Four months. I apologize for the excessive length between these chapters. However, you should be delighted to know that this is the last chapter. I don't think many of you will like it. It neither ends happily nor sadly. It's not really an ending at all. I've tried to make it end much as I could see this ending in real life. Unfortunately, life takes so many twists and turns that this is only one of infinite possibilities. I'd appreciate your opinion on whether or not this particular ending sounds realistic.
For all of you who have reviewed my story thus far, thank you. I appreciate every review good and bad.
"Resolutions"
Everything was white. Too bright. He was blinded by the brightness and a haze of pain that emanated from every joint in his body. He blinked twice, trying to shake the world around him back into recognizable form. Movement attracts attention.
"....Aaarrrnnnooolllddd...."
"...Aarrnnoolldd..."
"..Arnold.."
"Hey Arnold!" It was Gerald. "Can you hear me?"
Arnold tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't open. Didn't want to. He just wanted to remain mute.
"Come on, buddy. Let us know you're okay." Gerald was right next to his head. He thought he could make out the shape. "Come on Arnold."
"...fine" His voice was a whisper forced through his teeth.
"He talked! He's gonna be okay!" Gerald was shouting to somebody. Arnold still couldn't see Gerald's face or who he was yelling to. Presently another form moved into his view.
"You had us worried little boy," He couldn't recognize the voice. "How are you feeling?"
Arnold didn't answer. The world wouldn't come into focus, and sound was slipping in and out again. It was too much. With a sigh, he sank once more into oblivion.
Light. It was always so bright. And white. Why was everything so incessantly white?
No, there was some grey. Around the edges there was some grey. Things slowly started to come into focus. A wall. The wall was what had been so white. The edges of the wall were grey.
White and grey. But it was such an accomplishment just to recognize the wall.
Turn head, slightly. A window. There was a window next to the wall. And a chair. A small grey chair, which bowed under the weight of a body. Were there more chairs, more bodies here?
What, what is that thing brushing against the bed. Hand. What is that thing brushing against the hand? Cold. Hard. Round. Touch it, grasp it. Like metal. Like steel. Grey.
Pain began to intrude, overwhelming the senses. A groan forced it way through stone lips.
The body moved.
"Are you okay, short-man?" The body was next to the bed. "Come on, speak to me!"
He gazed up at the figure speechlessly. The figure was fuzzy, blurred. Brown, mostly. Pale and brown.
He blinked. Focus. Blink.
The figure moved again, out of view for a few moments, then back again. Closer. Face to face, the figure had moved.
He stared, almost able to make out... nose... eyes.
Blink.
"Come on, Arnold. Say something. Tell me you know me."
That voice. So grating. So full of concern. Who was that voice?
Focus.
Blink.
Focus.
Don't let the world slip away again. Don't let everything go.
Blink.
**Concentrate** So kind, that face, so old. So old. Was he family? Was he... he was.
Recognition!
It was a struggle, making lips move. Forming the word was near impossible.
"...Grandpa..." He breathed, looking up at the kind old face that still didn't quite want to come into focus.
His expression shifted, forming a broad smile on the leathery face.
"There you go! I told 'em you'd be okay, short man. Now just hang tight, don't go back to sleep till I can get the doctor."
Then the figure was gone... his grandpa was gone. Replaced moments later by another figure. All white. Much fuzzier. He couldn't make out the face this time.
"Hello Arnold." The figure stood in front of him, now. Belatedly he moved his eyes, tracking the figure. The white had merged with grey now. Now was holding something grey, and... writing? "My name is Doctor Phillips. I see you've awakened again. Good."
He let the sound of the man's unfamiliar voice wash over him. He was beginning to lose most of the sounds, forgetting what they meant, not catching them all. But the voice was soothing, and he felt his body relaxing unconsciously.
The voice had stopped now. He blinked. Then he felt something poking him. Something lifting his eyelids and turning his head.
He blinked again. The voice was back now, but it wasn't talking to him. It didn't matter. It was so soothing. Soft. He was slipping again...
**blink** **blink**
**yawn**
*squint*
"Grandpa?"
The old man was by the bed in a second. "We-hell, shortman. You're awake again. Think you'll stay with us this time?"
Arnold frowned in confusion. "Stay? What are you talking about?" He shifted, trying to sit up in bed, and failing. "Oh man, what happened to me? I feel like I got hit by a *bus*!"
Phil chuckled shortly and suppressed a cough. "Well you're not too far off there."
"WHAT?!"
"You don't remember what happened, do you boy?" The look in that wizened old face was unreadable to Arnold. What was he supposed to say to make this right? To make him feel better?
He bit his lip and shook his head. The face sagged a bit, but otherwise did not change. "Don't worry your weird little head about it shortman. I'm just going to go get the doctor and he'll explain things to you. Okay? Stay awake, now." Then he was gone.
Arnold did what he was told, relaxing slightly as he waited, confusion washing over his brain. He was obviously in a hospital. He must have been in some kind of accident. He squinted at the ceiling, trying to get his thoughts to concentrate. Had he been hit by a car, or been in a wreck somehow? No, he didn't think so. He certainly felt bruised and battered, but for some reason he just kept seeing water all around him. He shook his head, clearing the images from his mind, and his grandfather entered the room, following a young doctor.
The doctor came to stand by his bed, in plain line of sight. "Well hello, Arnold. I'm glad to see you've awakened again. You look much more alert this time. How are you feeling?"
The young man's voice was soothing and put Arnold's mind at ease right away. "I've been better." he said, struggling again to sit up a little. "What happened to me? Was I in some kind of accident?"
The doctor smiled slightly, putting down his clipboard and helping Arnold adjust the bed settings. "More comfortable, Arnold?" At the boy's nod, he picked up his clipboard and paused a moment to scan some information from his sheet of paper. "Arnold, how much do you remember?"
Arnold frowned. "Not much, doctor..." Arnold paused to try to collect some of his thoughts. He kept getting flashes of thoughts and images that disappeared as quickly as the came, and he was left with a mess that was difficult to wade through. "I can almost see... water... but that's all."
The doctor nodded. "Don't worry Arnold. It's normal not to remember trauma early on. Since you are already beginning to remember details, it's likely that you will remember everything with time. To answer your question, yes you were in an accident of types. It seems a friend of yours was playing out on an old dock, and you apparently went out to stop her, and the dock gave way underneath you..."
