Bart was falling, slowly. He had tripped on nothing, and fallen head first into the emptiness. In the dark, he felt strangely warm and comfortable, like he was back in a familiar place, where nothing could hurt him. So, it wasn't a nightmare, which was always a plus in his book. But there was a voice, at some point in the eerie unknown, a familiar voice that spoke in a tone that sent chills down his spine.
"Farewell, Bart Simpson..."
And he kept on falling, or rather floating, in the black void that wrapped around him like a weighted blanket. If that was what death felt like, Bart didn't find it so bad after all.
He woke up in the bed, as if his own brain was telling him something was wrong. His eyes snapped open and he noticed that, indeed, two things were out of the ordinary. First, the lightbulb above his head wasn't giving off its aggressive yellow light anymore, the basement was in the dark. Second, he felt naked - in a weird way, because he still had his clothes on. Only his ankle didn't feel as heavy as before. He pulled the cover out of the way to feel his leg, completely free, unburdened by the metallic chain binding him to narrow spacial limits.
His mind raced, lost in utter confusion. He was absolutely certain that he was now awake, and after pinching his forearms was able to confirm it. It was even harder to believe when he looked around and something new presented itself to him. Something incredible, marvelous, that gave him an undescribable feeling of new hope and longing. The door on top of the stairs was wide open. The faint light from the rest of the house was soothingly let in, instead of being blocked by a nightmarish palmtree-shaped silhouette. He got to his feet and kept his eyes glued to the door as he walked toward it, like a moth attracted to a lamp, fearing it might be slammed shut if he looked away. After realizing he had walked farther than he had been able to in ages, he let out a sigh of relief and began climbing the staircase, all on his own.
His heart thumped harder in his chest with each step higher. That was when fear tagged along. As the open door drew closer, he imagined Sideshow Bob waiting for him around the corner, an axe in his hands, ready to behead him with a snarky smile on his face. He stopped right before the doorframe, frozen into place as he noticed the absence of the key on the hook. A moment of doubt, during which he suspected a trap, like being stabbed, knocked out or simply pushed back down the stairs. He braced himself mentally, then crossed the threshold into the rest of the house.
It was his first time actually analyzing the inside of the place he'd been trapped in for so long. Wandering about as quietly as he could manage, he walked past a few framed photos of Bob with his family. His house looked just like any other - cozy, unassuming, far from the idea Bart had of a place where an obsessive maniac was holding someone against their will. His presence resonated everywhere, crawling down the walls still keeping him caged in. Trying not to touch anything, Bart took a few steps toward a room where more light was shining.
He gasped and took a step back when he found himself in a well-lit kitchen, with the curtains drawn and a lone man at the table. Bob was sitting a few feet away from him, gazing into nothingness with his head hung low, in complete silence. Despite the distance, Bart couldn't help being terrified, afraid he might leap toward him with a large kitchen knife. This was entirely new territory for him, and his mortal enemy was acting as though he hadn't noticed his presence, but he was sure he had heard him. Bob raised his head slowly, facing to the side, determined not to look at him. He looked detached, exhausted, and more sullen than ever, and his right hand was wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage. Whatever game he was playing, Bart stood ready and waited for whatever was coming his way.
"Remember your promise," Bob muttered lethargically.
Confused, Bart waited, just a bit. He turned the strange request over in his mind and remembered the only promise he had made his captor.
"What? But..." he began, his mouth dry.
The man shifted suddenly and threw something in his direction. Bart flinched visibly, and the object landed at his feet with a soft clink.
"Get out of my sight," his kidnapper hissed with a dangerous glare targeting him directly.
The young Simpson lowered his gaze and stared, amazed, at the small metallic object. He could recognize it anywhere. It was the key that had always been in his line of sight, out of his reach, the one that had kept him anchored to the hard basement floor. He stared at it dumbfounded, then bent over carefully to pick it up. It was useless now, but he knew he couldn't leave it here. More questions filled up his mind, as unknown and unexpected as his current environment.
"Bob... I don't get it, are you-"
"Before I change my mind!" he shouted suddenly, his voice cracking up with irritation, exhaustion, or whatever it was getting Bob all worked up.
