The Dark Detective

Chapter One: In which A familiar face makes the blood freeze

Forensic Pathologist, it conjures up a lot of things in a lot of minds, to some it is a dark career spending your days with the dead, to others it is a fascinating medical field. For Arnold Shortman it was a chance to solve the ultimate mystery, death, delving deep within the body to find out what had caused the bright spark of life to be extinguished. He knew that his family and friends had thought it a strange and morbid career but he had ignored their warnings and forged a path in the field earning a reputation for his meticulous autopsies and also his drive.

At the age of 28 Arnold was asked to work as a police medical examiner, he accepted, his love of mysteries had found a new outlet and in many respects he could imagine himself to be a detective. The job paid well but for the young man who was still so optimistic and enthusiastic the money was an added bonus, he had found his way in life and was content.

A twelve hour work day was not unusual for Arnold, the city of Hillwood had its usual share of deaths natural and not and only one Path lab this often meant that Arnold and his team of three men and two women worked long hours in order to ensure that families could bury their loved ones in as short a space of time as possible.

It was eight o-clock when the body was brought in, glancing through the file Arnold read the basic report on the unknown female, late twenties to early thirties found dead in a boating lake in the outer suburbs of the city. No signs of being attacked, probable cause of death, drowning. Scrubbing his hands at the sink he tried not to let the young woman bother him, he saw a lot of bodies on a daily basis and many were younger than him self. He supposed, as he rinsed his hands with hot water, that it was because she was almost his age and he considered himself too young to die, he pitied the poor girl's family, whoever they might be.

Pulling on latex gloves he adjusted his scrubs and turning towards the table where the body lay pulled back the sheet that the lab assistants had covered the corpse with.

A fictional mystery novel had once used the term 'his blood froze in his veins' and at the time of reading it Arnold had laughed because your blood couldn't freeze in your veins without you being dead and even then it congealed unless you maybe stuck the body in a freezer. Of course the latest scientific studies on the subject had shown that at times of extreme panic and anxiety your blood could start to clot, which proved a link between anxiety patients and heart disease. Staring at the body on the table Arnold suddenly understood what the strange phrase meant, he also knew with a detached clarity that came with such a shock that his blood had almost certainly started to clot.

Laying on the table her skin a mottled white, her lips blue and her long blonde hair a tangled mess lay Helga G Pataki.

The next ten minutes were a blank and when he roused from his shock he found himself staring at a cup of coffee blankly whilst his fellow workers watched him anxiously, in his relatively short but majestic career he had never shown such emotion upon receiving a body.

"Arnold, what's wrong, who is it?" Swallowing the now almost cold coffee Arnold tried to order his thoughts, who was she, that woman lying on the table as if sleeping, who had she been?

"She was my friend, we went to school together." There was so much more to Helga than that, she'd been his bully, his tormentor and then almost over night his friend and then for the longest time she had been a mystery he just could not solve. One night during their weekly game of checkers Gerald, sick of hearing the endless soliloquy on the enigma that was Helga Pataki had poked Arnold in the head and said,

"Why don't you just ask her out and be done with it?"

"What? No, Gerald you have it completely wrong, I don't like Helga that way she's my friend." Gerald had raised an eyebrow and in an almost delicate manner stolen one of Arnold's counters.

"I am so completely unconvinced."

"Whatever, Gerald." The topic had not been brought up again and Arnold had not asked Helga out, he was almost completely certain she would have turned him down flat anyway.

"Her name is Helga Pataki; she's 29 and lives in Hillwood."

"Helga Pataki, the fantasy writer?" He looked up startled, Helga had published her first novel in college and had received utmost praise for her writing style and the portrayal of her heroine a love sick girl who went through hell and back again to aid the boy she loved in solving a mystery only for him to fun off with a sweet girl they grew up with. Arnold had read the book as soon as she had lay it into his hands and had been impressed with his friends imagination, the romantic hero of the tale a dopey but good hearted young man was oblivious to the girls almost obsessive love and it had caused many incidents that had Arnold laughing out loud as he read the book in his shared dorm room.

"Yeah that's her. I didn't know you knew her work?" Marie Higgins, a tall, slender brunette nodded sadly,

"I loved her work, she was amazing." Was, the word brought home that Helga, his tormentor and his closest friend was dead, fighting back the tears that sprung to his eyes Arnold took a steadying breath and standing moved silently to the autopsy table. Pulling the sheet back over the body he motioned for his assistants to put it back into refrigeration.

"I can ask Dr Rossman if he wants to take over." Marie said, shaking his head Arnold removed his gloves and threw them into the bin not caring if they missed, beginning to pull off the gown covering his scrubs he said hoarsely,

"I'll do it, tomorrow. Tonight I have a family to visit." Ignoring the dubious look he was getting from his staff he exited the lab making his way to the changing room where he changed into his street clothes, a pair of faded blue jeans and a black long sleeved shirt. Fastening his sneakers he stood feeling a hundred years older and so very tired.

Pulling on his coat he exited the building not paying attention to his surroundings, ignoring the people who spoke to him he found his car in a daze and then drove without knowing what he was doing to the house he had not visited in years.


The house had not changed since Big Bob had left four years previously; Helga had been unsurprised at her father walking out and had been scornful of her parents having lasted much longer anyway. Despite her harsh words Arnold had been woken up at three in the morning by her tapping on his skylight, he had held her as she sobbed and finally she had fallen asleep in his arms, it was the first and last time he had ever seen her vulnerable side and though a piece of her puzzle had slid into place it only revealed more pieces.

Getting out of his car he stared up at the house remembering the few times he had visited as a child and then the Friday and Saturday nights spent watching movies in the den, eating popcorn and laughing until their sides hurt. As a teenager he had dated very rarely, never lasting more than a few weeks until he was back with Helga in her house, if he barely dated Helga dated even less seeming oblivious to the admiration of her male peers.

Finally raising a hand he knocked on the door and waited, dreading the moment when he would have to explain the reason behind his visit.

The door opened with a groan and a pair of slippered feet appeared in view, raising his eyes to the face of the person opening the door he felt his eyes roll back in his head and he dropped to the floor in a heap.

"Mom, help!"

"What is it honey?" Frantically the woman knelt beside the unconscious form of Arnold and felt for a pulse,

"It's Arnold; he's collapsed on the stoop!" Miriam Pataki, still attractive though she was in her mid fifties pulled the door open wider and gasped in surprise at the prone form of Arnold,

"Do you think he's sick?"

"I don't know doi, help me get him onto the couch, jeez he's heavy, c'mon Football Head wake up!" Staggering under the weight of her childhood friend Helga Pataki finally managed to move him onto the couch in the den.

"Jeez Football Head you really know how to make an entrance don't you?"


A/N: I do not own Hey Arnold…no surprise there really.

I'm putting Endgame on hiatus because I just can't make it work for me, when I try to write it goes badly. This story is almost fully formed in my brain, almost.

Helga both dead and not dead, crazy! Look out for Chapter Two of The Dark Detective…next chapter will be much longer don't worry.

Review please and be nice, honesty is fine just don't be mean, maketea not war!