Hi everyone! My name is PrimroseRaspberry, and welcome to my newest fanfiction story. This is quite a creation; the second fanfic I've written that is rated T, the second one to feature the Simpsons, and the first one to feature more than one language in it! The main language is English of course, but there's some French lines in it too. So, if you're interested in reading it and don't have as strong of an experience with French, please make sure a translator website is ready in a separate tab before you read the story.
Why are there some French lines in this fanfic, you may be wondering? Well, that's because this story also happens to be a crossover with a live action TV series known as "Sam Chicotte," which can only ever be found in French (I'm serious; there aren't even any English subtitle options, even on the DVDs). It's about an 8-year-old boy named Sam who has to protect a ghost his age from his wicked neighbour, who wants to eradicate him from existence. Yet with a living best friend who wants to help him but can't see or hear the ghost like Sam can, and parents who are not only disbelievers in ghosts (okay, only the dad actually matches the first part of that description) but also constantly fooled by the main villain's platonic seductions and sickeningly bad at parenting, such a task is anything but easy. For more information on the series, I'd recommend going to the French section of Wikipedia and the one and only website that contains every "Sam Chicotte" episode: idello [insert period here] org.
The reason why I decided to write this fanfic is because…well, you know how Homer and Marge's parenting skills can sometimes be a bit questionable? Well, Sam's parents, Francois and Isabelle, have their similarities with those two adults in that department. But there's one significant difference: while Homer and Marge are usually called out on whenever they make a mistake in parenting, Francois and Isabelle ALWAYS get away with their mistakes! Sometimes their mistakes aren't even addressed, and on the few occasions where they are, a few manipulations from one or both parents is all it takes, and the mistakes are instantly brushed aside and then completely forgotten (sometimes on the parents' opponents' own free will; that's how bad their manipulations can get)! It really annoys me—like, Isabelle is the kind of person who would choose impressing her neighbours over Sam's safety, and Francois…well, he's basically a sober, non-bald, physically healthy version of Homer. That, and he has a huge problem with sucking up to his wife and the main villain of the series.
Except unlike Homer, who sometimes realizes the error of his ways and makes things right (or at least tries to) and at least makes an effort to relate to his family's POVs, Francois is so self-absorbed and naive that he never realizes his mistakes or even makes an effort to relate to his family rather than simply suck up to them whenever he thinks it's necessary. And as a result, his youngest son's very safety is jeopardized and he's never even called out on that last part! It's gotten to the this-never-happened-before point where I've started disliking Francois (it's not exactly the same case for Isabelle because he's made FAR more mistakes than she has) even more than I dislike all the villains of the show. And the villains are SADISTIC! Like, how are Francois and Isabelle's bad parenting skills not addressed by the end of the final episode? I just don't get it.
That, and the fact that Marge and Homer have gotten away with some of their parenting mistakes, is why I decided to publish this fanfic. So that all four parents would finally pay the price and realize they really did make mistakes, and Sam and his teenage brother would finally fully understand that their parents are the exact opposite of the best (despite sometimes realizing the parental mistakes are mistakes to begin with, they always succumb to their parents' manipulations and somehow find it in them to almost idolize Francois). I know some of the stuff they'll go through in my story may seem a little far-fetched, especially considering that "Sam Chicotte" is technically a kids' show (even though it does feature scenes where there's a kid undergoing smoke suffocation, a teenager undergoing appendicitis, and discussions about people dying), but…well, that's basically how it is when Homer Simpson's in the house.
Disclaimer/Advisory: I apologize in advance if any scenes in my story scare you in any way, and I have to warn you that there are some sensitive topics in this story, along with a particularly violent scene. Also, I don't own "The Simpsons" or "Sam Chicotte." All credit goes to their original creators. Finally, the cover contains pictures of the Simpsons (some of which I highlighted specific colours) and Ned Flanders that I found on Google Images, along with cartoonized versions of the following "Sam Chicotte" characters: Alice (just below Ned), Cri-Cri (just above Lisa), Sam, Laurent (both to Lisa's right), Isabelle (to Marge's right), and Francois (to Homer's left).
That's basically all I have to say here. I hope you enjoy what you're about to read.
Chapter 1
Bart, Lisa, and Maggie Simpson had been dragged into many bad situations thanks to their parents in the past. However, the words "but none quite as serious as this" were a way to put it that either did or didn't match this particular dilemma. After everything the Simpson children had gone through, none of them could quite decide whether or not this was more serious than everything else they'd experienced. This wasn't the first time Homer and Marge had had to go through everything they'd faced today. Yet it was the first time that both of those unpleasant situations had happened on the same day, one specifically because of the other. Well, more or less.