The doctor continued on for a few moment, but Arnold ceased to hear him. "That's not what happened," he blurted, interrupting the doctor mid-sentence.
The doctor opened his mouth to speak, but was again thwarted by another voice. "He is quite correct," she said. She turned to Arnold. "I'm glad to see you awake. Are you okay?"
The doctor cleared his throat. "What is your involvement in this, miss.."
"Bliss. Dr. Bliss, actually. I'm a counselor at p.s. 118. I've been speaking with the girl, Helga, quite regularly for awhile now. Unfortunately, things are happening quicker than I thought, so I need to ask Arnold here a few questions when you are finished with your examination."
The doctor nodded and shook her hand. "Perhaps you can help me some, then. My name is Dr. Phillips. Right now we need to focus on getting Arnold to remember details of his accident. If I'm not mistaken, he already seems to remember at least what is wrong, right Arnold?"
"I remember everything, Dr. Phillips," Arnold told him solemnly.
The Doctor nodded and gestured for him to keep talking as he checked the vital signs.
"Wait," Arnold said, "How is she. Helga I mean. Is she okay?"
The adults exchanged glances. "Why don't you just tell us what happened first, Arnold." Dr. Phillips interjected.
Arnold paused, warily. That wasn't a good sign. He sighed. "I'm not sure where to start." He told them, suddenly very worried about his classmate.
Dr. Phillips looked over at Dr. Bliss, tacitly telling her to take over. She sat down by Arnold's bed and began questioning him. "Why don't you start at the beginning. When did you notice a problem with Helga?"
Arnold looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Well, um, Helga's kind of a bully. She likes to pick on people and boss them around. One day she just stopped."
"Stopped what?"
"Everything. She stopped talking to any of us, or even looking at us. She stopped being mean or rude or anything. It was kind of like someone had taken the real Helga and left a doll in her place. She just stopped."
"Why do you think she did that?"
Arnold hesitated now, weakly playing with his fingers. "Phoebe made us promise not to tell until we talked to Helga."
Dr. Bliss just nodded and blatantly skirted the issue.
"And you haven't talked to her yet?"
"No we never got the chance. We were going to talk to her, but then she never came to school. At lunch Brainy told us she was at the docks. You know the rest of that." Arnold closed his eyes, trying to block out the sudden onslaught of images that bombarded his mind.
He heard Dr. Bliss sigh softly. "Oh dear. I really do you you to tell me what happened in your own words, please."
Strange. Why? His mind was starting to drift into those images, and he suddenly felt overwhelmingly exausted.
"Arnold please, I know it's hard, but we need you to tell us."
Arnold winced, but opened his eyes and sought out his grandfather, sitting silently in the background for once. He received only and encouraging smile, and realized that this must be something important.
"Well, me and Gerald and Phoebe all went out to the docks to find her. That's when you and Brainy showed up. We saw her standing on that old dock, and yelling to her to get off, but she didn't hear, I guess. It was kind of stormy out there. Then you said she was going to jump and Brainy told me that I needed to go out and get her and bring her back."
"And then?"
"Well, I went out onto the dock and she was kind of murmuring something. I felt like the dock was going to cave in or something, so I grabbed her arm. And then she looked at me." Arnold stopped suddenly, closing his eyes again.
"What's wrong, Arnold? What aren't you telling us?" Dr. Bliss urged him to continue, but the was a strange tone to her voice.
"It's just... her eyes... they, they looked so... it was like she was already dead..." He shook his head, futiley trying to shake away the shudders that racked him.
The room was filled with silence. Arnold was too afraid to open his eyes and see their reactions, so he just kept them closed, blocking out the outside world. He cleared his throat. "She... looked at me for a minute and the she just fell. When she fell, the dock did too."
He could hear Dr. Bliss clear her throat. "Arnold, what's the last thing you remember before waking up here?"
He let his mind drift back, he could almost feel the waves crashing against him again. "I was holding onto a pole with one hand, and Helga with the other." He murmured, sleepily, "the waves were slowing down. It wasn't as hard as before. They told me," he paused, "they told me to let her go."
"Who told you Arnold?"
"The water. The voices. They kept saying to let her go and everything would be alright. I didn't want to at first, but they said that they would take care of her, she wouldn't be hurt anymore. So I let go."
"You didn't let go of Helga. When we found you, you had a death grip on her."
Arnold smiled a little. "No. I let go of the pole. They said they'd take care of us *both*."
Arnold opened his eyes a crack, looking for the disbelief he knew he'd see in the eyes of the adults. He found it in everyone except Dr. Bliss. She just nodded and wrote something down on a little pad. When she finished writing, she looked straight into Arnold's eyes with an apologetic look. "One last thing, Arnold. I know you promised Phoebe, but it is really important that we know what is going on."
Arnold sighed and looked away. "We don't know for sure, okay? But Phoebe said when she was really little, Helga's dad used to hit her sometimes. She thought maybe it was happening again."
Dr. Bliss's voice was now very carefully controlled. "Why is that Arnold?"
"Phoebe said that Helga had told her something on the phone, and then the next day she just got really angry and stopped talking to everyone. And then she had a sprained arm that day at school, when you gave us that hall pass. She just said it all fit. We were going to ask her about it first, but..."
"It's okay, Arnold. That's very helpful. Thank you."
She started to get up.
"Wait!" Arnold said, "You never told me how she was doing."
She sighed. "not as good as you, Arnold. She's still in a coma. But there's still hope that she might pull out of it."
She got up and walked out of the room, beckoning for the adults to follow. On his way out, Phil stopped at his grandson's bedside. "Don't worry, shortman, it'll be okay. Try to get some rest. I'm going to talk to the doctors for a moment, but I'll be right back."
Arnold nodded and watched his grandfather walk out the door. Then he relaxed, letting himself drift off. On the edge of his consciousness he could hear the adults talking just outside his door. "...do you think that means...?" one of the them said. "...children often personify their fears or emotions... he was in pain and scared and wanted a reason to let go... transferred these feeling to the water... wouldn't worry..." The sound slipped from his mind as he fell into a troubled sleep.
