Author's Note: I promised and promised and promised, and I finally
delivered. Here is the action, the excitement…oh, and Arnold's back!
Actually, he wasn't supposed to get this whole chapter to himself, but he
kinda snuck away with it. He's a sneaky little bugger, that Football Head.
This was actually supposed to be up last night, but my computer…well, you
know how computers are. Anyway…
Chien, I don't think so…I don't plan on having any of the others come back. No offense to the others, I love them all (except Sid—he's evil) but I think I've had enough eerie coincidences already. Then again, who knows? These characters have a mind of their own…
Houkanno Yuuhou…Well, Eddie's planning something. You'll see half of the plan in this chapter, and the other half in the next. And yes, that was me on Nadine's board, and I'm very flattered by your offer. I'd love to post at Gerald's Library. Just email me at TheYodels@aol.com with any outside info or put it in your next review (if you review). Thanks!
Athena Lionfire16, you have a really cool name.
Roxy, thank you, and yes, they ARE meant to be together!
Everyone else, thanks so much for the reviews!
Oh, BTW, gang? For a while now I've been like, "Hey, Lila isn't so bad. She can't help it if Arnold likes her." And now I just saw the episode where Arnold takes her to the Cheese Festival for the first time, and you know what? She is Evil Incarnate. She is the Anti-Christ. She is the biggest biz-natch the world of animation has to offer. Go Helga! (Waves little Helga flag.)
Disclaimer: Hey Arnold! does not belong to me. Neither does "So Far Away," which belongs to Carol King and is one of the saddest songs I know. Have you ever seen The Virgin Suicides? It's a CREEPY movie, but the part where they played that song made me cry. Okay, now without further ado (Just what exactly IS 'ado,' anyway? Is it what a dog makes or something? Lol) Chapter 12!
Part XII
"Revenge"
Arnold stayed on the roof for a long time after she left, wandering aimlessly around, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head thrown back to gaze at the stars, stopping only to call Gerald and pour his heart out—briefly. He knew it wasn't the best idea to walk around on a roof without looking where he was going, but at this point he didn't really think he'd feel it if he feel. The stars, which he had always loved, seemed cold and small and impersonal tonight.
Moseying behind the shed on the roof, he stumbled over something. Looking down, he saw that it was the bucket of ice he had stuck a bottle of champagne in earlier to celebrate their…their what? To celebrate Helga. But she was gone.
With a bitter sigh, he bent down and picked up the bucket and the two glasses next to it, carrying them back over to the skylight. Looking down at his room, he stopped. He didn't want to go in there just yet.
He sat down by the skylight, but that was no good. It still smelled like her. Jumping up, he walked away from the spot, but the scent still clung to him, poisoning him. He was having trouble breathing. He tossed his jacket off, loosened his tie, undid the first few buttons on his shirt. That was better, a little.
I need a drink, he thought to himself bitterly. Arnold, bitter? Never. But he was. Picking up the champagne, he popped it open, watching it fizz up over his hand and then run away. Disappearing. Like she had.
Hadn't she been doing that to him since day one, though? Opening up, warming to him, intoxicating him with her vivacity and her intelligence and her compassion and her…he didn't know what else. And then the moment he thought he understood her, the moment he got close, she turned and ran. And who knew how long it would be before she opened up again?
He poured himself a glass of champagne, watching the bubbles rise in the pale golden liquid as music floated from his room. So far away…Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?…It would be so fine to see your face at my door…Doesn't help to know that you're just time away…Long ago I reached you and there you stood…Holding you again could do me good…Oh, how I wish I could…But you're so far away…
But that was Helga for you, he thought as he downed another glass. Smile at her and she thinks you're up to something. Tell her she's beautiful and she starts looking for the weapon. Tell her you love her…and she runs.
One more song about moving along the highway…Can't say much of anything that's new…If I could only work this life out my way…I'd rather spend it being close to you…But you're so far away…
Arnold suddenly fell into a memory of Helga that he hadn't thought of in years. It was their senior prom. He had taken Rhonda, basically because she had asked and he didn't want to make her feel bad. Hey, they were friends, right? And he had to admit that she looked fantastic in a sleek, designer black gown. She looked mature, sophisticated…out of his league.
Of course she had been prom queen, and Gerald king…Arnold smiled a little, remembering how Phoebe had steamed as Rhonda and Gerald danced. But Gerald winked at her over Rhonda's back and she'd melted, as always. Arnold wished things were that easy with Helga. She'd probably deck him if he winked at her.
