First, I'd like to thank everyone who has bothered to read the earlier versions of this story,
for all your input and encouragement. In particular, I'd like to give mentions to Graham Dawson,
Marco Bierzcola, and Soren Loveborg (I hope I spelt all your names right!) - it's really no
exaggeration to say that without your willingness to read my many draftings of the story, and
your tolerance of me when I went off into my moods, this would never have been written.

Anyway, here we are, at long last...

LISA FITZGERALD
---------------

Lisa Fitzgerald pushed open the back door softly, and poked her head into the kitchen. Her 
father was nowhere to be seen - good. She crept inside and silently pushed the door shut again.
Hopefully, he was either out, or he'd fallen asleep - although she knew it was unlikely, Lisa 
even wondered whether her mother had returned home.Peering around nervously, she noticed an 
empty Vodka bottle, plus some crushed beer cans on the table. It didn't look good.

Placing her saxophone carefully upon the table, Lisa set about feeding herself - her father 
hadn't bothered to make dinner last night, and nor had he provided anything for her lunch today, 
so Lisa worked quickly and eagerly.

As she hungrily wolfed down her jam sandwich, Lisa wondered how long her dad would be like this.
It had been three days since her mother had walked out on them, but it had been coming for a 
long time - ever since he had been forced to leave work about a year ago, he had became more and 
more reliant on a bottle for his company. Her father had been a proud man - he was Jack 
Fitzgerald, chief of Shelbyville Fire Department. Well, he HAD been until the accident made him 
unable to continue. Not the most patient of people anyway, being robbed of his livelihood and 
dignity had slowly turned him more and more irritable and angry, and would often take his 
frustrations out on whatever he could get his hands on. Though she didn't like to admit it, 
being left alone with him made Lisa nervous - he was a big man, and genuinely frightening when 
he lost his temper. He had certainly lost it when his wife finally told him she was leaving.

Though it did sadden Lisa, her mother's decision was not a suprising one. She knew that they 
often had furious rows, and that the excuses that they gave her when she saw her mother injured 
were becoming more and more inplausible. Even before her father had lost her job and the family 
was seemingly happy, Lisa had not enjoyed the best of relationships with the woman that beared
her - she had never felt that she had been entirely accepted by either of her parents.

Lisa had heard everything on that fateful night - the raised voices, the accusations, the
reprisals. Of course, the thing that still played over and over in her head was her mother 
screaming, at the very peak of the argument, that Lisa was not her husband's daughter. The 
impact of that revelation was still as strong as it had been when it had first been uttered, and
scared Lisa even more - her main protection from the anger of her "father" had been snatched
away from her. She had often seen the bruises that her mother tried to hide from her in the
aftermath of the blazing rows the couple had experienced in the past.

As she stood nervously, Lisa contemplated the ramifications of her paternal crisis - was her
mother actually speaking the truth when she said that? Suddenly, Lisa heard a noise. Banging and 
clattering was followed by an angry shout. She froze in fear, her heart pounding - not only was 
he awake, he was in a foul mood as well.

The kitchen door flew open, and he was stood in front of her. His glazed look and dulled
reactions gave away that he had been drinking heavily. In his hand, he held a bottle of whisky.
If he hadn't been leering at Lisa with such a poisionous, hateful stare, his difficulty to
stand upright would have made him a comical figure. As it was, Lisa could feel herself shaking
in fear.

Finally, he spoke, in the powerful, stern voice that Lisa had once found so comforting. "Are
you stealing my food, child??" he spat, slurring his speech; in particular, the word child was
one filled with utter contempt, as if it were the very worst insult that he could dream of to
throw at her. Lisa stared back at him while he swigged the last mouthful of whisky in the 
bottle. "WELL?" he bellowed angrily.

Lisa was shocked at his question - she was stealing *his* food?? As strange as it sounded, Lisa
realised that it was best she attempted to placate him. Composing herself as best she could
while she was so terrified, she tried to explain. "But, dad..."

Suddenly, he threw the empty bottle at her. Lisa let out a cry of panic, and dived out of the
way just in time, being showed in shards of glass as it smashed against the wall.

"DON'T CALL ME YOUR FATHER" he barked. Lisa backed herself into a corner, looking anywhere but
into his empty eyes, but he followed her. Towering over the girl's tiny frame, he grabbed her
hair and pushed his face into her's. She winced as she tried still to avert her gaze, the smell
of drink on his breath unbearable. "I'm not your dad. No-one knows who he is, YOU BASTARD!" By
now, Lisa could feel tears welling up. She'd always looked up to this man - now, she didn't even 
know who her *real* father was.

He continued to stare intensely and furiously at her. She tried to squirm free, but his grip was 
too hard - she felt her entire scalp would be torn out at any moment. Lisa hoped, prayed, for
someone, anyone, to walk through the door and stop this, but her saviour didn't come. He
continued. "Nobody knows who your dad is, 'cause your mother's just a dirty little slut!" he
said evilly, seemingly enjoying describing his wife in detail. "And so are you!"

With that, he flung Lisa onto the floor. She fell down on her face, crying. She'd never heard
so much hatred directed at anyone, let alone herself, and certainly not from the man she until
very recently called her daddy. "But..." she said.

His response was swift and brutal. Lisa screamed in agony as he rammed his foot into her 
midriff, screaming blue murder at her. "NEVER take anything from this kitchen without my
permission. Got that??" he screamed. Lisa felt like she was going to choke as she curled 
herself into a ball. She looked up at him, praying for her ordeal to end. He swayed above her, 
seemingly struggling under the influence of the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed. Long 
seconds passed by as Lisa waited to see what he would do next. Eventually, to Lisa's relief, the
phone rang. She watched her father stagger into the living, and climed slowly to her feet. As 
he engaged in a bitter slanging match with a hapless telemarketer, she made her way past him
and up to her bedroom as quickly as possible.

Upstairs, Lisa winced in pain as she lay on her bed, clutching an old picture of her family. She
was still shaking from the viciousness of her father's attack, and sobbed gently as she tried
to work out what she had done to deserve this treatment. In her hyper-aware state, she jumped at
the slightest sound, and couldn't settle until she was sure that he wasn't coming to do anything
more to her. As darkness slowly fell, Lisa heard the front door being pulled open, and then
slammed shut violently. Furitively peering out of her bedroom window, she saw her father cut a
pathetic, if still terrifying figure as he lurched down the street. Lisa was too numb from shock
and hurt to feel relieved, but all the same a great weight was lifted from her shoulders.
Silently, she got up, brushed her teeth, said her prayers, and then climbed into her bed,
wrapping her blanket as tightly around herself as she could. Though it offered no real
protection, at least Lisa could try to ignore the emotions running through her mind, and pretend
to be the happy, loved little girl she once was.

Lisa's sleep was not a peaceful one. The beating her father had just given her played again in
her mind time and time, until she finally awoke with a scream of terror. Sat alone in the 
moonlight, she jumped at the slightest sound, trying to work out whether or not her father had 
returned home. Eventually, she managed to drift off back to her nightmares.

The next morning, Friday morning, Lisa found her father asleep downstairs. He looked almost 
peaceful as he lay curled on the sofa - the only thing that spoiled the affect was the half 
empty brandy bottle in his hand. The room was an untidy mess, with empty bottles scattered over 
the floor. It was obvious that no housekeeping had been done since Lisa's mother had left, and 
that nothing would be done. Lisa sighed as she felt pangs of hunger - she had barely eaten in 
days, but didn't dare take anything from the kitchen lest her father woke up. Mournfully, Lisa 
crept out of the door and to school.

When Lisa arrived home, the house was once again quiet. She threw her bag down in the hall, and
looked in the living room. Her father was nowhere to be seen - as she climbed the stairs, Lisa
asked herself whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

When she got to her bedroom, Lisa was shocked. The room had been cleared out. The bed had been
stripped, all her possessions had been taken away, and her cupboards and wardrobes were bare.
Even her saxophone had gone. Filled with a mixture of suprise, confusion, and anger, Lisa raced
downstairs to she if she could find any clues to what had happened. As she got out into the
kitchen, Lisa could smell burning. The sight of her father standing over the remains of what
had obviously been a bonfire made Lisa realise what exactly had happened to her things.

Nervously, she stepped out into the garden. Her stomach churned, partly from hunger, and partly
from fear - she was beyond caring about her possessions, and was more worried about what would
happen to her. She told herself approaching her father was a bad idea, but she decided that it
had to be done. Summoning up all her courage, Lisa spoke.

"Dad?" she asked, trying to make her tone as neutral as possible. She could hear her voice
shaking with fear.

She awaited some sort of angry reponse, but none came. Instead, her father turned around and
scowled at her. Though she tried to not look into his eyes, Lisa couldn't help but notice that
they looked different - they were actually focusing on her, with a quite frightening intensity,
and weren't glazed over. He was actually sober.

"I'm getting rid of everything that reminds me of *her*. I don't want any of it in my house."
he said, without turning around. His voice was a lot calmer now, Lisa noticed - however, she
still got the impression that anger was not far away. Meekly, she asked him "Does that include
my things?"

"You're HER child, not mine." he rasped. He turned around to face her, the rage visibly building
up in his face. "Believe me, there are going to be some changes around here, girl!"

Lisa could feel the colour draining from her face. In spite of everything, she still loved her
father, and hearing him talking this way upset her - after all, he was all she had now her
mother had gone. Why hadn't she even tried to get in touch?

"But, dad..." she protested. As she said it, her father knocked her to the ground with the back.
of his hand. "DON'T CALL ME THAT, BITCH!" he bellowed at her, his words hurting the girl far
more than his fist. "It makes me sick just looking at you!" He grabbed hold of Lisa's dress,
and dragged her into the house.

Grabbing Lisa's hair, he pushed her face up against a mirror. Too scared to stare away from her
tear-stained face, Lisa could still make out her father's face contorted with hatred. "Look at
yourself!" he said, his voice quietening down but still retaining a frightening amount of
anger. "You're a bad person! Say it!" he spat. Lisa mumbled something quietly, so he pulled at
her hair harder, until she whimpered in pain. "Louder! Shout it!" he demanded.

"I'm a... a b-bad person." she said, at the top of her voice.

"Nobody loves you! No-one cares about you! You deserve this!" he said, obviously revelling in 
the psychological torture he was inflicting upon her.

"Noody... loves me... no-one cares about me... I... I... I deserve this!" she sobbed. By now,
she was numb inside - she was beginning to hope that her father wanted to kill her.

Finally, he let go of her hair, and squatted so that his face was level with Lisa's. Too
terrified to turn to face him, she kept looking straight ahead into the mirror. "You know, when
I think of that girl who died in the accident, who had her life wiped out for nothing, and then
I see you're still alive, I don't think it's fair." Lisa had often picked up things about The
Accident, and how her father had failed to save a young girl about her age - now, she began to
feel even worse when she thought about the injustice of it. If it was possible to feel any
worse, of course.

Her father stood up. "I want you to keep saying that to yourself until I say so, alright?" Lisa
nodded obidiently, still staring into the mirror as if her life depended on it, which it quite
concievably did. "And I want to her you, okay?" he said as he waltzed into the living room.

Lisa stood perfectly still, reciting the passage over and over again as darkness fell. Every
time she slipped, or was inaudible, her father volleyed a torrent of abuse at her. The more she
said those words, the more Lisa began to believe them as gospel. Her legs began tiring, while
she struggled to keep her voice at a level to keep *him* happy. She finally stopped when she
felt something warm trickle down her leg.

After a few seconds, her father appeared in the doorway, demanding to know why she had stopped
reciting her new mantra. Lisa looked down at the small puddle that had formed beneath her feet,
and screwed her eyes shut as he pounced to punish her.

"YOU DIRTY LITTLE SHIT!!" he screamed. Grabbing her hair again, he pushed her head down into
the small pool of urine. "I'll teach you to make a mess of my carpet, you fucking ANIMAL!"

"I'm sorry... I'll clear it up, I promise!" she screamed, genuinely disappointed and upset with
herself for doing it. Her father grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, and dragged her over
to the stairs. Taking out a key from his pocket, he removed a padlock from the door of the
cupboard underneath the staircase and opened it. "This is your new bedroom," he grinned as he
flung Lisa inside with as much force as he could. "You can piss all you want in here." He 
laughed coldly. "I'm going to make you as sorry that you were born as I am." With that, he 
slammed the door shut and plunged Lisa into darkness.

Curling herself into a ball, Lisa cried softly. The cupboard was tiny - there was barely any 
room for her to even curl up. Old records and newspapers were also taking up room, making it 
even more uncomfortable. Lisa couldn't see a thing in the dark, and found it hard to make 
herself comfortable. She had hit her head when her father threw her, and she was sure she could 
feel blood just above her eyebrow. Her stomach churned as she replayed everything in her head - 
especially the things that she had been forced to shout at herself. It was all true - this man, 
who she had thought was her father despised her, and her real parents obviously didn't care for 
her if they left her alone with him. Lisa longed for her mommy to come in, gather her up in her 
arms, and take her away, but she knew that it was never going to happen. 

After a while, Lisa became distracted from her misery - she could smell something wafting 
through. It was a rich, mouthwatering odour, probably steak, or hamburger at the least - her
father was cooking his dinner. It didn't distract her for long, as it only made her aware of 
how hungry she was. She hadn't eaten seriously for over two days now, and the cramps were
starting to become painful. She began to moan in hunger to herself, and prayed for something to
eat, not that she expected anything - it was obviously another one of her father's methods of
torture.

Several long minutes spent fantasysing about food later, Lisa was startled as she heard a loud
knock on the cupboard door. "I've got something for you" her father said. Lisa tensed herself
as she waited for what he had in store for her now.