When he woke up the next day, it was to a crowd of eyes - or it seemed that way at first. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the eyes around him morphed into the figures of his grandparents, Ernie Potts, Mr. Hyunh, and Gerald. He could hear Mr. Kokashka out in the hall, loudly asking his wife, Suzie, to go and get him a drink.
Arnold smiled.
"Hey Arnold," Gerald exclaimed happily, noticing his friend was awake, "How you feeling?"
"Better than yesterday," Arnold commented dryly. "What's going on?"
"We are just here," Mr. Hyunh started with his thick accent, "to see how you are doing."
"Yeah, give us some credit, Arnold!" Ernie Potts put in, looking a bit put out.
Arnold just smiled again. "Thanks," He told them.
Just then they heard a loud crash outside the room with Mr. Kokoshka's voice rising protestingly above it. The adults all groaned and piled out into the hall to see what was going on, one of them considerately closing the door, leaving Arnold and Gerald alone for the moment.
"Man Arnold," Gerald said, pulling a chair up beside his best friend's bed. "We thought you were never going to wake up."
"How long was I out?" Arnold asked.
"Almost two days, man." Gerald said, noting his friend's shocked expression. "I mean you woke up *sometimes*, like in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, but you just fell right back unconscious, and we couldn't reach you."
"Two days," Arnold murmured in shock. "Gerald, they won't tell me much about Helga, but I gotta know, is she okay?"
Gerald shifted uncomfortably. "We don't know, Arnold. She's been in a coma this whole time. The doctors don't know if she's ever going to pull out of it."
Arnold looked upset.
"There's more," Gerald said, avoiding Arnold's eyes. "If Helga ever wakes up, they are planning on an investigation on, you know, her *parents*. They saw the injuries you got, which should have been worse than hers because of the pole, then they saw the injuries *she* had. She was bruised all over and probably worse. They wouldn't say too much in front of us, but Phoebe's pretty upset. They keep saying she was trying to kill herself, and they're thinking of locking her up if she tries it again."
"Was she?" Arnold asked thoughtfully.
"I dunno. She might have."
The adults came back into the room then, and the conversation ended. Dr. Phillips came back and told them that other than his head injury, most of Arnold's wounds were superficial, and after a day or two of observation, he'd be able to go home. The room was filled with happy chatter then.
That day, the rest of the class came to visit Arnold and Helga in the hospital. They brought cards and flowers and assorted gifts and stayed to talk for a few minutes, then went back to school. Mr. Simmons actually cried, which made everyone uncomfortable, especially when they went to Helga's room. Apparently the sight of Helga lying there on the bed so calm and unmoving, with Phoebe keeping her constant vigil at Helga's side looking as if she hadn't slept in days was more than a little disturbing. No one but Brainy stayed in the room for long. Most said hi, asked Phoebe how she was doing or set down their flowers and left. He stayed, standing quietly next to Phoebe and staring at Helga. When Mr. Simmons interrupted the quiet chatter in Arnold's room and began to round everyone up, checking Helga's room just in case, Brainy refused to go with them, and Mr. Simmons didn't have the heart to make him. He simply got everyone else together and headed back to the safety of the school.
The rest of the day passed more or less uneventfully, save for Dr. Phillip's announcement that Arnold would be released from the hospital the following day.
As that day arrived, and Arnold and his family and friend were getting packed up to check out, a sudden commotion out in the hall alerted them all that something was happening. Dr. Bliss had arrived that morning and had been talking to Arnold quietly when Dr. Phillips interrupted, pulling her briefly from the room. At the same time Phoebe burst into the room with a delighted yowl, and grinning, she announced, "She's awake!"
They all tried to go at once, but the doctors held them back. They needed time to examine her. Dr. Bliss went with them, and for a few hours, some of which they assured the others that she was restfully sleeping, her room was off limits. When they finally were allowed to go in to her, the children were more than a little excited. They came in one by one with happy grins on their faces, even Arnold, who'd been forced by his nurse to go in a wheelchair. Phoebe immediately sprang over to Helga's side and for the next few hours was determined to be Helga's slave, constantly asking her if there was anything she wanted, anywhere she hurt, anything Phoebe could do for her. Helga wasn't talking much, propped up on her pillows looking bewildered and upset, but gradually she relaxed with the others and even smiled a little. The feeling of relief in the room was so palpable that everyone was feeling a bit giddy.
They all stayed together until the doctors came and forced them out. Arnold was to be taken home and put to bed and kept there for a few days. Gerald, Phoebe and Brainy were just to leave and let Helga get some rest. They were so happily excited, though, that the adults consented to letting them have a little ice cream party in Arnold's room, while they sat in the boarding house kitchen and talked. The kids had a great time, fueled by the knowledge that their friend was okay, and was going to be okay. As he ate his ice cream, Arnold was sure that somehow everything would get better. It just had to.
A lot happened in the days, weeks and months that followed. Dr. Bliss confronted Helga and got enough of a confession to jump start a vigorous investigation into her parents' capability. The first few days she was at the hospital her life was a blur of the comings and goings of doctors and nurses, detectives and police, and lawyers and therapists. If it hadn't been for her friends coming to visit her every day (except Arnold, who was confined to bed) she might have gone insane. But she quickly recovered enough to be released. That came with a problem. Where would she go? The parents of her friends all offered to take her temporarily, but the state ordered her into a local foster home while the investigation took place.
To Helga and her friends, it seemed an eternity before the trial. After that everything happened quickly. Bob and Mirriam were convicted on three counts of child abuse and criminal negligence. They promptly lost custody of their youngest daughter. Bob was to spend up to six months in jail for assault and battery and Mirriam was checked into a local rehab center for substance abuse. They were both ordered to obtain a full psychiatric profile for the court.
Helga spent several months after the trial in the care of the local foster home, until word finally reached her sister, and she was able to wrap things up in Alaska and fly home. She was appalled to learn of the things that had taken place, and bewildered by the sudden jolt of reality and responsibility that she now faced. After evaluation and a three month trial period, Olga was given custody of her sister. She immediately started a lengthy campaign to get her parents to sign adoption papers, effectively handing her sister over to her care. She suddenly had to become mother and father to someone she had barely gotten to know growing up. But she seemed to be handling it well and was really getting into her new role. In some ways it helped in that small adjustment period that Helga had become so complacent and introverted. She didn't argue with her new guardian, and she didn't resent her. She was just alive and everyone would have to be satisfied with that.