Anyway, prom had wound down and Arnold was feeling a little melancholy. The others were all going into Manhattan to some club and then heading over to Rhonda's house to drink and pass out at six in the morning, but he felt like being alone. He had had the limo drop him off a few blocks away from the boarding house, as it was a beautiful night and he felt like taking a walk.
Suddenly he heard music—faint, but definitely there. He walked towards it, drawn to the song. Didn't he know that from somewhere? Traveling around sure gets me down and lonely…Nothing else to do but close my mind…I sure hope the road don't come to own me…There's so many dreams I've yet to find…But you're so far away…
He found himself standing in front of Helga's house, looking up at her open window. She was sitting in the window, despite the fact that it was two in the morning, a notepad on her lap, staring up at the starlit sky. Dressed simply in a white tank top and loose white cotton pants, her ivory skin shining in the moonlight, she looked like something ethereal and perfect. Her pale golden hair was gathered up in a messy knot at the back of her head, and for a moment, the curve of her neck was possibly the most beautiful thing Arnold had ever seen. The music washed over him as she looked down at her pad and wrote something down.
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?…Everybody around me looks different when you are away…
As Arnold watched her, she sighed wistfully, blowing a strand of sunshine hair from her eyes, and closed the notebook. She stood up, and he was entranced by the line of her silhouette in the moonlight as she shook out her hair, letting it tumble over her pale shoulders. She walked out of sight, and in a minute the music went off, followed by the light.
Arnold stared at the black square that was her window for a moment before shaking himself out of it. Walking down the street, he puzzled over something. For the first time in his life, he thought, he had touched real, true beauty.
Arnold came back to the present somewhat reluctantly, as the present was a half-empty bottle of champagne and an aching heart. Still that same song played, faintly through his open skylight, and he realized why he had always loved this song. It was hers.
You're so far away…Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?…It would be so fine to see your face at my door…Doesn't help to know you're so far away…
Suddenly, inexplicably, his old optimism surged to the fore again. She loved him. She did. She had admitted it—Helga, the girl who had never told him the truth in her life when a lie or two could do just as nicely. The girl who would rather endure thumbscrews, the rack, and nonstop Barry Manilow than confess something like that. Well, maybe not Barry Manilow. Still…
She loved him. That was all that mattered. Once she had thought it over, once she had realized the truth…she was a smart girl, and for all her…evading the truth…she could see through a lie in a New York second. She would realize that he had been telling the truth when he said he loved her, and she would come back to him.
But he wasn't willing to sit there and wait. He would find out where she lived…Phoebe knew, he could call her and ask. Then he would go out to California, out to her house, and tell her again. And if she ran away again, he'd follow her. Again. And again and again and again until he proved to her that he loved her. Yeah, perhaps it was a little bit of an irrational plan, but no one who's had half a bottle of champagne in less than half an hour and can't hold their liquor in the slightest has ever been rational.
He climbed unsteadily through the skylight, leaving the champagne, bucket, and glasses out on the roof. Not bothering to lock the skylight, or even close it all the way, he stumbled over to his bed. He would call Phoebe in a minute…he just needed to lie down for a minute…just a minute…Closing his eyes, Arnold sank into merciful darkness.
* * * * * * *
Considering how deep a stupor Arnold had been in when he fell asleep, it was surprising that such a muffled sound could have woken him up.
But it did—a sound so faint he wasn't sure if he had heard it all when he woke, perfectly sober and with only a faint headache. He had always been lucky…maybe it was that luck that saved him by waking up just at that moment. But he almost went back to sleep…
…until he heard it again. There it was. A footstep, faint and muffled, on the roof. Hurried, heavy breathing, as if someone large was trying to step lightly. The moon had gone behind the clouds, so he couldn't see very well, but as his eyes adjusted to the dark he realized that someone was standing at the opening to his skylight.
He lay absolutely still, not wanting to give away the fact that he was awake. Obviously his nighttime visitor was not exactly…on the up-and-up. But who was it? A cat burglar? A gang member? And what did they want?
The person, a big, bulky man, felt around for the ladder and slowly lowered himself down, landing on Arnold's bed. Arnold felt the mattress move to accommodate the new weight. The intruder quickly stepped off the bed, obviously feeling shaky being on such an insecure surface.