As the three children sat in the car, seatbelts on, being driven by their neighbour Ned Flanders, nobody could deny the tension surrounding them. Ned still didn't know all the details yet, but enough information had been shared with him to prompt him to hire a babysitter for his sons Rod and Todd. They'd be traumatized if they found out what kind of situation Homer and Marge were in this time, absolutely traumatized. It amazed him that the Simpson kids hadn't lost their minds by now; he'd lost count of how many times their parents had gotten into unprofessional scenarios, some of which he (thankfully) hadn't even been involved in. Or even known about.
Lisa glanced over at Maggie, and sighed. Her baby sister was only one week shy of her second birthday, and she'd already witnessed way too many trials and scandals involving her family. And now, there was even a chance that she'd spend the rest of her life growing up with absolutely no sign of her father, instead of just a little sign of him. That would depend on how he would be punished for what he'd done today.
"Chill out, Lis," Bart reassured his oldest younger sister, seeing her worried expression. "Dad got away with it when he beat up Peter Griffin and Former President George Bush. Remember?"
"That doesn't mean he's going to get away with it this time," replied Lisa. "Dad's hurt a lot of people in the past, but this is the most painful assault he's ever given to someone! Chances are, he'll be going to jail…for a long, long time."
Bart frowned in disappointment. "Yeah…that does seem more like what'll happen."
If Homer did go to jail, that wouldn't be a first either. After the day Artie Ziff had framed him, and the day he and Marge had been blamed for a woman's murder only to realize the whole thing was just a publicity stunt, the Simpson children had learned that even with a police force as flawed as Springfield's, life sentences were something even their father couldn't stay away from. And after the phone call Lisa had answered, the one that had explained the current situation, well…this time, Homer didn't look like he had any hope of escaping a life sentence to prison.
Ned eventually parked the car in the parking lot of the Springfield Hospital, wasting no time in escorting the kids into the building, with Lisa carrying Maggie as they went. Once they reached the receptionist's desk, Ned introduced himself and asked, "Now, do you happen to know where we can fine-diddily-ind a patient named um…" he read the name Lisa had written down when she'd gotten the call, "...Fran-swa she-cut?"
"Francois Chicotte?" clarified the receptionist. "Third floor, in the ICU. Just go to the waiting room for the time being."
Lisa gulped as she followed Bart and Ned to the elevator. The ICU wasn't a good sign. Yup; her dad had really REALLY done it this time.
Once at the third floor, Ned and the Simpson kids quickly located the waiting room and entered it. Almost immediately, Bart and Lisa spotted a familiar face in a chair on the other side of the room.
"Mom!" both of the kids cried, rushing into her arms.
"Kids," exclaimed Marge, embracing all of her children at once. She tried to smile so they wouldn't worry as much as they needed to, but the fear, sadness, and disappointment in her eyes could not be hidden. Nor could her tears, which still continued to spill down her cheeks despite her attempts to keep them within her.
The woman sitting next to Marge stared at her in disbelief. She then asked her, in a Francophonic accent, Lisa couldn't help noticing, "Le gardien de vos enfants ne les a pas gardés à la maison?"
Marge rolled her eyes in annoyance and replied, "C'est mieux que d'engager un gardien dont vous savez que vos enfants ne se sentent pas en sécurité. Je sais que c'est votre mari qui a fait ça, mais maintenant il est assez clair que vous auriez fait la même chose si vous étiez à sa place ce jour-là."
"Hey, speak English, ladies," Bart cut in. "Just because I used to know French doesn't mean I still know it."
"Bart!" Marge scolded.
The woman next to her gently placed her hand over Marge's. "It is alright," she said, "I took an English class when I was in high school. I will be able to speak and understand your language without any problems."
"Oh," Marge said, surprised. "Okay."
Bart smiled his approval and said, "You may continue."
The Francophonic woman, who looked about four years older than Marge and had short black curly hair, could only cover her face in her hands and cry. As she did, Lisa noticed that, unlike everyone who lived in Springfield, her skin colour wasn't yellow or brown; it was beige, like the skin colour owned by her long-time-no-see friend Meg Griffin and her family. Another odd thing was that, on each of her hands, she had five fingers instead of four. The Simpsons' middle child meant no offense thinking this, but these were quite uncommon features for a human to have as far as she knew. Where was she from, and how—
At that moment, a wistful Ned stepped forward, snapping Lisa out of her thoughts. "Hi-diddly-ho, neighborino."
"Hi Ned," said Marge. "Thank you so much for bringing the kids here."
"Oh, it's no problem," her next-door neighbour replied. "Say, um…what exactly happened that led up to all this? Lisa told me that Homer roughed up a guy enough to almost K-I-L-L him and you'd be here waiting for us, but that was about it."
