All Michael Jackson expected was to hang out with some friends of his at a small party, have some talk, and have a good time.

He didn’t expect that a crazed fangirl would try to convince him that he was the father of one of her kids.

“What do you mean he’s my son?” Michael asked in disbelief, “I don’t remember doing something like that with you at all!”

“Listen up Jackson boy, that kid is your son and there is no doubt about it.” Billie Jean handed out a photo to Michael. He knew very well that he did no such thing as Billie Jean claimed he did, but he had to admit, she was clever. The photo of the baby that was shoved in his hands had eyes like his.

"Nice try, but that isn't convincing me Billie Jean. And if you excuse me, I have to leave." And without another word, Michael left the dance floor and the crazed fan behind.

Little did he know was that someone had listened to the entire conversation.

***

"For fucksake!" Martin cursed, "I can't seem to finish this bloody article about that fucking conversation between Michael Jackson and that chick from  fourty nights ago! It's a good story, but I need more information!" Martin Bashir had already picked up the false baby photo and had the entire conversation down, but it lacked something. "If I don't get it down in time, Mr. Sneddon will kill me." He muttered.

Then he got it.

"Pictures," he whispered, "Of course! I need pictures! Then I'll be able to get the article finished!"

"MARTIN! ARE YOU TALKING TO YOURSELF AGAIN?"

"Uh, no mom! I'm not!"

"Will you hurry up for dinner? It's your favourite!"

"Okay mom, just five more minutes!"

"What are you doing up there?"

"Uh, nothing mom! I'm coming!" As Martin came out of his bedroom to dinner, he began to plot on how he would get the photos.

***

Michael sighed. It had been fourty days ever since Billie Jean had tried to prove that he was the father of her child, but it had never seemed to escape his mind. That particular day his mind was on it so much that he decided to take a walk around town.

After about ten minutes, he smiled as nobody had recognized him in the early of the morning. It was still quite dark anyway, and the street lights were still on.

But however peaceful it was, Michael couldn't help but feel like he was being followed. He decided to ignore it as he kept walking past the shops, imagining that every pave that his feet touched lit up as he hummed a tune.

***

Martin was getting pissed off more and more every time he was close to getting a picture of Michael unnoticed when BAM, always disappears.

The first two times, Michael seemed to disappear entirely out of the picture. The third time, Martin fell into a trashcan. The fourth and fifth times, his camera had been stolen by someone and had to get it back off them. He had to get it the sixth time lucky, he had to!

There was Michael again, and the perfect angle too! Martin aimed his lens at the star's face and...

"GYAAH!" His foot slipped on a banana peel, and he nearly had the camera break when it hit the impact on the ground, but thankfully it didn't. But bloody hell! Jackson had gotten away again!

Martin swore to himself that this would be the last time Jackson would be able to escape from him.

He checked his pockets and his bag. Article? Check? Notepad? Check. Baby photo--wait a minute.

"Where the fuck is the baby photo?"

***

Michael kept walking around town, smiling as he hummed the tune.

He then stopped smiling as he saw the photo from that long time ago and picked it up. It looked a bit dirtied now, and he saw an address on the back of the photo.

Billie Jean
Apartment No. 201, Level 4.
Alex Street
91380

Michael sighed. He decided to have a peek through the window to see if she was okay. She was a fan after all.

A few minutes later after walking around, he saw the street and the block, deciding to see if she was alright through the back door. An elderly neighbour saw him and he saw her. He put a finger to his lips, signifying that she mustn't tell anyone, before stepping up the steps to the fourth level and climbing up to the balcony, guessing the room where she slept.

He guessed right. He could easily see in the dim light that her room was covered in posters of him all over and an open journal was left on her bedside table. A window had been opened earlier, he noticed.

Michael felt like it would be better if he would just drop the photo through the hole and leave immediately. So he did.

What Michael didn't notice was that a shadow was coming gently up the steps holding a camera, and his elderly friend had was the phone as he slipped away.

***

'Damn and blast!' Martin thought furiously, 'That's the fucking SEVENTH time he's gotten away from me! AGAIN! Perfect angle too! Oh never mind, I can get a picture of Billie Jean at the least.' He thought, aiming his camera at the sleeping body through the window, just as he started to hear sirens.

***

Martin Bashir was arrested that night for stalking on the young that night, everyone believing him to be a crazed paedophile. He was sentenced to prison for life, under the public's request. Tom Sneddon was arrested with him on the same charges and sentence, the public believing him to be the 'brains' behind a terrible operation for hurting the young.

***

Billie Jean managed to get her photo back and vowed to herself she would never claim such a thing ever again. She still was in love with Michael and went to his shows, but she always wore a bit of a disguise so the media wouldn't recognise her, or Michael for that matter.

***

Michael Jackson never did get much of a rest of saying 'kid is not my son' as more and more girls tried to do what Billie Jean did, one of them saying that he was the father of one of her twin children.

The tune came to his head again. It was the very same tune that had popped up in his head when he came by Billie's apartment to drop the photo off.

'Maybe,' he thought, 'I could making a song out of this and what's been happening?' Then the lyrics and the music came together.

And the rest, they say, is history.