The cupboard door flung open, and the light blinded Lisa. Her father stood, staring into her
tiny prison with a malevolent leer on his face. "Dinner time" he said, and handed Lisa an opened
tin of dog food.

Lisa didn't care what it was - it was food, and the chances of her getting anything better were
slim. She accepted the can, still curled up tightly in the same position, and stared into it.
The smell was vile, and the contents didn't exactly look appetising, but she could tell from
her father's expression that the consequences for not eating it would be far worse than those
for if she did. "Go on, use your hand!" her father grimaced, waiting for the show. Lisa let out
an anguished sigh, and began to eat.

As she expected, the food tasted digusting - she could feel herself wanting to wretch. After a
few mouthfuls, she couldn't take any more, and handed the can back. Her father laughed. "If
you're lucky, I might give you something else tomorrow. You'd better get some sleep - you've got
an early start!" he told her as she locked the cupboard door again. Alone in the darkness, Lisa 
tried pulling the old newspaper sheets over herself to stay warm. That night, she hardly slept
at all. Going over her situation again and again, Lisa became aware of one thing - if she wanted 
to live much longer, she would have to rely on herself.

The next morning, Lisa was woken up by her father standing over her. "It's six thirty" he said. 
"I want you up at this time every morning from now on, okay?" 

Lisa climbed out of the cupboard. Her body ached from spending the night cramped in such a small
space, and she was stiff all over. Taking her arm, her father led the bleary eyed child out into 
the back garden and told her to stand over at the far side. "Take off your clothes", he said.

"W-what?" asked Lisa. What did he want to do to her now?!?

"You heard me. Take off your clothes. NOW!" he barked back, the aggression in his voice rising.

Lisa gulped. Shaking with fear, she reluctantly complied, her mind racing with thoughts of what
horrors might await her. She thought about screaming and hoping for the best, but was too
paralysed with terror.

"Throw them here" he told her. Again, she did as she was told, and awaited the worst as she
stood naked in front of him.

"This should wake you up!" he said, picking up the garden hose, and spraying her with icey cold
water for what seemed like an enternity.

Eventually, he turned the hose off, and threw Lisa a towel. He still barking instructions at 
her - "You're not allowed to use the bath anymore - this is how you wash yourself!" Lisa
shivered as she dried herself. she couldn't remember ever being as cold as this - lucky for her
it wasn't yet winter. When she had dried herself, her father handed her the only other clothes
she had left - a pair of dungarees, and an old t-shirt, and led her inside once she was dressed.

----

Adjusting to her new life was hard for Lisa. Her father, or least the man who she had thought 
was her father - had made his feelings known quite plainly. Lisa was now basically his slave -
she did anything and everything he wanted her to, in exchange for the occasional morsel of food.
If she worked well and quickly, she was given a decent meal and was allowed to sleep on the
kitchen floor. If she didn't work to his satisfaction, she spent the night in the cupboard
forcing down dog food. After a while, Lisa didn't even mind being beaten or starved - it was the
absolute contempt that he had for her that bothered her, the way that she was treated as 
something subhuman - her life reminded her of the time she learnt about prisoners of war at 
school. Even that didn't compare to how hurt Lisa was by her mother's complete lack of
interest in her - Lisa had always tried to be good, and to do everything she was told, so even
if she could understand her captor's actions, she was at a loss to explain her mother's absence.

Not that her father wasn't. Lisa was a bad child, who had brought shame on the good Fitzgerald
name, and deserved punishment. She tried her hardest to convince herself that it wasn't true,
but she was eventually unable to think of any other reason why she was left alone with this man.

As the months passed, Lisa's life began to take it's toll on her. With only two pairs of
clothes, and a weekly hosing down her only allowed concession to cleanliness, her appearance
and personal hygiene suffered badly. Her health suffered, too - without proper nourishment, she
became dangerously thin, and her skin was deathly pale. 

Lisa became an outcast in school - a lonely, withdrawn girl with tattered clothes, a prime 
target for abuse. If, during an average school day, no other student talked to her, she counted 
herself lucky - as her old friends became more and more obsessed with clothes, makeup, and boys, 
she was quickly left behind, existing only as a joke for the more priveledged children. She had 
been bullied, but before long the bullies realised that there was little, if anything, to gain 
from beating her up - unbeknown to them, she was already hardened to that type of abuse. Even 
most teachers ignored her. 

Outside of lessons, Lisa spent most of her time sat in a corner of the school library reading, 
hoping that no-one would come over and make fun of her. Reading was the closest Lisa had to 
pleasure, and the only thing that maintained her slender grip on sanity - she would borrow books 
from the library, and secretly read them at night when she was fortunate enough to be in the 
kitchen. She especially loved reading fairy stories, and anything with a happy ending - her joy 
at seeing the characters overcome their own problems was tempered only slightly by the sorrowful 
realisation that she unlikely to ever find her own salvation.

Lisa's personality changed, too. As well as retreating into herself, her confidence and self
esteem plummeted to rock bottom. Having convinced herself that she fully deserved all of her
problems, she tried to be as polite, pleasant and obiedient as possible - she was desperate to
be liked by someone, anyone. She often wondered about whether or not she should do anything 
about the abuse her father was giving her, but always convinced herself that no-one would care,
and that shirking her punishment would be a cowardly thing to do. Lisa bottled up all the shame
and despair that she felt - she had no-one she could share any of it. Slowly, she became less
and less trusting of people - the majority of the attention she recieved was negative, either
angry or mocking, and she began to shy away from human contact, in the hope that she could avoid
any more pain. If Lisa had been able to disappear from the face of the Earth, she would have
done so in an instant.

Even though his alcholism was intesifying, Lisa's father was still too clever to give the
outside world any indication of his daughter's suffering - rather than using physical abuse, he
preferred mental torture. He was still a respected member of the local community, albeit one who
had fallen on hard times, and wanted to protect that reputation at all costs. Even when drunk, 
he was an expert at playacting - no-one would ever suspect the way he behaved behind closed 
doors. There was one particular incident which ably demonstrated his ability to play the 
concerned, dignified father.

One time, Lisa had been caught stealing food. She had been suffering from a cold, and was unable 
to do her chores in the alloted time - in fact, she was so slow she wasn't even given any dog 
food. When the hunger cramps became so acute she could barely stand up one day, she wandered 
into the local store, and in desperation took a packet of biscuits (she didn't even like 
biscuits - blinded by hunger, she just took the first thing she could get her hands on when no-
one was looking.) from a shelf. A career in crime wasn't in the offing - the guilty look on her 
face gave her away as she walked past the cashier and tried to make her escape.

The police were called, and Lisa was taken to the station. As she was driven away, Lisa prayed
that she would be sent to Juvenile Hall - it would have been preferable to living with her
father, and she might have even recieved a decent meal on occasion. Unfortunately for her, the
police were willing to let her go with a caution. Her father had turned up to the station in a
suit, and trotted out the usual cliches - she was a good kid led astray, she was still upset
about her mother walking out on her, it was just a phase she was going through. He could
certainly turn on the charm, and led her out of the station promising her and the officers the
earth. Of course, the reprisals for bringing so much shame to the family were severe. That 
night, Lisa was taken to hospital with a broken arm - she had "fallen down the stairs", 
according to her father - and who would disagree with Jack Fitzgerald?

Eventually, Lisa's life settled down into a routine. Every day brought the same trials, the same
hatred, the same pain. She would have thought that the shame, grief and fear that constantly
knawed away at her would eventually subside, but it was not so. Gradually, she became little
more than a shell, an acquiescent, fearful robot with no real purpose. Before, Lisa had wished
herself dead - now, she was even indifferent to that. As, it seemed, was everyone else.

One day was different, however - Lisa's eleventh birthday. It was a cold winter's morning - 
still dark outside. Lisa she stared glumly at herself in the mirror. She was a pathetic sight - 
thin and pale, she had barely grown in years. She was still wearing the same dress that fitted 
her when she was eight. Now, it was dirty and threadbare, and the skirt didn't quite come down 
to her knees anymore. Lisa compared her reflection to her appearance in an old photograph she 
had found while cleaning her father's room. She looked happy then, as did her parents. She was 
healthy looking, while her eyes shone with the energy and innocence of any normal child. Now, 
they seemed burnt out, with only a few embers of fear and misery.

Lisa also surveryed her injuries as she stared blankly at herself. Her father, staggering in
from a drunken rampage that had lasted all night (possibly brought on by guilt, mused Lisa), had  
woken her and decided to celebrate by giving her the birthday bumps, as he had put it, before 
staggering away to bed. Used to the pain by now, she had simply curled herself into a ball, as 
usual, and took what he had to give her. As he became more and more reliant on alcohol, he had 
become more and more erratic - he had only used beatings sparingly in the past, but had became 
much more violent recently, and had in fact forbidden Lisa to leave the house for the past week. 
Lisa took this as a sign that things were going to get even worse - though she was glad to be 
away from the ritual humiliation that her classmates forced upon her, she knew that it would be 
little consolation. Something had to give.

Eventually, she managed to break her stare, and stepped away from the mirror. She had been in
front of it for hours now, pondering what had happened to her in recent years, and what was to
come. Finally, she had made the decision, and was determined to see it through.

Lisa sat on the couch (she was alone in the house), and stared around the empty living room. In 
the olden days, it would have been filled with birthday cards, presents, party decorations, and 
laughter. Instead, no-one seemed to care what day it was - if anything, the date of her birth 
was a day to mourn rather than herald. After years of brainwashing, Lisa blamed herself for this 
- she told herself that she hurt everyone around her merely by existing. Now, it was time to do 
something for those people, and remove the problem.

Sadly, Lisa tore up the photo. The family had gone, thanks to her - her mother had forgotten
all about her, and it didn't seem that her father would miss her. Lisa sighed - he had beaten
her, once and for all.

With tears in her eyes, Lisa pulled the bottle out of her pocket. Her stomach churned as she
realised what she was about to do, but there was no way back anymore. The cap came off easily -
hardly childproof. Lisa gulped, and told herself that this was the only way. She didn't know
what would be waiting for her, but she knew that it couldn't be much worse than what she already
had. Closing her eyes, she opened her mouth, and emptied the bottle's contents down her throat.
Swallowing hard, Lisa forced the pills down. She had done it.

At a loss at what to do with her final moments, Lisa prayed that God wouldn't judge her too
harshly - not that he had answered many of her prayers in the past. Opening her eyes, Lisa
noticed a thin ray of orange light breaking into the room - the sun was coming up. She had 
always loved sunrise - in happier times, when her father worked nights he would arrive home just
as the sun came up, and usually woke Lisa - unable to get back asleep, she would often watch it
in bed, as she heard her father's comforting voice in the next room. It might have been quite a 
bitter memory now, but it rekindled a little warmth in Lisa's soul - now it would soon be over,
she felt free of the pain and anguish that had fettered her for so long.

Getting up from the couch, Lisa walked out into the front garden. Her stomach was beginning to
hurt now. Sitting on the doorstep, Lisa watched as the sun appeared over the horizion to begin
a new day she would never see, and waited.

------

The light was blinding. Instinctively, Lisa tried to fight it as it stirred her. Confused, 
dizzy, and in pain, she tried to ignore it in an attempt to return to her dreamless sleep. 
"Lisa... Lisa... can you hear me?" came a voice. She groaned and flickered her eyes open for a 
few seconds, to try and placate it, before drifting out of consciousness again.

Doctor Weir sighed wearily as he stood over his young patient. Doing the ER shift, he often saw
unpleasant sights, and although this was far from the most gory he'd seen in his short career, 
it was obvious that the girl had been abused severely. She was dangerously thin, and pale, and
her entire body was covered in bruises and cigarette burns, as was the rest of her body - he 
could only guess at the amount of damage that had been done that he couldn't see.

"I found this in her hand, doctor." said the paramedic that had brought her in, and handed 
Doctor Weir a small, plastic pill bottle. "Pills?!?" asked the doctor, suddenly animated. "She 
hasn't, has she?"

"Look at the bottle." the paramedic said neutrally. "They're vitamins. Looks like she *tried* 
to."

The doctor stared glumly at the girl - if the grim reality of a battered child not yet into her
teens attempting to take her own hadn't been so grim and depressing, he would have laughed at 
her mistake. "How did you find her?"

"One of her neighbours saw her passed out in front of her house. Apparently, there was a load of
commotion early this morning, too, but the house was empty when we got there. " the paramedic 
explained.

"And no-one bothered to do anything, eh?" the doctor said with tired resignation, shaking his
head. "We'd better clean her up and take her up to the ward. I'll get Stephanie to look after
her - she's... uh... got experience with this kinda thing."

As young and inexperienced as Doctor Weir was, he had already seen enough horrors in his short
career to have developed the emotional callus that was needed to work in an emergency room.
But the sheer sight of this injured young girl, whose life stretched out like an open road full 
of endless possibilities but had obviously suffered enough to have wanted to remove herself from 
the face of the earth was too much for him to remain detached from. Despite his best efforts at 
maintaining a professional distance, he found himself taking the girl's cold hand in his own. 
"Poor kid." he muttered to himself.

-------

Marge thought she'd gotten rid of all the photos of Sean - she had systematically tried to
remove every trace of him from her home, and her life, but to her dismay one photo, from her
wedding, had slipped the net. Unfortunately for her, that one photo happened to be in the album
that she brought down day to show her two children.

"Who's that, mom?" asked Bart, her son, as he pointed to the strange man standing next to Patty
and Selma as the Bouiver and Simpson families lined up.

Marge sighed. She'd always wanted to tell Bart and Maggie about their uncle, but for one reason
or another she'd never got round to it - after all, he and the rest of the family didn't have
much of a relationship. Homer, her husband, held her hand to give her his support, like he 
always did. Now, there was no avoiding it. 

"That's... that's your Uncle Sean, Bart." she said.