Arnold waited, heart racing, until he felt the man looming directly over him. Drawing on the self defense training his grandmother had given him years ago, he moved. Kicking the blanket off his body, he threw a punch that connected solidly with the attacker's solar plexus.
The larger man let out a "whoosh!" as the air was knocked out of him and staggered back. Arnold leapt to his feet and advanced on him. He kicked, but the attacker, moving surprisingly quickly, ducked under the blow.
Arnold felt a sharp lance of pain across his shoulder. Instinctively, he kicked again, and felt more than saw his adversary fall. He dove after him somewhat recklessly and was met with another flare of pain in his abdomen. He reached for the weapon his enemy had, heedless of the danger.
A knife. His fingers closed around it, partially grasping the hilt and partly the blade. Ignoring the pain as the sharp edge bit deeper into his fingers, he wrenched it out of the other man's grasp as they rolled across his floor, knocking over furniture, crashing into walls. The intruder had his other hand on Arnold's throat and was pushing, hard, cutting off his air. Arnold was having trouble breathing…
There. He had the knife. Quickly, he brought the butt down heavily on the man's head. He felt his attacker go weak and drop off into unconsciousness. As his grip loosened on Arnold's throat, Arnold's vision cleared and his breathing grew less labored. Staggering to his feet, he made his way to the light switch and flipped it on.
The room was flooded with light, making him blink painfully. When he could see, he surveyed the wreckage of the battle. Most of his furniture was knocked over; several things were broken. His attacker lay prone in the middle of the room, eyes closed as if in sleep. He was considerably larger than Arnold and slightly overweight, with disreputable clothing and three- day stubble, and looked to be in his late thirties. The knife, covered in crimson blood, lay on the floor beside him.
"Arnold!" his mother cried. He looked up to see his parents, grandparents, and the boarders clustered in the doorway and on the stairs to his room. "What happened? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Mom," he said, still trying to figure out what had happened himself. He had almost been murdered…but why?
"Fine!" she repeated. "Look at youself!"
He looked down. He was still in his dress pants and shirt, the latter of which was now soaked with blood. There was a tear in his shirt at his stomach and his right shoulder, and the fingers of his right hand were deeply lacerated.
"Okay, so maybe not *fine,*" he admitted.
"I'll go get the first aid kit, Kimba," his grandmother assured him from the stairs. "Those jungle savages can be pretty nasty fighters." She turned and headed towards the kitchen. Arnold hoped she would return with a real first aid kit and not a ham or a sweater or a socket wrench set.
Before anyone else could move or speak, there was a shrill ring—a cell phone. All of the boarders looked around, searching for the location of the sound. Then Arnold realized where it was coming from—the intruder. Silently, he walked over and searched the man's pockets until he found the phone. He pressed Send.
"Did you get him?" a harsh voice asked brusquely.
What should he say? "Yeah," he grunted, pitching his voice low.
"Good. Better take the pictures to prove to Eddie he's dead," the voice continued. Eddie. So he was behind this. Arnold should have known.
"I took care of the girl," the voice continued, and Arnold's heart froze in his chest. What had they done to Helga? "Remember, we're meeting Eddie at the third dig. See you then." There was a beep, and the line went dead.
Arnold's mind shot into overdrive. He had been marked for death. Eddie had sent these guys to kill him. So…they must have…His mind balked at the thought.
Helga. They must have killed Helga.
Arnold plunged into an abyss so vast he couldn't even feel his descent. Helga was dead. Dead. She was gone. And it was all his fault. If he hadn't said anything, or better yet, if he had convinced her that he loved her, she wouldn't have left. He could have protected her. But he hadn't, and she was dead.
"They killed her," he said in a flat, monotone voice.
"What?" his father asked, concerned.
"Helga. They killed her. They killed her!" Arnold's voice broke and he threw himself at the wall, beating on it, blood flying everywhere. He kicked at it, threw himself bodily against it, raging hysterically and impotently. "They killed her!" he screamed again, his voice hoarse.
He felt a hand gingerly touch his shoulder. "Don't touch me!" he screamed. "Don't touch me! Don't…" He collapsed to the floor, weak from his hysterics. "Helga…" he sobbed brokenly.
Suddenly something inside him turned to steel. He stopped crying and got to his feet, clenching his fists, relishing the pain in his right hand as his nails dug into his wound. He set his jaw and headed for the door of his room.
"Arnold, where are you going?" his mother asked.
He looked at the boarders, and Phil involuntarily took a step back. Sam and Katie hadn't seen their son grow up, but he had, and he had never seen that look in Arnold's eyes before.
