A gentle breeze wafted into the room, rustling the young boy's silvery-
blonde hair and his tiny, button nose. His twitched slightly as he shifted,
causing the light green blanket covering him to slide and tangle about his
limbs.
A tall shadow fell over the sleeping lad, from which the pale hands of an adult reached forward and, with much caution, removed the blanket from the jumble and spread it back over the child.
For a few minutes, the shadow's origin, a tall, thin man with a bright shock of red hair, could only stand there, watching as the boy before him slept peacefully, unaware of the second presence in the room.
Finally, the man sat down on the bed, slowly, so as not to wake the child before him. He rested his elbows upon his knees and, with a sigh, placed his head in his palms, rubbing his temples.
"I don't quite know what to say." His voice, normally soft and soothing like the tiny laps and waves of the ocean, shook faintly, and Robert Terwilliger took a moment to try and compose to himself.
"I suppose I should start with I'm sorry…God, but am I ever sorry. I could have killed you so many times…I know I've at least traumatized you to a certain point. And…and I'm sorry for it. Oh, so very sorry for it…
"You know, Bart…you're a very bright child. You may be the worst student in your class, but…you have intelligence. It's not your fault that you can't focus and control all your energy and stay on track…you truly are a genius. I've seen it numerous times, and I've thought about it a lot. I think about you a lot. Did you know that? Did you know that almost all of the time, I'm thinking about you in some way?"
He paused.
"It…it used to be…used to be evil thoughts. Murderous thoughts. Insane thoughts. But now…now…ever since that incident at the dam…it's been different. When I saw you falling, Bart, I truly thought you were going to die. And…I was afraid. Afraid of losing you…despite all of what you've done and had done to you, you're still innocent. So very innocent. Others may not know it – even you yourself – but I do. I have a sixth sense when it comes to these sorts of things…dreams. You have dreams, and aspirations, and goals, and…and as I saw you falling…I could feel them slipping away with every inch you fell. And with every dream you lost…my heart broke just a little more.
"That's why I saved you. I had to. You were so scared, and confused, and…it was my fault you were even there…I couldn't just stand by and watch you fall. So I acted on an impulse.
"And I saved you. I swung down, and against the odds, I caught you. You almost slipped, but…you've got a good, quick mind on you. I was just so relieved that you were safe…and then…my brother…
"Please, don't blame Cecil. His mind…he just cracked that day. Insane. He hasn't cried since he was five. And he's had many reasons to do so his whole life. He just…just cracked. It wasn't his fault."
Robert gave another sigh before looking at the boy. He hesitated, then slowly, tentatively, reached out a hand and swept back some stray locks of hair from the child's face, knuckles brushing gently of Bart's cheek. He watched the boy for a few moments before gently running his hand through the deceptive spikes, which were surprisingly baby soft.
"I…I know that this…it's a poor excuse. But you need to know, you need to be told…you deserve it. I owe you. Bart, I'm about to tell you something I haven't told anyone since…since…well, I honestly don't know. I've always done my best to avoid the subject at all…you're one of the few people to know what I'm about to tell you. Bart…I…"
Robert's voice trailed off, and he traced a random pattern on the boy's face with a finger.
"I…I'm manic depressive. I have Bipolar Disorder…I was diagnosed when I was 7-, maybe 8-years-old. I have it pretty badly, too…I have the rapid cycling version. One of the 20% of all manic depressives whose phases can change one every three years and once every three weeks. It's all very random…"
The redhead was silent, then, watching Bart sleep as Robert caressed his hair, smoothing back the wild spikes, gently running his thumb over temples.
"I stopped taking my medication a few years ago, a few weeks after I started working for Kr…for Herschel. I woke up late one morning, forgot to take my medication – Lithium, 20 or 25 milligrams, maybe 30 – and…
"I was in my manic phase. After the show, Herschel came right over to me and asked me, what the hell was I doing different, whatever it was I should keep it up, it was as funny as…he made a lurid metaphor then, one I'm not going to repeat. You'll hear enough filthy language in junior and senior high.
"At any rate, I decided, well, if it makes the children laugh. I love that sound, children's laughter. That's why I took and kept that job for so long…I wanted to be a doctor, you know. That's what I was going to do after my brother's audition, I was going to go to an interview at Springfield General. But the prospect of making children laugh, making children happy…I was young and foolish and stupid. Still am, too."
He gave way to a small grin as his lithe fingers played about with Bart's hair.