"Cool, a long lost uncle!" said Bart, enthusiastically. "Tell me about him."

"Well, that was the last time I ever saw him." Marge began. "He wasn't a very nice person, Bart.
He was a professional musician, and made quite a lot of money, but he wasted it. He was a
womaniser, he gambled, and he drank and did drugs. The rest of family really didn't have
anything to do with him." she sighed. Funny - it didn't really seem like much now. But then,
there were a lot of things she probably didn't even know about, Marge thought.

"How come I've never met him?"

Marge took a deep breath. "He died a few years ago - it was a brain haemorage, after he got
beat up in a fight. They never found who did it." she said, sadly.

"Oh." said Bart, simply. He wanted to comfort his mother, but he couldn't find the words. After
an awkward silence, he made his excuses and left the room.

Homer realised that his wife was despondant, and tried to comfort her. "Come on, honey, it's all
in the past now. And he did love you - what about all that money he left you?"

Marge looked at him sadly. "That just shows that he knew people were after him - he wasn't
even thirty and he had a will! And you know I don't want anything to do with his dirty money."
she said. When Sean had died, he had bequeathed several thousand dollards to each of his 
sisters, but Marge had refused to touch the money out of principle - much to Homer's 
frustration.

Realising that there was nothing that he could say, Homer simply took his wife in his arms, and
once again let her lean on him.

-------

"Uhh... where am I?" asked Lisa weakly, to no-one in particular. She remembered lying in front
of her house in agony only made bearable because she was convinced her pain would soon be over.
As she stirred, and slowly became more aware of her surroundings, she knew that she obviously
wasn't dead - she also realised that her stomach still hurt just as much.

Fighting the pain, as had become second nature to her by now, Lisa looked around the room - it
was brilliantly white, and appeared to be very sterile and clinical. She was wearing a light
blue gown, had her arm in plaster, and was lying in a bed - it was the first time since her 
mother left that she'd done so. Lisa was worried about what exactly they wanted with her, but 
she was too weak to get up and, despite her fears, she was actually comfortable.

Suddenly, Lisa jumped when she heard the door open. She pulled the bedclothes over herself as
much as she could, and waited to see who was coming in. Expecting to see her father storm in
angrily, Lisa was quite suprised to see a young, friendly looking nurse enter.

"Hello, Lisa," she smiled. "I'm Nurse Stanway. How are you feeling?"

Lisa was suprised by the way that the nurse spoke to her - she was actually pleasant toward
her, which was something Lisa didn't experience often. "Err... I'm okay, thanks" said Lisa,
wincing in pain as she tried to sit up in bed. She was suprised again to see that nurse
Stanway was concerned by this - "Oh, Lisa, is something wrong? Is your tummy still hurting?"

Lisa nodded weakly, and watched passively as the nurse fussed over her - it reminded Lisa of
being tucked in at night by her mother. "There, is that better, hun? I'll get Doctor Weir to
give you some more painkillers." Nurse Stanway said kindly.

"Thank you, ma'am." Lisa said, quietly. Despite by the acts of kindness the nurse was showing 
her, Lisa was still guarded and was afraid of saying or doing something that would upset 
her. "What's wrong with me?"

Nurse Stanway hesitated for a moment. She suspected that the little girl knew exactly what she 
was doing in hospital - she'd been beaten black and blue, and had tried to commit suicide. It
was obvious how much she'd suffered. Noting the worried look on her young patient's face, the
nurse smiled. "We're just keeping an eye on you, that's all. And there's no need to call me
ma'am, Lisa." she beamed, sat down on the bed next to Lisa. "Do you want anything, sweetie? A
drink, something to eat?"

"No thankyou, I don't want to be any trouble." said Lisa, her face giving away just how much
she wanted to say yes.

The nurse took her hand. "No bother" she smiled, looking straight into Lisa's mournful eyes.
"Are you sure?"

"Well... if you're sure I'm not putting you out, could I have a drink of water, please?" Lisa
asked, weakly. "Sure. I'll be back in a minute." smiled Nurse Stanway as she left the room.

Alone, Lisa wondered why the nurse had been so nice to her. Her father always went into great
detail telling her about how much people disliked her - he said that she was, literally, a 
dirty, sordid little bastard. Lisa was anxious to keep Nurse Stanway happy, and to keep her from
knowing about her past - it had been a long, long time since anyone had treated her like... like 
a *normal* person. Moved by a few simple, insignificant acts of kindess, a tear trickled slowly
down Lisa's face. Though she had learnt the danger of hope over the past few years, with her
new-found awareness of how life could be away from her father, Lisa prayed that she would never
have to go back to him again.

By the time Nurse Stanway returned, she found Lisa curled up, asleep again. Quietly, she tucked 
her patient, and stood watching over her. Lost in herself, she didn't notice Doctor Weir
entering the room and creeping up behind her. She jumped as he tapped her on the shoulder.

"DAVID! Don't do that!" she snapped quietly, mindful of the sleeping girl.

"Sorry, Steph" he whispered. "Keeping an eye on her, eh?" he asked as he led the nurse silently
out of the room and into the corridor outside.

Out there, the nurse leant against the wall, her head in her hands. "How can anybody do that to 
another human being?" she asked, sadly. Like Doctor Weir, she was still young and idealistic,
especially in cases like this. He put his hand on her shoulder, convincing himself that it was
a gesture of support more than anything else. "It must bring back memories for you." he said.
He'd often heard Nurse Stanway talking about her childhood, and her father, but he'd never
actually mentioned it to her before now.

She looked sadly into his eyes - he was transfixed by the pain in them. That's all it was, he
assured himself - concern for a colleague, no attraction there. Quietly, she nodded her 
agreement, and quickly composed herself. "Still, that's in the past now..." she said, trailing
off momentarily before regaining her train of though, and concentrating her energy on her
patient. "What'll happen to her now?" she asked.

"Well... we've still got to run a few more tests, but she's malnourished, and she could have
pnuemonia, so she could be in here for a few weeks." Doctor Weir said. "As for after that...
we've got to contact Social Services, and they'll probably take her into care."

Nurse Stanway sighed unhappily, bad memories of her experience in care homes coming back. "Does
she have to? I remember what it was like in a home - she wouldn't last five minutes!" she
pleaded.

"I don't see what else they can do - her mother's nowhere to be found, and she hasn't got any
other family, apparently. I'm sure she'd be okay in care." Doctor Weir told her. "Really,
Stephanie, you shouldn't get too attached to her." He cringed as he said those cliched words - 
it was advice he would do well to heed himself, and he knew it.

She glowered at him. "Well, no-one else seems to fucking care about her, do they?!" she
answered, suprising herself with the anger and forcefulness of her reply. He backed away from
her a little, taken aback somewhat himself. Silence reigned for a few awkward moments. "I mean, 
how can you do that to your own daughter - your own flesh and blood?" she asked.

"Well... she wasn't actually his kid - we got her birth certificate out, and it says the father 
is a guy called Sean Bouvier." Doctor Weir said, quietly. "He's dead, though. I checked." he
said quickly, as she saw Nurse Stanway's eyes light up at the possibility that Lisa had a parent
out there somewhere.

"He must have relatives" she said, clinging to any hope she could. "Maybe they'll take her in."

Doctor Weir shrugged his shoulders. "Stephanie, I doubt it..."

"You never know, I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be." she smiled as she stood up and
walked down the corridor. "Leave it with me!" she shouted at the Doctor, who stood shaking his
head. She was going way above the call of duty - in fact, she seemed to be more than a little
obsessive. But he couldn't help admiring her for it.

-------

It was a beautiful day, and the sun shone brightly, the wonderful warmth of it's rays warming 
her whole body. She breathed the clean air, and sighed contently as she listened to the joyful 
birdsong coming from the lush trees. It was all fitting into place now - she knew exactly where 
she was.

She was home.

This was the place where Lisa grew up as a little girl, before her family moved to Shelbyville.
She'd often wondered whether or not that had made any difference - her parents had both seemed a
lot happier when they lived here, outside the city. It was mostly farmland around her house - in
the long, endless summers, she spent hours on end exploring and playing in the rolling fields.
Her mother always warned her about the dangers of wandering too far, of the bad people who
wanted to hurt her - she never thought that she was living under the same room as one of them.
Still, none of that mattered now - she could see someone in the distance, outside her old house.
Was it... her mother?

Letting her excitement get the better of her, Lisa ran towards the figure on the horizon. She'd
waited, longed for this moment for so long now - it had gotten her through many a cold, lonely
night before. She knew her mommy wouldn't abandon her. She knew that, deep down, she wasn't
really the bad person the rest of the world seemed to want to make her think she was.

She should have known better.

As she got closer, she realised she was wrong. She could feel the temperature dropping, the
sky darkening, and the birdsong petering out. As the idyllic summer day evaporated, so did
Lisa's joy and hope, replaced by the all too familiar feeling of stomach-churning horror and
fear.

It was him.

She didn't seem to be too close to him, but somehow he managed to reach and take hold of her
arm. The world seemed to turn as icey panic yet again took it's grip on her. He leered at her
murderously.

"You can't run away from me!" he shouted as she squirmed in terror. He laughed joylessly as he
produced a giant knife from nowhere, and dangled it menacingly over her. "I'll get you in the
end!" he said, as he thrust the knife towards her.

Lisa screamed as she was dragged back into reality. She could feel the tears streaming down her 
face as the realisation that she couldn't even hide from him in her sleep took control. As the 
confusion lifted, she realised that Nurse Stanway was leant over her, her face filled with 
concern. Looking into the girl's terrified, tearful eyes, the nurse knew exactly how much Lisa
was suffering. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around Lisa as tight as she could, and
hugged her.

This unsettled Lisa somewhat - it had been a long time since anyone had shown her any sort of
affection, and she wasn't exactly sure how to act. Over the years, she'd learnt how to hide
her emotions and feelings from the world, realising that they made her even more vunerable to
being hurt mentally. It had been easier to bottle them up somewhere than face up to them. Now,
she had no choice.

After a moment's uneasy hesitation, the pressure building up inside Lisa became too much. She'd
been desperate for the tiniest iota of love for so long now, she could barely believe she was
recieving it now. Eventually, she gave in, and threw her arms around Nurse Stanway, grateful
that, at last, somebody actually seemed to care about her.

-------

That morning, Jack Fitzgerald had been in a particularly foul mood - he usually was for the
girl's birthday. He'd been arrested in the midst of a violently drunken rage, and now, in the
drunk tank, he had nowhere to hide from his biggest fear - sobriety.

In the cold light of day, he was trapped. He wasn't the hero that he liked to pretend he was,
now - he was just a drunk. Whenever he dwelled on thoughts like this, Jack usually reached for
the bottle, or Lisa. Here, he had no way to release the forces that drove him to such terrible
lows.

He'd never meant to hurt Lisa, and neither did he hate her... at least, not when he was sober -
she'd just gotten in the way of his temper. He had always been a physical person, a doer rather
than a thinker, and that hadn't been a problem when he worked at the Fire Department - he'd
always had something to channel his energy into. Sat at home, brooding over the accident that
had robbed him of his livelihood, he was like a coiled spring, waiting for something to unleash
all his pent up anger and resentment on. That something, more often than not, was the girl. For 
all his bodily strength, Jack knew how weak he was. Weak for allowing himself to become
this broken, bitter mess, and for hitting out because of it. He'd already driven his wife away,
long before she'd actually walked out - he had known all along that Lisa wasn't his daughter.

Oh, but he'd tried to love her. He really had.

He knew that she was a good kid, most of the time, and that he'd treated her badly. He'd managed
to get away with it for years before that, though - it was only when he collapsed into his
current state that the misdirected resentment he'd ignored for years came flooding back. All he
could see now when he looked at the girl was the bastard offspring of his bitch of a wife and
the asshole who'd taken her away from him, and since he couldn't hurt them any more, he had
to attack the next best thing.

Still, the more the thoughts churned over and over in his head, the more he grew aware that he 
couldn't blame the drink too much. Not really. As powerful as alcohol was, he knew that his own
terrible anger was as intoxicating as any drug, and what he was capable of when the red mist 
descended. Despair cascaded over his battered psyche as his unusually clear mind heaped more and
more misery upon itself.

He wasn't a man who showed emotion easily, but he could feel his masculine facade crumble as
he delved deeper into his soul. He could feel himself shedding tears, something he'd not done
himself since he was a boy, but something he had made Lisa do so many times. He couldn't even
blame the rashness of his fury for his terrible deeds, he began to realise - some of the cruel
tortures that he had inflicted upon Lisa had been carefully calculated to a cruelly obsessive 
level. As much as he had looked for simple answers, Jack knew that there weren't many of them -
most of the time, he had certainly knew what he was doing.

Alone in his own private hell, Jack began to get some idea of what he had done to poor Lisa. 

-------

Doctor Weir looked on in amazement. He'd known for nurses to get a little too attached to their
patients, but this was something else. Stephanie had finished her shift well over an hour
ago, but she was still there with the girl. Maybe her social life was empty, he thought. Maybe
he *should* ask her if she'd like to go for that drink - just as friends, of course, nothing
else...

Nurse Stanway knew exactly how Lisa felt. It wasn't something she liked to go over, but her
father had died when she was a child, perhaps a little younger than Lisa, and her mother had
re-married. Unfortunately for the young Stephanie, her step-father had a short temper, and
somewhat resented the fact that he had to share his new wife with her children. Several of her
unhappy teenage years had been spent in a children's home - the sort of grey building full of
grey, uncaring people that wasn't very much different from any other institution. She was
determined not to let the same fate befall Lisa.

