picking out fans for Michael to spend time with, making them report to him first. I never wanted to upset Michael by telling him, but I was almost sure Larry was having his turn with some of the girls who loved their idol so much and truly believed that Larry was their gateway. 

Casey became transfixed by the screen and began to cry again. 

“Its okay my beautiful girl, its okay to feel sad that Michael hurt you…”

She shook her head and sobbed. “Nononono!” she pointed to the TV and I decided it was enough. I got up and picked her up and turned the television off. She kicked me and faught me and screamed. Her behavior was so out of character that I figured it was a reaction to seeing Michael for the first time since it had all happened. 

I was hopeful that she would have forgotten him at least a little, but it didn’t seem like it. 

I took her to her room and sat down on her bed with her. “Sweetie, I need you to stop crying, okay?” I told her sternly. “I know its very upsetting… I know you miss Michael and it’s so hard for you to understand.” I wiped my cheeks where my tears streamed down my face. I was so torn. I wanted to be mad at Michael, but I understood. I missed him too. I felt so disgusted with myself but I couldn’t help it. 

She eventually stopped fighting me and let me lay her down in bed as she cried. Her little body shivered with sobs as she tried to calm down. I wiped her tears as well. 

“I wish you would talk to me…” I murmured out loud. “I wish you could tell me…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I wished she could have told me that I was wrong, that Michael didn’t harm her. 

It took me a long time to calm her down. It took cups of water and stories and cuddles until she was finally exhausted by her emotions. I had abandoned all hopes of going to sleep and had curled up beside my daughter. I kissed her forehead. 

“Casey…” I began as she stared at me with her huge curious eyes. “Casey, I need you to start using your words… Grandma isn’t here anymore and Grandma won’t come here anymore. But Michael won’t be here anymore either. It’s you and I. I want you to try to be a big girl and help Mommy by using your words, okay?” 

Casey stared back at me without responding and I realized how futile it all was. 

I tried not be angry with her, but it was certainly trying. “Okay, let’s read one more story and we can go to sleep, is that alright?” 

She nodded and passed me a book from the tall pile of books that once again, Michael had bought for her. They read so much together and I knew it was where her love for books came from. One of my last memories of Casey and Michael together had been him teaching her how to read and she had been outgoing and chatty and was reading certain words to him without prompting. 

**

I woke up to Casey crying and shaking and instantly I thought that something was wrong. I sat up, the light from her bedside lamp hurt my vision. How much had I had to drink? 

“Casey what’s wrong?” I asked her matter-of-factly. I realized pretty fast that she had wet the bed. It was something that had been happening on and off since all this had began. Ignoring the damp spot on my pants, I got up and picked up my daughter. 

“Its okay baby…” I murmured softly, not wanting to make matters worse or upset her further. 

“Its alright, come on…” I took my daughter’s hand and helped her up out of bed. I got her freshened up with some new pajamas and then remade her bed. Once she got back in, I asked her to wait while I got her a sipper cup of water and I got myself changed. 

I went back in and sat down on the edge of her bed and kissed her forehead. “I think you just had a bad dream honey.” 

“Yeah…” she murmured in a soft sullen voice that almost broke me.

“Did you want to tell Mommy what your dream was about? Sometimes that can help…” 

“Birdie...” she mumbled. I was shocked that had elaborated. 

“Birdie?” I questioned her confused. I thought for a second. Big bird? “What’s Birdie?” 

“Bird, Mommy, Birdie!” 

“You had a bad dream about Birdie?” I asked again, I had no idea what she was talking about. 

She nodded again. “Like big bird?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Birdie,” she said again. 

“Okay,” I said as if I understood. I kissed her forehead again. “Well, Birdie won’t hurt you anymore. Don’t you worry okay?” 

She nodded and handed me her sippy cup. I knew she was too old for it, but she was probably too old for a lot of things she still got away with. “Close your eyes,” I prompted her. I waited for her to do as I told her and I began to stroke her hair until I was comfortable that she was sleeping again peacefully. 

I turned out her light and went and got in to my own empty bed, feeling incredibly sorry for myself. 

**

It hurt to see them together but each time I felt the pang of jealousy, I hated myself that little bit more. 

“This witness is going to really harm the case,” Sheldon promised me with his big goofy smile. I knew he didn’t like Michael. I didn’t know if he believed he was a pedophile or if he was just determined to take down a high-profiled celebrity right on the eve of his retirement. 

“I don’t care,” I said in a small voice. 

“What?” he looked at me with a look of absolute disgust. “You want this joker to get away with making a fool of you and Casey?”