"I guess I'll never change. I can try and try and try, but…I'll never change. Somehow, in some way, I'll always be the person I was when I was 9. That's what Cecil says, anyway. Apparently, I'm too naïve to be 32. My grin and my eyes and my behaviour and just everything about me screams so. And I act foolish. A cute little idiot, someone once told me. A cute little idiot.
"Am I an idiot? Well…yes and no. I've made idiotic decisions in my life, but I'm not stupid. Not that I'm being boastful here, but I know I'm far above average intelligence. But when it comes to decisions…well, I can be a real stupid idiot. Stupid, stupid, stupid idiot…I'm rambling now, I know. I do that a lot these days. I'm running out of things to say."
The redheaded man paused, oceanic eyes focused on Bart's face as he traced the boy's jaw line.
"I'd like to apologize to your Aunt Selma, too…but…I know, there is absolutely nothing that can possibly justify what I did to her. I betrayed her trust…I made a mockery of something that was supposed to be beautiful. You know, I didn't originally plan to do that? I really loved her…she…she reminded me of…of someone…"
His voice tightened, and for some time, all he could do was watch Bart sleep.
"It…it occurred to me…on the drive to the hotel. Mania once again. I don't know why I did it…I mean, I know why I said I did it…but…that was a lie. Because I honestly didn't know the real reason. Bart, I loved her. I still do…I think…I think…maybe…no, definitely…I always will. But…trying to kill her…sometimes, I think that's the worst crime I've ever committed, because I took advantage of her trust and her love.
"But you know…I think I wanted someone to stop me. Somewhere, deep within my subconscious – my heart – I didn't want to blow up our room. I didn't want to kill her. Maybe that's why I sent our honeymoon tape to your family, because I knew you would notice what I was doing, and stop me. And I was right, wasn't I? You figured it all out and managed to stop me from killing Selma. Thank you. Thank you for stopping me…"
Robert took a moment to observe the child asleep beside him, and a sad smile crept onto his face as his thumb moved over Bart's temple, massaging it. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin, circular pendant, roughly the size of a quarter, hanging on a wispy chain; held it up to the window, watching with some interest as the moonlight bounced off it.
"It's been in my family for years," he said, his voice barely a whisper now. "My paternal grandmother's side of the family. Passed down from parent to eldest child. My father gave it to me when I was 7, right after…after…"
For scant moments, he was silent; his body shook lightly as he continued, his voice moving with it.
"After my mum…died…" He gripped the talisman in his hand, squeezing it as if for support. His breathing hitched, and for a few minutes, all he could do was sit there, face in hands, breathing sharply. When he finally forced some calm into himself, Robert wiped his face with his free hand, sniffling once.
"Well. It…it's supposed…supposed to be some sort of…charm. An amulet, if you will. Protection, good luck…that sort of thing. I've only been able to make out some of the markings on it…rune, Chinese, Sanskrit, Greco-Roman, Egyptian, Hebrew…most of them I can't read. I can barely make out the ones I can, because they're so elaborately written. I think of the Chinese characters is "protection", but it's honestly so hard to tell…"
He hesitated, then, as cautiously as he could, managed to slip the chain around Bart's neck without waking the boy.
"You've been the closest thing to a child I've ever had, or will ever have, Bart. I want you to have it…maybe it will be able to serve you well…unlike it was able to do for me. For everything I've done to you, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…but…but there is…nothing. Nothing I can say, nothing I can do, nothing…absolutely nothing to reverse what I have done. I've become the person I've hated most throughout my life…well, a half-assed version, at least. Thankfully. You see, Bart, there was this man…this horrible man, who…who did something very similar to my family what I…attempted…to do to yours. Differences, of course, and do you know what the most prominent one was? For the most part…he was successful. He…he killed them…my mum…and…"
He stopped abruptly, shaking once more; he bit his lip harshly, ignoring when he cut through the skin and blood pooled about his lips, staining them a colour comparable to that of his hair's.
"I'm leaving, Bart," he managed to whisper hoarsely a few minutes later. "First thing tomorrow morning…my brother and I…we're leaving. Going back home. We'll be staying with our dad for a while…he lives in Ireland…I've caused enough pain here in the states. And I…I had to see you again. To give you the amulet. To tell you why. To apologize. But…I'm so sorry, Bart. I can't tell you everything…everything about…about my past…it…I…"
He gave a sigh, sad and heavy, and reached into his pocket once more, this time pulling out a few pieces of paper, folded together into a small rectangular shape.
