He's Gone
By Cybra
A/N: Due to popular demand, I have decided to continue "He's Gone". :::listens as crickets chirp::: Thanks a bunch.
Special Notes: One reviewer last time told me that Hey Arnold! was created back in 1996. I do not deny this. However, I have a firm belief that the school year started in 1996. Therefore, the date on which Arnold died would be the latter half of the school year which would make it 1997. Sorry if that was misunderstood. Also, when Helga says "you" when addressing God, I have it purposely capitalized. After all, when something refers to God, it's always capitalized as far as I understand.
Disclaimer: Hey Arnold! is Craig's. I mean, if Craig wrote this story, Hey Arnold! would be over, right?
Helga
I hate You, God!
Why?! Why did You take him away?!
He did nothing wrong!
He was so kind, so giving!
Isn't he the kind of person that what you want in this world?!
Why didn't you take somebody else?! Somebody who deserved to die?!
Arnold didn't deserve it!
Why did You take away my guiding light?!
Arnold was my friend, the fixation of my passion, my muse, and possibly my future husband!
And You, God, took him away.
How could You?
I'll never forget the way he smiled, radiant like sunshine. His walk was smooth, unhurried, like a lazy stream. His hair was a color blonde that I constantly thought of as fine-spun gold thread. His eyes were bottomless emerald pools I could lose myself in. His gentle voice could charm any bird from the trees. (I sometimes thought that the birds sang only for him.)
You put so much work into him…
…so why did You kill him?!
What sin did he commit that made it seem like he had to die?!
Oh, sure, he wasn't always a perfect angel…
…but he came close enough!
Was it a whim? Just to see what his friends would do after he died?
Or was it an accident? A small oversight that You didn't notice until it was too late?
What was the reason?!
Well, it was quite a funeral, I'll tell You. I've never seen all of Arnold's family, his mother's side and his father's side, but thanks to You, I got to meet them as we all mourned his death.
His Great Grandpa Mackintosh (though he likes being called "Grandpa Mac"; he's from Arnold's mother's side) even flew in from Scotland in order to play the bagpipes. There wasn't a dry eye after he finished playing "Loch Lomond" and most definitely not after playing "Amazing Grace".
And to see that big ninety-nine year-old man who could easily snap anyone in two cry made me cry even harder.
Thanks to You, I now know that, yes, Arnold was part Scottish.
I pick the lock on the window of his room leading to the fire escape. I don't care if I'm caught. I just want to sit inside his room for a minute, look around at all his things.
I slip inside and close the window after me.
It's all so familiar…
It's almost as if he's only off on a vacation or something. Nothing has been moved since the day he died. Someone must be dusting up here since not one speck of dust has landed on anything.
I sit down in the middle of the floor and just bawl.
"Oh Traitorous Fate, why did you take him from me?! Why take away my reason for waking up in the morning?! Why punish him for a sin that I myself must've committed?! He cared so deeply for all! He deserved to live beyond one hundred!"
I pause as I nearly choke on a sob. I'm surprised nobody's come up to investigate yet.
"And yet, he was the one to die: Arnold. The one who had hardly a harsh word for anyone, even someone who taunted him and teased him like me."
I bury my face in my hands before I reach into my dress and pull out my locket. There my beloved's picture smiles back at me, but it's not the same. The likeness is only a facsimile. Nothing can truly capture what he was.
I hate You, God!
I hate You for cutting his life short!
And therefore I hate You for taking away my hopes and dreams!
"Alas, my love! This life is too painful to continue! Perhaps if I – !"
"Please don't."
That quietly pleading voice is his. I'd know his voice anywhere. His voice I could pick out in a crowd of millions. No one else has a voice like –
"Arnold!"
And there he is sitting there on his bed, wringing his hands like he's always done when he's extremely worried! His eyes are half-closed as he leans towards me, his amazing green eyes shining with worry…
…for me.
I quickly take in a breath. He's here! He's here! He's…
…different!
I now notice that he's not the same as I've always known him. His mannerisms are the same, but his body is wrong. His features are far softer than they normally were, as soft as the moonlight…
Wait a minute.
I look up and see the moon shining above us. I look down at the ground and see only one shadow: my own.
God, what kinda trick is this?!
"Please don't…" he pleads again. "Don't tell me I killed somebody else when I died. I wouldn't be able to stand myself."
He's a figment of my imagination. He has to be. There's no other reason for this.
"You're not really here," I whisper hoarsely around the lump in my throat. I let my tears continue to flow freely as I tell him, "You're just an illusion."
"No. I'm not. I'm here. I'm just…not what I used to be."
"Then…you're an angel?"
I always knew he was an angel, but now he really is one straight from Heaven to –
"No. I'm not."
I gulp. If he's not an angel, does that mean he went…?!
God, that wasn't fair!
"I'm not from…you know…either."
I sigh with relief.
Okay, You're a little off the hook now…
…but I still hate You for killing him.
"Then…what are you?"
I know I'm still crying, but I don't want to wipe away the tears. I'm kinda proud of them. I'm finally showing him the sweet, sensitive girl I hid from him while he was alive…
I choke on a new sob, but I don't let it get away. I need to hear what he is.
"Well…I'm a ghost. I haven't crossed over yet."
I stare. "Why?"
He gives me that kind, wise smile he always gave us when we were scared. I half-expect him to tell me "Do not be afraid" like in all those Bible stories.
"I can't. I have unfinished business."