Two months before Helga would be starting her first year at junior high, the papers were finally signed, and adoption completed. Olga promptly moved them both to Alaska. There she had a steady job and would be able to continue her education - though at a slower pace. This also gave Helga a new environment, away from her troubles and memories. Away from the torments of kids who didn't realize how monumental the change in Helga's life was. A place where she could start over. Not that she seemed to notice much.
Bob and Mirriam moved to Idaho just four months after he was released from jail. He closed down the beeper emporium and sold the house and they just disappeared. They never went back to New York again. That's why, when Olga finally finished the last of her schooling almost three years later, she didn't hesitate to accept a high profile, well paying job in New York. They moved into an apartment complex just two blocks down from their old house. By the time their parents would legally be able to come and visit them unsupervised, Helga would be old enough to handle the situation.
Those first months and years after the trial proved to be a very hard time for Helga. Olga had noted with some concern that her sister's indomitable will seemed to have just disappeared, leaving a quiet, sombre shell of a person in it's wake. Helga'd been scarred emotionally as far back as she could remember, but the sudden explosion of violence, isolation and mental instability she had experienced in those few short weeks had shattered her psyche. After she'd awakened in that hospital she'd been confused and mortified. As time went on, the confusion had given way to self loathing and the mortification to a dull, throbbing guilt. Slowly, she drew a cloak of silence and indifference about her. Nothing seemed to shake her, rock her world. She seemed almost as a soldier who has seen too much. Nothing was as bad as she had already experienced, and she was unconcerned with any of it, good or bad. Those her knew her grew increasingly concerned as time did nothing to shake her imperturbability, but could do nothing about it, and gradually came to accept it.
But Helga was inherently a fighter. She'd done battle all her life. Eventually she grew tired of her quiet, noncommittal demeanor. One day she just stopped wishing for oblivion, and decided that whether or not the bad things were her fault, she no longer wanted to walk around the zombie, not dead, but never alive. She began to piece together her fragmented psyche. It was a painfully slow process, ranging from her bad days to her good, but her bad days began to lessen, and she was beginning to learn how to deal with her life. She found her own ways to cope with her past, which often meant locking it into a corner of her mind and ignoring it - despite her therapists' repeated lectures about how that was not the way to handle pain. For the time being, it was the only way she could survive from day to day.
She changed in many ways during those years. Her personality was the most noticeable. No longer was she the grade school bully she had once been, feeling so passionately, yet hiding behind anger and secrets. Neither was she the sad, unfeeling little figure hiding in the corners as she so recently had become. It was more that she was now self reliant. She had always been slightly introverted, but now that she had come to terms of sorts with herself, that introversion helped her to walk without the emotional crutch she had leaned on her entire life. She was usually quiet, and was now content to stay in the background. But when she spoke it was with a brutal courage and honesty that few can manage. It made some admire, and it made some uncomfortable, but she was starting to earn respect, which was something she'd never had before.
The other major change was not as noticeable, though perhaps much more significant. She stopped writing. That is to say that though she wrote down assignments for school, or notes for her sister, or once in awhile answering letters to her friends, she no longer wrote from the heart. What she now wrote was strictly facts or cliches. No one could ever tell exactly what it was that she was thinking, and if she still wrote poems in her head, no one would ever know. She would put pen to paper with the slightest hint of an opinion. Everything she wrote was so ambiguous or impersonal that it was impossible to tell where she stood on any matter, though she'd tell you if you asked.
But for all the changes, good and bad, things gradually got better. She was not socially active, few people realized that she even existed, and she was close to no one. However, she seemed to have made a sort of truce with herself. Things like that didn't matter so much as how she felt inside. She began to walk with an assured air about her. Not a self-important, swaggering walk, but a walk of confidence in herself. People were beginning to notice.
In addition to making peace with herself, she also began to develop new interests, interests that her sister (mostly) approved of. She enjoyed watching performance art and listening to live music, though she staunchly refused to participate when asked. She secretly loved to hear other people recite poetry and began to read a lot more than she had in the past. She eventually took up Kendo, Japanese fencing, and found that the focus she needed to maneuver her bokken could also be used to focus the distructive thoughts and emotions she'd been experiencing for the last few years. That helped further along the healing process.
But what really counted in her recovery was her friends and her sister. If it hadn't been for their tender ministrations which seemed to stretch patiently and continually as she grew older, she might have given up. But even as she pulled away into herself and tried to cut herself off from any of them, they stuck with her, never taking her at face value when she said everything was fine and smiled a smile that didn't reach her eyes. They made the effort - even sending her letters every week while she was in Alaska, even when they didn't get a reply for months at a time - and they were gradually being rewarded as she continued to heal. When Helga and her sister moved back to New York, she got to join her friends for the last few years of school. They'd grown apart, going different ways, enjoying different things, getting together with different friends. However something held them all together as a group, something larger than just Helga. They had this bond that seemed to last when all other friendships would have moved on. This bond allowed them to grow and learn and be completely independent while somehow still claiming each one as a member of the group.
Dr. Bliss, too, returned to Helga's life briefly. She had continued on as elementary councilor after Helga's move, but they'd still kept in touch. Shortly after the Patakis had moved to Idaho, Dr. Bliss began a campaign to change the way the law dealt with battered children. Though she largely failed, she was successful in creating a sense of awareness. Eventually she began to travel, creating a program to use at elementary schools to raise awareness and inspire people to take action.
Helga, for her part, had put up a battery of walls to protect herself from the kind of damage that had nearly killed her as a child. She never did take them down, but those who made the effort found that the walls were not to high for them to climb over eventually. Those were the people who truly cared about her. These were few, but infinitely more valuable to her than she could ever have thought. She was satisfied.
She *was* satisfied.
She realized that the day of her highschool graduation. The ceremony was over, and the kids were just milling around, having their pictures taken and rejoicing that they had made it this far. Posing for a few pictures, the small group of friends and their families chatted excitedly about their futures. They would each be going to different colleges in different states. At one point Arnold looked over and realized that there was a look of apprehension on Helga's normally impassive face. Touching her hand, he smiled at her. "We made it, " he told her. "You made it. Everything's going to be great from now on."
