Author's notes: Hello. I sincerely apologize for the severe lateness of updating my fanfiction, and I truly appreciate everybody who had followed it since I first published it! But I decided to re-write a lot of my chapters, and though the basic plot will remain the same, there are more things I've decided to add (and take away) to my story. The following is the NEW first chapter of my story, and I really hope it won't disappoint. I am trying to update the next chapter in the next two weeks or so – I promise it won't be another year! The characters I had planned to use previously stays the same for the most part:

-Lisa, Maggie, and Bart Simpson
-Michael D'Amico
-Fat Tony
-Johnny Tightlips
-Anna Maria, Fat Tony's late wife
-Legs, Louie, and their sons
-The Calabrese Crime Family (from Season 18, Episode 1)
-Jessica Lovejoy
-Sideshow Bob, his son Gino Terwilliger, and his brother, Cecil Terwilliger
-Snake Jailbird and his son Jeremy
-more minor characters like Allison Taylor, Ling Bouvier, Apu's children, etc.

Once again, I am so sorry about the lateness. Thank you so much for those who had been waiting, and I hope you will enjoy my new chapters. (For the record, the old version is still found on my Deviantart page.) Whether you are a new or old audience, please read and review if you can! It would mean so much to me 3

Chapter 1: Arrival

For as long as she could remember, she was told there were only seven wonders of the world. There was even a list that declared them as so. Until now. This new phenomenon would be considered the new eighth wonder of the world.

Or could it? How many times had there been a new eighth? What was so special about that original list of 'wonders' anyway? Was it not written by a bunch of pretentious journalists trying to prove their worth to the world by voicing their own opinions? Who was it that got to decide what was 'official' for the rest of us?

"Might as well figure out the meaning of life."

Maggie was reading about a strange humming sound emanating from the Earth when she glanced up to the roaring of nearby planes taking the early Monday morning flight. Not long would these giant, man-made machines of aerodynamics be reduced to nothing more than tiny ornamental kites in the wide blue sky. Sitting on the hood of her mother's station wagon, she puffed her cigarette across the parking lot. Smoking always put her in a poetic mood … but it was amazing to see that even the best of mankind's technology could not overtake the formidable vastness of the natural world.

There were very few clouds today. Since childhood, it had always scared her that the sky seemed so deep and eternal, and she felt so insignificant standing on the planet's edge against an endless universe. She and her sister Lisa both shared this quirk ... Bart had never paid attention to the whimsical aspects of Mother Nature ... but Maggie also remembered how safe and relieved she felt when Lisa would hold her hand as they both gazed up at the sky.

Those carefree summers were but a distant memory now, as Maggie crushed out her smoke to the beeping of her digital watch. 12:34pm, a minute before arrival. She folded up her National Geographic and slowly headed back inside the airport. It usually took a good half hour until the baggage was received, particularly on weekends. This was not her first time picking up Lisa from the airport.

Alas, she was too early, as she could tell from the few people that were loitering or walking around the corridor. Maybe there was a delay? There was no place to sit by the gate, except for a bench that was already occupied by a smartly-dressed man with a duffel bag. It was unclear how long she would have to wait, so she decided to sit as far as possible from the man – who, despite his striking similarity to a handsome young Al Pacino, looked rather cold and unfriendly. Probably because of that very reason.

"Still waiting on the rest of my damn luggage," he suddenly muttered, to which Maggie turned around in surprise. She hadn't realized he was talking on his cellphone. "Good old Springfield, home of the incompetent."

Maggie was far from being a 'proud' citizen herself, but hearing an outsider trash her town felt like a personal insult. She impatiently glanced at her watch again, and back at the Pacino clone. Not a word was exchanged between the two, but she felt as if she knew his life story already. The man – who seemed about Bart's age – mentioned a Tribeca penthouse, which she deciphered as a neighborhood in New York – presumably where he lived when he was a 'Partner' at Goldman Sachs. Of course, he'd be making peanuts now compared to what he made there, and his dad should only be so thankful that he had come home to join his 'small business' since he had never even bothered to help pay for his Princeton education. Maggie rolled her eyes. What a 'son', if he can call himself that. Could he be any more of an arrogant, ungrateful jerk?

