Imagine this with a thunderstorm in the background…there have been a bunch lately at my home, so Internet has been down. Sorry.

On the bright side: longest chapter for this story yet! Even better: The Simpsons is (from what I heard) going onto Season 25! Here's to them and 24 awesome seasons so far!

Homer drummed his fingers against the couch. "Why are we just sitting around again?"

"We no longer have a car," Bob muttered. "Shouldn't have let them take it. And Mother won't answer her cell phone." He started pacing again, looking at a machete.

"Don't you have another car?"

He shook his head. "Vojin stole the keys to that one on his way out of our house."

"Well, it's okay, they'll be back in a few minutes. But isn't there anything else we can do?"

"Not for the time being, no. Except wait for them to come back, I suppose."

"Well, can we make small talk while we do that? The children are. Or even go outside, and see if there's anything there?"

The kids were all in the basement, looking for anything that might have left a clue as to where Vojin would be.

"Doubtful. Cecil said they were upstairs when Vojin broke in."

"And we do know there was a clue," Robert said, "He drove off in a silver Corolla. We don't know which direction."

"Oh." He shifted. "I heard something about him having dreams—Cecil, I mean. What was that about?"

"It was his subconscious mind trying to release the memories from that month," Bob said. "Or that serum wearing off slowly."

"What were in the dreams?"

"Nightmares. He wouldn't talk about them that often."

"Why not? It feels better to talk about your nightmares to somebody, or bad memories, or else you'll just keep them locked away inside of you to rot."

Everybody looked at him.

"And then things'll get even worse, and that wouldn't help the whole memory thing, would it?"

They looked back down when he looked up.

"Would it?"

"We don't know what was going through his mind, Homer," Bob said. "If he doesn't want to talk about it, then it's just that dark that he wouldn't want to put anything inside anyone else's heads."

"But I've had those dreams too, and I still share them with Marge! Like that one dream I had of wanting Kelsey Grammer and Dan Castellaneta's autograph and meeting them, when they came into town." He shuddered, "That was one of the worst nightmares I've ever had! But she took it fine, and it wasn't the end of the world. Actually, with each problem we face in our marriage, it brings us all a little bit closer. Marge and I and the kids, we're all left together in the middle to deal with the problem we've brought on, and we get out of it together. Like when Marge accidentally went to an online dating site for people having marriage problems. I was really trying to rebuild the train we—"

"Named me after!" Came Lisa's reply from the basement. "Out of everything you could have named me after, you named me after a train. Even if we do have fun with it—"

"It was your mother's idea!" He called back, "Point being, we get out of everything together and it all ends up well. Even that Ben guy and his wife ended up together in the end."

"Touching. Very touching—however, when my family clashes with yours, you do end up on top. Every single time. And Cecil has never exactly been the sharing type anyway," He laughed. "Even if he wanted to share the darker ones, his mind was mush for a while."

"Explain."

"Did you not-eh listen to us?" Francesca asked, "We explained it twice."

He shrugged. "Things go through my head when people are talking."

"Like-eh what?"

He stared into space for a few seconds.

She frowned and snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Hey! Wake up!"

He jumped, "Pie! Wait, what? Whadja' say?"

"Nothing important."

"Well then," Robert smiled, "May I remind you all that our family—or families, in this case—don't let anything like this slide by without a proper fight?"

"We're here!" Marge took the keys out of her purse in a rush, and turned the lock; the door popped open. She dropped the keys as they were taken out. "Woops!" She leaned over to get them, simultaneously opening the door.

A gunshot went off.

The bullet grazed by where her head would have been. They both froze in shock, and then Cecil pulled her away from the door, pulling out a gun.

She did a double-take. "Why did you bring that?"

He put his finger to his lips, and called out, "Vojin!"

The door swung open to reveal the now-famous 'psycho' therapist, with an ugly smirk and a hand pistol. "Hello, Terwilliger."

"Professor." He nodded once, keeping both guns within eyesight. "Where is my mother?"

"Now, now." He took a step forward.

Cecil pushed Marge behind him, and took a step back.

But he held his arm and gun steady and aimed at the doctor's head. "Where is she?"

"It's a shame that didn't hit you," He broke their stare to look at the small stream of smoke coming out of his pistol. "But it would've hit . . . Shame. Awful shame."

"Avoiding the question, are we?"

"Avoiding it like the plague."

"Is that how you see it?"

"I can understand you now. Your words make sense. That isn't good."

"For you."

"Or can you understand me? Do you know who I am? Because I can help you. We all want to help you."

"God damn you."

"He did a long time ago."

"Should I do something?" Marge backed a step away from the draw. "I feel like I should do something."

"It's not your fight," Vojin said, "Not unless you want in on our family feuds. I don't know where your mother is. Therapist's truth, I thought she was with you. Or somewhere in the neighborhood when you were looking for me."