She looked startled, then smiled gently as her sister took the last picture. She admired his optimism and even though she didn't agree with his words, she recognized the spirit behind them. Life had not always been good to her, and might not be good to her in the future. But there was hope.
For all of you who have reviewed my story thus far, thank you. I appreciate every review good and bad.
"Resolutions"
Everything was white. Too bright. He was blinded by the brightness and a haze of pain that emanated from every joint in his body. He blinked twice, trying to shake the world around him back into recognizable form. Movement attracts attention.
"....Aaarrrnnnooolllddd...."
"...Aarrnnoolldd..."
"..Arnold.."
"Hey Arnold!" It was Gerald. "Can you hear me?"
Arnold tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't open. Didn't want to. He just wanted to remain mute.
"Come on, buddy. Let us know you're okay." Gerald was right next to his head. He thought he could make out the shape. "Come on Arnold."
"...fine" His voice was a whisper forced through his teeth.
"He talked! He's gonna be okay!" Gerald was shouting to somebody. Arnold still couldn't see Gerald's face or who he was yelling to. Presently another form moved into his view.
"You had us worried little boy," He couldn't recognize the voice. "How are you feeling?"
Arnold didn't answer. The world wouldn't come into focus, and sound was slipping in and out again. It was too much. With a sigh, he sank once more into oblivion.
Light. It was always so bright. And white. Why was everything so incessantly white?
No, there was some grey. Around the edges there was some grey. Things slowly started to come into focus. A wall. The wall was what had been so white. The edges of the wall were grey.
White and grey. But it was such an accomplishment just to recognize the wall.
Turn head, slightly. A window. There was a window next to the wall. And a chair. A small grey chair, which bowed under the weight of a body. Were there more chairs, more bodies here?
What, what is that thing brushing against the bed. Hand. What is that thing brushing against the hand? Cold. Hard. Round. Touch it, grasp it. Like metal. Like steel. Grey.
Pain began to intrude, overwhelming the senses. A groan forced it way through stone lips.
The body moved.
"Are you okay, short-man?" The body was next to the bed. "Come on, speak to me!"
He gazed up at the figure speechlessly. The figure was fuzzy, blurred. Brown, mostly. Pale and brown.
He blinked. Focus. Blink.
The figure moved again, out of view for a few moments, then back again. Closer. Face to face, the figure had moved.
He stared, almost able to make out... nose... eyes.
Blink.
"Come on, Arnold. Say something. Tell me you know me."
That voice. So grating. So full of concern. Who was that voice?
Focus.
Blink.
Focus.
Don't let the world slip away again. Don't let everything go.
Blink.
**Concentrate** So kind, that face, so old. So old. Was he family? Was he... he was.
Recognition!
It was a struggle, making lips move. Forming the word was near impossible.
"...Grandpa..." He breathed, looking up at the kind old face that still didn't quite want to come into focus.
His expression shifted, forming a broad smile on the leathery face.
"There you go! I told 'em you'd be okay, short man. Now just hang tight, don't go back to sleep till I can get the doctor."
Then the figure was gone... his grandpa was gone. Replaced moments later by another figure. All white. Much fuzzier. He couldn't make out the face this time.
"Hello Arnold." The figure stood in front of him, now. Belatedly he moved his eyes, tracking the figure. The white had merged with grey now. Now was holding something grey, and... writing? "My name is Doctor Phillips. I see you've awakened again. Good."
He let the sound of the man's unfamiliar voice wash over him. He was beginning to lose most of the sounds, forgetting what they meant, not catching them all. But the voice was soothing, and he felt his body relaxing unconsciously.
The voice had stopped now. He blinked. Then he felt something poking him. Something lifting his eyelids and turning his head.
He blinked again. The voice was back now, but it wasn't talking to him. It didn't matter. It was so soothing. Soft. He was slipping again...
**blink** **blink**
**yawn**
*squint*
"Grandpa?"
The old man was by the bed in a second. "We-hell, shortman. You're awake again. Think you'll stay with us this time?"
Arnold frowned in confusion. "Stay? What are you talking about?" He shifted, trying to sit up in bed, and failing. "Oh man, what happened to me? I feel like I got hit by a *bus*!"
Phil chuckled shortly and suppressed a cough. "Well you're not too far off there."
"WHAT?!"
"You don't remember what happened, do you boy?" The look in that wizened old face was unreadable to Arnold. What was he supposed to say to make this right? To make him feel better?
He bit his lip and shook his head. The face sagged a bit, but otherwise did not change. "Don't worry your weird little head about it shortman. I'm just going to go get the doctor and he'll explain things to you. Okay? Stay awake, now." Then he was gone.
Arnold did what he was told, relaxing slightly as he waited, confusion washing over his brain. He was obviously in a hospital. He must have been in some kind of accident. He squinted at the ceiling, trying to get his thoughts to concentrate. Had he been hit by a car, or been in a wreck somehow? No, he didn't think so. He certainly felt bruised and battered, but for some reason he just kept seeing water all around him. He shook his head, clearing the images from his mind, and his grandfather entered the room, following a young doctor.
The doctor came to stand by his bed, in plain line of sight. "Well hello, Arnold. I'm glad to see you've awakened again. You look much more alert this time. How are you feeling?"
The young man's voice was soothing and put Arnold's mind at ease right away. "I've been better." he said, struggling again to sit up a little. "What happened to me? Was I in some kind of accident?"
The doctor smiled slightly, putting down his clipboard and helping Arnold adjust the bed settings. "More comfortable, Arnold?" At the boy's nod, he picked up his clipboard and paused a moment to scan some information from his sheet of paper. "Arnold, how much do you remember?"
Arnold frowned. "Not much, doctor..." Arnold paused to try to collect some of his thoughts. He kept getting flashes of thoughts and images that disappeared as quickly as the came, and he was left with a mess that was difficult to wade through. "I can almost see... water... but that's all."
The doctor nodded. "Don't worry Arnold. It's normal not to remember trauma early on. Since you are already beginning to remember details, it's likely that you will remember everything with time. To answer your question, yes you were in an accident of types. It seems a friend of yours was playing out on an old dock, and you apparently went out to stop her, and the dock gave way underneath you..."
The doctor continued on for a few moment, but Arnold ceased to hear him. "That's not what happened," he blurted, interrupting the doctor mid-sentence.