"No."

There was a sudden clattering sound of falling objects beside Maggie, only to find a mess of vinyl records and previously-folded shirts strewn around the bench. The man had put down his phone and was frantically searching through his briefcase.

Maggie wasn't sure what to do. Her eyes curiously wandered across the records as she recognized some of the names – Thelonius Monk, Miles Davis, Chet Baker – all boring, Lisa-style music. Then her eyes fixated on a sleek poster sleeve with the more modern-looking, familiar logo imprinted on it – a 12-inch from one of Maggie's favorite band, Nine Inch Nails. She grinned at this unexpected mutual taste in music, and decided she would help.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," the man promptly answered without even looking up.

At the same time, she noticed something with a shiny circular object nestled in the folds of a dress shirt.

"Is this yours?" she picked it up to take a closer look.

He immediately pounced at it before she could tell what it was. "Thank god." He held it up as if inspecting for damages. Obviously it was an important item to him, as Maggie noticed it was a pearl ring attached to a gold necklace chain.

"Thanks a lot," He wore the necklace and tucked it under the collar of his trench coat. The man seemed less like a jerk as he smiled gratefully at Maggie.

"No problem," she returned his smile and helped him gather up his stuff. "Oh, and by the way? I used to think that all the songs on Pretty Hate Machine were about some twisted unrequited love, except for Head Like a Hole. And maybe Terrible Lie … but then you got a song like Ringfinger and you know for sure he's singing about some girl who ripped him off. Dude had a lot of problems with money, religion, and women, wouldn't you agree?" Maggie handed him the NIN record with glee.

Before he could reply, the arrival of Lisa's plane was announced and in her haste Maggie got lost in the quiet, steady stream of people that had been trickling through the corridor – now a noisy ocean of travelers with bumpy luggage sets and thunderous footsteps colliding against the floors. Maggie looked around to see if Lisa was nearby.

"Maggie?" A demure figure eventually approached from the blurring crowd.

Maggie extended her arms. "Welcome home, Lise!"

After their hug, Lisa looked around. "Where's Mom and Bart?"

Before Maggie helped Lisa with her luggage, she turned back to see if the man was still there whom she had momentarily forgotten about. He had disappeared as quickly as the crowd had formed.

"Bart's been having twelve-hour work days, almost six a week," said Maggie as she and Lisa walked outside. "Mom's also at work. It's too bad she couldn't get today off; she really wanted to be here when you arrived."

"Uh … what I meant was, I'm kinda surprised that you're here to pick me up instead. Don't you usually have school at this hour?"

"Spring break," Maggie quickly countered. "How've you been? I'm so glad you're back, you deserve a good long holiday!"

"Actually, I'm not really here on vacation. I've come to discuss with a potential business partner regarding a start-up company."

"Business partner? Here? Somehow I have a hard time believing that anybody in Springfield is educated enough to be worth your time."

Lisa giggled as she loaded up the rest of her bags into the trunk of the car. "Not really a stranger. His name is Cecil …" she paused before adding, "… the less psychotic one of the Terwilliger bunch, nonetheless a more respected figure in academic circles than Bob – that's for sure."

Maggie slightly froze up at the mention of his name. "Bob Terwilliger … as in Sideshow Bob?" She tried to keep her cool. "And just how are you sure that this Terwilliger is less crazy than the older one?"

"I guess we sort of bonded after I foiled his ill-conceived plan of trying to kill Bart and myself when he was trying to one-up his brother in crime. This happened more than eighteen years ago, Maggie, it's all right now…" Lisa found herself on the defensive as she met her sister's dubious glare. "You were a baby back then, so of course you wouldn't know. Anyways, fast forward to my last year of high school. I had to volunteer at the prison because there was nothing else left for extracurricular activities for graduation. That's how I got to know him better. He helped me with my chemistry project for the local science competition … which of course, turned out to be a bust," she slightly trailed off as she remembered that eventful night. It had been almost ten years after, and the bitterness of losing unfairly to a cunning rival still felt like it had happened yesterday. "But he really is a sane, educated person … who's had a few mental setbacks." Lisa admitted dryly.

