A/N: Did you do the homework from the last assignment? I hope so! This chapter represents a turning point in the story; it will get darker, and from here on out, I will go ahead and rate it M due to anticipated content in later chapters.
Disclaimers: I do not own HA! as it belongs to Craig Bartlett and Nickelodeon. The numbers mentioned from the second season of "Lost" and are property of JJ Abrams and ABC. First italicized quote is from Friedrich Nietzsche's book "Beyond Good and Evil," and contains the title of the chapter. Second italicized quote is from William Butler Yeats' poem "The Second Coming," and contains the title of the story. I don't own any of those things.
Whoever Battles with Monsters...
"Hello Mr. Shortman, Miss Pataki," the man said. His face was half-hidden by the fedora he wore on his head that covered slicked back hair that was dark as the night itself; the rest of his angular face was covered in shadows. He was tall, and was wearing a black trench coat over a dark pinstriped suit. The man's shoes shone in the dark. He looked down at the children.
"Who are you?" Arnold questioned warily. He moved to stand in front of Helga, eyeing the man as if assessing his threat level. The man saw this and cocked an eyebrow in amusement, but said nothing about it.
"Of course… you wouldn't recognize me. I'm Smith. Giles Smith, I live in the boarding house," he held out his hand, but Arnold eyed him suspiciously and did not take it. Smith let the hand drop.
"How do I know it's you?"
"If your Grandma doesn't push the button every 108 minutes with the code '4, 8, 15, 16, 23 and 42,' she believes that the boarding house will explode." he stated patiently.
Arnold rolled his eyes in assent. "Ok. What are you doing here?"
"Attending to…business. What are you doing?"
"Talking," Arnold said shortly. He glanced up at Mr. Smith, who nodded slowly, his eyes skimming over Helga and stepped closer. He bent down to her level, staring into her eyes. "Whoever battles with monsters had better see that it does not turn him into a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." he murmured, lost in thought. Suddenly, he straightened up and glanced around.
"We need to leave," Smith said with a note of urgency in his voice.
"We were just going to…" Arnold started, but Smith held up his hand.
"No, I mean now." He glanced at Helga, who had stood silently throughout the exchange. "Miss Pataki, you will be staying at the boarding house tonight, yes?" Smith's tone indicated that it was not really a question, but more of a command masked in query. Helga seemed to understand and nodded mutely.
Smith motioned with his hand. "Let us go, then." Arnold glared at him, grabbed Helga's hand and began walking. Smith brought up the rear. Arnold occasionally looked back at him and for some reason did not feel comforted to have the man at his back. He noted that Smith's pace was unhurried, but his eyes examined every shadow they encountered along the silent walk back to the boarding house.
Arnold felt Helga's hand grip his very tightly. He glanced over at her and saw that she her face was carefully arranged into the blank mask she put on since Smith appeared. Arnold opened his mouth to talk but Helga shook her head and motioned towards Smith. He nodded, thankful that he wasn't the only one that distrusted this tall, dark and handsome stranger. Although he had roomed in the boarding house for years, hardly anything was known about Smith, and Arnold's hair had been standing on end ever since the man stepped out of the shadows to greet them.
When they reached the stoop, Smith stopped and turned to them. "Promise me that you won't go near there after sundown." He directed the request at both of them, but eyed Arnold, his eyes boring holes into the blonde haired boy. Arnold squirmed uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze.
"Why?" he demanded.
"Promise me. You do not know what monsters lurk in the shadows on these dark nights. Things not even Monkeyman can, or will, do battle with." Smith looked at him unwaveringly, waiting.
"Fine." Arnold said muttered, and turned to go into the boarding house with Helga. Smith grabbed his shoulder gently, pulling Arnold aside.
"Get Miss Pataki to bed, then return to the dining room with haste," he murmured. "We have much to discuss, Mr. Shortman."
Arnold quietly led Helga by the hand upstairs to his room and switched on his lamp; he didn't feel like facing the harsh glare of his dome light. He turned to Helga, who had collapsed to the floor as if her legs couldn't hold them anymore.