The doctor opened his mouth to speak, but was again thwarted by another voice. "He is quite correct," she said. She turned to Arnold. "I'm glad to see you awake. Are you okay?"
The doctor cleared his throat. "What is your involvement in this, miss.."
"Bliss. Dr. Bliss, actually. I'm a counselor at p.s. 118. I've been speaking with the girl, Helga, quite regularly for awhile now. Unfortunately, things are happening quicker than I thought, so I need to ask Arnold here a few questions when you are finished with your examination."
The doctor nodded and shook her hand. "Perhaps you can help me some, then. My name is Dr. Phillips. Right now we need to focus on getting Arnold to remember details of his accident. If I'm not mistaken, he already seems to remember at least what is wrong, right Arnold?"
"I remember everything, Dr. Phillips," Arnold told him solemnly.
The Doctor nodded and gestured for him to keep talking as he checked the vital signs.
"Wait," Arnold said, "How is she. Helga I mean. Is she okay?"
The adults exchanged glances. "Why don't you just tell us what happened first, Arnold." Dr. Phillips interjected.
Arnold paused, warily. That wasn't a good sign. He sighed. "I'm not sure where to start." He told them, suddenly very worried about his classmate.
Dr. Phillips looked over at Dr. Bliss, tacitly telling her to take over. She sat down by Arnold's bed and began questioning him. "Why don't you start at the beginning. When did you notice a problem with Helga?"
Arnold looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Well, um, Helga's kind of a bully. She likes to pick on people and boss them around. One day she just stopped."
"Stopped what?"
"Everything. She stopped talking to any of us, or even looking at us. She stopped being mean or rude or anything. It was kind of like someone had taken the real Helga and left a doll in her place. She just stopped."
"Why do you think she did that?"
Arnold hesitated now, weakly playing with his fingers. "Phoebe made us promise not to tell until we talked to Helga."
Dr. Bliss just nodded and blatantly skirted the issue.
"And you haven't talked to her yet?"
"No we never got the chance. We were going to talk to her, but then she never came to school. At lunch Brainy told us she was at the docks. You know the rest of that." Arnold closed his eyes, trying to block out the sudden onslaught of images that bombarded his mind.
He heard Dr. Bliss sigh softly. "Oh dear. I really do you you to tell me what happened in your own words, please."
Strange. Why? His mind was starting to drift into those images, and he suddenly felt overwhelmingly exausted.
"Arnold please, I know it's hard, but we need you to tell us."
Arnold winced, but opened his eyes and sought out his grandfather, sitting silently in the background for once. He received only and encouraging smile, and realized that this must be something important.
"Well, me and Gerald and Phoebe all went out to the docks to find her. That's when you and Brainy showed up. We saw her standing on that old dock, and yelling to her to get off, but she didn't hear, I guess. It was kind of stormy out there. Then you said she was going to jump and Brainy told me that I needed to go out and get her and bring her back."
"And then?"
"Well, I went out onto the dock and she was kind of murmuring something. I felt like the dock was going to cave in or something, so I grabbed her arm. And then she looked at me." Arnold stopped suddenly, closing his eyes again.
"What's wrong, Arnold? What aren't you telling us?" Dr. Bliss urged him to continue, but the was a strange tone to her voice.
"It's just... her eyes... they, they looked so... it was like she was already dead..." He shook his head, futiley trying to shake away the shudders that racked him.
The room was filled with silence. Arnold was too afraid to open his eyes and see their reactions, so he just kept them closed, blocking out the outside world. He cleared his throat. "She... looked at me for a minute and the she just fell. When she fell, the dock did too."
He could hear Dr. Bliss clear her throat. "Arnold, what's the last thing you remember before waking up here?"
He let his mind drift back, he could almost feel the waves crashing against him again. "I was holding onto a pole with one hand, and Helga with the other." He murmured, sleepily, "the waves were slowing down. It wasn't as hard as before. They told me," he paused, "they told me to let her go."
"Who told you Arnold?"
"The water. The voices. They kept saying to let her go and everything would be alright. I didn't want to at first, but they said that they would take care of her, she wouldn't be hurt anymore. So I let go."
"You didn't let go of Helga. When we found you, you had a death grip on her."
Arnold smiled a little. "No. I let go of the pole. They said they'd take care of us *both*."
Arnold opened his eyes a crack, looking for the disbelief he knew he'd see in the eyes of the adults. He found it in everyone except Dr. Bliss. She just nodded and wrote something down on a little pad. When she finished writing, she looked straight into Arnold's eyes with an apologetic look. "One last thing, Arnold. I know you promised Phoebe, but it is really important that we know what is going on."
Arnold sighed and looked away. "We don't know for sure, okay? But Phoebe said when she was really little, Helga's dad used to hit her sometimes. She thought maybe it was happening again."
Dr. Bliss's voice was now very carefully controlled. "Why is that Arnold?"
"Phoebe said that Helga had told her something on the phone, and then the next day she just got really angry and stopped talking to everyone. And then she had a sprained arm that day at school, when you gave us that hall pass. She just said it all fit. We were going to ask her about it first, but..."
"It's okay, Arnold. That's very helpful. Thank you."
She started to get up.
"Wait!" Arnold said, "You never told me how she was doing."
She sighed. "not as good as you, Arnold. She's still in a coma. But there's still hope that she might pull out of it."
She got up and walked out of the room, beckoning for the adults to follow. On his way out, Phil stopped at his grandson's bedside. "Don't worry, shortman, it'll be okay. Try to get some rest. I'm going to talk to the doctors for a moment, but I'll be right back."
Arnold nodded and watched his grandfather walk out the door. Then he relaxed, letting himself drift off. On the edge of his consciousness he could hear the adults talking just outside his door. "...do you think that means...?" one of the them said. "...children often personify their fears or emotions... he was in pain and scared and wanted a reason to let go... transferred these feeling to the water... wouldn't worry..." The sound slipped from his mind as he fell into a troubled sleep.
When he woke up the next day, it was to a crowd of eyes - or it seemed that way at first. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the eyes around him morphed into the figures of his grandparents, Ernie Potts, Mr. Hyunh, and Gerald. He could hear Mr. Kokashka out in the hall, loudly asking his wife, Suzie, to go and get him a drink.