“Making a fool of us?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir, but my daughter was molested, he wasn’t making her a fool. He made her a victim!” I hissed. 

“Listen,” he began through clenched teeth. “I would say to you, Ms. Hargrove, that you need to figure out exactly what you want out of this because when Jackson is behind bars where he belongs, you and your daughter will be set for life. So you either care now or you can not care and see how far that gets you for you and the future of your little girl.” 

I buried my face in my hands. 

They called the another witness to the stand who was a former staff member at Neverland. I remembered the face immediately. Her name was Blanche. It reminded me of the Golden Girls, a show that I loved to watch when Michael wasn’t around. He thought it was cheap, but I just liked the laughs. 

She stated her name and recounted a time where she said she had seen Michael touching my daughter inappropriately. I knew I was looking for any shred of evidence that would incriminate Michael, but instead I found myself finding holes in her story. 

Her job at Neverland was to do a little house cleaning three times a week. I knew the times that she worked because sometimes I felt lonely in that big house when Michael was away and asked her join me for a coffee. When I told Michael, he found it funny and didn’t seem to mind that I was making friends with the help. 

She worked for one hour in the morning and around 2 hours in the early afternoon – a shift that was made flexible by Michael himself as her husband had a couple of hours work each day and it made it easier for her to work out who would look after her children. 

She said she witnessed Michael touching my daughter inappropriately at bath time. Only, Michael and I often spent that time with Casey together. Casey loved bathing and it took a team effort to talk her out of the tub. Also, the only time Michael ever bathed my daughter was on the odd occasion I was not around, which… was on tour. 

“This is bullshit, she would never have witnessed that. Her cleaning areas weren’t even near the bathroom,” I told Sheldon with annoyance when there was a break for a brief recess. 

“She says she saw what she saw, who do you think are, Jackson’s defense counsel? Ms. Hargrove,” he began pointedly, “what’s going on?”

I thought about it and sighed. My daughter was a victim. I wanted desperately to believe it wasn’t Michael, but I didn’t know from one day to a next what he was capable of. I felt like it was crafty of him to use the fan that he used to tell me he thought was cute as a weird media stunt. 

Sometimes he did pull media stunts, he liked to keep himself relative – at times it back fired, but then there were other times, he was trying to portray a normal adult relationship in the media and it was working. 

I just looked like a gold digger. 

After the brief recess, Michael’s defense attorney got up and approached the stand. “When you were at Neverland, did you work in the main house?” 

“Yes,” she nodded. 

“You had restricted access to many parts of the house, am I right?” he asked her. 

“Yes sir,” she answered honestly. 

“The bathroom of which you allege you saw my client inappropriately touching Jane Doe was not in the area of the house that was accessible to you, am I right?” 

She hesitated. 

“That’s okay, you don’t need to answer.” Greg called on the Bailiff to exhibit a new contract, a handbook for the staff. It was fairly professional. It was full of agreements and a special map at the very back; it was a clear indication of which areas of the house she was to go and which areas she was not allowed. 

“The bathroom in question was in private quarters near Mr Jackson’s and Jane Doe’s bedroom, is that correct?” 

“Yes but-“

“But nothing, thank you for answering yes or no. Now, did you often break the terms of your employment by helping yourself to areas of the house where you were not permitted?”

“No! But I saw what I saw, I was there because I just wanted to tell Mr. Jackson I was leaving!”

“Is that something you would often do, Mrs. Maidestone? Report to Mr. Jackson when you arrived and when you were leaving?”

“No I-“

“Thank you,” he cut her off. “So why did you feel the need on this particular occasion to notify him?” 

She went to answer but Greg cut her off again. “Nevermind, withdrawn, now would you consider Mr. Jackson, in your dealings to have been a private man?” 

“Yes,” she nodded. 

“Was he quite strict on privacy, where you were permitted to go to and where you were not?” 

“In some cases, yes, in some cases no.”

“Hmm, interesting. Would you mind reading the last line the contract that you signed out loud for the court.” 

She looked down at the paper he handed her and sighed. “Mr. Jackson’s value on his privacy is not to be taken lightly. Due to Mr. Jackson’s public status, he requires all staff to honor his requests and respect his wishes. Unfortunately, failure to comply with the rules and terms of your employment will lead to termination.”

“Thank you!” he smiled. “So you’re admitting you did not comply with your employment terms, you signed this contract and you decided to take it upon yourself to enter in to an area of the house of which was not permitted to you. Do you understand how this brings your credibility in to question?”

“Objection!” Sheldon stood up, annoyed. 