At first glance, Lisa appeared to be a normal, if rather shy and nervous, little girl. But there
was a sadness and pain in her demeanour that was unmistakeable - it was a part of who she was.
As would be expected, she was withdrawn and guarded, and reluctant to open up. In her short
career, Nurse Stanway had seen people like this before, but never anyone quite as acutely as
Lisa - not only was her misery so obvious, but she fought to try and hide it as best she could. 
While people usually reacted to suffering by becoming hardened, Lisa still had an innocence and
purity that magnified her pain, and a despondency that suggested that she didn't have an ounce
of anger or hatred for those who had made her suffer - rather, she wanted desperately to be
loved and accepted by them. In spite of everything, Lisa thought the best of people, and had an
indominatable hope that people would do the same for her.

"So they were only v-vitamins?" Lisa asked. Nurse Stanway nodded, silently. Lisa stared back at
her, shame and embarrasment burning in her eyes. "Sorry." she said, quietly.

"What for?" asked the nurse, as neutrally as she could.

"Well... I... he..." Lisa mubled nervously, and tailed off. The truth was, she didn't really 
know. It had become a reflex action - every time someone was mad at her, it was invariably her 
fault, so she tried to apologise. It never worked, but she still tried. "I don't want to be a
problem." she finally said, sadly.

Nurse Stanway took the girl's hand, and tried to look directly into her eyes - she'd noticed
that Lisa didn't like to make eye contact with people. "You're not a problem, Lisa." she said
kindly.

"My dad says I am." said Lisa. The mention of her father seemed to worry her, and she stiffened
up in panick. "He's going to be mad when he finds out I'm here, you know." she said. "I'm going
to be in trouble when I go home."

"Don't worry about him, Lisa." Nurse Stanway said, stroking her hand comfortingly. "He's not
going to hurt you any more."

Lisa coughed weakly. She wanted to believe the nurse, but she didn't dare raise her hopes -
she'd done that all too many times and got hurt. "He will." she said, softly and mournfully.
"He hates me, he won't stop."

Nurse Stanway sighed. The poor girl was terrified, as well she might be. "We won't let him get
anywhere near you." she said. She could see Lisa looking at her expectantly, so she elaborated.
"We'll find you somewhere new to live - somewhere he won't be able to find you."

The nurse noted Lisa's reaction - it was a mixture of carefully guarded hope and suprise, with
a reluctance to get too excited. "You will?" she asked hopefully, seemingly suprised that
anyone would want to help her.

"Of course we will. We'll help you." Nurse Stanway said, comfortingly. She glanced at her
watch - she would have been happy to stay with Lisa all night, but she knew that she'd have to
leave her alone sooner or later. "Lisa, I'm going to have to go soon," she said, digging her 
hand into her coat pocket, "but first, there's something I want you to have." She pulled the 
small, brightly wrapped package and the envelope out of the pocket, and handed them both to 
the girl.

Lisa looked at Nurse Stanway, her face a mixture of confusion and awkwardness. She didn't really
know what to do with the things she'd just been given. "Go on, Lisa," Nurse Stanway said
encouragingly, "open them." Gingerly, Lisa tore the envelope open. Nurse Stanway looked on in 
delight as some of the worry in the girl's face melted away as she pulled out the birthday card. 
"Happy birthday!" she said, proudly.

Lisa smiled back at her, happily. It had been a long time since she'd had a genuine reason to
smile, and now she couldn't stop herself. She knew that it wasn't very much, but it a lot more 
than she'd had for years. As she read the card, signed by all the staff Nurse Stanway had been 
able to get hold of, Lisa could feel the warm glow of joy building up inside her as she read the 
names of people who'd bothered to acknowledge her. She could feel something else, something that 
she was well used to - tears welling up, and trickling slowly down her face. But this time, they 
were tears of happiness. "Thankyou" she beaming. "How did you know?"

"I saw your birthday on your medical records, and thought you might need some cheering up." 
Nurse Stanway said, kindly. "Open the present, Lisa." 

Eagerly, Lisa tore away at the wrapping paper. She gasped as she held up her gift - a pearl
necklace. "It used to be mine.", the nurse explained, "but it's too small now. Do you like it?"

"It's... it's beautiful!" Lisa said. "Thankyou so much..." she sobbed happily. The joyous
feeling built up, to the point where Lisa felt like it could burst through her chest - it was
exilerating, it made her feel more alive than she had for years. Nurse Stanway leant over and
hugged her tightly, and Lisa embraced her ecstatically, for what seemed like hours.

However long it was, it didn't seem long enough for Lisa, as Nurse Stanway eventually pulled
away, smiling. "Well, Lisa, I'd better be going." she said. Lisa didn't really want the nurse
to leave her, but in her contentment she understood. "If you need anything - even if you have
another bad dream in the night and just want a cuddle - just get one of the other nurses. They
all signed your card." Nurse Stanway said, stroking Lisa's hair affectionately. "I'm really
glad to see you smiling - you're really pretty."

Lisa blushed a little at the compliment. "Thanks." she said, shyly. "For everything."

"No problem" said the nurse as she walked towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Lisa. Don't
worry - everything's going to be fine."

Lisa watched in admiration as her saviour left the room - she felt that a few hours had
completely changed her life around. In the past, she'd tried to reassure herself that everything
would be fine - now, she actually believed it.

-------

Jack Fitzgerald wasn't a happy man. He'd sat, patiently enough, in the drunk tank waiting for
them to let him out - he'd gone into himself, and even managed to fool himself into thinking
that... that girl didn't deserve the treatment he gave her. He'd even ended up feeling sorry
for her.

But then, someone came and told him they were keeping him in. Someone had found her passed out
outside the house, and she'd been taken to hospital. She had been in a bad way, apparently, and
they wanted to speak to him about it.

They were accusing him of neglect.

Him - Jack Fitzgerald.

As he prowled inside his cell like a caged animal, looking for something to pounce on, his
misery long since replaced by anger, a furious, concentrated rage that Jack had only felt once
or twice before - and he knew fully well what he'd done on those occassions.

I'll get that little bitch, he thought to himself. I'll make her pay for humiliating me like
this - I could even go to jail because of her. She must be laughing at me now, thinking that
she's got away from me, but if I'm going down, it might as well be for *something*.

Jack bristled with a terrifying fury that made the guards nervous. Despite his rising levels
of hatred and sheer anger, he still had a menacing air of calm around him that only made him
seem more threatening - he was grimly determined to show his step-daughter just how cruel he
could be.

-------

Marge was in the middle of clearing away the dinner table when there was a knock on the door.
"Homer, could you answer that?" she yelled, but wasn't surpised when he suddenly became hard of
hearing.

When she opened the door, she was faced with a young woman, wearing what appeared to be a 
nurse's uniform. She looked pleasant enough, but her body language belied a certain awarkness, 
as if she wasn't exactly sure that she should be here. "Hello... Mrs Simpson, isn't it?" she 
asked brightly, if a little nervously.

Marge sighed wearyly. "Oh, you must be from the school. I'm sorry about Bart and the itching
powder..."

"Oh, no." the woman said. "My name's Stephanie Stanway. I'm a nurse at Shelbyville General
Hospital. Err, it is okay if I speak to you for a minute? It's... it's quite important."

Marge looked puzzled. She didn't *think* she knew anyone in Shelbyville. "Okay." she said. 
"You'd better come in."

Nurse Stanway was led into the living room, where Homer lay slothly on the couch - he quickly
jumped up when he saw a strange young woman enter the room. "Homer, this is Stephanie Stanway" 
Marge said. "She's come here to talk to us."

As she sat down, Nurse Stanway could feel them staring at her expectedly. It unnerved her a
little - maybe she had been rash coming here. Suddenly, she felt something tugging at her skirt,
and was taken aback a little to see a younger version of Lisa smiling up at her.

"What's your name?" the toddler asked her.

"I'm Stephanie." the nurse replied. "What's your name?"

"My name's Maggie." the girl asked, giggling as she tried to climb onto the couch.

"She likes you." Marge smiled. Nurse Stanway was grateful to Maggie for breaking the ice - she'd
spent the whole journey here trying to work out what to say, but her mind was blank now. She
started to regret coming here - maybe she should have waited. Still, she was here now, and she
had to go through with it. For Lisa.

She cleared her throat, and hesitantly began. "Mr and Mrs Simpson... I know I said that I work
for the hospital in Shelbyville, but I've come here as on my own. To be honest, I'm not sure I
should have come at all, but I think it's important that I did." she said, nervously. She
could see the looks on their faces, and realised that she'd have to get to the point rapidly.

"What it is... err, I'm not sure how to tell you all this, but you see... about a week ago, we
had a little girl brought in. She's been abused by her stepfather, and she's in a bad way. And,
the thing is... well, I think she might be your brother's daughter, Mrs Simpson."

Nurse Stanway sat and looked at them both, anxiously. Homer looked more confused than anything,
as if he were trying to get to grips with the storyline of a soap opera. Marge looked calm
superficially, but a whole gamut of emotions fought one another in her eyes. After an agonising
silence, it was her who broke the silence. "Are you sure?" she asked mildly.

"Not 100%, Mrs Simpson. It would help if you could do a blood test - if you're related, we'll
be able to see. I know the guy who does them, so we could know in a few days." the nurse said,
unable to decide whether things were going well or badly.

"Ok, I suppose so." Marge said, still retaining her reserve. "How did you find out?"

"I... err... pieced it together from the medical records."

That wasn't strictly true. At first, Nurse Stanway had wanted to track down Lisa's mother, Susan
Fitzgerald, but had drew a blank. She had been discussing the case with one of the ward sisters, 
and discovered to her amazement that Lisa's mother had worked at the hospital years ago. The 
nurse, who had something of a reputation for gossiping anyway, had told Stephanie that Susan had
been unhappy in her marriage, and had been having a lengthy affair with a jazz musician - she
couldn't remember his name, but she was sure it was something French. She'd left the hospital 
when she got pregnant - just under 12 years ago now. Apparently, she got back with her husband, 
and the musician was killed a few years later.

Nurse Stanway had then used a combination of old newspaper reports and medical records to find
her way to the Simpson household. It seemed so ridiculous now, such a longshot, held together
by her own hope and, probably, misplaced optimism. She felt so stupid for coming all this way
now.

Once again, everybody in the room sat in nervous silence, staring unsurely at each other.
Finally, the tension got too much, for Homer, and he had to break the deadlock. 

"So... is there as much blood in real life as there is in ER?"

-------

It was quiet now. So very quiet. Part of him even *missed* her.

Jack sat himself down, grateful to be back home again. The hearing had went as well as could be
expected - he was being charged with willful neglect, amongst other things, but his lawyer had
assured him that with his previous good standing in the community, he would likely only get
something token. He'd gotten bail with ease, with only one restriction - he couldn't see the
girl. That didn't really bother him.

As he sat, looking around the house that he had virtually imprisoned her in, his mind was
spinning yet again. As part of him missed her, another part of him was disgusted at the way he
had treated her - it was something that usually creeped up upon him in moments of introspection.

He could see now that there were times when he had gone too far, when his anger overtook his
rationality - he deeply regretted those moments of insanity, when he lashed out at her. But all
the same, he felt she could have toughened up a little - it was character building. He could
have treated her with more care, but that was something she had to earn.

Those were the things his father said when he hit Jack. It would build his character. He should
earn the love and affection he craved. It would make him into a man. It had made him into a man,
too - the only question was, what sort of a man?

Jack had been unhappy when she went crying to the authorities, too - that wasn't how the
Fitzgeralds done things. He'd had that instilled in him as a child, when his father had climbed 
into his bed at night, reeking of drink. Families didn't tell on each other, he'd been told.
What went on had been their little secret. It was a secret that Jack had even tried to keep
from himself for years.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something... a bottle. Getting up, he grabbed it, and
flung himself back on the couch, ready to numb his tortured mind once again.

-------

She'd been in there for nearly an hour now, thought Doctor Weir. He was beginning to wish that
he hadn't agreed to give her a lift to Springfield, now - she was going above and beyond the
call of duty, and was it really such a good idea to go bothering someone who may or may not be
related to the girl?

Eventually, she emerged from the house. She looked quite happy, which was a good sign. The
woman who saw her to the door looked a little bewildered, Doctor Weir though - not suprisingly, 
really.

Nurse Stanway climbed into the car. The doctor smiled at her politely but neutrally, trying not
to give away any indications of the misgivings he had about the whole situation - she was so
obviously enthused with the outcome of the meeting. As the car drove off, she eagerly told 
Doctor Weir about what had happened.

"They seem really nice" she said brightly. "...and they've got two kids already. They'd be the
perfect family for her."

Doctor Weir listened intently to her articulate her hopes for the girl's future, until he felt 
he had to say something about her increasing zealousness. "Stephanie" he began, cautiously, 
"look, don't take this the wrong way, but don't you think you're taking this a bit too far?". He
didn't look at her - he felt that he had to say this, and he didn't want to be sidetracked. "I
mean, this Lisa's a lovely kid, and I'd love to see her happy, but I do think that you're sorta
turning this into... well... a bit of a personal crusade."

There. He'd said it.

Silence reigned uneasily in the car for a few moments. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw
Stephanie glancing at him for a moment, and then quickly turning her head to stare out of the 
window. She let out an exasperated sigh, filled with the frustration of somebody who was willing
to justify themselves, but didn't really see the need, or point, to have to.

"Dave, you know what happened to me when I was a kid, don't you? I don't have to explain what I
went through, do I?" she said. Her voice wasn't angry - it was fairly neutral, but it had a
streak of steely resolve and an edge of pain. "And you know, when you grow up, the worst thing
about it is that you know that it's happenening to somebody else, so I'm not going to just sit
back when I can help someone."

"But you can't do all this for all your patients, can you?" he asked.

"I will if I have to."

