Sorry, almost forgot in the last chapter: a special thanks to Twilit Violet, for giving me the inspiration to fill out a plot-hole in this. Thanks!
Also: sorry, I've had a bad case of writer's block for a couple of weeks now. :P Not my fault, and sorry if this seems like a short chapter.
Eddie came running downstairs as the door opened. Cecil quickly wiped his eyes.
Bart knelt down on his knees, playing with the overly-exited dog.
Everybody else looked up at the person coming downstairs now—Gino Terwilliger. He was carrying a box, the objects inside it sliding up and down as he took to the challenge of climbing down each step with it.
He stopped and paused at the bottom of the steps, looking at them in grim silence. Finally, he set down the box and said, "Momma said that this was for Maggie. If she gets bored."
He rubbed his shoulder awkwardly as Maggie stumbled over her blue one-piece to the box. She took out a toy train.
Lisa smiled. "Are those yours?"
He looked at her, ignoring the question and stating, "Why are you hugging my uncle?"
"Why does your family have him locked in a basement?" Bart snapped back.
He shrugged. "I do not-a know. Papa says that my uncle tried to kill you two," he gestured to Bart and Lisa, "and him by exploding a dam."
Cecil frowned, "So a couple of years in prison aren't enough to make up for that? I'll have you know that I suffered more than you can ever know, and—"
Lisa put her hand to his mouth.
"Excuse me then." Gino started up the stairs.
"Wait!" Lisa exclaimed, "Please tell your mother and grandmother that we need to see them. In private."
He nodded, running upstairs. And shutting the door behind him.
Eddie jumped onto the bed, demanding attention from Lisa by plotting himself down and rolling over, expecting a belly-rub. Bart finally came over as well, letting the dog have what he wanted.
Cecil turned to her. "I hope you realize that when you say 'in private,' I know that you'll just leave me down here."
"That's what I wanted to talk to them about," She said.
"Yeah, why do they keep you down here?" Bart asked.
"I honestly don't know. I think it had something to do with keeping you company."
"So you are supposed to stay down here with us until we escape and call the cops," Bart put his fingertips together like Mr. Burns, and showed a blank expression.
He shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"
He grimaced. "Yeah—that's not going to happen, so…" He said slowly. "As much as we truly do want to help you and your little serious life-endangering mental issues, I don't think so."
They were interrupted by the sound of the door unlocking.
They were now upstairs, in the den. Cecil had stayed in the basement, playing a game of checkers with Gino. He had announced the children's departure "unsanitary" and had shown obvious disgust for the imaginary foe. Maggie had stayed down there as well, mostly because she couldn't—well—talk.
Lisa crossed her arms. "Why do you keep him locked in the basement?"
Judith maintained a steady gaze. "You have been with him, child. You know perfectly well why."
Bart shared Lisa's angry Mr. Burns-like pose, only with a blank face instead of the "bad-cop" mask. "But you don't care about him if all you do during one of his nightmares is take turns with a family member, going down there. While the rest of you just go back to sleep, not a care or worry written in your little fancy-shmancy homicidal agendas."
Her head turned sharply to him, with a raging fire behind those aged eyes. "Of course I care about my son, you heathen brat!" She took a deep breath, settling herself, "Excuse me."
Francesca took that moment to chime in, "We are doing our best to care-a for him. But, as you can see, it eez not-a easy." Her eyes narrowed.
Lisa said, "Then why do you keep him down there? I'm going to assume that you have been locking the door before we got here on him, and I bet we'd get it if you didn't. You're keeping us down there with him, we at least deserve to know why!"
Judith sighed heavily, placing her head in her hand. "We keep him down there for multiple reasons, dear."
Both children leaned forward in their seats as they both asked simultaneously, "What reasons?"
She looked back up, taking a deep breath. "One of the reasons is because of the windows. When he would awaken from a night-terror in his old room, he would throw himself at the window, crying for freedom. It would make me cry listening to him—you would think he had been locked away, in a horrible place, for months. The second reason is simple, and not entirely important: it would deprive us of our precious little time we have to sleep. Once again, not very important."
Francesca abruptly got up. "I think I will leave you be, go check on them. Now that you-a mention them."
Judith continued, "The third reason, then. I think Bob mentioned his dropped habit of growling at you?"
Both children nodded.
"Yes, well. When that would happen, and he would wake up, keep in mind how strong a fully-grown man's jaws truly are. Especially to a child as young as Gino, no matter how quick he is. Nobody was hurt, thankfully, but there were too many close-calls. Which leads us directly into the fourth reason: sometimes he wouldn't even realize he was awake."
Both Bart and Lisa looked at each other uneasily, the same thoughts spinning through their heads.
"That is why you don't wake him up in the middle of a dream. Because in every single one of his dreams, he apparently has to defend himself one way or another."
Lisa gulped. "Every dream is like that?"
"Don't they have drugs to help with that?" Bart asked.
"You'd think that - none that are strong enough. Something creeps into his mind every night, and something has poisoned my son's head." Judith said with fierce confidence, "But his dreams are worse when nobody is around afterwards. And that is why you're down there."
"It wasn't a heart attack, was it?" Lisa jumped up, "When we were talking to him, he blacked out at "cellmates" in word association! Have none of you figured out what I just real—"
"A repressed memory, we know."
" . . . Oh." She settled back into her chair. "Then why did you tell us—"
"I said nothing of the heart attack Bob has been poking around at. We know it is a repressed memory, but what triggered it? That is the question! He was perfectly fine until that one day, when Robert told him—" Her eyes widened in realization, as did Lisa's.
"What did your husband tell him?" She leaned forward again.
"That their freedom was coming close. We had been saving up the bail money, we were about to…But why would that bring back the memory?"
"It could have been shock," Bart said. "I mean, he was in jail. Eighty-seven year sentence, I should know, I was there during your court case! It was freedom-shock! That means this memory had something to do with jail—"
"—And the news of the bail had an unconscious effect on his mind, triggering some time where he must have had absolutely no hope of escaping!" Lisa exclaimed, jumping up once again.
Judith looked at the children in bewilderment. "You children are much brighter than I gave you credit for."
Bart jumped up as well, looking at Judith. "Hey, if we fix your son, are we free to go?"
"That would depend. Would you press charges against my family when we let you go?"
"That would depend," He said mockingly.
"But when would he have lost all hope?" Lisa's grin faded.
Both children looked at Judith.
"I'm afraid I wouldn't know the answer to that. After we were arrested, they separated us."
"But wouldn't Mr. Terwilliger know?"
Bart smirked, "Yeah, all three of them would know, Lise. Four if you count the pipsque—er, Gino."
She rolled her eyes. "I meant her husband, Bart."
Judith nodded. "Yes, he would know."
"Why didn't you ask him before?"
"Both of them—my husband and Bob—were questioned very thoroughly. It blows my mind that none of the pieces clicked for any of us."
"Are you sure?" Lisa now frowned, deep into thought. "Sure, the pieces were vast and many, but for none of you to get the picture? Maybe your family haven't been entirely honest with each other, ma'am."