Disclaimer - I do not own 'Hey Arnold!', I swear! If I make up any characters, which I probably will those are the only ones I will own. I am sorry if you thought I was stealing your creations. I will return everyone safe and sound.

Disclaimer - I don't own any band except for my own. I don't own any songs or titles or CD's by those of others bands. Please don't sue me.

Author's Note - Okay, 1.) I am so sorry about the confusion, I did not know that chapter two was posted twice, I feel like an idiot, I am so sorry about that . . . not my being an idiot . . . the chapter confusion. 2.) I was rewriting this story, so whoever read the original would probably like this one better. 3.) This is not a tragedy, I don't think but I won't make it too depressing. To be honest I don't know what it is right now. And, bum ba du dum! 4.) Read and review, I hope you are not disappointed.

Chapter One: Brokenhearted

I slammed the door shut to Mrs. Hyerduhl's Volkswagen Jetta and waved as the car drove off, leaving me to stand in front of my house by myself. No big deal. I walked up the white washed stone steps and pushed the door open; luckily it was unlocked because I had forgotten my keys on my bed. I stood in the doorway and scanned the small entry; it looked like no one was home, no lights, no music, no television, complete silence. I dropped my bag on the floor, next to the door, out of everyone's way. Mustn't trip anyone when they come home.

I had spent the weekends and Phoebe's house and was ready to tell anyone who would listen about the amazing weekend I had. I slammed the door shut behind me and yelled, "Mir-" and I cut myself off, clenching my teeth. I was trying to be more respective toward my parents, trying to care for them, life was too short to hate everyone around me. "Mom!" I called. "I'm home!" I announced, there was no answer, proving that no one was home but I continued, even if I was talking to air, I had to brag; I had had the greatest weekend ever. "Oh, my goodness! It was so cool." I pulled off my jacket and hung it on the coat rack that sat in the corner near the stairs. "Phoebe's mom took us roller-blading around town yesterday. She said that vehicles with engines were over rated and said that for one day we should get around on other wheels and pulled out three pairs on roller-blades. I got to keep the pair that she let me use." I walked into the living room and saw Mom lying on the couch. I wasn't sure if she was asleep or passed out but I continued anyway. "Then, this morning, completely contradicting her words she said yesterday, she took us go-carting and then took us to see a movie. Phoebe's mom is the coolest." I smiled then walked over to the couch, to look at her. Her color was a little off, ghostly, almost greyish, a trick of lighting, it couldn't have been anything too serious. I looked over at the coffee table and noticed all the liquor bottles. I sighed softly; at least she wasn't hiding her problem behind heavy cream, ice and fruit anymore.

Miriam was an alcoholic, I didn't understand that until I was in sixth grade when I took health and they taught us about alcoholism, they basically described my mother, it hurt so bad to think about it but I slowly adapted to it. But still . . . Sometimes . . . It still feels like someone has been taking a knife and slicing it through my heart.

I reached my hand over and moved her arm up just to see if she would wake up but her flesh was shockingly cold, like ice, stiff, hard to move. My blood gelled and breath caught in my throat as I realized the unimaginable. I moved my hand back lightning fast, like she had bitten me. Close enough. I stared at her in disbelief, it was a gimmick, a joke it had to be, she wasn't dead, she couldn't be. Bob had put her up to this, just a welcome home joke, right? I had to tell myself that, denial almost made things better but deep down you knew the truth, you knew lies weren't going to change the truth at all. I swallowed back the lump that formed in my throat as I stared at her, she didn't flinch, didn't breath, didn't move in any way at all. She was still. She was dead. She wasn't going to be here anymore, she wasn't going to be the slurred voice you heard when called and she answered, the mother who forgot to make your lunches or the mother who was too out of it to even remember to bring the groceries back from the store. Damn it! Damn her!