Marge sighed, wearily holding her hand against her forehead. "Well," she admitted, "I don't really wanna get into how it all started—"
"Mom, Lisa and I already know how it started," Bart cut in, frowning. "Even Maggie knows! We were all sitting right in front of you!"
"Come on, come on!" Marge urged. "We're gonna be late for church!"
"Hey, don't rush me," said Homer, being as slow and precise as possible while he poured maple syrup over his waffles. "Reverend Lovejoy gets even more upset when I throw up in church."
"Well this time you can excuse yourself before you throw up. I am not letting this family be late three weeks in a row."
Annoyed, Bart gulped down the last bite of his first waffle. "Ohh…Mom, why do you always seem to mind us being late more than you mind us getting stomachaches?"
Before Marge could reply, Lisa put in, "I'll admit being late for church is rude, but he does have a point. People tend to experience stomachaches when they eat too fast, and usually—"
"No time to talk!" Marge interjected. She then grabbed Homer's plate of waffles and stuffed them into his mouth, then repeated the same action with Bart. As for Lisa, who had already finished her waffles by this point, she grabbed her glass of milk and poured the whole thing down her throat. "Now go get dressed, young lady," she then ordered.
Gulping, and gagging a little, Lisa nodded and managed to whisper, "Yes Mom."
Marge then headed back over to Homer, who hadn't succeeded in completely swallowing his waffles yet, and was about to pour his entire breakfast drink (beer) into his mouth, when the last thing anyone expected happened. The kitchen window was smashed open, and five muscular adults in sunglasses and blue and purple plaid uniforms burst into the room; three women and two men.
The Simpsons barely had time to react before both of the men each grabbed one of Homer's arms and yanked him out of his seat, while two of the women closed in on Marge. As for the third woman, she grabbed each of the kids, one by one, and gently steered them away from their parents, who tried but failed to break free from the grasp of the adults holding them.
"Mr. and Mrs. Simpson," the woman who had seized the kids then said, "you have just committed one case of bad parenting too many."
"What do you mean 'bad parenting?'" Marge bellowed. "I thought we graduated from that parenting class months ago!"
The woman scoffed and shook her head. "You did, and yet you still continue to be bad parents. This isn't the first time you put your husband and kids at risk of choking, and the last time you did that, it was just because you wanted to be alone with a vacuum cleaner! Not to mention your constant inability to own up to your mistakes. And your husband, well, his flaws are obvious to everyone, even every citizen in this clueless town."
"Hey!" Homer yelled. "This town isn't clueless! It might act a little negligent these days, but—" Then he saw Lisa glancing at the woman who had her and her siblings and then glancing at him, before chuckling nervously. Instantly getting the message, Homer nervously muttered, "D'oh…"
"So," said the woman who had the Simpson kids with her, "we've been left with no choice but to take you to a facility where you can learn from your mistakes. This time, fully and permanently. Don't worry, your kids can stay with your next-door neighbour until we think you're ready to come back home. But as far as he'll know, the two of you are just on a kids-free vacation. Got it?"
"Now just a minute, ma'am," stated Marge. "How do you even know about our so-called 'parenting problems?'"
"Who even are you guys?" Homer added.
"See?" one of the men said to the woman who had the kids. "This is why we need to tell them about ourselves first."
The woman sighed and shook her head. "Alright, we're the Say Adieu To Awful Parenting Unit. SATAPU for short. Together, you can call us in particular SATAPUs. I'm Amanda Lovechild, the leader of this squad, and those are my cohorts: Cheyenne Dotoli, Render Ajaybee, Danya Haesbith, and Zeke Minali." She pointed to each of the other members of her team (who smiled for a second in response) as she said their names, before continuing, "Our unit was formulated because all of its members have two things in common: we're childhood friends, and we're sick and tired of there being so many neglectful parents around the world! So, we saved our money, built up a secret hideout and a lot of neat technological devices, bought two jets, and made a deal with the police forces of every city including this one, allowing us to plant transparent screens no one can see over every ceiling in every family home on Earth."
"Yeah," said Danya. "And whenever those screens film parenting as bad as yours, they send us footage of it, and we locate those bad parents and bring them in."
Render continued, "And everyone that gets brought in, we put in cells where they have no choice but to reflect on their mistakes. They're not allowed to leave until we know for sure that they're ready to start parenting again."
Ned gasped. "Wait. So, they've been watching the way everyone parents their kids? Even me? And Maude, and Edna, before they…found eternal happiness…"
"Apparently," mumbled Marge. "Anyway, Homer and I tried our best to get out of their clutches, but I guess one of the things they caught on camera was Homer using his sleeper hold on the kids back when he was Mayor Quimby's bodyguard."
"Then the SATAPU agents took Mom and Dad back out through the window and told us to go to Mr. Flanders' house," said Lisa. "And well…that's all I know apart from the phone call that got us all here."
