The funeral parlor was empty, save for five people in the front pew and the priest. This did not phase Melchior as he sat while the priest completed the requiem mass. Adding to the hollow vibe of the room was the fact that only one photograph of the deceased sat atop the closed coffin looking back at the paltry assemblage of mourners: an imposing and sharp dressed man in a blue suit with black Regan-esque hair and cold green eyes. Miniature copies of the photo were copied onto the funeral cards distributed to the mourners.

Alphonse Perrier du Von Sheck

Born: May 4th 1947

Died: April 30th 2021

O God and Heavenly Father, Grant to us the serenity of mind to accept that which cannot be changed; courage to change that which can be changed, and wisdom to know the one from the other, through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.

Melchior was never close to the man he'd always heard of as "Uncle Al", his presence only existed in pictures, fuzzy memories and the highest of high-end gifts he would give on Christmas and birthdays in absentia. He was a businessman, a CEO to be precise, working tirelessly at the helm of Future Tech Industries to fight urban decay head on via redeveloping broken cities into upscale malls and condominiums. Apart from the funeral, Melchior only met Uncle Al once before when he showed up one Easter dinner; and even then, his presence coincidentally lined up with his next major project which took place a town over from where they lived.

Then came the arrest and trial.

Melchior was an aimless seventeen-year-old when the news of Alphonse Perrier du Von Sheck's fall from grace made headlines, and his life was dissected by a scandal hungry public. As much as the young man put up a front of being withdrawn over the whole deal; the constant sight of seeing Uncle Al either remorselessly smirking at the defendant table or having another outburst in court ate at his insides. For as long as Melchior was capable of cognizant thought, his parents ubiquitously dropped the name of his father's older brother whenever success was concerned. They always pushed him to major in Business, intern at FTi, and make a good enough impression on Uncle Al to be left the company. But deep down, this was not the life Melchior ever saw for himself.

If one good thing came from the ensuing dumpster fire which ignited in the wake of FTi's collapse, it was that a that Melchior could finally tell his parents of his secret interest in History and that he was going to major in Historic Preservation, a decision they naturally balked at. They wrung their hands in sorrow over their only son "throwing his life away for some dead-end basket-weaving degree" and the prospect of him "spending his life cooking fries at Burger World" because he "wasted his potential." But he was resolute in his decision, even in the face of being cut off from his family. Upon graduating from college, Melchior's thesis on the Tomato Incident became the most definitive scholarly work on the matter. Upon moving to Hillwood he founded the Thurston County Historical Society and was instrumental in purchasing the building that would come to be it's headquarters: a former boarding house on Vine Street.

(Earlier that morning)

"Hello"

"Yo Patty. It's Gerald. I'm legally obliged to call and say that Arnold showed up at PS 118 unannounced and lingered around the halls."

"Arnold?"

"Normally I'd let this slide, but he just had a complete breakdown the minute he came in."

"Again…This is Arnold you're talking about. Arnold Philip Shortman?"

"Yes." Said Gerald frustratedly. "I don't know what happened but he just woke up and for whatever reason began acting like we were all in fourth grade again. Only worse; he's irate, scared, and really bugged out about Helga. If you still have any pull at the police department, please use as much of you as you can!"

"Good morning Miss Berman."

Melchior's voice immediately snapped Patricia Berman out of her thoughts of her conversation earlier that day with Gerald.

"Oh, good morning Mr. von Sheck. I didn't expect to see you today."

"Eh, I won't be too long." He replied as he made his way to his office. "I just need to stash this portrait of Uncle Al away before heading off to the repast, such as it is."

"Ok." She replied. "Reminder that tomorrow, the kids from PS 118's History Day are taking a tour of the museum."

"Thanks."

As the door to Melchior's office closed, Patricia's mind returned to Gerald's call. As she replayed their conversation over and over, one phrase in particular kept reverberating around her psyche.

…a complete breakdown…

If anyone understood mental breakdowns, and how deeply it could mess with you, it was her.

(Flashback: Ten years Ago)

It had literally been a week and an hour since Patricia Berman received her diploma from the County Police Academy when she had been called to report to the scene of an accident on the corner of 34th and Vine Streets.

Throughout training, Patty had been commended on her toughness, both physically and emotionally. But the scene that greeted the newly minted officer shattered her resolve; the front driver's side of the car had an ugly dent from the collision accented with blood and bits of entrails. Five miles from the accident, two other officers had just finished slapping the cuffs on the driver of said vehicle after his failed attempt to flee the scene of the crime on foot came to an end. But it was the shell-shocked preadolescent boy sitting in the shadow of the Jolly Olly truck that did it. He didn't even blink as the coroners across the street did their best to move the victim into the body bag and into the bus. The victim's equally catatonic wife held the child in her arms as he bawled madly.