"Marge, get out of here. Tell the others if you can." He never took an eye off of the man. "Why did you decide to test on me, of all the prisoners in there?"

"You were the perfect guinea pig."

"Oh?"

"Yep. You weren't as insane as Bob was. Didn't snap as easily."

"I keep a firm wall up. Marge, go."

She got into the car, but didn't drive away.

"But you weren't as sane as, say, your parents."

"You want to talk about walls, they're the strongest people I know of."

"But you were like a thorn on a rose. You fascinated me."

"Thorns fascinate you? I fascinate many people on mental levels."

"You snapped that day, on the dam. But you're so . . ."

"Sane now? That was just a bit of insanity. But it was mostly for the money."

"No. Bitterness. Bitterness from those sidekick auditions, more than a decade ago."

Cecil shrugged. "It had been my life-long dream, and I saw it explode in a burst of cream and crust. I'm literally quoting what I told Bob on the matter."

"Well, it caught my attention. How long your family can hold a grudge. Actually, your entire family caught my attention. But you especially."

"That doesn't sound like a compliment."

"Oh, but it is. I . . . well, I'm a prison therapist. It's my job to crack the toughest nuts. No offense."

"None taken." A smooth and steady voice, throughout the whole conversation.

"When your cases were handed over to me, that was when it first started."

"I'm blushing."

"I was able to figure all of you out, except for you. Out of all the prisoners that I have handled, I know their patterns. It all started from a little spark, something that makes them evil."

"Evil isn't born. It's made. I think Once Upon A Time made lives easier with that quote."

"True. But you made me curious to really crack the toughest nut. After all, you are one of a kind. I know all patterns in a madman's mind, and I'm proud of it! I know what you did and what caused it—but I don't know—augh! Why! I know WHY, but I just don't understand—!"

"Losing your mind, Professor?" He smirked. "I think you need professional help."

"Touché. So, when I couldn't crack yours, I decided to take matters into my own hands."

"And treat me like a lab rat. To bring me down to a level you'd understand."

"Precisely. Compacting the facts."

"But how did you know the serum would work? If you've used it before, then there must be others like me."

"Not really," he shrugged, "I just used it on the toughest, more violent, minds. And then . . . well, you got the lesser boost of it."

"I got the lesser?" He cocked an eye. "Hard to believe. I completely lost my mind in twelve seconds."

"Indeed. Do you remember Steven? The one that eats people's faces?"

"But he came out fine. All of your patients did."

"Let me explain. He wouldn't stop fighting. We had to chain him down, basically. I gave him the full dose of the serum."

"Which is?"

"Three injections. You only got one."

"Oh. How nice."

"He went from a wild lion to a drooling poodle. He was like putty in my hands. I could tell the most insane criminal minds anything I wanted them to do, and they'd do it! My biggest accomplishment in psychology yet."

"Your mother must be so proud . . ."

He laughed. "Obviously, it's worn off on you. I had to let you go immediately after the injection, while your memory was still fading. I was watching you that day, at lunch. Right before you had the "stroke?" Because that was the day I let you go."

"How didn't I remember?"

"Because that month was slowly fading away. I told you to forget. The injection finally hit your head after lunch, didn't it?"

"Like a thorn going right into my frontal lobe."

He grinned, and licked his lips. "Heh. I wasn't expecting that strong a reaction. It only reacts that way to the criminals with a violent background, I suppose, with more than one injection . . . you still confuse me. One shot shouldn't have made you overreact that way. Was it painful?"

He said nothing.

"Because Steven went down screamin' and crying."

Cecil said nothing.

"It's horrible to see a grown man cry. Especially as hard as he did."

"Shut up." He spoke softly this time.

"You? You were a tough one. Especially at first."

"Shut UP and don't move."

"You never shed a tear. Not with me in the room, at least."

"Shut UP, dammit! Marge GO!"

She snapped out of the watching-a-soap-opera-like trance and started the engine.

"It wasn't until the second week that you finally stopped banging on the door every moment and chance you got! Like a trapped animal!"

Cecil's gun went off, and Vojin's pistol flew across the yard as he bent down and gripped his right hand with a few curses. He staggered back, towards the fence.

Marge sped away into the distance.

"I said shut up dammit." He spoke through clenched teeth again.

"I can't move it." Vojin looked back up at Cecil. "Nice job, Terwilliger. That was my injecting hand."

"I'll kill you right now. You have it coming. For a long time, you've had it coming."

He started laughing. It was a madman's cackle that echoed into the sky. Like the Joker's from Batman. "I have had it coming," he nodded. "For a long time, I have had it coming. But you know what?"

He flew over the street side in three seconds flat with more cackling, and into the other side of the neighborhood.

He cried out into the sky as he did so, "Only the devil may bring me down now!"

The cackle did not die down for a few more seconds.

Cecil dropped his outstretched arm. "Damn."

He swiftly went inside the house and to the phone as the neighbors came out to see what the commotion was all about.