Missing

Chapter Twenty Eight

Note: This chapter, without going into too many spoilers, is going to have a mild R rating, you can read or not read at your own discretion. It's not considerably more graphic than anything I've written within this fic before, but I know this can be an issue for people reading work about characters that are underage (although, for my part, the age of consent in my country is 16 so I don't personally feel it's an issue for me.) This is also going to be one of the last, as I'm wrapping up this story. I may write drabbles within the same universe but I'm also thinking of going in a compleletly different direction. Thanks for sticking with me so far.

…..

Arnold had 25 dollars in his pocket when he left the boarding house. It was enough to get him a bus ticket to Pocaselas, a connecting ticket for Warleybridge and an undercooked burger from the bus station diner, but by the time he reached the outskirts of Warleybridge he had nothing left for a room in the motel he'd been staying in on previous visits. It was getting dark, he'd already spent most of the day travelling and visiting hours at the hospital were long over.

Knowing he'd probably get stopped at the door, he continued on foot to the hospital. On the way he mentally cursed himself for being so impulsive; he could at least have grabbed some of his stuff, or called Phoebe and asked her to put him up for a while. He'd have to go back eventually, if only to pack up his things and gather whatever money he had to find somewhere else to live.

Helga's moving in there in less than a month.

Still, he couldn't continue with things as they were. He was exhausted, the extent of his social life was visiting an invalid with whatever little free time he had, his schoolwork was suffering so badly getting into college was going to be difficult, and even if by some miracle he did get in he'd have to turn it down unless it was close enough to the boarding house to let him stay there most of the time.

Really, Phil should have expected Arnold to rebel a lot sooner.

The hospital was pretty dark when he arrived; the emergency department was well lit but nearly empty, and all the nurses were sitting either in the lounge or behind the triage desk, watching something on their smartphones. They barely looked up when Arnold walked past.

Helga was asleep when he entered her room. A set of three origami cranes sitting on the windowsill let him know that Ambrose had been there and left again. One of the fake fur blankets Rhonda had gifted her was draped over the thin hospital sheet.

"Hm?...Arnold?"

Groggy and confused, she stared at him through the dimly lit room. Arnold cursed under his breath.

"Yeah, it's me," he whispered. "Sorry, go back to sleep, I didn't mean to wake you..."

"Go back to...what are you doing here?"

"Ssh, I'll tell you in the morning, go back to sleep. I'll go find somewhere else to go..."

Too late, now she was very much awake. She sat up and turned on the lamp beside her bed.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, sleep making her voice husky in a not unpleasant way. "How did you get here?"

"I took the bus," Arnold sighed, sitting in the chair beside her bed. "It got in pretty late."

"Why didn't you get a lift with Ambrose?"

"Yeah, well...I'm surprised he didn't tell you...I had a pretty big fight with Grandpa and I sort of walked out..."

"About what?" she asked, frowning.

"About me spending so much time here," Arnold answered. "He thinks I should be helping out more at the boarding house...I mean, it's not like we haven't had this argument before..."

Saying it out loud, it sounded petty, especially considering who he was saying it to. A teenage temper tantrum over what he was doing with his free time was nothing compared to being chained to a wall and shot in the head by a serial killer. Still, the look she gave him was sympathetic.

"You do more than he should expect," she said. "I mean, he's lucky to have you. Any other kid would have told him where to go long before now."

"Yeah, but I guess I can see where he's coming from," Arnold sighed. "They don't really have anyone else..."

"That's not your problem," Helga reminded me. "Parents shouldn't throw their kids under the bus because of adult problems."

She was speaking from bitter experience. Arnold's problem felt even pettier.

"I'll work it out, I shouldn't be bothering you with this," he said.

"You're not bothering me."

"What else would you call turning up at your hospital bed at nearly midnight with a tale of woe?"

"I dunno...presumptous?"

They shared a soft laugh, so as not to wake up anyone else in the nearby rooms or alert the nurses. Helga pulled back the covers of the bed and invited him in, and as it was getting cold he accepted.

"So how are you today?" he asked when he was settled beside her. "Still feeling dead?"

"Hm, it's hard to describe," she answered. "It's like...intellectually, I know I'm alive. I have the charts to prove it. But it still feels wrong."

"Wrong how?" he asked, frowning at her head pillowed on his shoulder.

"Well, it's like..." she trailed off, lacing her fingers together. "Like my body doesn't belong to me. Like it's not moving because I'm doing it, it's under someone else's control. I don't know."

"What does your doctor say?"

"He says it'll pass, in time."

There was nothing that could be done to help her feel more secure in herself, but Arnold pressed a kiss to the crown of her head anyway, hoping it would bring some measure of comfort.

It wasn't supposed to go any further than that.

But when she turned a little to look up at him, he found himself putting his mouth on hers. It happened organically, like he was pulled by a magnet. When she opened her mouth to allow him better access, and shifted so he was lying on top of her, it felt natural. Like it was supposed to happen.

He was holding her shoulders, but his hands trailed down along her sides to press his fingers into her firm flesh. Through her thin nightgown, he was very aware that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her chest was pressed flush against his. A pressure began to build at his groin, in anticipation.

She took a deep, shuddering breath when their mouths broke free, and his lips trailed down her jaw to fix on the pulse at her throat, alternately sucking at and licking it to savour the rhythmic beat of her heart.

"You're alive," he whispered between kisses. "I can feel you."

Distantly, he was afraid he was coming on too strong, even has his fingers reached the hem of her nightgown and began pushing it over her thighs. But she seemed as eager as he was, her thighs opened to let him settle between them. One word from her and he would stop, he knew. One sign of hesitation and he would tear himself away.