The victim was identified as fifty-three-year-old Oscar Kokoshka. By all accounts, he and his 10-year-old nephew (also named Oskar) were headed off to the park when the little boy found himself desiring a treat from the Jolly Olly truck. As the two went to cross the street, a car rounded the corner of 34th and Vine at 40 mph and its driver was preoccupied with a phone call to see the red light above him. In the blink of an eye, the older Oskar pushed the kid back onto the sidewalk to save his nephew and in the process had no real time to save himself. The car crashed and pinned him to a mailbox killing him instantly.

To say that the incident haunted Patty was the understatement of the century; in the weeks since the collision, the image of Oscar's lifeless face and the sound of his sobbing nephew robbed her of night after night of sleep. During the day she suffered from extreme mood swings going from catatonic to explosive on a dime. Little things like her husband working late at the deli or the sound of the ice cream truck were guaranteed to set her off. On the flip side, there were days where she would wordlessly stare at the wall, the record of which was six hours straight. Half a year had passed since the incident and Patty's life as she knew it was on the line; Harold confided to friends that he was considering separation and she had lost her job after lashing out at a fellow officer for leaving a half-eaten jelly donut laying about. After a very direct but supportive intervention (spearheaded by none other than Arnold) she enrolled herself in a musical therapy program to help cope with the trauma and through that met up with three other guys who were trying to find their edge in the wake of a bandmate's murder. Upon discovering her talent as a bassist, they took Patty into their fold and since formed a local cover band they called the Asphalt Cowboys.

After taking some time off to raise their daughter, Patty ultimately returned to law enforcement in a roundabout way; As Arnold was in the process of selling Sunset Arms to the T.C.H.S., he put in a good word with the society's president that she was a perfect candidate for head of museum security; a sentiment Melchior wholeheartedly agreed with.

(End of Flashback)

From the corner of her eye, Patricia she sees a flaxen haired man with an oblong shaped head bolting across the street in a fury. As he finally steps onto the sidewalk, all the joy and relief in his face curdles into rage as he sees the plaque on the front door. Before Patty can take any action Arnold barrels into the foyer of his former home as if on a mission.

"Arnold what a pleasant surprise."

"Patty, I got no time for this."

He makes an attempt to go upstairs but is blocked by Patty.

"Patty, I'm telling you nicely. Get. Out. Of. My-"

"Look, Gerald told me that you've had a bit of a rough day today." She continued. "But you've got to listen to me very, very carefully; I'm you're only friend here. I can get you out of this, but you're going to have to-"

"I don't want to get out of this, I want to go home." Arnold snapped. "I want to see my Grandma and Grandpa, I want to go back to school, I want this whole nightmare to come to a grinding, screeching, halt!"

Almost as if on cue, the office to Melchior's office opened and out he stepped. With less than a second to spare, Patty threw Arnold a copy of his grandfather's biography and so as to avoid any altercation with her boss.

"Arnold, what a pleasant surprise to see you." He says jovially.

Patty cursed internally as she turned her attention to the floor, and then the sky, wondering which would be the first to swallow her up and drag her away from the nightmare that was about to come.

"As you can see we've been keeping the house in great shape. I'm sure Phil and Gertrude would be proud, don't you think?" Melchior continued.

The fury that Arnold had been nursing all day reached its zenith. He was married to his tormentor whom for all he knew had hired people to pose as his parents, his school had no recollection of him as a student and now his home had been taken over by (of all people) a member of the von Sheck clan.

"You think you've won this haven't you?" He hissed.

"What do you mean?" Melchior laughed nervously as Arnold stepped closer.

"I saved the neighborhood from you once before, and you're out of your mind if you think I can't do it again."

Before Melchior could respond, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. As much as Uncle Al was distant to him, the genetic likeness between the two men bordered on uncanny.

"You're not going to get away with this! I'll see to it you join your uncle in prison."

Before Melchior could respond that Alphonse had died and was buried less than an hour ago, the

homicidally irate Arnold swung his fist towards the historian. With inches to go from receiving a black eye, Patty sprung into action and tackled Arnold to the ground.

"…where am I…"

Arnold came to feeling the ground moving beneath him. He was laid out in the backseat of the car with his right was hand tied to the headrest of the front passenger seat. Slowly, he craned his neck upwards to see the back of Patty's head from the driver's side.

"I told you to keep your cool." She said. "You didn't. Now I'm taking you home. Consider it a little dose of tough love."