Doctor Weir shook his head. He knew what she was doing was a good thing, and he had no real
complaints about her intentions. "Don't you think it's a bit, err, dangerous? I mean, those
people might not have anything to do with Lisa, but you've dragged them into it now. And what if
Lisa gets her hopes up when she hears about all this? It'd be unfair to hurt her any more, 
y'know."

"Don't you think I know that?" she snapped. She'd invested so much emotional energy into this
little girl in the past few weeks that she couldn't help feel that Doctor Weir was attacking her
personally.

Doctor Weir sighed. "I'm not trying to offend you by saying all this, it's just that I think
you're a little too attached. Isn't this more of a social services thing?"

"Yeah, they're a lot of use, aren't they?" Nurse Stanway said cynically. "You know they'll put
her in one of those homes."

"Well, what's wrong with that?"

Nurse Stanway explained quietly and hesitantly, as if she was resurrecting memories she'd buried
deep within herself. "You've seen what she's like on the ward - she doesn't say two words to
anyone, and she gets scared anytime anyone comes near her. She needs a lot of attention, and she 
won't get it in a home. Trust me, she wouldn't last two minutes in one of those places."

The doctor tried to get a word in edgeways, but she quickly continued while she was in mid-flow.
"And then what? She hasn't got anyone. She'll get kicked out when she's 16, and then God knows 
what'll happen to her. I can't just sit back and watch that happen!"

He didn't really want to admit defeat, but he could see her point - he could imagine just how 
those homes were. It was obvious that Nurse Stanway had had some bad experiences with them, too 
- the pain in her voice, a pain that she had repressed in the past almost to the point were she 
thought she was actually free of it, was tangible, as was the passion with which she argued for 
Lisa. It was then that he realised that she would get her way, and find Lisa a new home - she
was so persuasive, anybody who got in her way didn't stand a chance.

-------

Marge sat, staring at the envelope. She knew exactly what it was - "SHELBYVILLE GENERAL
HOSPITAL" was stamped authoritively on it. She was desperate to tear it open, to see once and
for all, but she wanted to wait until Homer got home.

She had barely slept over the past week - did she really have a niece that she knew nothing
about? It wouldn't have suprised her - it was the sort of thing that Sean did a lot. That was
partly the reason why she'd not spoken to him for years now. Since he'd... departed, Marge had
regretted falling out with her little brother. There wasn't a day that went by in which she
didn't wish that she could have forseen what would happen without warning...

Nurse Stanway had given Marge a picture of the girl... Lisa, her name was. She didn't want to
get carried away with herself before she saw the results for certain, but Marge could see a 
definite resemblence - the girl definitely looked like a Bouvier. 

Marge pulled the photograph out, and fixed her eyes on it again. Nurse Stanway had taken it as 
she laid asleep in bed - she looked so peaceful, thought Marge - there weren't any hints of what
sort of life she'd been forced to live. Marge had listened in horror to the nurse as she told
her what sort of thing Lisa had been put through - as she began to grow more and more 
irrationably attached to the girl, she began to find that those tales began to invade her
dreams. She knew that she would very possibly end up regretting it, but Marge was growed more
and more emotionally involved with little Lisa.

She'd already spoken to Homer in great detail about the girl. At first, he hadn't been to sure
about what they should do, but Marge had worked on him, and convinced him that if Lisa was
related to them, they should give her a home. They had wanted to try for another baby at some
point in the future, anyway, and Marge didn't see the point of bringing another child into the
world, when there was already a living, breathing one who desperately needed parents. (As long 
as they could still go through the motions of trying for a baby, Homer was reasonably happy)
They still had that money that Sean had left them in his will, too, so being able to afford
another mouth to feed wasn't really a problem. And, thought Marge, this was the best way to 
finally do something for her brother - even if she couldn't help him anymore, she could
certainly help his daughter. That was assuming she was his daughter...

It hadn't been an easy few days since they'd first found out about Lisa - in fact, it had been
one of the most intensely soul-searching periods Marge had known in her life. It had certainly
not been an easy decision to make, especially since it was clouded by emotion that she didn't
really think she should have been feeling. Now, would all of that mental exertion go to waste?
The answer lay inside the envelope in front of her. It was agonising.

Finally, Marge heard a key in the door! Homer! They would know soon enough, now. She'd had
enough time to ponder the potential consequences of what lay in this letter, and the full
enormity of it was crashing down upon her now...

Homer walked out into the kitchen, loudly telling anyone who was around to hear about what
Lenny was supposed to have done with a doughnut at lunchtime. When he saw his wife sat at the
kitchen table, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Are they the results, honey?" he asked. She nodded silently. "I've been waiting for you so we
could open them together." she said, softly.

Homer put his hand on his wife's shoulder, and watched anxiously as she opened the envelope
and pulled the letter out. After a pregnant pause, Marge handed the sheet of paper to him. "I
can't read it." she said. "I'm too nervous."

Homer took the letter off her, and started to read it out loud. "Dear Mrs Simpson, yadda yadda,
blood test results... what does "conclusive" mean?"

Marge snatched the letter back, and quickly scanned through it. "It means" she said, 
happily, "that we should tell Bart and Maggie about their new cousin."

-------

Lisa sat nervously on her bed - she couldn't believe that she was leaving hospital today. She'd
been in for nearly a month now, and in that short time she'd already grown attached to it. All
the nurses were so... *nice* to her. Not one of them had done as much as raised their voice to
her since she'd been a patient, and not only did they not seem to hate her, some of them 
actually seemed to... like her. That in itself was a liberating experience for Lisa. Now, it
might be over.

But things weren't so bad, really - after all, Nurse Stanway had managed to find her real
father's family. She was amazing, thought Lisa... she hadn't even *known* who her real dad was,
but the nurse had still managed to find his relatives. They seemed nice, too - she was going
to stay with them, and they had even brought her the clothes she was wearing now. But Lisa was
still worried - the nurses, and her newly discovered family, only really saw her occasionally -
they hadn't got time to really get to know her. It had taken Jack years to find out just what
a bad person she was, and she was worried that it'd take the Simpsons nearly as long. She
felt ashamed even admitting it to herself, but she couldn't bare to go through that again...

Nurse Stanway came over to her, and noting the concerned look on the girl's face, smiled
warmly. "Hey, it's your big day today, isn't it Lisa?"

Lisa looked up at the kindly nurse sadly. She was probably the only person she really felt
she could trust or confide in, and she was leaving her life now. Lisa had felt torn up about
this moment for some time now - as she thought it would, the emotion overcame her, and she
could feel herself beginning to cry - something she hadn't done for weeks.

"Oh, Lisa, what's wrong?" asked the nurse, as she squatted down to look at the sobbing girl face 
to face.

Lisa was reluctant to tell her - she was embarrased. "I... I don't want to leave." she said,
sadly. "I'll miss you. No-one's ever been so nice to me before. You're... you're the only
friend I've got!"

Nurse Stanway took Lisa in her arms, and hugged her tightly. "Oh, Lisa," she said, comfortingly
"You're going to make lots of friends!" The nurse pulled a pen and a scrap of paper out of her
pocket. "Here," she said, "this is my phone number. If you ever want to talk to me, Lisa, just
give me a call."

Lisa took the piece of paper off her, and smiled weakly through her tears. "Thankyou" she said,
quietly.

The nurse put her arm on Lisa's shoulder. She was going to miss her as well - it was times like
this that Nurse Stanway was grateful to be able to fake detachment in front of patients. It
was a shame to see this little girl leave her life, but the nurse was overjoyed that she had
found a decent home. "Are you looking forward to going home with them, Lisa?" she asked.

Lisa looked up at her with concern in her eyes. Nurse Stanway looked back into them intently.
You could learn an awful lot from somebody's eyes, she'd always been taught. She remembered the
emptyness and the burnt-out despair that had filled them when Lisa had first been admitted to
hospital, and she could see that the girl had come a long way since then. There was still an
awful lot of work to be done, though - they were still filled with mournful pain and fear, even
if there was now the faintest glimmer of hope in there. "What if they don't like me?" Lisa 
asked, worried. It was something that had kept her awake for days now.

"Of course they'll like you, Lisa." Nurse Stanway said comfortingly. "I bet they'll *love* you."

That wasn't the only thing bothering her, thought Nurse Stanway. She'd always prided herself on
being able to read people, and she could tell that there was still something worrying Lisa. 
"You're worried about your dad, aren't you?" she guessed.

Lisa nodded. She'd been told about the situation with Jack before, and how he was being tried
for neglect and abuse. She was torn - part of her still felt guilty about causing so much 
trouble for him and another part wanted vengance for everything the bastard had put her through.
But mostly, the most overriding emotion was that of sheer terror.

"He won't be happy with me, you know. What if he comes after me?" she asked, fearfully.

Nurse Stanway put her hand on Lisa's shoulder. "He's not allowed to go anywhere near you - if he
does, they'll put him straight in jail. You don't have to worry, Lisa - you'll never have to see
him again!"

She could see that Lisa wasn't really satisfied by this answer. "What about in court?" Lisa
sobbed.

Nurse Stanway sighed. According to the policeman who had spoken to Lisa, it was likely that the
girl would have to testify against Jack if there was to be any hope of a conviction, and the
nurse knew how hard that would be for Lisa - as if the court wasn't intimidating enough, Lisa
would be brought face to face with her abuser. Nurse Stanway definitely knew that she wouldn't
want to have to face her own father again like that...

"Oh, Lisa, I'm sorry you have to go through all of this. You don't deserve it..." she said,
tears welling up in her face as her professional facade crumbled.

"Daddy always said I did..."

Nurse Stanway hugged the girl as tightly as she could, as she tried to regain her composure.
"Lisa, if you don't want to face him, don't. Don't let anyone pressure you into anything you
don't want to do, ok?" she sniffed. Again, Lisa nodded her agreement. "And Lisa, take care of
yourself. You're wonderful, and you deserve to be happy - don't let anyone tell you any
different."

"Okay" Lisa said quietly, smiling as she did. The nurse beamed back at her, and ruffled her
hair. She was going to miss that smile.

As they collected together Lisa's meagre possessions, Nurse Stanway's pager beeped noisily -
the girl watched as she read the message. "Well, Lisa," she sighed, "this is it. They're here."
Lisa pulled something from under the pillow of the bed. "This is for you." she said, nervously, 
"And everyone else. You've all been so nice to me."

Nurse Stanway took it from Lisa - it was a homemade card, little more than a sheet of 
paper folded in two and brightly decorated - it showed a suprisingly well-drawn picture of a 
kindly doctor and nurse. Inside, Lisa had written her thanks. "I know it's not much, but I
wanted to do something..."

The nurse smiled, moved by the loving innocence of the gesture. "Lisa, it's perfect." she said.
She could see from the delighted expression on Lisa's face that the girl wasn't praised or 
encouraged very often at all. "Come on, let's get you downstairs."

And, taking her hand, Nurse Stanway led Lisa down to her new life.

-------

Lisa peered nervously out of the car window and into the darkness of the night, taking in one 
last, good look at the town in which she'd lived for all of her young life. Places she had once 
known so well passed by her, for probably the last time - she felt no real emotion as she left 
Shelyville behind. That chapter of her life was over now.

Turning away from her past, Lisa looked at her future - Uncle Homer and Aunt Marge. They were
related to her father apparently, her *real* father. It was funny - she didn't even know who he
was, but Nurse Stanway had managed to find his sister. Anxiously, Lisa fiddled with the necklace
that she'd been given for her birthday - it was the first gift she'd recieved in a long, long
time, a reminder of the kindness that she'd experienced so rarely.

Marge turned around, and smiled at her niece. "Are you okay back there, Lisa?" she asked. "I've
told Bart and Maggie all about you. They can't wait to meet you!"

That was something, thought Lisa - she had two cousins that she'd never even met. What would
they feel about her? Lisa was worried about how to act once she had arrived at her new home - 
she didn't want to do anything wrong and upset anyone too soon. She wanted to stay there as long
as she could - Marge and Homer seemed nice enough, and they didn't seem to want to hurt her. But
then, Jack had been like that for years...

Noticing that they were now out of the town centre, Lisa looked out of the window as Shelybville
gradually thinned. Her heavy heart lifted a little as she saw the house that she'd shared with
both her parents in happier times glide by. While most of Shelbyville was stained with the
bitter memories of more recent experiences, that house set alone in the rolling hills around the
town still shone with the reflected purity of her innocent youth. She was slightly disappointed
that she wouldn't be able to return there, just yet, but for the moment, Lisa was more concerned
with what was to come than what had been.

The remainder of the journey continued in silence. Marge stared languidly out of the car window, 
lost in deep thought. Her strong maternal instinct had been aroused as soon as she had learnt of 
the existence of Lisa, and once she'd heard the harrowing stories of the abuse that the girl had 
suffered, it was too much for her to resist. Now, the girl was part of the family. In the cold 
light of day, she was beginning to realise exactly what that would bring - it certainly wouldn't 
be an easy ride. Still, it was something that Marge was determined to see out. Though she'd been 
spared the specifics of the terrible things that Lisa had experienced, it had still been a 
terrible shock for her to discover what sort of cruelty could be unleashed on an innocent child.
But if there was anything that Marge held dear about herself, it was that she was a loving
mother. She was eager to be that to Lisa.

For his part, Homer felt sorry for Lisa, too. He didn't quite share his wife's enthusiasm for
inviting the girl into their home, but she seemed like a nice enough kid (if only the boy was as
well behaved...), and he could see how much caring for her brother's child meant to Marge. As
he drove back home to Springfield however, he felt a certain sense of awkwardness. He hoped that
he wouldn't be called upon to provide too much moral or emotional support to Lisa - that was 
something he had never felt exactly comfortable with when dealing with his own children, and
usually left to Marge. 

He was also wondering whether or not Bart had remembered to video the women's volleyball on Fox.