"I'm going to find Edward Niles," Arnold said, coolly, levelly.
"I'm going to find him, and I'm going to kill him."
Chien, I don't think so…I don't plan on having any of the others come back. No offense to the others, I love them all (except Sid—he's evil) but I think I've had enough eerie coincidences already. Then again, who knows? These characters have a mind of their own…
Houkanno Yuuhou…Well, Eddie's planning something. You'll see half of the plan in this chapter, and the other half in the next. And yes, that was me on Nadine's board, and I'm very flattered by your offer. I'd love to post at Gerald's Library. Just email me at TheYodels@aol.com with any outside info or put it in your next review (if you review). Thanks!
Athena Lionfire16, you have a really cool name.
Roxy, thank you, and yes, they ARE meant to be together!
Everyone else, thanks so much for the reviews!
Oh, BTW, gang? For a while now I've been like, "Hey, Lila isn't so bad. She can't help it if Arnold likes her." And now I just saw the episode where Arnold takes her to the Cheese Festival for the first time, and you know what? She is Evil Incarnate. She is the Anti-Christ. She is the biggest biz-natch the world of animation has to offer. Go Helga! (Waves little Helga flag.)
Disclaimer: Hey Arnold! does not belong to me. Neither does "So Far Away," which belongs to Carol King and is one of the saddest songs I know. Have you ever seen The Virgin Suicides? It's a CREEPY movie, but the part where they played that song made me cry. Okay, now without further ado (Just what exactly IS 'ado,' anyway? Is it what a dog makes or something? Lol) Chapter 12!
Part XII
"Revenge"
Arnold stayed on the roof for a long time after she left, wandering aimlessly around, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head thrown back to gaze at the stars, stopping only to call Gerald and pour his heart out—briefly. He knew it wasn't the best idea to walk around on a roof without looking where he was going, but at this point he didn't really think he'd feel it if he feel. The stars, which he had always loved, seemed cold and small and impersonal tonight.
Moseying behind the shed on the roof, he stumbled over something. Looking down, he saw that it was the bucket of ice he had stuck a bottle of champagne in earlier to celebrate their…their what? To celebrate Helga. But she was gone.
With a bitter sigh, he bent down and picked up the bucket and the two glasses next to it, carrying them back over to the skylight. Looking down at his room, he stopped. He didn't want to go in there just yet.
He sat down by the skylight, but that was no good. It still smelled like her. Jumping up, he walked away from the spot, but the scent still clung to him, poisoning him. He was having trouble breathing. He tossed his jacket off, loosened his tie, undid the first few buttons on his shirt. That was better, a little.
I need a drink, he thought to himself bitterly. Arnold, bitter? Never. But he was. Picking up the champagne, he popped it open, watching it fizz up over his hand and then run away. Disappearing. Like she had.
Hadn't she been doing that to him since day one, though? Opening up, warming to him, intoxicating him with her vivacity and her intelligence and her compassion and her…he didn't know what else. And then the moment he thought he understood her, the moment he got close, she turned and ran. And who knew how long it would be before she opened up again?
He poured himself a glass of champagne, watching the bubbles rise in the pale golden liquid as music floated from his room. So far away…Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?…It would be so fine to see your face at my door…Doesn't help to know that you're just time away…Long ago I reached you and there you stood…Holding you again could do me good…Oh, how I wish I could…But you're so far away…
But that was Helga for you, he thought as he downed another glass. Smile at her and she thinks you're up to something. Tell her she's beautiful and she starts looking for the weapon. Tell her you love her…and she runs.
One more song about moving along the highway…Can't say much of anything that's new…If I could only work this life out my way…I'd rather spend it being close to you…But you're so far away…
Arnold suddenly fell into a memory of Helga that he hadn't thought of in years. It was their senior prom. He had taken Rhonda, basically because she had asked and he didn't want to make her feel bad. Hey, they were friends, right? And he had to admit that she looked fantastic in a sleek, designer black gown. She looked mature, sophisticated…out of his league.
Of course she had been prom queen, and Gerald king…Arnold smiled a little, remembering how Phoebe had steamed as Rhonda and Gerald danced. But Gerald winked at her over Rhonda's back and she'd melted, as always. Arnold wished things were that easy with Helga. She'd probably deck him if he winked at her.