I examined her body with my eyes, she lay on her back, the arm I lifted was reaching out to where I was standing, her other arm was resting on her stomach, she was like a statue. From her waist down, she was covered with a knit blanket, her hair was down and a mess like she had been tossing and turning, tugging at the thin blonde locks, but it was probably from grabbing the bottles of liquor every few minutes. Her eyes, fortunately, were closed. Had they been open, I don't know what would have happened. On her chest lay a note, no, a letter. A two paged letter. The paper was blue and white clouded together, up the sides were butterflies, the letter was from Olga, no doubt about it. I had to know what it said. My slim hand reached over steadily, cautiously, and grabbed the letter from her lifeless body. I looked it over, the paper was torn at where she had held it, gripped it, the ink was smudged from her tears or maybe it was from the alcohol, and was crumpled like she was going to throw it away, then reopened it to reread what it held inside.

My eyes scanned the letter over and over, the written words didn't want to register, my brain didn't want to believe it. I couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe what I was reading, my blood boiled with anger, hate, sorrow.

September 17


Dearest Mommy, Daddy, and Baby Sister,


I have so much to tell you and it will explain my absence and my lack of phone calls. In Alaska I met a man by the name of Stephen Erickson who is an Army Recruit, we fell madly in love right away to the point that we didn't ever want to be away from each other, but a year passed and he had to move again, this time to Hawaii. We couldn't leave each other, so he suggested that I move with him and I did, I felt so ashamed that I did that to my students and that I didn't tell you about it. When I wanted to call you he would pull me away and make up an excuse and drag me out and while he was working. He would have me work around the house, he gave me enough work that it took up my whole day and I would just forgot to call or write. He doesn't support me being with any other family but his own and it's painful but I cannot tell him that because I love him and I cannot bear to lose him. But at the same time I love you more and I cannot bear to lose you either but I don't know what to do. I will find a way to see you guys. Be it now or in ten years from now but I will figure out a way to see you guys.


June 01


I would have sent this sooner but Stephen was getting suspicious, so I hid the letter. I found it last night. So, guess what? I am a wife and a soon-to-be-mother. In October of last year I got married to Stephen in England, he is a Catholic man, so he believes in a big family. I am seven and a half months pregnant with my first set of twins, a boy and a girl, Linda Amber and Josiah Lee (his choice). His family has been supportive of us, just like I know you guys would have been but he doesn't want you guys to know, he wants me to have nothing to do with you guys, I am sorry and he won't accept a divorce, it goes against his religion. I know I should have told you when it was all being done, I should have just picked up the phone and called you but he said that you guys didn't need to know about it, about us, and that you wouldn't have understood and he wouldn't listen to me when I told him that you guys support whatever I do, so I just gave in, gave up with trying to reason with him. I love you with all my heart and soul and I will never forget you guys and hopefully you will never forget me. I am sorry he is forbidding my seeing you, he says that it is pointless because we are always moving as it is but it's like he is afraid to be accepted by you guys, afraid to know you guys. I cannot leave a phone number or a return address, and I am sorry Mommy and Daddy. Baby Sister I hope you make better choices than I have, be careful on choosing the one you love, make sure he is the one, I love you all.


Love Always,


Olga Pataki-Erickson

I read the letter over a few times more, letting her confession sink in. That was bull! She wouldn't let some guy push her around, she had a mind of her own, she thought for herself, she knew right from wrong and right was seeing her family on uncalled for notices. Wrong was getting married without letting any family know about it. She was leaving things out, she had to be, she didn't tell us something we probably needed to know. I fought the tears that tried to rise to my eyes, tears of distress and fury. I gnawed on my bottom lip then looked at my mother's stiff body and gritted my teeth together in anger. I leaned forward and lay the papers back where they were, careful not to touch the body again, I don't think I could take that. I sniffled as tears slid down my cheeks. Nope, hard-ass Helga G. Pataki couldn't hold the tears back. What was I going to do? Call the police? I couldn't. Call Dad, yeah, that was it. Call Dad.

I walked to the phone and dialed his work number by heart, it rang off the hook. Just as I thought no one would pick up, an impatient woman's voice spoke loudly over the receiver. "Yes, Big Bob's Beeper how may I help you?" Her words were loud and harsh, mean. Her voice was thick with a southern slur. I was speechless; her voice was almost over powering, intimidating. I felt the anger of years ago trying to seeping back to my veins.