Bart smiled in excitement. "Whoa-ho, so where's their secret hideout? Oh I am so there."
"We don't know," Marge told him. "By the time we woke up we were already in our cells. We each had to share one with another bad parent. And," she, in slight annoyance, gestured to the Francophonic woman sitting next to her, "the roommate I got stuck with was this woman here."
The first thing Marge became aware of when she woke up was the ceiling towering over her. It wasn't any of the ceilings that she recognized from her house, or any of the other indoor places she'd been to in Springfield. It was a much newer-looking ceiling; a smooth and shiny one that looked like it was made of glass, though it was a deep shade of purple and clearly you could not see anything through it. When she turned onto her side, she could see the room's walls were black, and the floor was dark brown and made entirely of smooth, polished wood.
She groaned. The SATAPU agents had been true to their word. They'd taken her away from her children just for being the punctual, polite, and attentive person she was, and trapped her in one of their cells. Which were strictly reserved for bad parents. Why had they trapped her in here? She could understand why they thought Homer was a bad parent, but her?! What had she done wrong? Nothing, the way she saw it!
"Bonjour," came a despondent female voice from her left.
Marge sat up with a start. She wasn't alone. There was another woman—a mother who'd also been accused of bad parenting, she guessed—in this cell too. She was sitting on a bed that was on the other side of the cell, across from the bed she had awoken in. We already know who this person is.
"Bonjour," Marge replied, a little awkwardly. It wasn't that speaking French wasn't among her strengths (it was; in fact, her excellent ability to speak and understand it had played a big role in the backstory of her romance with Homer). She just…wasn't yet sure how to judge this woman. There was a strong chance that she too had been placed in here for unjust reasons, but then again, there were several women in Springfield that she personally critiqued the parenting of.
Despite her visible sadness, the woman managed to smile warmly. She held out her hand, and said, "Je m'appelle Isabelle Chicotte. Et toi?"
"Dear Lord," Ned sighed. He gazed at the Francophonic woman in sadness. "So Fran-swa's a member of your family?"
The woman, Isabelle, nodded. "My husband," she whispered.
"I am so sorry," Lisa told her. She started to step forward and try to comfort Isabelle, when Bart stopped her. "Hey!"
"Don't feel sorry for her so quick," advised Bart. "If she also got chewed out by the SATAPUs, that means she's made some bad parenting moves too."
"Too?!" Marge exclaimed. "There is no too! I'm not a bad parent!"
Lisa sighed. "Mom, I don't wanna hurt your feelings, but sometimes—"
"I'm not a bad parent."
"And neither am I," said Isabelle.
"No, you are a bad parent," accused Marge. "Good parents don't placate their neighbours without thinking about their own kids' safety first!"
Ned stepped back, alarmed. "She did what?!"
Isabelle sighed, gazing at Marge in a mentally hurt way. "I do not recognize you, Marge." She paused for a second, though her expression remained the same, and then added, "You were not as angry with me for doing that when we first met. What changed?"
Marge scoffed. "What changed. What changed? What changed is that I thought you were a good parent when we first met! All because you never admit that your mistakes are mistakes!"
"Marge Simpson," Marge introduced herself, in French. She shook Isabelle's hand. "Um…qu'avez-vous fait pour vous retrouver ici?"
"Rien," sighed Isabelle. "Les agents qui m'ont emmené ont dit que je faisais toujours plus d'efforts pour plaire à mes voisins que pour protéger mes propres enfants. Mais j'aime mes enfants! Je ne pourrais jamais faire une telle chose."
"Oh," Marge replied reassuringly. "Je n'ai rien fait non plus." She then frowned. "Mais apparemment, me défendre et faire ce que j'aime faire, nettoyer, est une mauvaise parentalité."
Isabelle sighed, shaking her head. "C'est le truc avec ces gens. Vous faites les bonnes choses maternelles que vous faites toujours, et ils vous accusent d'être un mauvais parent. Mais vous ne l'êtes pas!"
"Mom, you nearly made us CHOKE just to spend time alone with your va—" Lisa cut in.
"Enough already!" Marge yelled. "Just let me tell the stupid story!"
"Marge, listen to your daughter," Isabelle said. "My husband is a paramedic, and he's taught me some very valuable first aid routines. So no one knows better than us two that causing your family to face choking hazards just to spend time alone with a vacuum is very bad parenting. Just think things through for a moment. Would you rather your family members die simply because you want to clean your house?"