Arnold smiled.
"Hey Arnold," Gerald exclaimed happily, noticing his friend was awake, "How you feeling?"
"Better than yesterday," Arnold commented dryly. "What's going on?"
"We are just here," Mr. Hyunh started with his thick accent, "to see how you are doing."
"Yeah, give us some credit, Arnold!" Ernie Potts put in, looking a bit put out.
Arnold just smiled again. "Thanks," He told them.
Just then they heard a loud crash outside the room with Mr. Kokoshka's voice rising protestingly above it. The adults all groaned and piled out into the hall to see what was going on, one of them considerately closing the door, leaving Arnold and Gerald alone for the moment.
"Man Arnold," Gerald said, pulling a chair up beside his best friend's bed. "We thought you were never going to wake up."
"How long was I out?" Arnold asked.
"Almost two days, man." Gerald said, noting his friend's shocked expression. "I mean you woke up *sometimes*, like in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, but you just fell right back unconscious, and we couldn't reach you."
"Two days," Arnold murmured in shock. "Gerald, they won't tell me much about Helga, but I gotta know, is she okay?"
Gerald shifted uncomfortably. "We don't know, Arnold. She's been in a coma this whole time. The doctors don't know if she's ever going to pull out of it."
Arnold looked upset.
"There's more," Gerald said, avoiding Arnold's eyes. "If Helga ever wakes up, they are planning on an investigation on, you know, her *parents*. They saw the injuries you got, which should have been worse than hers because of the pole, then they saw the injuries *she* had. She was bruised all over and probably worse. They wouldn't say too much in front of us, but Phoebe's pretty upset. They keep saying she was trying to kill herself, and they're thinking of locking her up if she tries it again."
"Was she?" Arnold asked thoughtfully.
"I dunno. She might have."
The adults came back into the room then, and the conversation ended. Dr. Phillips came back and told them that other than his head injury, most of Arnold's wounds were superficial, and after a day or two of observation, he'd be able to go home. The room was filled with happy chatter then.
That day, the rest of the class came to visit Arnold and Helga in the hospital. They brought cards and flowers and assorted gifts and stayed to talk for a few minutes, then went back to school. Mr. Simmons actually cried, which made everyone uncomfortable, especially when they went to Helga's room. Apparently the sight of Helga lying there on the bed so calm and unmoving, with Phoebe keeping her constant vigil at Helga's side looking as if she hadn't slept in days was more than a little disturbing. No one but Brainy stayed in the room for long. Most said hi, asked Phoebe how she was doing or set down their flowers and left. He stayed, standing quietly next to Phoebe and staring at Helga. When Mr. Simmons interrupted the quiet chatter in Arnold's room and began to round everyone up, checking Helga's room just in case, Brainy refused to go with them, and Mr. Simmons didn't have the heart to make him. He simply got everyone else together and headed back to the safety of the school.
The rest of the day passed more or less uneventfully, save for Dr. Phillip's announcement that Arnold would be released from the hospital the following day.
As that day arrived, and Arnold and his family and friend were getting packed up to check out, a sudden commotion out in the hall alerted them all that something was happening. Dr. Bliss had arrived that morning and had been talking to Arnold quietly when Dr. Phillips interrupted, pulling her briefly from the room. At the same time Phoebe burst into the room with a delighted yowl, and grinning, she announced, "She's awake!"
They all tried to go at once, but the doctors held them back. They needed time to examine her. Dr. Bliss went with them, and for a few hours, some of which they assured the others that she was restfully sleeping, her room was off limits. When they finally were allowed to go in to her, the children were more than a little excited. They came in one by one with happy grins on their faces, even Arnold, who'd been forced by his nurse to go in a wheelchair. Phoebe immediately sprang over to Helga's side and for the next few hours was determined to be Helga's slave, constantly asking her if there was anything she wanted, anywhere she hurt, anything Phoebe could do for her. Helga wasn't talking much, propped up on her pillows looking bewildered and upset, but gradually she relaxed with the others and even smiled a little. The feeling of relief in the room was so palpable that everyone was feeling a bit giddy.
They all stayed together until the doctors came and forced them out. Arnold was to be taken home and put to bed and kept there for a few days. Gerald, Phoebe and Brainy were just to leave and let Helga get some rest. They were so happily excited, though, that the adults consented to letting them have a little ice cream party in Arnold's room, while they sat in the boarding house kitchen and talked. The kids had a great time, fueled by the knowledge that their friend was okay, and was going to be okay. As he ate his ice cream, Arnold was sure that somehow everything would get better. It just had to.
A lot happened in the days, weeks and months that followed. Dr. Bliss confronted Helga and got enough of a confession to jump start a vigorous investigation into her parents' capability. The first few days she was at the hospital her life was a blur of the comings and goings of doctors and nurses, detectives and police, and lawyers and therapists. If it hadn't been for her friends coming to visit her every day (except Arnold, who was confined to bed) she might have gone insane. But she quickly recovered enough to be released. That came with a problem. Where would she go? The parents of her friends all offered to take her temporarily, but the state ordered her into a local foster home while the investigation took place.
To Helga and her friends, it seemed an eternity before the trial. After that everything happened quickly. Bob and Mirriam were convicted on three counts of child abuse and criminal negligence. They promptly lost custody of their youngest daughter. Bob was to spend up to six months in jail for assault and battery and Mirriam was checked into a local rehab center for substance abuse. They were both ordered to obtain a full psychiatric profile for the court.
Helga spent several months after the trial in the care of the local foster home, until word finally reached her sister, and she was able to wrap things up in Alaska and fly home. She was appalled to learn of the things that had taken place, and bewildered by the sudden jolt of reality and responsibility that she now faced. After evaluation and a three month trial period, Olga was given custody of her sister. She immediately started a lengthy campaign to get her parents to sign adoption papers, effectively handing her sister over to her care. She suddenly had to become mother and father to someone she had barely gotten to know growing up. But she seemed to be handling it well and was really getting into her new role. In some ways it helped in that small adjustment period that Helga had become so complacent and introverted. She didn't argue with her new guardian, and she didn't resent her. She was just alive and everyone would have to be satisfied with that.