It was quite late by the time they reached Springfield. In the tranquil silence, Lisa had
begun to slowly drift into semi-conciousness, watching the dark countryside roll past her 
window. She was abruptly brought back into reality when the car shuddered to a halt, and Marge
turned to gently shake her. "Here we are, Lisa." she smiled, brightly. "This is your new home!"

Bleary eyed, Lisa got out of the car and stared at the house nervously. She was scared - it was 
real now. In the safety of her hospital bed, Lisa had allowed herself to speculate about how
the Simpson house would be - she'd played out this scene dozens of times in her head. Now, she
felt insecure and vunerable - this was really happening, and she didn't have Nurse Stanway or
anyone else to come and tell her everything would be all right. It seemed like such a bad idea
now. Living with Jack, she had at least known what to expect on a daily basis, but now the
unknown lay ahead - as worried as Lisa was, she was also hopeful about her new family, and she
knew just how dangerous hope could be, after all those lonely nights crying and hoping that her
mother would come back for her... she never did. But although the shame of being abandoned still 
burned somewhere deep inside her, it didn't seem to matter quite as much now.

This was her big chance! 

What if she said something wrong? What if she did something wrong? 

Would they hurt her, would they throw her out, or would they do something even worse? 

She'd dreamt about this moment for so long now, she was terrified of wasting it. What would she 
do if they didn't like her? She couldn't bare it if they turned on her like Jack did.

Lisa could feel herself starting to panick. Her stomach was churning as the endless thoughts and 
fears that she had turned over in her mind so many times began to spiral down upon her. She
nearly jumped as she felt someone take her hand. Anxiously, she looked up and saw Marge smiling
down at her, kindly. "Come on, honey." she said, and led her inside.

The first thing that struck Lisa once she got inside the house was how similar it was to her
own house... her *old* house... it was. She could feel the warmth as soon as she stepped inside,
and the comforting smell of something being cooked - Lisa could feel the familiar pangs of
hunger fighting with the butterflies inside her stomach, and allowed herself to hope for a
minute that she'd be allowed some of whatever it was that was being made. Standing to attention,
she waited as Homer shouted Bart and Maggie.

Lisa knew just how nervous she was around other children - the daily torment that she had
suffered at school had at times been just as painful as Jack's beatings. Over recent weeks she
had slowly began to regain some of her old trust for adults, but she was still wary of those
her own age - she couldn't remember the last time any of her classmates had been anything near
civil to her, and bitter memories of being taunted regularly by those she had once considered
her friends played through her mind. She knew that this would be the hardest part of coming to
live with the Simpsons. If she could get through meeting their kids without making them hate
her, she would be okay...

After a second or two, Bart and Maggie emerged from the front room. "This is Lisa, your
cousin." Marge said, brightly. "Hi." Lisa mumbled apologetically, and waited anxiously for their
response.

Giggling manically, Maggie waddled over to Lisa, and threw her arms around her. "My name's
Maggie!" she said, loudly and clumsily. Smiling, and geniunely moved by her enthusiasm, Lisa
embraced the toddler, before quickly looking over to see how Bart reacted.

"Hey." Bart said, coldly. "I'm Bart." Lisa could feel her heart sink a little at his lukewarm
welcome. She was reminded of when a teacher would happen to chance upon someone bullying her in 
school - they would force an apology out of the bully, normally, but in that same neutral tone
of voice that meant that once the teacher's back was turned again, the reprisals would be even
worse for her. That was the last thing Lisa wanted now.

Like a child with a new toy, Marge again took Lisa's hand, and decided to show her around the
house. Lisa could see how houseproud her aunt was - she explained everything and anything about
her home to the girl. As the rest of the family followed them around the house, more in
curiosity than anything else, Lisa kept her eyes firmly on Bart.

Eventually, after a tour of the upstairs, Marge led Lisa to a door at the end of the corridor.
"And this is your room, Lisa..." she said, swinging open the door.

Lisa glanced into the room in amazement. It hadn't really occured to her where she would sleep,
but she was suprised to see that they had given her a room. Her very own. There wasn't very
much in it at the moment, save for the bed and a few empty shelves, but it was hers. Turning
around, she hugged Marge gratefully. "Thank you" she said with tears in her eyes.

Marge brushed her cheek. "Oh, it was nothing, honey. It was just the spare room."

"I know, but it's so nice of you to..." Lisa sobbed joyfully, but was unable to continue as
she buried her face into Marge's midriff. She still couldn't believe all of this was happening
to her, after years of hoping for salvation - first Nurse Stanway, now this. "You're welcome." 
Marge said, happily.

Lisa looked at the rest of her new family, standing unsurely behind Marge. Maggie seemed
ecstatic to suddenly have a new sister, while even Bart didn't seem as distant as he had just a
moment ago. Homer was beaming with satisfaction, his original concerns melting away - it was
obvious that he too was moved by the sight. He quickly regained his normal composure when the
smell of dinner began to waft upstairs. "Marge, the dinner's ready." he said, kindly and
unusually softly. "Come on - less weeping, more eating."

-------

A while later, the family sat down to eat. Despite her feelings of awkwardness, Lisa had a
sense of pride as she sat with the family - it felt good to be accepted by them. The only thing
that worried her was Bart, though she wasn't exactly sure of what it was that unsettled her so
much. He seemed so distant, so cold...

She could sense that no-one at the table seemed exactly comfortable, either. They tried to
involve her in the conversation, but it wasn't easy. Lisa didn't want to worry too much about
any of that just yet, though - she was just happy to sit there with them, feeling for once that
someone actually wanted her. It was pouring with rain outside, and Lisa knew just how cold it
would have been in Jack's house. (assuming, of course, that he wouldn't have made her sleep
outside) Here in the warmth, Lisa felt as safe and secure as she had done for years.

When the family had finished, Marge got up to take their plates. Lisa felt like she should be
doing something as she watched. "Do you want me to help you, Mrs Simpson?" she asked.

Marge smiled. "Lisa, you don't have to call me Mrs Simpson... my name's Marge. And if you really
want to help, you can come and get the deserts from the kitchen with me. That's very nice of you
to offer."

Lisa climbed down from her chair and went with Marge. When they came back into the dining room
with the ice-cream, Bart was gone. "He said he had to go and do... something." Homer explained
in between mouthfuls.

"Mmmm... it's not like Bart to skip desert." Marge mused. She looked over at the two girls - 
Maggie was getting more ice-cream over herself than in her mouth, as usual, but Lisa didn't seem
to have any appetite as she stared glumly into the bowl. "Lisa, what's wrong? Don't you like 
it?" Marge asked.

"No, I really like it, thanks." Lisa said brightly. "It's just... well, the last time I had 
ice-cream, it was when my mom took me out for it, the night before she left. That was the last 
time I ever saw her..." she tailed off, quietly.

Marge sighed. She didn't really know the whole story about what had happened with Lisa's 
parents, but she had found it strange that her mother had just disappeared. How could anyone do
that to their own child? As if abandoning her wasn't bad enough, to leave her alone with that
moster... Marge leaned over the table and took Lisa's hand to try to comfort her a little. "Oh
honey, you must really miss her." she said.

Lisa stared sadly into Marge's eyes - she hadn't known this woman for long, really, but 
something told Lisa that she could trust her. "I do." she said, "Why do you think she hates me,
Marge?"

"Oh, Lisa, she doesn't hate you!" Marge said quickly, her heart being wrenched by hearing the
girl talk like that. She wanted to tell her exactly what she thought of her mother, but she
kept it to herself.

"Then why did she leave me?" Lisa asked. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes 
already. She'd promised herself she wouldn't cry in front of them - she didn't want them to
think she was a baby...

Marge got up, and warmly took Lisa in her arms. "I don't know, Lisa." she said softly. "It's
okay, though, you've got us now."

As Homer led Maggie into the TV room to give them some space, thoughtfully leaving the dirty
plates for Marge to clean up alone, Lisa smiled gratefully. "You're all being so kind to me. I
don't know how to repay you..."

"Lisa, you don't have to pay us back. We're your family and we love you." Marge smiled.

WE'RE YOUR FAMILY AND WE LOVE YOU. Lisa cherised those words and what they meant. Part of her
was still reluctant to believe them, but they filled her with warmth all the same. "Marge?"
Lisa asked. "What was my dad like?"

Marge sighed hesitatly. The nurse had told Lisa a little about her father, but Marge knew that
she would eventually have to tell her more. It had been a tough enough day as it was though, and
Marge didn't feel like dragging up too many painful memories now. Besides, she knew that being
totally honest, which she wanted to be, about the stuff that Sean had gotten up to wasn't
exactly suitable for a girl of Lisa's age.

"Well..." Marge said, wanting to tell Lisa something. Something positive, if she could. "He 
was... err... well, he was a musician. A very good one."

"He was?" Lisa said enthusiastically, her eyes lightening up. "I played the saxophone! Well,
until my dad... err, Jack, took it away."

Marge stroked Lisa's hair quietly. What else had that bastard done to her? Glancing at her
watch, she noticed that it was getting quite late - time to put Maggie to bed. She had to call 
Principal Skinner in the morning to make sure that Lisa would be going to Springfield 
Elementary. There was no real rush to get her into school, Marge though, but maybe it would help 
Lisa focus on something other than Jack Fitzgerald, especially if she had the chance to meet 
some kids her age. "Lisa, do you want to go upstairs and get changed for bed? I bought you a 
nightgown - it's under your pillow."

Bart sat at the top of the stairs as he watched Lisa coming out of the dining room. He didn't
take his eyes off her as she walked up to her bedroom. She looked away from him, intimidated by
his unwavering stair. He didn't really have anything against her, in particular, but she was in
HIS house, and he wanted her to know that. He did resent her a little - the family had been fine
up until a few weeks ago, but ever since his mom had found out about her all she had been 
worried about was Lisa. He hadn't been very pleased by the prospect of having his cousin move in
permanently, either - it felt like an infringement on the family, like having some complete
stranger interfere in their business. Competitive and terratorial instincts were coming
to the fore in Bart's still-blossoming manhood.

Still, she would be good bait for him. Fresh blood - someone whose world hasn't been Barted
yet...

Bart grinned evilly at Lisa as she walked towards her bedroom door. She could feel his stare
boring into her - try as she might, she couldn't ignore him. She was grateful to get into her
new room. That was, until she felt it come down on her...

Still sitting patiently, Bart smiled as he heard her scream in shock. It had worked perfectly.

-------

Marge raced upstairs as soon as she heard that scream, that terrible, bloody curdling scream.
It had only been a few seconds since she'd been speaking to Lisa - what could have possibly
happened in that time?

When she got to the top of the stairs, she saw Bart standing outside Lisa's room. Brushing past

him, she saw Lisa sat on the floor, soaking wet, and sobbing.

As she stared up at both of them, Lisa could feel a dull sensation of horror replacing the
sharper feeling of shock inside her. She'd thought she could trust the Simpsons, she really
had. She had set herself up for a fall, and now she was paying for the faith she had put into
it - she was a fool to think that anyone would actually want to care for her. It wasn't so much
the trick that she'd had played on her - she was used to cold water from Jack's daily hosings,
and even the cut that the heavy metal bucket had left above her eye didn't bother her too much.
It was the way that they had managed to convince her that they were different from Jack. Once
again, she felt lonely, and scared, but now she felt humiliated, foolish, and disappointed. So
very disappoitned.

Lisa stared up at Bart as she struggled to her feet. "I'm sorry!" she said, desperately
apologising for whatever it was she had done this time in the hope that it would stop him from
doing anything more to her. "I know you didn't want me to come here." As fear and grief took
hold of her, she was becoming increasingly hysterical. "I... I'll go! I promise! Is that what 
you want? Just... please... don't hurt me any more!"

Quickly, Marge tried to calm her down. Bart looked on dumbstruck as his mother swept past him
and took Lisa in her arms. Angrily, she shouted at him. "Bart, is that any way to treat your
cousin! I'm ashamed of you!" Normally, Bart could handle his mother - he was an expert in using
her strong maternal instincts to his advantage. But this time, he fled to the safety of his
own room while Marge comforted and reassured Lisa.

Lying on his bed, Bart could hear her crying in the next room. This was something he wasn't
used to - every sob cut through him like a blade, and his stomach tightened every time he 
thought of her, laid out on the floor, blood mingling with the water. He'd played a lot of
tricks on people, with differing levels of cruelty, but this was the first time he'd ever felt
anything like this bad. This, he pondered, must be remorse.

He hadn't really wanted to hurt her, or make her that unhappy - there was no real malice behind
the plan. He had just wanted to have some fun at her expense. But the way she reacted had made
him seriously question how much fun his practical jokes where - he was haunted by the look on
her face, a mixture of fear, agony and sheer despair. His mother had mentioned something to him
in passing about what Lisa had been through, but he hadn't really payed any attention to it.
Seeing her react in that way made Bart realise that maybe she had suffered as much as he'd been
led to believe. For the first time, he was beginning to understand the consequences of his 
"harmless jokes" from the victim's perspective. And he didn't like the feeling - he knew he'd
be punished for this, but he had no complaints - he deserved it. In the morning, once Lisa had
calmed down a little, he would apologise to her. And for the first time, he would mean it.

-------

Eventually, Marge managed to convince Lisa that Bart's actions had been mischeivous rather than
malicious, and that she was safe. Seeing how terrified and upset Lisa was made Marge realise
just what the extent of the mental damage she had suffered was. Silently, she sat and watched
lovingly over Lisa as she gradually fell into sleep. She was so peaceful when she was asleep - 
it was a shame that the demons of her past wouldn't afford her the same peace when she was
awake. Marge could bet that her dreams weren't so tranquil , either. And she was right. 