Marge started to reply with an angry comeback, but then Isabelle's words registered with her, and no sound ended up escaping her lips. Choking. DYING. How could she have been so blind? Were her obsessions for cleaning and perfection really that strong? Had she really been so caught up in them that she'd completely forgotten about how much she loved her family too? No…no. She was a good mother. A GOOD one. She would never do such a thing…but then again…
Isabelle sighed, and a fresh load of tears welled up in her eyes. "I am sorry…I really should have said that sooner, back in the cell…"
"Oh, it's not your fault, Isabelle," reassured Marge, fighting back fresh tears of her own. "You couldn't have known that part of the story until just now. The truth is, neither of us were specific enough back in the cell…"
Unable to resist, Lisa smiled sweetly. "Since we're here, Mom, wanna talk about all the times you—"
"No," snapped Marge. "I'll admit, the choking hazards thing was a mistake. But it's the only one I made. Just one, no more!"
"Oh yeah?" Lisa shot back, in sudden anger. "What about the time you let Maggie keep watching that baby show that nearly drove her insane? The time you didn't even try to cheer me up when I felt insecure about my weight, just because Bart didn't want to spend time with you anymore? At least Dad made an effort that time!"
"He always makes an effort with you when you're upset!" Marge retorted. "Because for some reason, according to you, everything I do is wrong!"
"THAT'S BECAUSE AS CRAZY AS IT SOUNDS, HE UNDERSTANDS ME MORE THAN YOU DO! AND HE HARDLY UNDERSTANDS ME AT ALL!"
"Well you can't say I never apologized for not understanding you, Lisa!"
"I'm not saying that, Mom. I'm saying you don't apologize enough. Why? Because you're always so convinced your opinions are the truth, and you're always so determined to be perfect, that every time I point out the real truth, you cut me off! You even try to tell me and Bart not to do some of the things we like, just because you don't like them! You may not see yourself like this, but YOU'RE AN IGNORANT, HYPOCRITICAL KILLJOY!"
Marge gasped in shock. However, her mood didn't improve when Maggie gave her pacifier a stubborn suck as she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, indicating that she agreed with her big sister's statement…or at the very least, some of it. Bart, meanwhile, simply stared at Lisa in amusement and said, "Whoa. All that's just getting let out now?"
Now in a softer tone, Lisa said, "Bart, I've been holding all this frustration back for months, in the hopes that someday things would get better for me! And if not even the SATAPU agents could get Mom to realize all of her mistakes, then let's just say it had to come out sometime."
"Now you listen here, young lady," demanded Marge. "I am a good mother. I may not be perfect, but neither are you! You can call me a killjoy if you want, but I will not tolerate being called hypocritical! And by the way, haven't you ever stopped to realize how much you and this entire family have been treating me like a doormat?"
"We have," said Lisa, wearily and matter-of-factly. "That's why we hired Shary Bobbins and tried to spend Christmas in Florida."
Ned smiled awkwardly. "Uh…would it be alright if I went back home to check on my boys now?"
"Go ahead," said Marge.
"Okily-dokily," her neighbour replied, slowly backing out of the waiting room. "I'll just uh…learn more about your adventure later if that's alright."
When Ned was gone, Isabelle stared at Marge in disbelief. "You really treated your children that horribly?"
Marge glared at her. "Well you're not exactly the most attentive mother yourself. And Francois was even worse!"
"Ahem," Bart cut in. "As entertaining as it is watching you ladies fight, can we get to the part where Dad beat up Isabelle's husband and the part that explains how you even found out she was a bad parent?"
Taking a deep breath to calm herself for the moment, Marge said, "One step at a time, Bart. That's just the way this story goes."
"Je sais!" Marge said. "C'est ridicule."
Isabelle sadly gazed down at the floor, sighing. "Ce qui me dérange le plus, c'est qu'ils ont dit que mon mari était aussi un mauvais parent. En fait, ils ont dit qu'il était un parent encore pire que moi!"
Marge gasped in horror. "Votre mari a aussi été arrêté par ces SATAPUs?"
"Mais oui," said Isabelle. "Et il n'a rien fait non plus! Il voulait juste que notre voisine se sente mieux après que notre fils cadet et son meilleur ami l'aient traitée de sorcière. Je sais qu'elle est parfois convaincue qu'il y a des fantômes dans notre maison, et je sais qu'elle peut des fois agir un peu bizarrement, mais c'est aussi ma meilleure cliente! Vous voyez, je suis sculpteur et j'aime vendre mes œuvres. Et notre voisine, Madame Kelleur...elle les achète le plus souvent. Elle est toujours disponible pour aider à accroître la popularité de mes sculptures."
"Et tous les autres que vous connaissez ne le sont pas?"