I let out a breath, trying to disguise my voice as normal hoping that would be the way it sounded. "Yeah, let me talk to Big Bob." I ordered, it did sound normal. Good. Surely they should know who I was, they should recognize my voice, did they? Probably not, we'll see.

The lady let out an exasperated sigh; did I catch her on an off day? No, she was always like this. "Who is this, Big Bob is in the middle of a shoot right now." She informed harshly. I guess she didn't recognize me, well, crap. Tears were still in my eyes and my nose was a little stuffy but I doubt they would know I was almost going into a mental breakdown.

I was silent for a second, should I tell her it was an emergency? Should I tell her it was nothing and let him discover his dead wife on the couch when he got home from work and tell him I didn't notice the dead woman, I just thought she was sleeping? No, that was way to far-fetched. I had to tell him now in some way. I could hear the impatient smacking of her gum as she waited for me to answer, I could almost see it. I cleared my voice. "Uh, this is his daughter, Helga. It's an emergency that can't wait." I said. No explanation needed, no siree.

"Hold on, please." She said almost lazily. I heard a click then silence, she didn't hang up on me, I don't think. I waited for a few moments then heard loud background sound. "What is it, Helga?" A gruff voice snarled out over the phone. He always sounded that way when he talked to me, I was used to it.

I swallowed hard, I wasn't going to tell him over the phone, it would be like a joke, he had to see it for himself. "Dad, you need to come home, now." I said firmly, hoping he would give in on the first shot, but I knew there would be no such luck.

He was silent for second, laughing to himself. Ha! His daughter ordering him to come home. Big Bob doesn't take orders, Big Bob gives orders. "Helga, I am in the middle of shoot right now, this can wait 'til I get home." He snapped out. He was on the verge of hanging up. He wasn't big on warnings, so things just happen before you know it.

"NO!" That on word was almost pleading, a cry for help. "No, it can't wait. I wouldn't call you at work if it weren't important. Dad, I am fourteen years old and I can take care of myself and to call you over an emergency must mean something. You need to come home, now!" I said quickly, hoping he had caught most of what I had said. Hopefully he would understand, he had to.

I heard him growl a curse then go silent as though he was contemplating what I had just told him. "Fine, this better be important, I am losing money here, girl." He hung up the phone. I was listening to empty air. I sniffled a sniffle that I held in since I got on the phone. I pursed my lips and began sob, hot tears running down my face. This couldn't be happening, not to me, not to my family. Why us? We may not have been the perfect family but he deserved better than this.

I couldn't be down here when Bob got home, I couldn't see his reaction. How was he going to react? What was he going to do? I didn't want to know.

I looked over to the couch and saw the off-colored lifeless arm and swallowed hard, my stomach turned. I was going to be sick.

I race up the carpeted stairs roughly, careful not to slip, down the hall and into the bathroom. I ran to the toilet and heaved the sour acid until my body felt somewhat better, until I felt weak. I pulled the handle down and closed the lid, resting my head on the lid. I stared into the dark bathroom and swallowed hard, the taste was still fresh in my mouth. Nope, that wasn't going to work. I forced myself up and walked drowsily to the sink and flickered on the lights. The lights seemed to be blinding, hurting. I turned on the cold water and took a handful to my mouth, swishing out the bitter taste. I spit into the sink then splashed my ghostly white skin with the cool water.

I looked into the mirror; I looked awful, good reason that I should. I reached over and grabbed a towel and dried off my face. I dropped the towel on the counter and looked out into the hallway. I couldn't go back down stairs, not until she was gone, I couldn't look at her, I couldn't know she was still here. I should have just stayed at Phoebe's like she had offered, just should have gone to school with her tomorrow, but no, I wanted to see my family. I felt the tears rise to my eyes again and let out a heavy breath.

I swallowed hard and jumped back a little as the door down stairs flew open.

Guess who was home?

Author's Note - Sorry, sorry, and sorry again. I feel stupid still.

Author's Note - Bum, Bum, Bum!!! It's not going to be a tragedy, I promise, this is the only really horrible thing that will happen, maybe, I don't know yet. Anyhow, please review; even if you didn't like it, I just want some sort of feedback. Thanks!!!