"Guess the 'Revolving Door syndrome' was just a myth, huh?" quipped Maggie. But deep inside, she felt a little uneasy that Lisa had such a close connection to the Terwilligers. It was not the fact that Lisa was friends with an ex-prisoner – Maggie actually thought it was rather cool of her otherwise boring sister – but anybody related by blood to that megalomania of a Bob Terwilliger was a suspicious matter. Maggie was craving another smoke when suddenly –

"Ugh. What's that stench? Smells like Aunt Patty and Selma's," Lisa grimaced as she settled in the passenger seat. "Are they visiting today?" She added rather disappointedly.

"N-no. Not really…" stuttered Maggie. She was hoping the cigarette smell had been extinguished by her "sweet-as-a-stripper" designer perfume. Though it was a much-cherished gift from her boyfriend, Maggie now decided its authenticity was as real as his ex-girlfriend's breasts.

"So how was Darfur this year?" she digressed once more.

Lisa shrugged. "Good. Productive, I should say. We dug two new wells for one of the villages close to the western border area. We also finally finished one of the major schoolhouses in Geneina – you remember – the one I drew the blueprint for three years ago."

Maggie didn't remember, but she nodded anyway. "Yeah, yeah … " She really could not think of anything else to say.

They traveled in silence until Lisa finally spoke again. "How's Dad these days?" It was as if she had been afraid to ask before.

Maggie licked her lips in calculation. "He is … great. Improved so much since the last time you saw him. You … you don't have to worry, Lisa." Not to mention the impending hospital bills, and that threatening letter from the IRS. She turned on the radio to drown out her anxiety and glanced uneasily at her sister. Mom had begged her to never let Lisa know about it. Would she catch on?

"How does it feel like to let forever be?

How does it feel like to spend a little lifetime sitting in the gutter…?"

Fortunately for Maggie, Lisa was gazing meditatively out the window. The town had changed very little since she had left home – in fact, there had been so few changes that many of the buildings were now shabby and time-worn. There was, however, one particular complex that seemed to have been recently built. It stood out from the rest of the dilapidated scenery.

"Why on earth is there an office building here in the middle of such a wasteland?" inquired Lisa, as she studied its clean white walls and tall window frames.

"I think they're finally turning this place around. Some rich guy bought most of the land titles here and several other parts of Springfield. Probably tryin' to turn this dump into 'A Town That Matters'," Maggie droned on in a preoccupied voice and smirked at the memory of the new slogan she had seen on last week's newspaper. She was more into the radio music than city affairs.

Seeing as how Maggie was barely there, Lisa abandoned any further questions and turned back to watch the passing streets. She was glad to see the rows of flowers and shrubs that had been planted along the streets by her high school Environmental Club was still around; they brightened up the old, drab surroundings with their youthful glint of green, white, and yellow.

As the station wagon drove on, a large, intimidating man walked from the corner and admired the same rows of flowers. Even a life of organized crime and underworld businesses did not stop Fat Tony from appreciating the simple beauties of nature. He could not deny that they were more beautiful than a leather briefcase of unmarked bills or a vintage Thompson with a traditional sling – but work was another matter. He continued onto the complex and gazed up at his new, stately building before stepping inside its pristine floors.

It had taken several painful years to plan and design this – and finally, a portion of his dreams had been solidified into material reality. Of course, the real goal behind all this was still out of reach. Though much progress had been made, time was nonetheless a merciless force and Fat Tony knew that his body and mind would only grow older – and weaker. He went up the stairs and examined the second floor, where the rest of the cubicles would be, and eventually reached the third floor where it was laid out for larger rooms and other offices. He entered the main conference room of the building where the table and chairs were already set up and polished; the varnish of the hardwood tabletop catching the reflection of natural light. Out the surrounding panoramic windows revealed a marvelous, sprawling view of the Springfield skyline in a backdrop of deep, deciduous mountains.