I could tell he was frustrated, he was getting redder in the face and he was huffing and puffing beside me. I knew his witness was taking a nose dive which he was not prepared for 

“Nevermind, withdrawn,” Greg replied. “Are you telling me that one hour after your sign-off sheet, you waited around or worked extra without getting paid and then allowed yourself in to a permitted area and watched Mr. Jackson molesting a child and said nothing for 9 months about it?” 

“I was scared.” 

“Of what? A distracted 125lb male allegedly in the moment of defiling a child? I doubt that very much,” Greg answered and rested her as a witness. 

Sheldon got up to re-question the witness, trying to salvage her credibility even though it was ruined. 

“Ms, Maidstone, thank you for being so patient today. I just have a few more questions—“

She smiled at him.

“Would you say that Mr. Jackson was surrounded by good people in his daily life?” 

She nodded before shrugging thoughtfully. “More or less.”

“Can you name some of the people of whom you had dealings with on a weekly or daily basis?”

“Well, Mrs. Hargrove for starters, I guess, we saw each other almost every day. She was very kind and her daughter was so sweet and lovely.”

“Would you say that you became friends with my client?” 

“Yes of a kind. We sometimes had coffee. She was nice.”

“So the fact that you did not immediately say anything after you caught the defendant touching her child inappropriately holds weight to just how scared you were. Why were you afraid, Ms. Maidestone?” 

“Because Bird was always on my case about something. If I didn’t do something correctly or whatever, he would threaten my job; or he would say, Blanche you know, if Michael doesn’t like you or the way you work, he will fire you and ruin your reputation so fast you’ll never get employed again. He said that many times.”

Everything faded slightly as I focused in on her sentence. 

“Bird was always on my case about something.”

“Bird? Who the f…” I murmured under my breath. 

Sheldon and I were on the same page there. “Can you explain to the court who Bird is and how that came to be if you are aware?” 

“Larry Birkowitz. Sometimes Mr Jackson had nicknames for people. He used to tease Bird and tell him he was built like The Penguin from Batman… Then he just called him Bird sometimes also because of Larry Bird… he thought it was hilarious… and I guess it stuck. Larry didn’t seem to mind.” 

I felt confused. I was trying to make sense of what I was hearing, but my brain wasn’t entirely computing. 

“Was Larry Birkowitz a good person, in your opinion?” 

She shrugged. “He would try to get me to do things outside of my area of what was appropriate, taking certain things to be cleaned, pick up his dry cleaning, he would say it was an order from Mr Jackson, I was suspicious but I didn’t ever follow it up.”

“And what about other people?”

“Most of Mr. Jackson’s body guards and assistants were all very nice and kind.” 

My mind was still racing and I paid very little attention to what was being played out in front of me. 

“You are one hundred percent certain that you witnessed Mr. Jackson touching the child in question inappropriately?” 

What I did catch was the tiniest bit of hesitation from her. I knew if I had picked up on it while my brain was having a minor meltdown that I hadn’t entirely registered yet, then the rest of the court would have too.

As if all at once a lot of noise overcame my senses at once. The noise came from my subconscious screaming at me, from my physiological reaction of wanting to begin vomiting everywhere and then my soul telling me to shut the fuck up and politely excuse myself. 

I took three deep breaths and leaned over to Sheldon’s aid. “I need to be sick,” I told him. She smiled at me knowingly. 

“No,” I said firmly as Sheldon was wrapping up the witness. “I am about to be sick, I need to go to the bathroom.” 

I needed a minute to think and organize the buzzing in my head. 

Sheldon was about to slide in to his chair. The aid waved him to move closer. 

“Diane needs to use the bathroom its an emergency.” 

“I’m about to puke my insides up if neither of you move out of my way.” I told them both firmly. I didn’t wait for anyone to say anything further, I got up out of the chair and darted out the back of the court room and straight in to the bathroom. 

I could hear the aid moving after me and as I was leaving the judge was lambasting the DA for my inappropriate behavior but I didn’t care. 

I locked myself in the stall and let my legs buckle as I fell over the toilet, not caring whether or not was clean. I began to vomit up every tiny bit of what was left inside of me; my food, my feelings, my guilt and part of my soul.

Bird Mommy, Birdie!. 

Fucking Larry Birkowitz. It seemed so obvious and yet I found it so easy to immediately believe it was Michael when it was fucking Larry the whole time. There was a reason why no one was able to find Larry when the news broke. There was a reason why Larry’s wife had fled to Spain and wouldn’t let him see his two young daughters when we were in Europe.

Fucking Larry Birkowitz. 

I’d just ruined Michael’s life and probably my own. 

I began to vomit all over again.