"I'm leaving this under your lamp. I wrote down everything that I wanted to tell you…if and when you find it…I know you'll read it. I just hope you'll be able to understand it. Not just the handwriting, though it is rather messy…no, no, the content. What I wrote down…my life story, in a medium- sized nutshell. And a rather lengthy apology towards the end…not that this isn't."
Robert took a moment to just sit there, right hand still running absentmindedly through Bart's hair, which glimmered like mellow quicksilver in the path of moonbeams.
"I…I just probably go now. Got to finish packing, maybe get some sleep for the long flight. I wish I could watch you grow up, Bart, I really wish I could. Maybe…no. No, I can't…I won't be coming back. Because I…I'm…I'm insane…God, but it hurts. When I was eight, I realized it. I have rapid- cycling Bipolar Disorder, and it's going to stay with me till the day I die, which has a good chance of being by my own hand. No matter what kind or how much treatment I undergo – medication, therapy…the mental hospital – it will never leave me alone. I'm legally insane – I don't even trust myself to drive. Too afraid that I'll do something stupid and end up crashing into something, or someone…damn it, I'm rambling again."
He sighed, the breath of air causing the garnet-red droplets on his lips to quaver. Finally noticing the moisture, he licked around his mouth, cleaning away the drying blood and tasting cool, liquid copper on his tongue.
He leaned down towards the boy, cautiously wrapping the sleeping body in a gentle hug, the papers still tucked in his grasp.
"I'm so sorry, Bart…" he whispered before pressing a kiss to the child's temple. He stood up slowly, the mattress readjusting for the sudden lack of weight. He lifted up the lamp on Bart's bedside table and placed the note underneath it, so that a tiny corner showed to anyone who happened to glance at it. He then smoothed out the covers, making sure they covered the boy; and then, with the saddest of smiles upon his face, he gave one last fleeting look to the sleeping child, and disappeared out the window.
Baby blue ice emerged from its cover of darkness, and Bart Simpson sat up in his bed, his gaze still fixed on his window. His fingers went to his upper chest and found the cool metal, wired with inscriptions; for scant moments, fingertips ran over the amulet, tracing the lines as if trying to commit them all to memory. Finally, he reached over to the note underneath the base of his blue lamp and carefully removed it from its hiding place; with a click, a soft, yellow glow lit up a small area of his bedroom as his curious eyes traveled over the now unfolded papers, taking in every bit of ink and registering the dark splashes of tears and blood that dotted every page.
A tall shadow fell over the sleeping lad, from which the pale hands of an adult reached forward and, with much caution, removed the blanket from the jumble and spread it back over the child.
For a few minutes, the shadow's origin, a tall, thin man with a bright shock of red hair, could only stand there, watching as the boy before him slept peacefully, unaware of the second presence in the room.
Finally, the man sat down on the bed, slowly, so as not to wake the child before him. He rested his elbows upon his knees and, with a sigh, placed his head in his palms, rubbing his temples.
"I don't quite know what to say." His voice, normally soft and soothing like the tiny laps and waves of the ocean, shook faintly, and Robert Terwilliger took a moment to try and compose to himself.
"I suppose I should start with I'm sorry…God, but am I ever sorry. I could have killed you so many times…I know I've at least traumatized you to a certain point. And…and I'm sorry for it. Oh, so very sorry for it…
"You know, Bart…you're a very bright child. You may be the worst student in your class, but…you have intelligence. It's not your fault that you can't focus and control all your energy and stay on track…you truly are a genius. I've seen it numerous times, and I've thought about it a lot. I think about you a lot. Did you know that? Did you know that almost all of the time, I'm thinking about you in some way?"
He paused.
"It…it used to be…used to be evil thoughts. Murderous thoughts. Insane thoughts. But now…now…ever since that incident at the dam…it's been different. When I saw you falling, Bart, I truly thought you were going to die. And…I was afraid. Afraid of losing you…despite all of what you've done and had done to you, you're still innocent. So very innocent. Others may not know it – even you yourself – but I do. I have a sixth sense when it comes to these sorts of things…dreams. You have dreams, and aspirations, and goals, and…and as I saw you falling…I could feel them slipping away with every inch you fell. And with every dream you lost…my heart broke just a little more.
"That's why I saved you. I had to. You were so scared, and confused, and…it was my fault you were even there…I couldn't just stand by and watch you fall. So I acted on an impulse.
"And I saved you. I swung down, and against the odds, I caught you. You almost slipped, but…you've got a good, quick mind on you. I was just so relieved that you were safe…and then…my brother…
"Please, don't blame Cecil. His mind…he just cracked that day. Insane. He hasn't cried since he was five. And he's had many reasons to do so his whole life. He just…just cracked. It wasn't his fault."