"What kind of unfinished business?"
He rises from his seat and walks silently over to me; his steps don't make a sound. He kneels beside me and looks me in the eyes.
He's softly glowing, just like the moonlight. He puts just a little more light on me when he walks over to me.
I reach out to touch him. I feel warmth – the warmth I've always felt around him – but there's nothing else, no substance beneath my touch.
There is only moonlight.
"I can't leave. Not yet. I need to know…"
He falters, as if he's not sure what to tell me. I wait for him to continue, gazing longingly at him. He must know this is painful for me but still felt that he needed to show himself to me.
Ah, my beloved! As always, you pull me from my own clutches when I'm ready to harm myself!
"I need to know if you all can manage without me. I need to see if you all can move on and succeed. That need…holds me here."
"Here?"
I look around the room in shocked amazement. He'll be stuck in this room for the rest of eternity?!
"In the boardinghouse. I can also go to PS 118. I guess it's because I died there." He gives a little shrug. "However, I just picture myself there, and I'm there. I can leave the buildings, but I can't walk to everyone's houses on my way from one place to the other. I'm limited to the property lines of the school and the boardinghouse."
He's stuck. He wants to help us, but he can't. He's trapped in his own home and in the school.
What an afterlife!
I hate You for doing this to him!
"And you can never leave the school or here?"
"Not until I know you guys are getting along fine without me."
In a way, it's nice to know he'll always be here…
…but the price is far too great.
Something occurs to me, and I actually smile.
"I can come back at night," I offer. "I can tell you what's going on with the gang outside of school."
His eyes lose a bit of their sadness. "You don't have to…"
"Arnold, I want to."
He smiles at me, that radiant smile making the moonlight he seems to be made of glow a little more brightly. "I can never thank you enough…"
I smile back at him, then I frown sadly. I look down at the Arnold locket in my hand. I finger it.
He follows my gaze. "I figured you'd gotten it back. Still don't know how you got it, though."
My head snaps up at him. "You knew?!"
"I was able to read the inscription before the lights went out." A small smile lights on his ethereal lips. "Besides, a little bird told me."
"A little bird?"
I'm confused. What "little bird"? Unless…
I inwardly growl. Phoebe. It has to be. When I get my hands on her – !
Suddenly, he speaks again, putting a hand to his chin. "Now how did that bird put it again? Oh, yeah." He clears his throat and closes his eyes.
He recites this:
Arnold, my love, my sultry preteen,
Why must I hold you only whilst I dream?
Will I be forever enslaved by your spell?
Why must I worship you and never ever tell?
Oh, God! Please don't tell me…!
Arnold, you make my girlhood tremble,
My senses all go wacky.
Someday I'll tell the world, my love,
Or my name's not…
He pauses and looks me in the eye. "…Helga G. Pataki."
All the lies, all the secrets, all the lost chances…
…and he already knew!
"Why didn't you tell me?!" I demand.
He gives me a serious look. "Helga, what could I say to you when you walked up to the door on that day looking for your 'pair of roller skates'?" He makes quotation marks with his fingers around the last part as he rolls his eyes. "I couldn't just say, 'Hey, Helga! Here's your parrot! By the way, he blabbed your little secret that you're actually in love with me. That's not a problem, is it?' I didn't think you'd be able to stand it. So I pretended I didn't have a clue."
"I could've lied and said that somebody must've taught it that poem in order to freak you out…" I say, staring straight into those unearthly eyes of his.
"I know, but I wouldn't have believed you. Before you rang the doorbell, I pulled out that pink book and compared your handwriting from my yearbook with the handwriting in the pink book. Perfect match." He looks at me seriously yet kindly. "That's why you tore out the last page, isn't it? You signed your name, didn't you?"
I nod slowly. "So you knew all this time, but you didn't tell me…"
"I wanted you to say it yourself. I had a feeling you weren't ready, so I didn't want to push you."
Oh, Arnold! So caring! So kind!
I smile softly at him. "Thanks, Arnold…"
He simply nods. "I need to go, Helga. Being visible isn't as easy as it looks. I'm still getting the hang of it."
"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow. Same time, same place?"
He nods, then chuckles. "And you might see me around school. Check the shadows every so often. Phoebe did after the funeral when I spoke to her and saw me."
"It figures." I smile again.
I stand to go, and he stands as well. However, he's not going anywhere.
"Hey, Arnold?" I ask suddenly.
"What?"
"What do you think of me…? I mean, do you…?"
I don't finish. He knows the rest of my question.
He gives me a sad look. "Maybe I could've. Maybe some part of me does. But I do love you as a close friend, Helga, believe it or not. However, I don't really think we could have any sort of romantic relationship. It really wouldn't work."
I give him a sad look back. I want to hold him in my arms and kiss him goodbye, but I can't.
He's right.
A romantic relationship between us is impossible now…
…especially since one day he'll cross over.
And I know that long distance relationships never work.
Still…thank You, God. Thank You for letting me still have some time with him…
…And I'm sorry for being so angry earlier.
"Au revoir, Arnold," I whisper in a French accent that I know doesn't sound very realistic as I exit his window. However, I know that he probably won't catch the reference.
As I lock the window behind me, I glance back to see him fade back into the moonlight he'd created his "body" from.
His voice whispers in my ear, "Au revoir…Cecile."
Musical Inspiration:
"Love Theme from Attack of the Clones" by John Williams from the Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones soundtrack