Two months before Helga would be starting her first year at junior high, the papers were finally signed, and adoption completed. Olga promptly moved them both to Alaska. There she had a steady job and would be able to continue her education - though at a slower pace. This also gave Helga a new environment, away from her troubles and memories. Away from the torments of kids who didn't realize how monumental the change in Helga's life was. A place where she could start over. Not that she seemed to notice much.
Bob and Mirriam moved to Idaho just four months after he was released from jail. He closed down the beeper emporium and sold the house and they just disappeared. They never went back to New York again. That's why, when Olga finally finished the last of her schooling almost three years later, she didn't hesitate to accept a high profile, well paying job in New York. They moved into an apartment complex just two blocks down from their old house. By the time their parents would legally be able to come and visit them unsupervised, Helga would be old enough to handle the situation.
Those first months and years after the trial proved to be a very hard time for Helga. Olga had noted with some concern that her sister's indomitable will seemed to have just disappeared, leaving a quiet, sombre shell of a person in it's wake. Helga'd been scarred emotionally as far back as she could remember, but the sudden explosion of violence, isolation and mental instability she had experienced in those few short weeks had shattered her psyche. After she'd awakened in that hospital she'd been confused and mortified. As time went on, the confusion had given way to self loathing and the mortification to a dull, throbbing guilt. Slowly, she drew a cloak of silence and indifference about her. Nothing seemed to shake her, rock her world. She seemed almost as a soldier who has seen too much. Nothing was as bad as she had already experienced, and she was unconcerned with any of it, good or bad. Those her knew her grew increasingly concerned as time did nothing to shake her imperturbability, but could do nothing about it, and gradually came to accept it.
But Helga was inherently a fighter. She'd done battle all her life. Eventually she grew tired of her quiet, noncommittal demeanor. One day she just stopped wishing for oblivion, and decided that whether or not the bad things were her fault, she no longer wanted to walk around the zombie, not dead, but never alive. She began to piece together her fragmented psyche. It was a painfully slow process, ranging from her bad days to her good, but her bad days began to lessen, and she was beginning to learn how to deal with her life. She found her own ways to cope with her past, which often meant locking it into a corner of her mind and ignoring it - despite her therapists' repeated lectures about how that was not the way to handle pain. For the time being, it was the only way she could survive from day to day.
She changed in many ways during those years. Her personality was the most noticeable. No longer was she the grade school bully she had once been, feeling so passionately, yet hiding behind anger and secrets. Neither was she the sad, unfeeling little figure hiding in the corners as she so recently had become. It was more that she was now self reliant. She had always been slightly introverted, but now that she had come to terms of sorts with herself, that introversion helped her to walk without the emotional crutch she had leaned on her entire life. She was usually quiet, and was now content to stay in the background. But when she spoke it was with a brutal courage and honesty that few can manage. It made some admire, and it made some uncomfortable, but she was starting to earn respect, which was something she'd never had before.
The other major change was not as noticeable, though perhaps much more significant. She stopped writing. That is to say that though she wrote down assignments for school, or notes for her sister, or once in awhile answering letters to her friends, she no longer wrote from the heart. What she now wrote was strictly facts or cliches. No one could ever tell exactly what it was that she was thinking, and if she still wrote poems in her head, no one would ever know. She would put pen to paper with the slightest hint of an opinion. Everything she wrote was so ambiguous or impersonal that it was impossible to tell where she stood on any matter, though she'd tell you if you asked.
But for all the changes, good and bad, things gradually got better. She was not socially active, few people realized that she even existed, and she was close to no one. However, she seemed to have made a sort of truce with herself. Things like that didn't matter so much as how she felt inside. She began to walk with an assured air about her. Not a self-important, swaggering walk, but a walk of confidence in herself. People were beginning to notice.
In addition to making peace with herself, she also began to develop new interests, interests that her sister (mostly) approved of. She enjoyed watching performance art and listening to live music, though she staunchly refused to participate when asked. She secretly loved to hear other people recite poetry and began to read a lot more than she had in the past. She eventually took up Kendo, Japanese fencing, and found that the focus she needed to maneuver her bokken could also be used to focus the distructive thoughts and emotions she'd been experiencing for the last few years. That helped further along the healing process.
But what really counted in her recovery was her friends and her sister. If it hadn't been for their tender ministrations which seemed to stretch patiently and continually as she grew older, she might have given up. But even as she pulled away into herself and tried to cut herself off from any of them, they stuck with her, never taking her at face value when she said everything was fine and smiled a smile that didn't reach her eyes. They made the effort - even sending her letters every week while she was in Alaska, even when they didn't get a reply for months at a time - and they were gradually being rewarded as she continued to heal. When Helga and her sister moved back to New York, she got to join her friends for the last few years of school. They'd grown apart, going different ways, enjoying different things, getting together with different friends. However something held them all together as a group, something larger than just Helga. They had this bond that seemed to last when all other friendships would have moved on. This bond allowed them to grow and learn and be completely independent while somehow still claiming each one as a member of the group.
Dr. Bliss, too, returned to Helga's life briefly. She had continued on as elementary councilor after Helga's move, but they'd still kept in touch. Shortly after the Patakis had moved to Idaho, Dr. Bliss began a campaign to change the way the law dealt with battered children. Though she largely failed, she was successful in creating a sense of awareness. Eventually she began to travel, creating a program to use at elementary schools to raise awareness and inspire people to take action.
Helga, for her part, had put up a battery of walls to protect herself from the kind of damage that had nearly killed her as a child. She never did take them down, but those who made the effort found that the walls were not to high for them to climb over eventually. Those were the people who truly cared about her. These were few, but infinitely more valuable to her than she could ever have thought. She was satisfied.
She *was* satisfied.
She realized that the day of her highschool graduation. The ceremony was over, and the kids were just milling around, having their pictures taken and rejoicing that they had made it this far. Posing for a few pictures, the small group of friends and their families chatted excitedly about their futures. They would each be going to different colleges in different states. At one point Arnold looked over and realized that there was a look of apprehension on Helga's normally impassive face. Touching her hand, he smiled at her. "We made it, " he told her. "You made it. Everything's going to be great from now on."
She looked startled, then smiled gently as her sister took the last picture. She admired his optimism and even though she didn't agree with his words, she recognized the spirit behind them. Life had not always been good to her, and might not be good to her in the future. But there was hope.