Robert gave another sigh before looking at the boy. He hesitated, then slowly, tentatively, reached out a hand and swept back some stray locks of hair from the child's face, knuckles brushing gently of Bart's cheek. He watched the boy for a few moments before gently running his hand through the deceptive spikes, which were surprisingly baby soft.
"I…I know that this…it's a poor excuse. But you need to know, you need to be told…you deserve it. I owe you. Bart, I'm about to tell you something I haven't told anyone since…since…well, I honestly don't know. I've always done my best to avoid the subject at all…you're one of the few people to know what I'm about to tell you. Bart…I…"
Robert's voice trailed off, and he traced a random pattern on the boy's face with a finger.
"I…I'm manic depressive. I have Bipolar Disorder…I was diagnosed when I was 7-, maybe 8-years-old. I have it pretty badly, too…I have the rapid cycling version. One of the 20% of all manic depressives whose phases can change one every three years and once every three weeks. It's all very random…"
The redhead was silent, then, watching Bart sleep as Robert caressed his hair, smoothing back the wild spikes, gently running his thumb over temples.
"I stopped taking my medication a few years ago, a few weeks after I started working for Kr…for Herschel. I woke up late one morning, forgot to take my medication – Lithium, 20 or 25 milligrams, maybe 30 – and…
"I was in my manic phase. After the show, Herschel came right over to me and asked me, what the hell was I doing different, whatever it was I should keep it up, it was as funny as…he made a lurid metaphor then, one I'm not going to repeat. You'll hear enough filthy language in junior and senior high.
"At any rate, I decided, well, if it makes the children laugh. I love that sound, children's laughter. That's why I took and kept that job for so long…I wanted to be a doctor, you know. That's what I was going to do after my brother's audition, I was going to go to an interview at Springfield General. But the prospect of making children laugh, making children happy…I was young and foolish and stupid. Still am, too."
He gave way to a small grin as his lithe fingers played about with Bart's hair.
"I guess I'll never change. I can try and try and try, but…I'll never change. Somehow, in some way, I'll always be the person I was when I was 9. That's what Cecil says, anyway. Apparently, I'm too naïve to be 32. My grin and my eyes and my behaviour and just everything about me screams so. And I act foolish. A cute little idiot, someone once told me. A cute little idiot.
"Am I an idiot? Well…yes and no. I've made idiotic decisions in my life, but I'm not stupid. Not that I'm being boastful here, but I know I'm far above average intelligence. But when it comes to decisions…well, I can be a real stupid idiot. Stupid, stupid, stupid idiot…I'm rambling now, I know. I do that a lot these days. I'm running out of things to say."
The redheaded man paused, oceanic eyes focused on Bart's face as he traced the boy's jaw line.
"I'd like to apologize to your Aunt Selma, too…but…I know, there is absolutely nothing that can possibly justify what I did to her. I betrayed her trust…I made a mockery of something that was supposed to be beautiful. You know, I didn't originally plan to do that? I really loved her…she…she reminded me of…of someone…"
His voice tightened, and for some time, all he could do was watch Bart sleep.
"It…it occurred to me…on the drive to the hotel. Mania once again. I don't know why I did it…I mean, I know why I said I did it…but…that was a lie. Because I honestly didn't know the real reason. Bart, I loved her. I still do…I think…I think…maybe…no, definitely…I always will. But…trying to kill her…sometimes, I think that's the worst crime I've ever committed, because I took advantage of her trust and her love.
"But you know…I think I wanted someone to stop me. Somewhere, deep within my subconscious – my heart – I didn't want to blow up our room. I didn't want to kill her. Maybe that's why I sent our honeymoon tape to your family, because I knew you would notice what I was doing, and stop me. And I was right, wasn't I? You figured it all out and managed to stop me from killing Selma. Thank you. Thank you for stopping me…"
Robert took a moment to observe the child asleep beside him, and a sad smile crept onto his face as his thumb moved over Bart's temple, massaging it. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin, circular pendant, roughly the size of a quarter, hanging on a wispy chain; held it up to the window, watching with some interest as the moonlight bounced off it.
"It's been in my family for years," he said, his voice barely a whisper now. "My paternal grandmother's side of the family. Passed down from parent to eldest child. My father gave it to me when I was 7, right after…after…"
For scant moments, he was silent; his body shook lightly as he continued, his voice moving with it.