Anyway, prom had wound down and Arnold was feeling a little melancholy. The others were all going into Manhattan to some club and then heading over to Rhonda's house to drink and pass out at six in the morning, but he felt like being alone. He had had the limo drop him off a few blocks away from the boarding house, as it was a beautiful night and he felt like taking a walk.
Suddenly he heard music—faint, but definitely there. He walked towards it, drawn to the song. Didn't he know that from somewhere? Traveling around sure gets me down and lonely…Nothing else to do but close my mind…I sure hope the road don't come to own me…There's so many dreams I've yet to find…But you're so far away…
He found himself standing in front of Helga's house, looking up at her open window. She was sitting in the window, despite the fact that it was two in the morning, a notepad on her lap, staring up at the starlit sky. Dressed simply in a white tank top and loose white cotton pants, her ivory skin shining in the moonlight, she looked like something ethereal and perfect. Her pale golden hair was gathered up in a messy knot at the back of her head, and for a moment, the curve of her neck was possibly the most beautiful thing Arnold had ever seen. The music washed over him as she looked down at her pad and wrote something down.
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?…Everybody around me looks different when you are away…
As Arnold watched her, she sighed wistfully, blowing a strand of sunshine hair from her eyes, and closed the notebook. She stood up, and he was entranced by the line of her silhouette in the moonlight as she shook out her hair, letting it tumble over her pale shoulders. She walked out of sight, and in a minute the music went off, followed by the light.
Arnold stared at the black square that was her window for a moment before shaking himself out of it. Walking down the street, he puzzled over something. For the first time in his life, he thought, he had touched real, true beauty.
Arnold came back to the present somewhat reluctantly, as the present was a half-empty bottle of champagne and an aching heart. Still that same song played, faintly through his open skylight, and he realized why he had always loved this song. It was hers.
You're so far away…Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?…It would be so fine to see your face at my door…Doesn't help to know you're so far away…
Suddenly, inexplicably, his old optimism surged to the fore again. She loved him. She did. She had admitted it—Helga, the girl who had never told him the truth in her life when a lie or two could do just as nicely. The girl who would rather endure thumbscrews, the rack, and nonstop Barry Manilow than confess something like that. Well, maybe not Barry Manilow. Still…
She loved him. That was all that mattered. Once she had thought it over, once she had realized the truth…she was a smart girl, and for all her…evading the truth…she could see through a lie in a New York second. She would realize that he had been telling the truth when he said he loved her, and she would come back to him.
But he wasn't willing to sit there and wait. He would find out where she lived…Phoebe knew, he could call her and ask. Then he would go out to California, out to her house, and tell her again. And if she ran away again, he'd follow her. Again. And again and again and again until he proved to her that he loved her. Yeah, perhaps it was a little bit of an irrational plan, but no one who's had half a bottle of champagne in less than half an hour and can't hold their liquor in the slightest has ever been rational.
He climbed unsteadily through the skylight, leaving the champagne, bucket, and glasses out on the roof. Not bothering to lock the skylight, or even close it all the way, he stumbled over to his bed. He would call Phoebe in a minute…he just needed to lie down for a minute…just a minute…Closing his eyes, Arnold sank into merciful darkness.
* * * * * * *
Considering how deep a stupor Arnold had been in when he fell asleep, it was surprising that such a muffled sound could have woken him up.
But it did—a sound so faint he wasn't sure if he had heard it all when he woke, perfectly sober and with only a faint headache. He had always been lucky…maybe it was that luck that saved him by waking up just at that moment. But he almost went back to sleep…
…until he heard it again. There it was. A footstep, faint and muffled, on the roof. Hurried, heavy breathing, as if someone large was trying to step lightly. The moon had gone behind the clouds, so he couldn't see very well, but as his eyes adjusted to the dark he realized that someone was standing at the opening to his skylight.
He lay absolutely still, not wanting to give away the fact that he was awake. Obviously his nighttime visitor was not exactly…on the up-and-up. But who was it? A cat burglar? A gang member? And what did they want?
The person, a big, bulky man, felt around for the ladder and slowly lowered himself down, landing on Arnold's bed. Arnold felt the mattress move to accommodate the new weight. The intruder quickly stepped off the bed, obviously feeling shaky being on such an insecure surface.
Arnold waited, heart racing, until he felt the man looming directly over him. Drawing on the self defense training his grandmother had given him years ago, he moved. Kicking the blanket off his body, he threw a punch that connected solidly with the attacker's solar plexus.