It was the same old nightmare - it was no less frightening, though. Lisa dreamt that she was
walking hand in hand with her mother on a bright summer's day. They were in the garden at her
first home, surrounded by colourful, fragent flours and lush trees. Without warning, the scene
started to change - the grip on her hand became tighter and tighter until it hurt her, and when
Lisa looked up, she saw Jack starting down at her, evilly. Suddenly, the temperature dropped
as she realised that she was now in a dark, dense forest, the long-dead trees mangled by the
harsh weather into ugly, wailing harbingers of death. The last thing Lisa ever remembered was
the dizzying horror of being chased by Jack. Then she woke up...

Lisa sat bolt upright in bed, shaking. It always took her a few seconds to realise where she
was, more so in such a strange place. As she became atuned to reality again, she tried to work 
out whether or not she had screamed. When the nightmares first starting coming, Lisa
had cried out in terror when she finally manged to fight her way out of them. Jack didn't
appreciate being woken up in the middle of the night, and that was something that she had
managed to stop doing, out of the instinct to survive more than anything else. Despite the
occasional, and painful if he was anywhere near, lapse of composure, like at the hospital, she
usually reacted to the nightmares with quiet despair now.

Still afraid in the darkness, Lisa sat motionless for about a minute, before climbing out of
bed. She was dripping in clammy sweat, and usually found that some fresh air helped calm her.
Opening her bedroom window with difficulty, she began to realise that it wasn't sweat.

Turning on her bedside lamp, Lisa pulled the blankets from her bed. The matress was soaked
through. Lisa recalled the time she peed in front of the mirror in front of Jack, and could feel
the same shame over what she had done, and the same fear of what was going to happen to her.

Beginning to panick, Lisa looked at the digital clock next to her bed. (Why did they have to
buy me all these things? Lisa thought. She didn't deserve them, not if she acted like this...)
It had just passed midnight - hopefully, everyone would be in bed. Desperately, she tried to
think of a way to hide what she'd done, so that they wouldn't need to punish her. After a few
moments of frantically rejecting ideas, she eventually gave up, and sat on the wet bed,
crying softly.

Meanwhile, Homer was climbing the stairs. He'd stayed up late watching Mexican sitcoms, and was
ready to go to bed. As he passed Lisa's room, he could hear the sound of her tears. After a
moment's hesitation, unsure about whether or not he should interfere, he gently knocked on the 
door and went in.

Lisa looked up slowly and sadly when she heard the door creak softly open, and her heart sank
even further when she saw Homer in the doorway. This was it, now. She had no complaints about
what she was sure she was about to receive - she deserved it, no question, for what she'd done.
In the past, she might have frantically protested her innocence, but she was resigned to her
fate now. She knew it was better to just take her punishment and get it over with.

Homer looked at her, sat on her wet, stripped bed. She was a pitiful sight - her tears glistened 
in the pale moonlight as she stared back at him dolefully, shaking with fear. Homer had been
quite indifferent towards Lisa before now, but he couldn't leave her now. Sitting down next to
her on the bed, careful to avoid the wet patch, he put his arm around her in as lovingly as he
could. "Lisa" he said, "What's wrong?"

Lisa let out a tearful sigh. Homer's attempt at showing affection made her nervous - was it a
trick? Silently, she wished that Marge could be here now. Or nurse Stanway. "I... I had a bad
dream," she stammered quietly, "and when I woke up I'd done... that. It was an accident, I
promise! You're not going to hit me, are you?"

"Oh, Lisa, I'd never do anything like that!" Homer said, holding her close to him, riled a 
little by the suggestion that he'd do anything like that. He knew he could lose his temper 
sometimes with the boy, but he could never do anything like that. "It's okay, honey. Everyone 
wets the bed from time to time - Bart did."

Lisa looked up at him, her face brightening a little. "He did?" she sniffed.

"Oh, yeah, all the time. We had to get him special rubber pants." Homer said. It was all lies,
but they made Lisa happy. He just hoped that she wouldn't mention anything to Bart about this.
"Lisa, don't think that anybody is going to hurt you if you wet the bed. I know I'm not as good
as your auntie Marge at all of this, but... well... we all care about you, and no-one is going
to hurt you here, okay?" There, he'd said it - that was his attempt at good parenting. She was 
smiling again, at least, and he hadn't even had to fetch Marge. All the same, Lisa and her 
bed were still dripping wet - he knew something had to done.

A few minutes later, Lisa found herself lying in between Marge and Homer, in their bed. It
brought back pleasant memories for her - she would often climb into her parents' bed when she
was young, to sleep between them. It had been a long, long time since she'd felt so peaceful,
warm, and tranquil. As she drifted off into sleep, she was happy just to try to take in as
much of the quiet darkness as she could - the truth was, she never wanted this moment to end.
Here, she was safe - not even Jack could get to her here.

-------

Lisa wasn't the only person who was tormented by a bad dream that night - Jack was visited by
a nightmare too. He could see the girl again, her face etched with sheer terror as she held out
her hand for him, and hear that scream that always shattered his soul, the one that sounded
like it had come from the very bowels of Hell. Then, her face again - the fear was gone now, but
so was the brightness in her eyes, replaced now by the horrific blankness of death...

Dragged back into conciousness, Jack could feel himself shaking, in anger more than anything.
Over the years, the emotions that the accident had provoked inside him had begun to turn 
perverted inside him - grief, shock and guilt had all slowly turned to rage, that most basic
of human emotions. After the accident, he had been a mess physically and emotionally. He had
been offered counselling to help him cope, but he had turned it down - not only did he have
those antiquated notions of what a man, a real man, should do and feel, but he also knew that
there was a danger that some do-gooder would try to dig too deep, and uncover the other demons
lurking within Jack's battered psyche.

As he lay in bed, one stark thing struck Jack - he was alone. The wife and daughter that he had
worked so hard to provide for had both left him. So had his job. And try as he might, he knew
that he couldn't avoid the truth - he had driven all of them away. He hadn't been forced out of
the fire service because he was unable to work after the accident, his reliance on drink had
done that. And he knew that his uncontrolable moods had seen both mother and child leave him.
All he had left of his family were pictures. He had one by his bedside - they all looked so
happy in it. Jack picked it up, and stared at it.

He couldn't help wonder where Lisa was now, and how she was doing. It wasn't really something
he did often - he didn't really have any feelings in particular about her now. She was just a
kid, not even his, who he might have not have treated fairly in the past. Nothing more.
When she had first been taken away, he had felt guilty about what he'd done, but not now - his
own father hadn't treated him with much love or respect, so why should he be stupid enough to
act like that towards someone else's child?

That was something that he had pondered a lot. He had heard other people who had been abused as
children saying that they didn't want anyone else to experience their pain. He'd never quite
understood that - he'd been through some things, but they hadn't killed him, and he'd turned out
quite well, at least in his own mind. Why should he spare anyone that?

Putting the picture down, Jack staggered out of bed to find something to numb his now racing
mind. Downstairs, he found a bottle of whiskey - that would ease the pain. And it would never
desert him, either.

-------

"Alto or tenor?"

"I... I dunno. She never said."

"Well... if she was only eight when she played, I *think* it would most probably be a tenor
saxophone." The man sighed as he pointed high up at various instruments Bart knew nothing about 
on the far wall. "The only one we've got is right up there. I'll have to go and get my 
stepladder..."

As he went resentfully to get the saxophone, Marge put her hand on Bart's shoulder. "$350 is a
lot of money, Bart. Are you really sure?"

Bart smiled at his mother - he knew that, for once, he was making her proud. For months now,
he had been wondering how to spend the compensation he had been given after an unpleasant 
experience with a breakfast cereal. Marge had disapproved of most of his suggestions about what 
to do with the windfall, but this was different. "I want to show Lisa how sorry I am about the
whole bucket thing, and I figure this'll cheer her up too."

Marge smiled back.

"Besides, if she gets real good and becomes a famous musician, I can borrow money from her." he
added with a hint of mischief.

The assistant returned with the saxophone, and handed it to his customer. Bart tried for a
moment to size it up, to look like he knew what he was doing, but he quickly gave up the 
pretence. It would be up to Lisa now to decide how good it was.

"I'll take it."

------

Marge stood over Lisa as she slept - she looked so at peace. Mornings in the Simpson household 
were always frantic so frantic, and it seemed a shame to have to wake her up. But she had to -
today was a big day. It was Lisa's first back in school.

"Lisa... Lisa... time to wake up! C'mon, you don't want to be late on your first day, do you?"

Lisa groaned as she stirred. Marge had let her sleep until whenever she wanted before now, so it
took a few minutes for her to get used to being woken up again. The truth was, she didn't want
to be late for school at all. In fact, she didn't want to go.

"Hurry up and get dressed, honey. I'll make you some waffles." Marge said, as she swept out of
the room to try and stop Homer and Bart killing themselves over the last of the Krusty-Os.

Slowly, Lisa climbed out of bed, still bleary-eyed. She hadn't slept well - if she was being
honest with herself, she was terrified of going back to school. Gradually, she had learnt to
trust adults - Nurse Stanway, who she had already written pages to, Marge, and Homer - but
this would be different. She'd be all alone with 30 of her peers, and she knew just how cruel
children could be.

Of course, Maggie and Bart were different. Maggie was still just a baby, full of love and
energy - she liked everyone and everything. Still, it was nice to have her around. And as for
Bart... Lisa smiled as she looked at the saxophone propped up in the corner of her room. She
had always loved music, and having it taken away by Jack was one of the worst things that Lisa
had experienced. The joy when Bart gave her her very own sax again was unlike anything she had
ever felt - it was as if her heart was ready to burst out of her chest. And after she'd been so
frightened of him, too...

Quickly, Lisa put those thoughts out of her head. She had always felt vunerable in school if
she ever allowed herself to think about anything she loved - if anyone happened to say or do
anything hurtful to her, which they did often, it just made her feel even worse. Over time, she
had learnt the survival trait of putting up a mental wall between the bullies and the things she
kept dear - it had been the only way she had managed to cope with school *and* Jack before, and
now she instinctively adopted it again.

But what if they liked her? What if she made friends? Maybe Jack HAD been wrong when he said 
that she was worthless, after all. No, she couldn't let herself think like that. Hope only ever 
made her set herself up for an even more painful fall - she had learnt that much. She'd been
fortunate enough with the Simpsons, but she didn't think that she could be as lucky with her
new school. It was better not to expect anything.

Besides, she didn't want to leave Marge. Lisa had become close to her aunt over the few weeks
that she had lived here - Marge had quickly become the mother that she so desperately wished
for. They'd done a lot of things together, typical mother and daughter things that most people 
would take for granted - to Lisa, they were the things that made life worth living. She had even 
began to *love* her - the abuse that she had suffered had hardened her heart, something that had 
happened out of necessity more than anything else, but the warm glow of Marge's kindness had 
thawed the cold in her soul. Having been inseperable, Lisa was terrified of being without her.
Still, at least she would have Bart looking out for her.

Once dressed, Lisa sat at the top of the stairs with her sax, listening intently to the chaos
unfolding downstairs. Gently, she blew a few notes - she was still finding it hard to play, but
she persisted - she knew she couldn't expect it all to come back to her after a few weeks. After
all, it had been about three years since Jack had taken her old instrument away. And of course,
Lisa knew now that musical ability ran in the family.

"Lisa! Come and get your breakfast!" shouted Marge, the stress in her voice apparent. After
carefully putting the sax back in her room, Lisa walked slowly down the stairs and into the
kitchen. She didn't really feel hungry, but she knew from bitter experience what it was like to
be starved, and she didn't want to feel anything like the mournful craps of hunger in the pit of
her stomach again. The rumblings of anxiety were bad enough.

As Lisa sat down at the kitchen table, Marge was fussing over Bart, mumbling in concern. "Oh
dear, you're boiling up. I don't think you'll be able to go into school today, Bart. You'd
better go back up to bed..."

Smiling in satisfaction, but looking genuinely unwell, Bart shuffled uneasily out of the room,
as Lisa looked on in concern. "He's not going to school?" she asked quietly, her heart sinking.

"No, he's got a temperature and he says he's been sick." Marge said, obviously worried about her
special little guy's health. "It's a shame, he really wanted to go in today - for once - to see
you settle in."

Half-heartedly, Lisa chewed her toast, mulling over what awaited her in school. The actual
lessons weren't that much of a worry, but Lisa dreaded lunchtime - an hour alone, at the mercy
of the other children. If they were anything like the pupils at her old school, it would be
hell...

After what seemed like a lifetime to Lisa, Marge stared up at the clock on the kitchen wall.
"Oh, Lisa, it's 8:50. C'mon, we'd better be going!" Lisa took in a deep breath, and sighed. This
was it now... climing down from her chair, she gathered her things together, and followed her
aunt out to the car.

On the short journey to Springfield Elementary, Marge noticed the worried expression on Lisa's
face, and tried to involve her in conversation. "You'll like Principal Skinner - he's a very
nice man - just as long as you don't mention Vietnam..." she said, brightly apart from the
brief caveat at the end. "You must be really excited, Lisa." One look from the girl told her
a very different story. She looked exactly as she had when Marge and Homer had first visited her
in the hospital - her shoulders slumped, her face was etched with the pain and suffering she'd
had inflicted upon her, while her eyes were filled with fear and shame. It was only now that
Marge realised just how much a few weeks basking in the warmth of love and affection had changed
Lisa for the better.

"Oh, I'm sorry Lisa. I know how scarey this must be for you." Marge said, letting her real
feelings show through rather than the perfect-mother front that she normally adopted by 
instinct. "You'll be ok, you know." she smiled, warmly, and watched with delight as Lisa smiled
back.