The footsteps from behind broke his reverie. "Early as usual," he spoke without turning around. "How are you, Johnny Tightlips?"

As expected, the latter did not reply but instead walked up beside Fat Tony facing the windows. "The boys have certainly outdone themselves." he commented.

"Indeed." Fat Tony turned around and sat down in one of the chairs. With Johnny, minced words were never needed. It was usually straight to business talk from there. "How'd it go?"

"Not good." Johnny sat down across from him and slapped down a bulging folder onto the table. "People are less inclined to spend money on us now that we've let our guard down."

Tony sighed and lit a cigar. His new insurance business was not going as well as he had planned, and there seemed to be no sign of improvement …

"I still don't see why all this glitz is needed," continued Johnny, "when we're barely getting by these days. Don't see how you were able to afford this one."

"Appearances matter, John. Whether it's legitimate or not. A dank basement under an old building just won't do anymore." Tony shifted in his seat, hoping to change the subject. "You think Michael will show up today?"

He had tried his best to sound casual, but the sharp-eared Johnny could not be fooled. He glanced up before focusing back on a pile of documents in the folder. "Hard to say," he replied, adjusting his glasses a bit, "Now that he's shacking up with that Lovejoy girl again, it seems he has more than a handful to deal with."

Fat Tony grimaced as he put out his cigar against the table, much to Johnny's raised eyebrows. "So much for those four years in Jersey. He certainly hasn't outgrown his foolish thirst for debauchery." He then glared resentfully at Johnny. "I thought you said he was excelling in his studies, and movin' on from his old bullshit. Magna cum laude and all that, my ass!" He banged the table with his fist.

Johnny Tightlips did not even flinch as he closed the folder. "Well, it's one thing being book smart, and a whole other thing being street smart. She's a crafty little minx and knows exactly how to get whatever she wants," Johnny took off his glasses and looked straight into Fat Tony's glaring eyes. "Michael's got a weakness for the ladies. You understand, don't you?"

It seemed like a backhanded remark enough, but Fat Tony decided to let it go, as he was too emotionally tired to acknowledge Johnny's grudge. He had not wanted to deal with that girl again, but unbeknownst to Johnny Tightlips, Fat Tony had desperately needed extra funding to secure the land sales to build this complex. Money was at an all-time low ever since the closing down of some 'businesses' he used to run – it was all part of his grand plan that only few of his men knew about. But it did make sense that his son should not inherit the family fortune and all of Tony's possessions of both intangible and material nature – without also inheriting his flaws. A pretty woman was more dangerous than a game of Russian roulette, he was once told. At least with a gun, you either end up alive or dead in that single moment. With a girl, it was hook, line, and sinker for life – or at least until whenever she decides to throw you away.

Johnny started to click his fingers as he stared straight into Fat Tony's wandering eyes. "I know about your 'secret' loan, Tony. And you're making a big fucking mistake."

Before Fat Tony could flip over the heavy table and grab Johnny by the neck, the echoing of several footsteps from the hallway approached closer to the conference room.

"Hey boss, this place is killer! I'm impressed with these new construction guys!" admired Louie as he walked in with a group of men, looking out the windows.

"You can see our old headquarters from over here. Neat!" observed Legs. The other men murmured excitedly in agreement.

A slightly breathless Fat Tony smoothed his tie before standing up and extended his arms. "Gentlemen, I am truly happy that you have come today for our first 'official' meeting. I apologize that I do not have adequate refreshments and other welcoming delicacies, for as you see, the interior is not fully furnished yet. But I would like to invite all of you to my home after the meeting to properly celebrate the birth of our corporation."