"Helga, who did this to you?"
She averted her gaze and looked down at her hands.
"Helga…" Arnold tried to reach out to touch her, but she flinched. He dropped his hand. "It was Bob, wasn't it," he said in a flat voice.
Helga looked at him and was silent, but that was more than enough for him.
Arnold felt a rage he didn't know he had; it roiled through him, a hot rage that threated to destroy. His balled his fists up and closed his eyes. Thoughts of Bob flashed through his mind like pictures in a slide show: him hitting Helga, hurting her. And the signs, they were there, weren't they? The other day with the "bee sting" and the scrapes, the long clothing, the disinterest, the…everything. How…could he have not connected the dots? Arnold's breaths suddenly came in shallow gasps, making him feel lightheaded and he didn't feel his fist connecting with the wall until it was over and he heard Helga's strangled gasp. The pulsating pain came as a surprise to him. He opened his eyes and saw his bloody fist in a new hole in the wall, then looked at Helga. Her tear filled blue eyes were wide, looking at him as if she had never seen him before. Arnold caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and was taken aback at what he saw: a shaking hand covered in blood and bits of drywall, chest heaving, wild, almost feral eyes. He sagged against the wall, all of his energy leaving him in a flood.
He looked at Helga. "Hey, Helga…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get like that. I wasn't thinking. I just want to know who hurt you, that's all." He sat down across from her, hesitated, then asked to see them. It wasn't done out of morbid curiosity, but the sheer need to understand the magnitude of what she had just told him.
She took off her turtleneck, rolled up her jean legs, then slowly lifted up her camisole to reveal her stomach. Arnold gently traced them with his fingertips and looked at Helga. She looked very small to him in the lamplight, fragile. He had never thought that fragile would be a word to describe Helga, but it fit nonetheless. She looked away and shivered when he made contact with her skin. He could see the old ones mixed with newer, fresher ones that blossomed across her skin. He saw cuts, raw and scabbed over, in large patches, and grotesque sets teeth marks decorated her shoulders. Hurt radiated in her eyes and behind that…fear.
He leaned down and gently kissed the bruises and cuts, each and every one he could see: on her stomach, her arms, legs and the one on her wrist. Helga inhaled sharply and sat still, closing her eyes. When Arnold was done, he could see the tears on her face. He wiped them away. "I've heard kisses make it better. I-I don't think in this case, but it can't hurt to try, right?"
Helga gave him a small smile. "It felt a little better."
He reached out and took her hand. "You can sleep up here, with me. You up for a shower?"
She nodded and Arnold helped her up off the floor and gathered clothes for her to change into. He led the way to the bathroom holding her hand the whole way. "When you're done, go up to my room, and we'll talk some, ok?" he cupped her cheek and she nodded. Arnold waited until he heard the roar of the shower to depart.
Arnold made his way downstairs to the dining room, his mind spinning with Helga's revelation. He saw Smith seated at the dining room table, cloaked in shadows once more. The smoke from his cigarette floated gracefully from the glowing tip. Arnold slid into a seat across from him, and folded his arms impatiently, coughing pointedly. "Can we make this quick? I need to go back up to Helga."
Smith ignored him and took a drag from his cigarette, making no move to put it out. He didn't mention Arnold's hand. The pair sat in silence for a while, save for the ticking of the clock on the wall. Arnold couldn't shake the feeling that Smith was evaluating him, measuring him, and found him wanting. Arnold frowned after realizing this. Smith noticed it and leaned forward towards Arnold. "The city is restless, Mr. Shortman. It is as if a beast has been awakened from a long slumber since the city was spared," he said finally.
"What are you talking about?" Arnold demanded.
"You should have let the city die." Smith sat back, awaiting and expecting the vehement denial.
Arnold shook his head wildly. "No!" he said firmly, banging his fist against the table. "My grandparents, my friends, they would have had to leave their homes, we would have never seen it again, and businesses would have closed down forever…."