Instead, a satisfied moan built in her throat and she used her legs to pull him closer to her, until he was practically grinding on her. She wanted this as much as he did.

He pulled back, not really thinking about it but with a vague idea to take off his pants and her nightgown fully, but when he did all arousal was chased away.

When she was a ghost, the wound running across her stomach, along her ribcage and under her breast was fresh-looking, and unreal because he knew she was a spirit. Now, on the living, breathing, flesh-and-blood girl it was faded but an angry splash of colour on her otherwise pale skin. It swelled away from the surrounding skin, a jagged reminder that someone had hurt her so badly she was dead for five long years.

He tried to look past it, to focus on her bare breasts sitting so prettily above the scar or the small trace of wiry golden hair peeking from the edge of her panties, and in any other circumstances those would have been powerfully erotic.

Instead, his finger reached out to trace the uneven ridges of the scar. Confused, she blinked up at him but she didn't try to stop him. At least, until he started sobbing and couldn't stop.

It's not fair. She doesn't deserve this. It's not fair.

With a mildly frustrated sigh, she pulled down her nightgown, closed her legs and pulled him down to her. She readjusted their bodies until his head was resting on her chest. She let him cry there until, at some point, he fell into a drained sleep.

…..

The next morning, it took him a little while to recall where he was and why. When he remembered what exactly had happened the night before, he was mortified.

"I'm really sorry," he apologized when Helga came back from her physiotherapy. "I don't know what came over me..."

"It's all right," she shrugged, oddly casual about it even as his face burned.

"No, really," he continued. "I took advantage..."

"Arnold, stop. You're going to give yourself a coronary," she laughed gently. "If you're going to apologize, maybe apologize for implying that looking at me naked makes guys cry."

"It's not that, you're beautiful..." he stammered.

"Thanks."

"I just...when I saw what he did to you..."

"He didn't do that to me," she told him. "I got that wound escaping him. So really, it's a badge of honour, kind of."

"Oh," Arnold muttered. Now he felt twice as bad for crying.

"More importantly," Helga said, climbing awkwardly from her chair to bed without assistance, "why did you do it? And I don't mean the crying."

"Isn't it obvious?" Arnold replied. "Because I'm in love with you."

She frowned, twisted the fabric of her blanket in her hands.

"Are you sure about that? What if you just feel sorry for me?"

"I don't feel that sorry for you," he laughed. "I think you'd be angry if I pitied you at all. You don't pity yourself."

She hummed to herself, refused to meet his eyes.

"I admire you," Arnold continued. "For surviving all of this, not everyone could. You're the bravest person I know. But it's not just that...when you were gone, you left a hole behind. I was a stupid kid then, but even then I knew I didn't just miss you because you were my friend."

Now she was looking at him, and although they didn't fall he could see tears glittering faintly at the edge of her eyes.

"I spent five years trying to find out what happened to you. I don't think I could have done that if I wasn't at least a little bit in love with you."

She sniffled, and Arnold looked down at his lap. Whatever happened next, it had the power to make his life worthwhile or ruin it entirely.

"I suppose what I want to know," he began, fidgeting nervously, "is if you have any feelings for me. I mean, you said before when you were a ghost that it couldn't happen, but it's different now."

"Are you kidding me?" she answered, choking back her tears. "You know. You have to know!"

All at once, the weight lifted from his soul. He did know.

Deep down, he always had.

…..

When she was finally realeased from hospital, Ambrose came to pick her up and Arnold went with him.

He had gone back to the boarding house after being gone for nearly two days, and talked things over with Phil. He had spent a long time discussing what he was going to say with Helga's help, and although Phil still wasn't happy they had come to an arrangement that was much more fair. Arnold was going to stay at the boarding house after graduation until he turned nineteen, and then he could go to college. It would give Phil time to find someone else to help out.

Although Helga was better able to walk unaided now, she still tired easily and required her wheelchair for long distances. Her rooms were close to the kitchen, and after school Arnold often found her there chopping vegetables or doing dishes with his grandmother, listening to her long rambling nonsensical stories with a polite nod.

She had a slew of visitors, kids from their old elementary class mostly with a few small-time journalists and well-wishers, and these well-wishers sometimes rented the spare rooms in the boarding house on a short term basis to complete their write-ups. The boarding house could finally afford to retile the roof with this extra money, a task Ambrose completed over a single weekend without breaking a sweat.

They spent time together whenever they could; engineering makeout sessions was difficult when she couldn't climb stairs and Ambrose was almost always home. Arnold took to sneaking out of the fire escape and crawling through the window, pockets full of dog biscuits to keep Della quiet.

After that first careless night, they decided against going beyond some light foreplay. Helga couldn't take birth control that interfered with the slew of medications she was taking, and Arnold didn't want to risk used condoms being found by someone. It meant they were often left frustrated and awkward, but it was better than nothing.

All the while, Arnold had the feeling Ambrose knew something was going on. He had this way of looking at Arnold that made him feel like he was under an x-ray.

Is he going to be one of those dads that gives me a speech about not hurting her or he'll shoot me?

Luckily, when Ambrose confirmed that he more or less did know what was going on, it was considerably less violent but much more embaressing.

"I reckon you dropped something, Arnold," he said as Arnold was leaving his flat, after supposedly 'checking the pipes.'

Arnold turned and scooped up the object Ambrose was gesturing to. He didn't look at it properly until he got upstairs.

It was Helga's bra.