The men cheered in unison as they settled down in their seats. More men arrived, some with their children who had also shown interest in the business, but his own son was yet to be seen. Fat Tony glanced reluctantly at his phone before deciding against calling him.

Later in the evening, Fat Tony excused himself from company and snuck into his private study back at home. There was a light flashing on his desk phone. It was a voice message left by Michael, clearly inebriated and disoriented from whatever substance he had indulged on from earlier in the day. Fat Tony growled and knocked off several things from his desk in a careless moment of anger. That girl was an awful influence on him – Michael himself had even admitted once – but here he was hooked on her again, like an addict who failed rehab. When he had borrowed money from Jessica Lovejoy, he only did so after confirming with his private investigators that she was engaged to someone else. Michael himself had been dating other girls at that time – or so it had seemed! And now … !

He knew he needed something – anything – to break Michael off from this toxic pattern; perhaps a new hobby or a new source of influence. But from what? Where? Who? Clearly, four years at an out-of-state school had done nothing for him, except to reunite him with his off-and-on girlfriend afterwards.

Fat Tony gave a defeated sigh as he bent down to pick up the mess he made. Amidst the strewn documents, folders, and magazines was today's newspaper which he had not read yet. Fat Tony never liked to miss the daily news, no matter how mundane they were. He skimmed through the headlines. "Locally renowned girl, now a Wellesley grad, returns home to make good yet again." Fat Tony thought he recognized the name as he continued to read. "Collaborating with former Springfield civil engineer and reformed convict Cecil Terwilliger, our very own Ms…"

...

"Simpson," replied a slightly annoyed Lisa. "My name is Lisa Simpson. It's very important I speak to him soon. Could you please pass on my message? Thank you…" She hung up just in time to catch Maggie waking casually to the front door. "Where are you going?"

Maggie shrugged. "Work…" she cleared her throat at Lisa's dubious gaze, "Come on, Lise! I got scheduled for an evening shift. Wasn't my choice to work this late."

"But it's almost 8pm. What time does your shift end? Is … is it even legal to work so late?"

"Technically it's until midnight but they always let me go home early because it's so dead in the restaurant. Don't worry, Lisa. Mom knows that I'm working tonight. Hey Bart," she glanced over Lisa's shoulder where her brother laid tiredly on the couch watching TV, "can you give me a ride here?"

He managed to drag himself up and soon enough, Bart and Maggie were on the road.

"I don't feel good about this, Mags," he mumbled as he turned on the windshield wipers. "Hell, it's raining too. That's a bad sign."

Maggie sighed and clutched onto her backpack. "I love the rain, so this is a good sign for me…" Even though she, too, felt a little uneasy tonight. "This will be the last run for a long while, I promise."

Bart laughed with bitterness. "Fuck, that's getting old now. I'm sick of sneaking around, sick of being broke…"

"Fired again, weren't you?" scoffed Maggie as she pulled out a cigarette. "Thank god I'm the only steady income earner around here."

"Leave me alone, damn it." Bart angrily pulled over on the side, jerking both of them slightly forward from their seats. "By the way, you better cover your ass soon. Knowing Lisa, she might call Mom wanting to 'check' on you."

Maggie bit her lip as she threw on her backpack. "Ok, I'm sorry. And thanks, I should do that. Can you give me an extra quarter?"

Bart quietly flipped her a coin. "Meet you back here in 30 mins? Maybe we can actually kill time at Krusty Burger tonight until your 'shift' ends."

"Sounds good, I'll call you after." She closed the door and watched Bart drive off before making a run towards the telephone booth.

The raindrops pattering gently against the telephone booth got thicker as she listened to Mom talking about her day with Dad, and jokingly wondering whether he had lost weight from his strict hospital diet. "But it's all healthy stuff they give him, right?" laughed Maggie. "So it's a good thing after all." She tried not to tear up as the conversation went on.

