Hey guys, this fanfic, though it takes place in Hey Arnold!, is actually a sequel to The Unraveling (Rugrats/AGU) and Another Side, Another Story (The Fairly Oddparents). Originally, I was going to have Arnold's parents and TJM as recurring elements, but with the recent announcement of an official TV movie (I am NOT making this up and I am STOKED), I decided to leave that out and stick with the main storyline I had already thought up. Enjoy!
All the buildings of the urban neighborhood had seen better days. Many of them were simple brick buildings, but some were more worn down than others, having boarded-up windows or decaying stoops. And yet, many people, especially children, consider this place home. And not just the poor or middle class. Even the wealthier residents like the Patakis and the Lloyds had roots in this neighborhood, one of the oldest in Hillwood, and one with great historic value.
But the black Sedan driving towards one of these homes had not been there for a tour or a walk down memory lane. The driver of the vehicle had no reverence towards sentimental values, and merely scoffed as he passed by the school children playing kickball in the street. Unlike most other drivers, who were used to kids playing in the street and, in some cases, more okay with it than they should, this driver honked loudly at them, scaring them away as he drove right through.
As the man slammed his car shut, he kicked aside a stray basketball rolling by as he made his way up a staircase to one of the more elegant homes. Without hesitation, he banged his fist on the door rather than ring the golden doorbell so often used by visitors. To his surprise, the door was answered quicker than he thought. The man behind the door was a middle-aged father with a well-kept mustache and finely groomed hair, while also sporting a traditional tennis polo. Unfortunately, he didn't look pleased to see his visitor.
"Spade?" he asked.
"Afternoon, Buckley," Spade said in a heavy Yorkshire accent, "I'd love to ask how you been holding up, but we both know I don't particularly care."
He didn't look like he did, either. In stark contrast to Buckley's attire, Spade wore a worn-out brown jacket with a white tank top underneath and baggy pants. He would look like any other Hillwood thug were it not for a tattoo on his right hand, uniquely shaped like his namesake...a spade.
"Then hurry along and explain why you're here," Buckley replied, keeping his hand on the doorknob.
"That's what I always liked about you, Buckley," Spade said, "Always getting right to business. Alright, I'll get straight to the point; the favor you owe my boss...its come time to pay it forward."
"Oh...oh no..." Buckley's face began to pale.
"Now don't get cold feet on me now, friend," Spade said, closing distance between himself and Buckley, "Kaspar doesn't like being screwed over, and frankly, neither do I."
"I'd feel better if Dr. Corr would just come here himself," Buckley said coldly.
"Well that's just a patch of tough luck, then," Spade replied, "Very few people actually see him these days. Details are fuzzy, but there's some powerful people he's got cowering to him. Including you."
"What do you people want from me?" asked Buckley.
"Just some DNA samples from your charming daughter," Spade replied, "Don't ask me why, I'm not a scientist. I'm just paid to do the dirty work."
"M-My daughter? What kind of game are you playing?"
"No, see, you're not listening. I don't actually know why they want it, I'm just here to collect. Unless you would rather have one of the big shots pay a visit and do the job themselves?"
"N-No!" Buckley cried, "...that won't be needed. I'll get something, I just...I just need some time."
"I'll let you borrow time this once," Spade embarked, "Just to show you how nice I am."
Buckley knew this was faux kindness.
"But we won't wait forever," Spade warned, "So don't go wasting the time I've so generously lent you."
With that final warning, Spade got back in his car and drove off. Buckley couldn't have been any happier to see him go, but he knew Spade would eventually come back. And he would be much rougher if Buckley did not deliver.
The old man with the large bump on his head had gotten up uncharacteristically early. Phil had been told by an old friend, Lou Pickles, that someone he worked with would be staying in Hillwood for some time and needed somewhere to stay. As a favor to an aforementioned old friend, Phil rented them the room once belonging to Mr. Smith. As he drank black coffee from a cliche "World's Best Grandpa" mug (though he wasn't going to argue with that), he saw a cab pull up with two people that looked like the ones Lou described.
A bearded man in his late thirties, with his beard pointed and dropping off his chin, but with no trace of hair on his head, carried most of the suitcases. He looked like a mountain man, relatively tall and donning loose jeans and a dark red flannel shirt. He certainly had the muscles for one. Behind him was a much younger woman...no, rather a girl. A blonde girl came in with two braids on the side of her face, the rest of her hair covered by a backwards black cap. She clearly did not like having much attention drawn to her, covering herself in a red hoodie and baggy jeans similar to the man she was traveling with.