Isabelle shrugged. "Ils le sont probablement, mais...ce genre de sujet ne revient jamais vraiment à chaque fois que je leur parle. Habituellement, nous ne nous parlons que parce que je suis sur le point de garder leurs enfants ou parce que mon fils aîné leur rend service pour être payé." She then sighed. "C'est probablement parce que tout le monde dans notre quartier fait partie d'une famille, et Madame Kelleur vit toute seule. Elle se sent tellement seule...alors elle vient chez nous tous les jours, avec une excuse après l'autre. Parfois, elle dit que quelque chose s'est cassé dans sa maison et qu'elle a besoin de nous emprunter quelque chose, parfois elle veut nous vendre des bougies parfumées, et parfois elle dit qu'elle est blessée et a besoin que nous prenions soin d'elle. Mon mari est ambulancier, donc c'est cette dernière excuse qu'elle utilise le plus souvent."
"Cette pauvre femme," Marge emphathetically remarked.
"Je sais," agreed Isabelle. "Au début, François, mon mari, et moi ne l'avons laissée entrer dans nos vies que parce qu'elle était clairement seule et qu'elle perdait la tête, puis en tant que sa nouvelle voisine, je voulais faire bonne impression. Mais ensuite elle a commencé à s'amuser avec nos enfants et à vouloir aider ma vie à s'améliorer, puis tout a changé. Nous voulions vraiment que sa vie s'améliore également, alors nous avons commencé à l'apprécier pour de vrai. Même si elle est un peu étrange des fois. Tout ce que nous avons fait, c'est l'inviter à souper chez nous et tout faire pour qu'elle se sente la bienvenue, puis partir en camping deux jours plus tard parce que François voulait nous surprendre avec une vacance! Puis les SATAPUs nous ont rattrapés pendant que nous étions sur la route et nous ont assommés François et moi. La dernière fois que nous avons vu nos fils, ils étaient sur le siège arrière, regardant ce qui se passait avec de la peur."
"Ils ont laissé vos fils dans votre voiture tout seuls?!" Marge exclaimed.
"Mais oui! C'est horrible d'y penser. Sam n'a que 8 ans et Laurent a peut-être 16 ans, mais il n'a jamais conduit de voiture dans sa vie! Quand je me suis réveillé, François n'était pas là, et j'étais seul ici pendant une journée entière jusqu'à ce qu'ils t'amènent ici aujourd'hui. Personne ne m'a dit où étaient mes fils, ni même s'ils allaient bien. Je suis tellement inquiète."
"8 ans," sighed Marge, as a wave of now-bittersweet nostalgia came over her. "J'ai une fille qui est son âge."
"Ah oui?" Isabelle asked, perking up in interest.
"Oui. Elle s'appelle Lisa. Elle est vraiment intelligente. J'ai aussi une autre fille, Maggie, et un fils qui s'appelle Bart. Il a 10 ans. Ils me manquent tellement. Et je ne sais pas s'ils vont bien non plus! Je veux dire, ils étaient dans notre cuisine la dernière fois que je les ai vus, donc ils pourraient être en sécurité...et Lisa a prouvé qu'elle est assez mature pour faire du babysitting, donc c'est encore plus rassurant...mais je ne pourrais jamais y aller une seule minute sans s'inquiéter d'eux!"
"Moi non plus," agreed Isabelle, her eyes slowly narrowing. "Ce n'est pas juste, ce que ces adultes ont fait! Ah, si seulement il y avait une façon pour s'échapper d'ici. Puis on peut retrouver nos maris, et retourner chez nous."
"Ouais," said Marge. She pensively stared at the floor. "Au lieu d'être emprisonnée ici, les bonnes mères comme nous devrions être libres, avec nos enfants et…hold on. Imprisoned…of course!" Turning back to Isabelle, she smiled and said, "J'ai une idée."
"Ah oui?" Isabelle asked, intrigued. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?"
Marge got up from her bed and went over to sit next to her. She then proceeded to whisper something into her ear.
Almost immediately, Isabelle frowned. "Quoi? Je ne pouvais jamais faire mal à quelqu'un, ni laisser toi le faire!"
"Voulez-vous sortir d'ici et sauver nos maris et nos enfants ou non?"
"Oui, mais—"
"Alors fais ce que je veux que tu fasses. C'est la seule chose qui va fonctionner."
"Mais non!"
"Mais oui."
"Mais non!"
"Oui!"
"Mais non, Marge!"
"C'est notre seule option!"
Isabelle sighed, and finally said, albeit still reluctantly, "D'accord. Je vais le faire. Mais pas un mot à François. Il n'aime pas ça, le violence."
"Okay," Bart declared, "now I'm even more excited to see what happened between him and Homer. I mean, our dad's practically the king of violence. No wonder he beat him up so eas—"
"Bart!" Lisa scolded. "The wife of Dad's opponent is sitting right there! Show some empathy for her!"
"Fine," sighed Bart. "Carry on, Mom."