All this time, Maggie had been looking out for her contact to arrive. This was a rather obscure area, and very few cars had gone by after Bart. But she was not nervous. She had 'delivered' to this person several times before and by now, she felt they were close enough as occasional business acquaintances. When Bart first knew about her business, he had been furious and always insisted on coming along with her as a bodyguard. It took a lot of convincing of the other party to let him hang around, but eventually Bart also felt comfortable enough for Maggie to go alone at times. The three of them had become 'close' in that sense.

It almost felt like an hour when a dark-colored van seemed to stop at the corner of a vacant building, and flashed the headlights. Once. Then twice. It was time.

"Anyways, mom. I think I'm gonna go brush my teeth now and get ready for bed. Give Dad an extra big hug and kiss for me."

"Of course, sweetie. He's sleeping now so I'll have to do it tomorrow. You know … he really misses you."

Maggie cursed under her breath as her vision started to blur with tears. "God … yeah, I miss him too. I know I haven't been able t-to visit him much these days … but I'll do it soon. And … I miss you, Mom. I really feel like … I haven't seen you in forever. The house isn't the same without you or Dad around. N-not that I'm trying to guilt trip you or anything …"

Maggie especially felt guilty as she could Marge quietly weeping from the other line. "I know, I know. Just … be good, Maggie. If we all work hard, pray, and be good, everything will work out in the end. We mustn't lose faith. Okay? My precious baby!"

She gave a hard sniff before wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweater. Her mascara had streaked against it, but Maggie could care less as she steadied her breath and gripped hard against the receiver, whispering, "I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, Maggie. Goodnight." And with all her emotional strength and determination, Maggie hung up.

Stepping out of the booth with a fiercely lit cigarette perched in her mouth, all family and personal matters were now locked up as the door closed behind her. No longer was she a "baby" … not even her mother's baby … as each determined footstep that hit the rough concrete took her closer to the van that awaited her arrival. Maggie exhaled with defiance and through her smoke she saw a short man approach from the other side. She almost choked and started coughing.

"Hey, hey … relax, man." The mysterious stranger waved his hands nervously at her, speaking in a gentle voice. "I'm covering for Weasel tonight. Just … ah, don't freak out."

"Then who the fuck are you?" Maggie hoarsely whispered, not from fear but because her throat still hurt like hell. "He didn't say anything about sending a proxy."

"It was a last minute change, I swear. And I'm really sorry for scaring you," He seemed to plead. "Please, I'm a good friend of his, my name is Fisher. You … you got your stuff, man?"

Reaching into the pockets of her hoodie, Maggie recovered her wits as she felt the reassuring coldness of her pepper spray container. "I'm always prepared. And quit calling me a 'man', you should know what my name is … if you really work with him."

Fisher let out a nervous laugh. "Well, I'm sorry again, miss, uh … Maggie … Simpson. It's an old habit, I guess." He opened the trunk of the van and reached for a brown paper bag. "I heard you were a feisty one … Weasel sure as hell weren't kidding when he told me about you."

Maggie did not flinch as he walked up closer. Awkwardly staring in silence, he tried again. "So, uh … how you doin' tonight?"

She smirked. "Tell Weasel I'm going home, and that I'm disappointed in him. Takin' me for an idiot, why don't you?"

"Oh come on, man! I-I mean … Maggie, sorry…" stammered Fisher. "He's gonna beat my ass in if I don't show up with his things! Help me out here, please!" He pushed out the paper bag in Maggie's face. "You count first … see, it's all in there, the right amount. Right?"

Maggie slowly counted the wads of bills inside the bag, glancing up at Fisher every once in a while – making sure he wasn't pulling anything funny. She was actually not too concerned, because Weasel had previously brought other people with him before though she never bothered learning their names. This guy might have been one of them, though it was weird that he didn't seem to know her name at first …

"You're really his friend?" She decided to test him.

"Yeah, man. Maggie! Dammit, again … " Fisher cursed under his breath. "I … I would do anything for him! You just ask him. I really would!"