"You must be Phil Shortman," the mountain man said in a deep rocky voice, shaking Phil's hand, "I'm Haggard, and this is my...daughter Ashley."
Ashley didn't say anything. She just held up a peace sign, to which Phil smiled. He wasn't so old he didn't know what that meant.
"And you must be the friends Lou mentioned," Phil said, "Any friend of his is a friend of mine."
"We really appreciate you taking us in," Haggard said, "We won't be too much of a bother."
"Nonsense, you're no bother at all!" Phil exclaimed, handing him the keys to their new room.
Thanking him one last time for his hospitality, Haggard and Ashley walked up the stairs towards an empty room on the second floor. Breathing a sigh of relief upon entering the empty apartment, Ashley walked up to the window that only showed another brick wall from next door.
"I hate this mission already," Ashley whined.
"Are you going to say that every five minutes?" Haggard asked, putting down their suitcases.
"Maybe I will," Ashley replied starkly, "What's it to you, 'Dad'?"
"Ashley," Haggard said, "We have it good compared to what's happened before. We just need to find a way to speak with Scheck, and just send the information back to the rest of our boys. We don't have to fight, kill, or even hurt anybody. We just investigate."
"You get to do the investigating," Ashley complained, "I have to be a normal 12-year old girl that just hangs around the neighborhood."
"Ashley, I know it's frustrating," Haggard said, "But Lou is right. This may do you some good. Besides, it doesn't necessarily have to be with other children. We're in the early days of summer, so there's no school in session."
"But they'll still be running around everywhere," Ashley said, sitting down on one of the creaky old beds, "They'll either hate me and force me to rip their faces off, or constantly want to talk to me and annoy me to no end."
"You don't know that, Ashley," Haggard responded, "It certainly won't if you don't open yourself up. Just because you've lost touch with your old friends from..."
"Don't talk about them, they were never my friends," Ashley replied bitterly, "They sided with him over me."
"He was a completely different matter," Haggard told her, "The Errol that caused so much damage to us was not the one who befriended those kids. Errol Blunt saved them. He saved us. You read the report, you know they were different people."
"Doesn't change what he is," Ashley said.
"People change, Ashley," Haggard said, "For better or for worse. Errol Blunt changed for the better. He was never our enemy, even if we thought he was. That is part of what Lou wants from us during this mission. Me personally, I'd like nothing more than to live a quiet life away from all the drama and the tragedy, start fresh. It could be a good chance for you to start over after your..."
"Don't even finish that," Ashley said.
Ashley sighed and got up off the bed.
"Whatever," Ashley said, "May as well look around this dump we'll be calling home. Have fun trying to get info out of Scheck, let alone getting to meet with him in that god-forsaken prison he's locked up in."
Ashley did not care that she had slammed the door behind her. Haggard groaned to himself as he began to unpack.
Ashley heard, in the short time she had sat in Slausen's Ice Cream Parlor, about a baseball time between the kids over at a place called Gerald Field. Ashley's mission briefing was to just lay low and play the part of a normal girl, but she saw an opportunity to do some recon of her own. Even if it wasn't for the mission, Ashley felt like she needed to do something that fits her skill set. Collecting information and kicking ass were her primary skill sets.
As soon as she left the parlor, she collided with another boy just a little bit shorter than her, wearing a dark blue hoodie that covered most of his body. Both kids fell to the ground, though this boy seemed more fuddled than her. Ashley had gotten up on her own two feet the second after she fell, but the boy needed a hand, literally. Ashley held out her hand, and the boy willingly grabbed it, being pulled back up.
"T-Thanks," said the soft-spoken boy, not showing his face.
"Sure," Ashley said.
The boy walked off in a hurry, clearly not wanting to delay any further.
"That's the weirdest shaped head I've ever seen," Ashley said to herself, "Can't imagine the woman who pushes a football out of her..."
Bus honks blocked out Ashley as she walked off, not noticing the Missing Persons poster just barely hanging onto the brick wall she walked past. Though faded and ripped at the edges, there was unmistakably a football-headed boy at the center of the poster.
Arnold Shortman had not been seen since April of that year.