"Well," said Marge, ignoring Isabelle as she groaned in agony a little from remembering the next part of the story, "since the SATAPU agents first found out about our 'bad parenting' using invisible transparent screens they put in our ceilings, I had a feeling that there was also a screen like that hidden in our cell's ceiling. And then, let's just say we should be very lucky that I used to work in the Springfield police force."
"La police?"
The present Simpsons jumped, hearing an unfamiliar voice coming from behind them. They turned around, and saw two boys were now standing in front of the entrance to the waiting room. One of the boys was a teenager with short and shaggy brown hair, a black T-shirt, and light brown pants. The other boy, who looked like he was around Lisa's age (or maybe Bart's…it was kind of hard to tell), had short brown hair as well, but it was more straight and in a lighter shade than the teenager's. He was wearing shorts that were the same colour as the teenager's, and a T-shirt, although his was sky blue. But what really stood out to the Simpsons about the two boys was the fact that they both had the same skin colour and amount of fingers as Isabelle did.
Marge turned to Isabelle, but she didn't have to ask her the question that had just formulated in her mind. Her roommate from the SATAPU incident inadvertently answered it before she could say anything by rising from her seat, rushing forward, and exclaiming, "Sam! Laurent!"
"Ah ça va maman, on—" the teenager (whom the Simpsons guessed was Laurent based on how old his mother had said her sons were) started to say, obviously one of those teenagers who thought they were too old for displays of parental affection. But Isabelle squeezed him and his brother, Sam, into a group hug anyway, and in only a second he was unable to stop himself from letting out a chuckle of pleasure. "Arrête," he said as he laughed, "là, c'est beau, arrête…"
"T'inquiète pas, maman," reassured Sam. "Laurent et moi, on ne croit pas ce que les adultes qui t'ont emmené ont dit. Vous êtes les meilleurs parents du monde, papa et toi. Puis euh, ils nous ont amenés chez Alice, et ils ont dit que nous pouvions y rester jusqu'à ce qu'ils pensent que tu étais prêt à rentrer à la maison."
Isabelle smiled and started to reply positively and affectionately. But before she could, being fluent in French herself, Lisa asked, "Euh…excusez-moi, mais...savez-vous aussi parler anglais? Je sais que ta mère sait comment, mais..."
Isabelle released her sons and sighed awkwardly. "They do not, sweetie. At least, not as well as I can. But it is no big deal, I can help translate so your brother can understand what—"
"Did you just call my daughter sweetie?" Marge demanded.
"Euh, si 'sweetie' veut dire 'ma puce,' c'est oui," Sam quickly interjected. "Ma mère fait ça avec tous les enfants de mon quartier, ce n'est pas grave. Puis c'est…c'est correct, maman. Alice connaît quelques phrases en anglais. Je vais juste trouver un téléphone et l'appeler, si t'es d'accord avec."
Isabelle tried to smile. "Ça va. Tiens, je vais te donner ma cellulaire."
She reached into her pocket, pulled out a cell phone, and dropped it into her youngest son's hand. Sam's fingers enclosed around the device, and he then, for unknown reasons that Isabelle, Marge, and Bart decided not to at least try to look into, left the waiting room with it. As for Laurent, he did realize that his brother abruptly leaving the room without an explanation was weird and mentioned it to his mother, but she brushed it off and assured him, "Il a probablement juste vraiment besoin d'aller aux toilettes."
"Avec une cellulaire?" Laurent retorted, in surprise and suspicion. But Isabelle failed to recognize the oddity of the scenario and remained unfazed.
However, the teenager wasn't the only one who felt this way. As Sam left, Lisa couldn't help noticing that he seemed to be really anxious, looking as though getting on the phone with whoever Alice was and making sure no one heard what he was planning to say to her was the most important thing in the world. A task that, if failed, would have immensely disastrous consequences. But why would Francois and Isabelle's son feel that way about a phone call with someone who hadn't been hospitalized? It wasn't as if helping Bart understand English, even in this case, was a life-or-death situation. And even if it was, why would he be so determined to keep the details of their conversation a secret if they'd be revealed anyway? Hmm…the intelligent girl was unable to resist. It wasn't any of her business, but nevertheless, she snuck after Sam, determined to find out what exactly was going through his mind.
Isabelle's youngest son eventually made it to the nearest section of bathrooms, where he, after glancing in all directions (and not seeing Lisa in the progress, for she hid under a nearby table when he wasn't looking her way), darted into the boys' room. The door hadn't even closed all the way before he loudly called, "Est-ce qu'il y a quelqu'un ici?"
Lisa furrowed her brow in suspicion as she crawled out from under the table, listening to the three seconds of silence that followed Sam's words. She then got to her feet, ran for the now-closed boys' bathroom door, and, not exactly having the courage to enter the bathroom after her bad experience in the nuclear power plant's men's room, simply pushed the door open a tiny crack. Just big enough to watch Sam as he dialled a number on his mother's cell phone and then held it to his ear as it rang.