"HOME?! I HAVE NO HOME!" Arnold roared. "That no good son of a jackal is living in my home. I should be there taking it-"

"Technically, you should be at the police station looking at attempted assault charges." Patty responded coldly. "Luckily, I managed to convince Melchior that work had been cutting into your sleep and that you've flipped because of it. So, before you invent a new level of stupid, I'm taking you back to your real home in Tacoma."

Unbeknownst to Patty, Arnold had managed to break free from his rope and open the door to her car. After leaping out and dusting himself off, he bolted back down the street towards the boarding house but lost his breath at the gates of the city cemetery. As he leaned on the iron gate, he saw a black tombstone with his family name on it.

"No…"

It didn't take all that long for Patty to find Arnold amidst the landscape of headstones in the city cemetery. He sobbed bitterly and clung weakly to the base of one particular tombstone that read as follows:

SHORTMAN

Gertrude [Puckelwec]

"Pookie"

(b. March 2nd, 1917 - d. November 24th, 2017)

PFC Phillip Christopher

"Steely Phil"

(b. October 25th, 1917 - d. February 11th, 2018)

"I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…" He whispered.

"Arnold?" She said gently. "Is everything alright?"

The physical tension in Arnold evaporated after five deep breaths. He collapsed into the sea of trimmed grass that made up the space between the headstones and gazed skyward. If Patty could describe her friend in one word it would be drained: his skin was clammy and pale like a bowl of leftover porridge. But it was his eyes that really spooked her. They too appeared glazed and lackluster, lacking in the optimism and warmth that she and many who knew him as a boy were familiar with.

"You ever have one of those days where…you're trapped in a nightmare you couldn't wake up from?" He sighed. "This whole day has to be a nightmare; an incredibly insane and elaborate one to boot…(Arnold pauses to look at his hand)…It's not enough that Helga somehow managed to rope me into a marriage and fatherhood, I mean, me and Helga? That alone makes no possible sense! And…and that we somehow are on child number three together?! You'd think that would be enough to drive any sensible person out of their skull; ooooh but we're only getting started! Somehow she managed to pull of the ultimate in emotional low blows by bringing 'my parents' back from the San Lorenzo jungle! Now I hear Gerald is in charge of PS 118, Grandma and Grandpa are dead, and my home is overtaken by Scheck!"

He sighs.

"This is like that dream I had after Rhonda's stupid origami game; only worse."

Patty gave a knowing nod. She remembered hearing Rhonda mention something about their matrimonial mismatch as a sign that her paper toy wasn't as foolproof as all that. Yet she also recalled that Arnold's dream didn't end as badly as all that.

"But didn't that dream end…okay?" She asked.

"Huh?"

"I seem to recall you telling Gerald that your marriage to her wasn't all that bad and that while things were rocky at first, they turned out kinda…nice."

The migraine headache Arnold had experienced on and off once again returned once more upon mention of the sudden turn of his dream all those years ago. As usual he gripped his forehead as if to keep it from exploding, stinging tears pooled in the corner of his eyes and the random flicker of "dots" akin to television static was all his mind's eye could comprehend. This time however, Arnold he could see the fuzzy image of Helga pleading before him in a wedding dress. Just like in his dream, she admitted that he knew all this time there was more to her than the lazy, cold and uncaring front she'd exhibited all throughout their 'marriage'.

"…I may be rough around the edges, but, deep down, I'm a good person…"

From behind the mausoleum, Giarc surveyed Patty commiserating with a distraught Arnold by the Shortman grave. He looks into his bag and lets out a curse in his native tongue. His day hadn't gone all that well either: called spur of the moment along with his brother to Earth at K'ciuq's behest, the two of them had been given separate tasks, both of which involved the life of an earthling who in the grand scheme of things had no consequence. Yet shadowing this 'Arnold' was oh so important to their mission of conquest. And now on top of that, in following Arnold around and trying to keep him delirious enough for the duration of their mission, Giarc was down to his last projectile; which was one of his own making unbeknownst to his superior.

Nonetheless, as Arnold clutched his head, the alien agent sprang into action; firing another beam from his umbrella gun directly into the young man's ear.

Just as instantaneously as Arnold's headache began, it ended. The look of excruciating agony subsided and, in its place, came a look of a lovesick epiphany.

"…but if I'm an adult…" he whispered. "Yes…yes that could work!"

Patty suddenly stirred.

"Tell me Patty, what ever happened to Lila Sawyer?"

Patty's eyes shifted between her hallucinating friend and the ground struggled over how to delicately answer his question. The response was simple; she was married, she worked in television and lived in Hillwood. But seeing the volatile emotional rollercoaster that was Arnold Shortman, a man who had helped her get through a very low point in her life via a pretty heavy but loving reality check, she let the words that danced on her tongue retreat and gestured for him to go back into her car.

"Arnold…It's best that I show you…"