Eventually, the car pulled up outside the school. It was a little past nine o'clock, and lessons
had begun - Lisa was pleased by that, as she could go in fairly anonymous. "Well, here were are
Lisa." Marge said, with a slight tone of foreboding in her voice - she knew just how nervous
Lisa was, and shared some of her anxiety. As they got out of the car, Lisa did something that, a 
few weeks ago, she would never have dared to do to anyone. She hugged Marge warmly. "What was 
that for?" Marge asked, kindly.

"I don't need a reason, do I?" Lisa smiled back. Taking Lisa's hand, Marge led her into school,
and to Principal Skinner's office. As she walked down the corridor, Lisa looked around, taking
in her new surroundings. It all seemed so alien and distant to her... she found the idea of
spending the next few years coming here daunting.

Mr Skinner seemed... well... ok, as principals go, Lisa thought. He was certainly a great
believer in order, she mused as she sat in stomach-churning silence in his obsessively tidy but
bland office - most people manage to stamp some of their personality on a room that they spend
any amount of time in, but this looked like something from an office furniture catalogue. As
Marge and Skinner discussed, amongst other things, Bart's latest disciplinary problems, Lisa
looked around the room, trying to give her racing mind something else to focus on... when she
was nervous, Lisa had the habit of fiddling with the hem of her dress - as the moments passed,
she realised she had a sizeable part of her skirt rolled around her fingers.

Eventually, Marge thanked Skinner for his time, and stood up, turning to Lisa. "I'm going now,
honey." she said. "Principal Skinner will show you around school, ok? Good luck!" Lisa watched
sullenly as Marge left the room, leaving her alone with Skinner. After a moment's awkward 
silence, he stood up. "Come on young lady, let's show you around. Tell me, does Principal Dunn
at Shelbyville Elementary still have that Honda?"

Slowly and purposefully, Skinner escorted Lisa around the school in meticulous detail. Before
the tour Lisa had dreaded getting into her new class, but now she found herself waiting
impatiently to get away from this man and get it over with. He showed her around the halls, the 
lockers, the gym, the sick bay, the canteen, the cloakrooms, the lab which had been gutted in 
the fire (that Bart had denied all knowledge of...), the caretaker's room... finally, he stopped
her outside a classroom, inside which a young female teacher was busy giving a lesson.

"Well, here we are, Lisa. This is your classroom." Principal Skinner exclaimed. Lisa's heart
fluttered anxiously as adrenalin raced around her body - this, was it, at last! Trying her best
to banish the negative thoughts in the back of her mind, she took a deep breath and followed him 
in.

"Good morning, Principal Skinner." the teacher said, brightly. "Ah, this must be Lisa."

"Yes Miss Carsley, class 5C, this is Lisa Simpson." Skinner said, authoritively. Lisa Simpson.
Lisa was still getting used to that. When the Simpsons had adopted her, she'd taken their 
surname - she was glad to be rid of any reminder of Jack, but it still felt strange. Still, she
told herself, it would be good practice for when she was married.

Anxiously, Lisa peered shyly into the sea of faces in front of her. She felt so self-concious
standing up there in front of them, and she could feel their critical eyes boring into her,
trying to place her in the class's social heirachy. Quickly, she fixed her gaze at the floor,
and starting tugging at her dress again, trying to second-guess what the other students were
thinking about her. As much as she tried to think positively, something nagging inside her kept
telling her that they didn't like her, that she was ugly, that she didn't deserve any of these
children as friends. It was the voice of Jack.

"Lisa, why don't you tell your fellow students a little about yourself?" Skinner suggested
loudly. Lisa looked up at him for a moment, but quickly looked back down at her shoes again.
As if she wasn't worried enough! What exactly could she tell them about herself... that she'd
never even known her real dad? That her stepfather locked her in a cupboard and fed her dogfood?
That she'd tried to kill herself but had overdosed on vitamin tablets by mistake? If the rest
of the class didn't think she was an idiot now, they would if she tried to introduce herself to
them all like this. Aware that twenty pairs of eyes were piercing into her, Lisa mumbled nothing 
in particular barely-audibly into her chest.

Noticing how worried her newest student looked, Miss Carsely put a hand on her shoulder. "Err,
maybe you should just go and sit down, Lisa. You can introduce yourself later. Just pick an
empty desk."

Lisa looked up at her teacher, some of the worry lifting from her shoulders. "Thanks." she 
whispered quietly, and went to find somewhere to sit.

"Well, okay..." Skinner said, thrown a little by having his suggestion rejected. "I've leave you
to get settled, Lisa." he said as Miss Carsley ushered him out of the door.

Walking down the aisle past rows of other children, Lisa tried not to look anyone in the eye.
Her feelings of nervousness and awkwardness felt so much more acute now as she was virtually
face to face with rows of her peers, every one of them staring blankly at her. The silence was
punctuated by the occasional whisper coming from somewhere in the classroom (it seemed like the
other end of the earth to Lisa at this moment)... about her no doubt, she thought to herself. 
What are they saying about me?

After what must have been seconds, but what felt like a lifetime, Lisa found an empty desk, and
gingerly sat herself down at it. Instantly, a boy directly in front of her turned around,
angrily. "Hey, you can't sit there! That's where Kevin sits!" he said, seemingly taking it as a
personal affront. Quickly, Lisa jumped out of the seat, already feeling her cheeks burning with
the embarrasment. "Oh, sorry." she apologised, backing away as the boy and his friends scowled
at her. Her previously high hopes were sinking, now - she wasn't making a very good first
impression.

Aware that the entire class was still watching her every move, Lisa stumbled around desperately
looking for somewhere to sit. She felt totally alone in the world as she searched anxiously,
wanting just to disappear into anonymity again. Finally, she found another empty desk, and
noticed the girl sitting directly to the left of it staring at her expectently.

"Excuse me... does anybody normally sit here?" she asked, quietly.

"No." the girl said, plainly.

Gratefully, she sat herself down. "Thanky..." she started, but gave up when the girl, who
previously had been unable to take her eyes off Lisa, turned around and started talking to her
friend. Sighing sadly, Lisa turned to face the front of the class. As she did, she saw the
teacher still trying to get rid of Principal Skinner. What had seemed like an agonising eternity
to Lisa had only lasted a few brief seconds. She'd only been in this class for a matter of
minutes, but she was already a nervous wreck. She already felt humiliated and embarrased - she
could feel tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. Using all her strength, she fought to hold
them back. She didn't want to start crying now, not in front of everybody on her first day.

"Well, class, I'm sure you'll all get to know Lisa later." Miss Carsley said as she returned to
her lesson, visibly relieved to be rid of Skinner. "Now where were we? Ah, yes, the test." The
class collectively groaned as she produced a thick pile of papers from a drawer in her desk.
"Like I told you, it's nothing to worry about - it's just a standard attainment test. It won't 
affect any of your grades, so just try to do the best you can. Lisa, I suppose you can try this
too if you want..."

Lisa nodded acquiesently as Miss Carsley handed out the papers. She just wanted to get down to
something, *anything* as soon as she could. Once every student had a test paper, the 
teacher sat back down at her desk. "You've got until lunchtime, class." she announced. Eagerly,
Lisa threw herself into solving the problems in front of her on paper. When she looked up
again, she noticed that everyone around her was still immersed in the test. She glanced up at
the clock on the wall, and noticed that she had finished all the questions in a matter of
minutes. Well, that distraction hadn't lasted for long, and Lisa again became painfully
self-concious, hoping that no-one was looking at her. After an age, the bell rang for lunch,
and Lisa sat and watched as the rest of the class broke off into their own little cliques,
happily and chaotically fighting their way outside. Slowly, she stood up and followed the
crowds uncertainly out into the playground.

Outside, Lisa felt overwhelmed. She was surrounded by groups of strangers, and they all seemed
to be staring at her. Wandering around aimlessly, she was on edge as she wished dearly that
Bart could be here now. Looking up, she noticed a tree in the far, isolated corner of the 
schoolyard. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Lisa quickly made her way to it, and
sat herself down beneath it, looking out sadly at the rest of the students. Pulling a book out
of her satchel, Lisa sighed as she tried to blot out her lonliness.

Despite her best efforts, Lisa couldn't concentrate - what if someone sneaked up on her while
she was reading? She didn't want to be a problem to anyone or cause any trouble, but she knew by
now that trouble invariably looked for, and found, her. Nervously, she constantly peered over
the top of her book, trying to see if anyone was coming anywhere near her.

As time passed, Lisa began to relax, though she still took furitive looks at the yard from time
to time. She was beginning to feel calm, when she looked and saw a group of girls standing
about twenty yards away from her. And they were looking at her!

Lisa tried to keep calm, but she could feel the icey grip of panic taking hold. She recognised
some of them - they were from her class. What did they want with her? What were they going to
do? Hiding her face behind her book, she tried to pretend that she hadn't seen them, and had no
idea that they were there. Subconciously, she could hear that same angry, mocking voice again.
She'd really made a mess of things now - those girls had only known her for an hour or two, and
they could already see how worthless she was. Lisa sighed sadly as she bowed to the inevitable.

Once again, she looked up resigned to her fate. One of the girls was coming towards her. In
desperation, Lisa thought about running, briefly, or hoping that she could attract a teacher's
attention. She quickly put those thoughts out of her head, though - they'd get her in the end,
like everybody always did. And it would be much worse when they did.

Curling herself in a ball, Lisa stared coyly at the girl - she seemed to be smiling. They must
be planning something, thought Lisa. Eventually, the girl spoke. "Hi, I'm Janey. It's Lisa,
isn't it?"

Lisa nodded as she kept looking at the girl, afraid to do anything. Why couldn't they just get
it over with?

"Well, I was just wondering if you'd like to come over and hang out with us?"

"Are you sure?" Lisa asked, taken aback by Janey's offer. Why would anyone want to hang out
with *her*? As overjoyed as she was to be asked, she could feel her stomach churning even more -
what if she said the wrong thing, or annoyed them? Still, she was definitely keen. If, by some
chance they liked her, she might even make a few friends...

Janey giggled slightly. "Yeah, Lisa. I know how hard it must be to be the new kid and not 
knowing anyone, and we don't want to see you just sitting on your own. Come on!" Anxiously,
Lisa stood up and followed Janey over.

She watched as Janey took the initiative to make the introductions. "Lisa, this is Alison, Alex, 
Sherri, and Terri. Everyone, say hi to Lisa!" To her suprise, the other girls were all just as 
friendly to her as Janey had been - unlike at her old school, there were no icey stares or snide 
comments directed towards her. As the weight of fear lifted from Lisa's shoulders, a thought 
that had been running through her mind for some time was beginning to come to the fore - maybe 
it hadn't been her all along, maybe she hadn't deserved the misery and pain that had been heaped 
upon her in the past... and maybe, just maybe, she had found people who liked, accepted, and 
even *loved* her.

"I like your dress, Lisa. It really goes with your shoes." Allison said. Bashfully, Lisa smiled.
"Thankyou." She had never recieved compliments about her appearance before from someone of her
own age, and it meant a great deal to her - it represented a complete turnaround.

As she got to know the girls, gradually becoming more and more confident and relaxed, the 
bell rang for the end of their lunch break. As she made her way back to class, Lisa was
nudged by Sherri. "Hey, Lisa." she whispered. "Look over there." Lisa looked over into a distant
corner of the yard, unsure of what exactly she was meant to be looking at.

"You see that funny-looking boy over on the climbing frame?"

Lisa spyed a peculiar blue-haired boy sat on a horizontal frame, staring down at his feet
through his thick, red-rimmed glasses. "I *think* so..."

"Well... he didn't want me to tell anyone, but... he likes you." Sherri said, giggling with
Terri as she did.

"He did?" Lisa said, her voice trailing off as she looked over in amazement as her admirer made
his way neurotically back to class. Never mind being complemented on her clothes, this was
something that she'd never even imagined ever happening to her - a boy actually liked her. This
was getting better and better - and to think that she'd been worried about today - that all
seemed so far away now.

Still staring over, Lisa set her feet back on the ground and took a closer look at him.

"Ewwww, gross!" she laughed.

-------

"Higher daddy, higher!"

Jack stared emotionlessly at the flickering image, the bright electric light from the TV screen
illuminating the otherwise darkened room. It was an old home video he'd unearthing while trying
to bring some order to the house, a reminder of a happier time - not that he could recognise 
either the bright eyed, happy young girl, or the dignified man who both seemed to be
enjoying themselves so much. Contemplating the electronic ghosts that danced before him, Jack
was acutely aware that it was his own demonic self-destruction that had changed both man and
child for the worse - heightened by sobriety, this awareness led to painful remorse.

Closely, he looked at the giggling young Lisa - she couldn't have been any older than four or
five, so innocent and loving. Little did she know then the terrible extent of cruelty that
man was capable of. But she knew now - Jack had made sure of that. How had he let it come to 
this?

Back then, he pondered, he had been so proud when Lisa called him Daddy. It was something that
he had longed all his life - when Susan had been pregnant, he had made a vow to himself that he
would never do to his child what his father had done to him. What an empty promise that had
turned out to be. But, he argued with himself, there was a reason for the way that he had acted.

He had known all along that she wasn't his daughter.

At least, he had suspected for years that Susan was more than just a friend to that no-good
hornblower. He'd always had a temper and he wasn't exactly easy to live with - he knew that. But
for his own wife to be unfaithful to him, to make him look like an idiot... still, he had dealt
with that a long time ago. When Susan found out she was expecting, he was convinced that the
baby would help cement their, at times, unstable marriage.

And Lisa had, at least to begin with. With Bouvier out of the way, Jack had quickly put those
suspicions of his wife's infidelity behind him - at least, he thought he had. He'd actually only
supressed them, pushing them into a convinient corner of his minder, like he always did.
Essentially, Jack had only two ways of dealing with emotion - unleashing it in a furious rage,
or hiding it away so that it could fester under cover