Five seconds went by, and then the boy spoke. "Salut Julie. Euh, est-ce qu'Alice est là?…Merci…Alice?…Alice, c'est moi, Sam…Je, je ne sais pas comment va mon père. Mais je pense qu'il est encore en convalescence, car les patients qu'il aide doivent généralement rester quelques jours à l'hôpital. C'est sûrement la même chose avec lui. Puis, je voulais aussi m'assurer qu'Edgar et Farfouille allaient bien…Ils sont en sécurité? Fiou! Madame Kelleur ne sait toujours pas ce qui est arrivé avec ces adultes de la SATAPU, hein?…Ah, quelle bonne nouvelle. Je ne me serais jamais pardonné si quelque chose arrivait à nos fantômes…Quoi? Non, tu ne dois pas venir à l'hôpital! Il faut que tu…non, ta mère peut venir tout seule. Cri-Cri peut rester à la maison avec toi…elle veut venir à l'hôpital aussi? Mais…oh non! Mais tu es trop jeune pour être dans la maison sans eux! Comment allez-vous protéger les fantômes? Qu'est-ce qu'on fait si Madame Kelleur entra par effraction?…Non, ma maison n'a pas de système d'alarme. Mon père pense qu'une porte verrouillée est tout ce dont nous avons besoin, même si maman n'est pas d'accord."
Lisa was shocked. Madame Kelleur? She was the desperately lonely neighbour Isabelle had mentioned to her mother in the SATAPU agents' cell! The one who invented excuse after excuse to come to the Chicottes' house! Isabelle had described her as a woman who liked having fun with Sam and Laurent, and who was deeply treasured by the family despite her "strange behaviour every now and then" and her constant belief that ghosts lived in the Chicottes' home with them. But the way Sam was currently talking about her with Alice…it sounded like she was as terrifying and dangerous as Bart's mortal enemy, Sideshow Bob! The poor boy seemed genuinely afraid that his family's seeming friend would break into his apparently really vulnerable house (maybe the alarm system thing was what got Francois on bad terms with the SATAPU; or at least one of the bad things he did, since that wasn't something that solely impacted his kids).
And then there was Sam's mention of "his and Alice's ghosts," which, if she was deducing the information she'd learned the right way, Madame Kelleur seemed to want to hurt. But how could you hurt a ghost? Ghosts were souls that were already dead, therefore making it impossible to hurt them—then again, if ghosts couldn't get hurt, then Sam wouldn't have been this worried about his and Alice's in particular.
Lisa stiffened. How could Isabelle describe someone her 8-year-old was so afraid of as someone so…sweet? Did she have any idea how spooked Sam was by her? Then she suddenly remembered one of the things Isabelle had (according to herself and her own mother) said back in the SATAPUs' cell: the fact that Francois had seemingly been abducted simply because, right before taking his family on a surprise vacation, he had wanted to cheer up Madame Kelleur by inviting her to dinner after Sam and his best friend (was it Alice? Lisa could only assume the answer to that question was yes) had called her a witch. Two bold actions that were both thought of as good ones by Isabelle. That probably meant neither of the Chicotte parents knew how Sam saw his neighbour…or they did, and just preferred Madame Kelleur's feelings over their own son's. It was one of those two.
Suddenly the bathroom door was swung out of Lisa's hands—and wide open. She snapped back to the present and jumped as she saw Sam standing behind it, having apparently finished his phone call at some point while she'd been lost in her thoughts. Even more, she could tell by his expression that he knew she'd been spying on him—and he was not happy about it.
"Uh…" Lisa said, chuckling nervously, "bonjour Sam! Um…pas la bonne salle de bains, au moins pour moi…hein?"
Sam narrowed his eyes. "Combien de temps m'as-tu espionné?"
Oh dear. What prompted Homer to beat up Francois so badly? How did Isabelle and Marge turn from relatable and kind allies to ultimate enemies who won't stop criticizing each other's parenting while refusing to admit to at least most of their own mistakes? And how will things go now that Lisa knows about an extremely deep secret of Sam's? If you want to know what happens next, stay tuned for Chapter 2, which will hopefully come out soon; that depends on how my schedule (which involves my other fanfics and my personal life) plays out. In the meantime, please feel free to express your thoughts and opinions through the reviews, and I'll see you soon :)
Note: Julie and Cri-Cri, the two new characters Sam mentioned during his chat with Alice, are Alice's mother and teenage maternal half-sister, respectively. Also, Alice doesn't live with her father, due to her parents being divorced, so that's why Sam never mentioned him.
