About ten minutes had passed. Francesca had heard nothing but laughter coming from outside. Once again, she threw herself against the door, trying to burst it open.

And, once again, she sighed. "Roberto! Eeh-Cecil!"

More laughter.

Her eyes filled with tears. She didn't know what was going on with those two, but she knew her babies were in trouble. Her babies. The thought of that alone inspired her to try to break down the door again.

She drew back, ready to pounce, when the door opened.

Bob was on the ground, his arm dropping from turning the doorknob. Francesca knelt beside him, gasping. Bob was trying to say something. From what she made out, it was: "Get it off!"

He hit the floor with his fist when she showed confusion. "What? I do not-a understand!"

"F-f-f-FEEEEET!" He fell back laughing.

She got up, inspecting the un-naturally sized feet from a distance. There was some sort of thick, blue . . . substance on those gunboats.

She covered her face and began to laugh and cry simultaneously. "Those feet! Those damned, over-sized…worthless…except for wine…over-sized damned feet! I would never have even thought how sensitive—"

"Shut uh-hup!"

She looked around, thinking. Stared back at the goop. She clutched a fistful of hair in one hand, thinking harder.


(Special POV) +

I saw it all happen. Now, when I was alive, I never cursed. Being in-between Heaven and life, it was sort of ironic. Several of the white people glared at me, and turned back to their holes.

We couldn't see them. The white people, I mean. It's all shapes and white light. Lisa thinks they're other angels, not yet moved on like us. And, like us, they don't seem to see us either. We all hear each other though. Not very often. It's sort of like a veil between all of us, thick enough to have privacy, thin enough to hear shouts. The white people shout often at their holes, swearing and cursing, sometimes going down there to save their loved ones. They never return, probably having moved on. Other shapes fill in their places eventually, and the same process ensues.

The holes, at least what Homie named them, are what keeps us in touch with our homes, or unfinished business. Our unfinished business is with Maggie. We aren't in Heaven yet because of Maggie. We can't move on because of Grimes.

And his master.

And dammit, a mother would curse if her daughter was about to die!

The rest of my family leaned forward, watching both sides of our hole. One was of the Terwilliger residence, the other being of the angel in hell dragging my daughter and her cousin to the master's house.

I cocked my head, trying to remember how the other white people did it, imagined where I wanted to go, and jumped into the hole. I think I heard the rest of my family crying out.

I emerged in the room, in the living earth, stumbling a bit. I almost stepped on Cecil, the poor thing. I looked around, checking my surroundings, and looking down at myself. I looked completely normal as I had been from when I was alive, maybe a bit paler.

I opened my mouth to speak. "H-hi, everyone."

No one responded.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" I raised my voice some, taking a step forward. My footstep made no sound, though Cecil did when I stepped on his leg.

He looked up at me, eyes saucers, gasping and trying not to laugh. Though he still laughed, he backed away from me, obviously scared. He attempted to call out to Francesca and Bob.

I heard gasps. They were all looking at me now. My head turned from one person to the next; I cupped my hands together and backed up a step. Maybe I didn't think this through very well.

Francesca held out her hand. "Wait! M-Marge?"

I smiled and waved like a shy schoolgirl on her first day.

The mad cackling ruined our little moment there. I grinned wickedly at Cecil, twisting my wrist. He stopped laughing as the blue gunk flew across the room.

His cheeks were red getting up, and he said as soon as he caught his breath, "Mar-Margie?"

I grinned at him.

"You—cannot be alive," He shook his head, touching my arm. Like touching a real person. "Can you speak?"

I shook my head. The dead do speak though. The living just don't listen.* I flicked my wrist again, and the plasma on Bob's feet flew onto the same wall position as the other gunk.

He laid there gasping for a minute, and leaned on the crook of his arm to face me. "How, on the face of my earth and yours, did you come back? How did Grimes come back? Where are my son and niece with a homicidal demon?!" He fell back to the floor, voice cracking on demon. Francesca leaned down with him. I didn't know if he had already been crying from laughing so hard, or if he was doing so now.

I looked at him—all of them—with pity. They had feelings too, as all human beings and the beyond do. No matter what our history is (was), they cared about the children. As did I. I wanted them to be happy.

I didn't want to stay in-between with my entire family and Gino, waiting however many years it would take for us all to be together again, to finally be able to go to Heaven.

I looked around, thinking. I can't move things, so that took out writing. Shrades? No. I'll try to lift a pen.

Fail. Cecil gives me a look, "Do you know where they are?"

I nod and point to the door.

They all got up. Bob came over to me and awkwardly put his hands on my shoulder. "Please. For our children's lives, please help us save them!"

I nodded and followed them out the door.


Grimes terrified the children even more, singing:

"Down once more, to the dungeons of my black despair! Down we plunge to the prisons of our minds! Down a path into darkness deep as HELL!"

Maggie cringed into Gino's chest, trying to sit up straight. They were in the trunk of a black limo, stolen from Krusty while he was on "Eye on Springfield." The car kept swerving left to right, knocking the children to the sides.

Gino cried out when he was thrown against the front of the trunk.

The front—the taillight!

He kicked the right taillight out, so that now they could at least see where they were going. He grabbed Maggie, their little faces peering outside. Waiting for their chance to come to crawl out.


If you don't like Marge in here, I agree. I couldn't think of anything else though, and Odd Thomas inspired me there. This should pick up now, I have a decent idea about where this is headed.

+ -I guess you could say they were in Purgatory.

*- I was kind of using Odd Thomas (by Dean Koontz) with the spirit there, though I really don't know any true fact about ghosts or demons or Purgatory or anything like that that I used in here. Just that I really like Odd Thomas.