The larger man let out a "whoosh!" as the air was knocked out of him and staggered back. Arnold leapt to his feet and advanced on him. He kicked, but the attacker, moving surprisingly quickly, ducked under the blow.
Arnold felt a sharp lance of pain across his shoulder. Instinctively, he kicked again, and felt more than saw his adversary fall. He dove after him somewhat recklessly and was met with another flare of pain in his abdomen. He reached for the weapon his enemy had, heedless of the danger.
A knife. His fingers closed around it, partially grasping the hilt and partly the blade. Ignoring the pain as the sharp edge bit deeper into his fingers, he wrenched it out of the other man's grasp as they rolled across his floor, knocking over furniture, crashing into walls. The intruder had his other hand on Arnold's throat and was pushing, hard, cutting off his air. Arnold was having trouble breathing…
There. He had the knife. Quickly, he brought the butt down heavily on the man's head. He felt his attacker go weak and drop off into unconsciousness. As his grip loosened on Arnold's throat, Arnold's vision cleared and his breathing grew less labored. Staggering to his feet, he made his way to the light switch and flipped it on.
The room was flooded with light, making him blink painfully. When he could see, he surveyed the wreckage of the battle. Most of his furniture was knocked over; several things were broken. His attacker lay prone in the middle of the room, eyes closed as if in sleep. He was considerably larger than Arnold and slightly overweight, with disreputable clothing and three- day stubble, and looked to be in his late thirties. The knife, covered in crimson blood, lay on the floor beside him.
"Arnold!" his mother cried. He looked up to see his parents, grandparents, and the boarders clustered in the doorway and on the stairs to his room. "What happened? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Mom," he said, still trying to figure out what had happened himself. He had almost been murdered…but why?
"Fine!" she repeated. "Look at youself!"
He looked down. He was still in his dress pants and shirt, the latter of which was now soaked with blood. There was a tear in his shirt at his stomach and his right shoulder, and the fingers of his right hand were deeply lacerated.
"Okay, so maybe not *fine,*" he admitted.
"I'll go get the first aid kit, Kimba," his grandmother assured him from the stairs. "Those jungle savages can be pretty nasty fighters." She turned and headed towards the kitchen. Arnold hoped she would return with a real first aid kit and not a ham or a sweater or a socket wrench set.
Before anyone else could move or speak, there was a shrill ring—a cell phone. All of the boarders looked around, searching for the location of the sound. Then Arnold realized where it was coming from—the intruder. Silently, he walked over and searched the man's pockets until he found the phone. He pressed Send.
"Did you get him?" a harsh voice asked brusquely.
What should he say? "Yeah," he grunted, pitching his voice low.
"Good. Better take the pictures to prove to Eddie he's dead," the voice continued. Eddie. So he was behind this. Arnold should have known.
"I took care of the girl," the voice continued, and Arnold's heart froze in his chest. What had they done to Helga? "Remember, we're meeting Eddie at the third dig. See you then." There was a beep, and the line went dead.
Arnold's mind shot into overdrive. He had been marked for death. Eddie had sent these guys to kill him. So…they must have…His mind balked at the thought.
Helga. They must have killed Helga.
Arnold plunged into an abyss so vast he couldn't even feel his descent. Helga was dead. Dead. She was gone. And it was all his fault. If he hadn't said anything, or better yet, if he had convinced her that he loved her, she wouldn't have left. He could have protected her. But he hadn't, and she was dead.
"They killed her," he said in a flat, monotone voice.
"What?" his father asked, concerned.
"Helga. They killed her. They killed her!" Arnold's voice broke and he threw himself at the wall, beating on it, blood flying everywhere. He kicked at it, threw himself bodily against it, raging hysterically and impotently. "They killed her!" he screamed again, his voice hoarse.
He felt a hand gingerly touch his shoulder. "Don't touch me!" he screamed. "Don't touch me! Don't…" He collapsed to the floor, weak from his hysterics. "Helga…" he sobbed brokenly.
Suddenly something inside him turned to steel. He stopped crying and got to his feet, clenching his fists, relishing the pain in his right hand as his nails dug into his wound. He set his jaw and headed for the door of his room.
"Arnold, where are you going?" his mother asked.
He looked at the boarders, and Phil involuntarily took a step back. Sam and Katie hadn't seen their son grow up, but he had, and he had never seen that look in Arnold's eyes before.
"I'm going to find Edward Niles," Arnold said, coolly, levelly.
"I'm going to find him, and I'm going to kill him."