"After my mum…died…" He gripped the talisman in his hand, squeezing it as if for support. His breathing hitched, and for a few minutes, all he could do was sit there, face in hands, breathing sharply. When he finally forced some calm into himself, Robert wiped his face with his free hand, sniffling once.
"Well. It…it's supposed…supposed to be some sort of…charm. An amulet, if you will. Protection, good luck…that sort of thing. I've only been able to make out some of the markings on it…rune, Chinese, Sanskrit, Greco-Roman, Egyptian, Hebrew…most of them I can't read. I can barely make out the ones I can, because they're so elaborately written. I think of the Chinese characters is "protection", but it's honestly so hard to tell…"
He hesitated, then, as cautiously as he could, managed to slip the chain around Bart's neck without waking the boy.
"You've been the closest thing to a child I've ever had, or will ever have, Bart. I want you to have it…maybe it will be able to serve you well…unlike it was able to do for me. For everything I've done to you, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…but…but there is…nothing. Nothing I can say, nothing I can do, nothing…absolutely nothing to reverse what I have done. I've become the person I've hated most throughout my life…well, a half-assed version, at least. Thankfully. You see, Bart, there was this man…this horrible man, who…who did something very similar to my family what I…attempted…to do to yours. Differences, of course, and do you know what the most prominent one was? For the most part…he was successful. He…he killed them…my mum…and…"
He stopped abruptly, shaking once more; he bit his lip harshly, ignoring when he cut through the skin and blood pooled about his lips, staining them a colour comparable to that of his hair's.
"I'm leaving, Bart," he managed to whisper hoarsely a few minutes later. "First thing tomorrow morning…my brother and I…we're leaving. Going back home. We'll be staying with our dad for a while…he lives in Ireland…I've caused enough pain here in the states. And I…I had to see you again. To give you the amulet. To tell you why. To apologize. But…I'm so sorry, Bart. I can't tell you everything…everything about…about my past…it…I…"
He gave a sigh, sad and heavy, and reached into his pocket once more, this time pulling out a few pieces of paper, folded together into a small rectangular shape.
"I'm leaving this under your lamp. I wrote down everything that I wanted to tell you…if and when you find it…I know you'll read it. I just hope you'll be able to understand it. Not just the handwriting, though it is rather messy…no, no, the content. What I wrote down…my life story, in a medium- sized nutshell. And a rather lengthy apology towards the end…not that this isn't."
Robert took a moment to just sit there, right hand still running absentmindedly through Bart's hair, which glimmered like mellow quicksilver in the path of moonbeams.
"I…I just probably go now. Got to finish packing, maybe get some sleep for the long flight. I wish I could watch you grow up, Bart, I really wish I could. Maybe…no. No, I can't…I won't be coming back. Because I…I'm…I'm insane…God, but it hurts. When I was eight, I realized it. I have rapid- cycling Bipolar Disorder, and it's going to stay with me till the day I die, which has a good chance of being by my own hand. No matter what kind or how much treatment I undergo – medication, therapy…the mental hospital – it will never leave me alone. I'm legally insane – I don't even trust myself to drive. Too afraid that I'll do something stupid and end up crashing into something, or someone…damn it, I'm rambling again."
He sighed, the breath of air causing the garnet-red droplets on his lips to quaver. Finally noticing the moisture, he licked around his mouth, cleaning away the drying blood and tasting cool, liquid copper on his tongue.
He leaned down towards the boy, cautiously wrapping the sleeping body in a gentle hug, the papers still tucked in his grasp.
"I'm so sorry, Bart…" he whispered before pressing a kiss to the child's temple. He stood up slowly, the mattress readjusting for the sudden lack of weight. He lifted up the lamp on Bart's bedside table and placed the note underneath it, so that a tiny corner showed to anyone who happened to glance at it. He then smoothed out the covers, making sure they covered the boy; and then, with the saddest of smiles upon his face, he gave one last fleeting look to the sleeping child, and disappeared out the window.
Baby blue ice emerged from its cover of darkness, and Bart Simpson sat up in his bed, his gaze still fixed on his window. His fingers went to his upper chest and found the cool metal, wired with inscriptions; for scant moments, fingertips ran over the amulet, tracing the lines as if trying to commit them all to memory. Finally, he reached over to the note underneath the base of his blue lamp and carefully removed it from its hiding place; with a click, a soft, yellow glow lit up a small area of his bedroom as his curious eyes traveled over the now unfolded papers, taking in every bit of ink and registering the dark splashes of tears and blood that dotted every page.