Perhaps he was a junkie, obviously with an affected short-term memory from his inability to remember saying her name. And the way he seemed to shake so nervously, talking in such a begging voice …

"All right, Fisher," she cleared her throat authoritatively, "Do something that will prove to me that you are indeed his friend … a friend that would indeed do anything for him." She grinned as he started to shake even more.

"L-like wh…what?" Fisher looked like he was ready to cry. "Shit, man … Maggie. I-I'm gonna fuckin' die because of you … fuckin' hell!"

Maggie threw him her pack of cigarettes, which he stumbled to catch. "Relax, man. I'm not gonna make you do anything extreme. Here, have one on me; a friend of Weasel is a friend of mine." She observed him more closely as he felt his pockets for a lighter. "You need some fire there too?"

He leaned in as she lit him up, and from there he vigorously breathed through his smoke. "Oh, god …" he whispered.

"How do I know you're not a cop pretending to be his friend?" She asked him bluntly.

Fisher threw his cigarette in a sudden display of anger. "Hey, man. Fuck you," he stomped out his cigarette and snatched away the paper bag.

"Maggie," she reminded him with mild amusement.

"Yeah, whatever! I don't give no fuck anymore, I'm gonna see Weasel."

"You just said he's going to kill you if you don't make this dealio."

"Well, why do I need to prove anything to you? I'm his friend, he'll believe me when I tell him you were being a dumb bitch about it."

Maggie chuckled. "Maybe you should stop with your name-calling there. Aren't you afraid I might have a gun or something? Hurt you real bad if I wanted to!"

Now it was Fisher's turn to laugh. "Yeah, pretendin' to be a tough one, huh? I know you ain't got no gun. You're just a teenage punk kid with no respect. None! All talk and no smack, that's what Weasel said. Just forget it and fuck off. You'll hear from him soon."

"Now you're pissin' your pants 'cause I asked if you were a cop? Grow some balls, buddy. Wasn't meant to be an insult." When he started to get in the van, Maggie decided to let go of her act. "Hey, Fisher. Come on, friend. Are you really blowing this deal for some petty shit like that?"

Fisher turned around and glared angrily into Maggie's eyes. "Are you?"

They stared at each other for a while.

"Nope, guess not." Maggie shrugged and threw her backpack onto the ground, upon which Fisher viciously opened it up and thoroughly examined the inside. Before he could get up from his knees, Maggie pulled out her mace and held it against his face. "So. Are you or are you not a cop?"

Fisher cursed once more and looked up towards Maggie. "For the last fucking time ... no!" He winced at the last word, as Maggie had inched it even closer to his face.

"Fine." Maggie folded up the paper bag and watched Fisher slowly zip up the backpack on the ground. "Give Weasel a hug for me, and uh … sorry for being a bitch to you, Fisher."

"It's okay," Fisher still remained on the ground.

"All right then. Later."

As she tucked the bag under her shoulder, Maggie turned around only to face a sudden circle of blinding headlights surrounding her from every corner. When she turned back to Fisher, she was met at gunpoint as he screamed, "SPRINGFIELD POLICE! ON THE GROUND, NOW!"

He inched closer with the gun as several more officers circled down on her like the eagles on their badges. In a sleepy daze, she stared at the grains of the brightly-lit concrete that spread out dreamily below her face while the coldness of the steel handcuffs kept her fully awake to the unfolding nightmare.

...

"You're under my arrest. Dammit, kid. I can charge you for delaying an officer if you keep quiet like this. You want that?"

Maggie could barely see his face through her wet mascara-filled eyes. She looked about the room, where she saw a wall with a row of photos under a sign that said "WANTED" and a wilting tropical plant stood beneath them.

"We'll try this again," sighed Officer Fisher. "Is your name Margaret Evelyn Simpson?"

She remained silent.

"Of 742 Evergreen Terrace?"

Again, silent.

It was when he pulled out a pen and notepad when she felt compelled to nod.

"Yes … and yes."

She watched him shake his head and fill out a paper form.

"Just, please … sir," she managed to whisper. He glanced up from his paperwork.

"Please don't tell my mom."

End of Chapter 1.