Bart cowered in fear. But he took the hint. He put the small item in his pocket, turned around slowly, mindful of his kidnapper's movements, and darted toward the entrance door he had seen only once in his life. Against all hopes, it wasn't locked and he opened it without any trouble.
The fresh air hit him like a tidal wave. His eyes widened as he gazed upon the outside world, his soul filling up with pure awe. It must have been very early in the morning, since the sun was just now starting to rise, making the sky shine with timid light and the stars disappear far above. A light drizzle tickled his skin. He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. He snapped out of the growing surge of what must have been true joy and bolted away from the cursed house.
He ran. He ran, and ran, along the street, feeling the wind through his hair, away, gone, free. He had no idea where he was. He didn't care. His logical brain ordered him to check for street signs, but none of them rang a bell. It was a foreign neighborhood. He eventually turned around briefly, but the house was already far away, with no one chasing after him like a hunter. No madman tracking him down, ready to bring him back inside where he thought he belonged. So he kept on running, until he was out of breath and out of Sideshow Bob's world.
Whenever he needed to rest or find his way around, he would sit down. He would also turn the small key over in his hands. For now, it was his only possession, along with his worn-out clothes. It was something real to hold on to. For so long he had dreamed of snatching it, somehow. That was when his situation began to sink in.
He hadn't escaped; he had been let out willingly. The reasons why were still unknown to him and he wasn't going to risk everything by asking Bob himself. He could barely believe it still. The sun was a little bit higher now, but the streets were still deserted. He had no phone, no money, not even someone still actively looking for him. That, at least, was a good thing – he didn't want the attention by alerting people he was alive. He just wanted to go home, even if he had to go there on foot.
As he kept progressing through the city, he saw himself in a storefront window and his jaw dropped. He hadn't seen his own reflection in ages. His hair was a downright mess and his clothes were dirty. His face was thin, too thin, his eyes looked empty. His appearance was all around grim – he was reminded with horror of the man he'd just left.
Time before the basement felt like a previous life. His bed, a nostalgic dream. His family, a hope they would welcome him with open arms. But he was free, and that would take some getting used to. After dragging his exhausted body across town, losing his way around a bunch of times in the process, he finally saw the outskirts of Evergreen Terrace. His heart leaped and he picked up speed, eager to finally return – home, at long last.
"Not gonna cry, I'm not... Not gonna c-cry..." he mumbled as he reached his destination.
He didn't waste anymore time and knocked on the door as soon as he could. After a couple of agonizing minutes, the house was open to him. His mother appeared in the doorway in her dressing gown, visibly surprised by the early visit. She looked down and her eyes widened in pure shock.
"Oh my G- Bart...?" she gasped. "Bart!"
She pulled him into an embrace and held him tight. Bart just stood there, unresponsive, and when he realized that this was really happening he broke down in tears. He could hear his mother cry, too, without any restraint either.
"M-Mooom..." he whined with no shame, as if all the tears he'd tried to hold back came pouring out after the dam of his repressed emotions broke down.
"Ooh, Bart, sweetie... I can't believe it... My special little guy... You're... You're..."
He didn't want to let go. He knew exactly what she was about to say - she was relieved that he was alive. If only she knew how relieved he was, too. The rest of the family heard the sounds of their crying, and soon the eldest Simpson child was surrounded by his family.
He almost collapsed with exhaustion. He was caught in time, and was carried into the house by his parents, with both his sisters following closely. He had to fight to keep his eyes open. He didn't want to stop looking at all of them, their faces showing both relief and concern at the same time. All of them, they were real. All these stares, they were just for him. At least now he knew for a fact he was loved, it was the exact opposite of his nightmares. When they all crossed the living-room together, his eyes landed on some pictures of him in frames. They walked right past it, and he noticed some unlit candles below the photos. His heart sank. He could barely make out their words by now.
"Are you alright, sweetie?"
"What happened, boy? Are you okay?"
"Where did you go, all this time?"
"We thought... Oh, Bart..."
"Rest up now, sweetie."
He felt the comfort of his own bed and a soft kiss from his mother. He didn't even need anything more. He let out a long sigh. He was home finally, safe, and sound. Now he only hoped he would never, ever wake up in that basement, ever again.