Smith held up a hand to stop him. "You don't like change, do you? Such chaos so early in life often creates a strong need for stability, does it not?" he said with a touch of amusement. "Alas, such is the way of life. Things must change, to make room for new things, new situations. And in some cases, things must fall apart." Smith took a drag of cigarette, flicked the ashes and looked somewhere past Arnold into the darkness. His steel grey eyes grew soft. "Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;/Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world . Such is the case of Hillwood. A city 'saved' from destruction, yet falling apart at the seams at a rapid rate. Do not tell me that you can't see it. The decay, the disarray." He met Arnold's eyes again. "This city was meant to burn and rise from the ashes; you have impeded that process."
Arnold shook his head in disagreement. "You don't understand, Mr. Smith. You weren't here, or maybe you were, I don't know. Or really care. I would do the same thing again. Over and over again, I would choose the same thing. That man was evil." He glared at Smith.
"You don't understand, Mr. Shortman. You thought Scheck was evil? Compared to those that I must deal with, he is a kitten. He was a figurehead, so to speak. I will assume you know what that is."
Arnold's glare intensified. "Don't insult my intelligence. I'm pretty smart. He needed to be stopped, and no one was stepping up to the plate. I did what I had to do to protect this city."
Smith's gaze sharpened. "Who were you to play God? To decide what should be saved, or spared? What was the cost of this? Do you know? You had no knowledge of forces greater than yourself that are at work." Smith extinguished his cigarette, lit another one. "Your Helga is in the eye of the storm, as you may have seen, and it is a powerful one," he remarked. "Bigger than you can imagine. On this, I neither lie nor bend the truth. A luxury my line of work rarely affords me."
"Why do you care?" Arnold swallowed down a small ball of guilt at the harsh words and found himself disliking Smith more and more with each passing minute, each word that was exchanged.
"I do not care for the sacrifice of innocence, and your Helga has sacrificed much for you, things known and unknown." Smith frowned as if Arnold overstepped some invisible boundary.
"What should you suggest I do then, Mr. Smith?" Arnold forced politeness into his voice, with great effort, and hoped that this conversation would end soon.
He crushed his cigarette. "Go to the authorities. They will know what to do."
"No! She'll be taken away and I…"
"Won't see her again?" Smith finished. He leaned forward and stared into Arnold's angry green eyes. "Again, who are you to play God? This is a life, Mr. Shortman," he finished forcefully. Smith's fists clenched and unclenched under the table in an effort to keep his composure.
Arnold pushed his face inches away from Smith's face. "I'm aware of that, Mister Smith," he spat out.
The tension was so thick in the room it was almost tangible. Smith sighed and ran his hand over his face, strands from his slicked back black hair coming loose. He leaned back into the chair heavily. "Go to the authorities, before it intensifies," he said warily. "Mark my words, Mr. Shortman; the days will get darker for your Helga if you do not intervene."
"I can take care of her…"
"But not in the way that she needs," he interjected. "I would go myself, but my current involvement in… certain situations prevent me from doing so. Do not play the hero. The situation is too precarious for risks such as this. Think on it, and let me know your decision."
Smith slid a business card across the table to Arnold, blank, save for a single phone number on it. "I must leave tonight and it will be days before I am able to return. This number is where I can be reached. Leave a message and I will respond within the hour." He stood up and walked around the table and over to Arnold, who sat fuming and glared ahead.
"You do not trust me with your Helga, do you?" Smith said softly. "I am looking out for her best interests."
Arnold snorted. "Well it seems like when it comes to my Helga, adults can't be trusted to look out for her best interests. Excuse me for being wary," he snapped.
Smith bowed his head and rubbed at his eyes, nodding in understanding. He clasped Arnold's shoulder. "Go to your Helga, Mr. Shortman. Do not keep her, or me, waiting."
A/N: The next chapter will be an interlude of sorts, so that I can explain what happened from Helga's POV. Not sure if it will be in first person or not. What do you think? Let me know. I will say that it's been a struggle to write thus far due to the content. From here on out, it'll be rated M.
Please, review! I would love to hear from you.
