Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold, or anything else that I've mentioned.
Summary: Helga, never imagined that one rash decision at a party, would turn her life completely on its head six years later, and leave her in a twisted web of secrets, lies and deceit. The skeletons are coming out. For Hillwood, it's the crime of the century. A love/crime/triangle drama! R&R!
A/N: Hello everybody. A good bit of Helga/Arnold interaction in this one. Took a break from the overall mystery to focus a bit on their relationship. Enjoy, or don't? Lol.
Act like I know what I want,
But I don't know at all.
Helga was right, Hunter did get a little heavy after awhile, and she absolutely loved her little bouncer. As much as a one and a half month old could love anything, but she was content none-the-less, eventually falling fast asleep. Arnold kept an adoring eye on her as he fiddled with his electronic possessions, and sifted through his personal things amongst them, including their bank accounts. He didn't know why he looked, perhaps because the tab was still among his frequently used on his homepage, and perhaps part of him was looking for something else to be angry with Helga about whether it made sense or not.
He had figured his logins would have no longer worked, but to his surprise they did, and to his even further astonishment, their joint accounts were still active. He had been sure she would have already blocked him from anything he could have claimed as partly his. While it seemed hopeful, it was more likely that she hadn't bothered simply because she just hadn't viewed him as any sort of threat to her once she'd de-funded his legal counsel.
He sat back in the chair, crossing his arms while he glanced down at the bouncer, watching Hunter snooze for a moment. Looking back at the laptop screen, he shook his head, closed the screen and rose from the chair, choosing to walk over to the closet and investigate the situation with all of his clothes.
It appeared to be everything that had come out of their shared closet, which left him curious to know where his dresser items had ended up. Perhaps they had been done away with and she had just never gotten around to throwing out three dozen collard shirts and sets of scrubs. Out of the corner of his eyes he caught sight of his old globe paperweight laying on the floor. He stepped over and picked the gold brass trinket from the floor, eye catching sight of a knick in the wood paneling wall behind it.
A curious place for it to be, but he could only speculate it had been thrown, resulting in that fresh wood chip he ran his finger tips over. He turned back to the desk, imagining Helga to have been the only possible one to have thrown it. Had it been a fit of anger? Frustration? Denial?
Hurt?
He quietly sat the object back in its rightful place on the desk, giving the room one last look over before hoisting up the baby clad bouncer and moving to the door, intending to go investigate the whereabouts—if any—of his remaining clothes. He could have asked and saved himself the trouble, but he just didn't want to.
It defied logic to want to be angry, but he still very much felt like he'd been robbed of the ability to fully express his emotions for far longer than was probably healthy. In a weird sort of way, it felt good to be openly angry. It offered a much needed reprieve to all the numbness that had taken him over.
Gently, Arnold placed the bouncer down in the hallway, creating a central location to keep an alert ear out for her while he wandered from room to room. All of the pictures of them were gone, leaving stray nails abandoned on the walls. Hunter's nursery was gorgeous. He had to hand it to Helga, she did have an eye for decor, despite her always insisting that she were no good at it.
The smallest spurt of excitement sprung through the blackness of his anger as he suddenly felt a longing to see what she would do with the rest of their house when she got around to it. It might have been the most normal thought he'd had in almost a year. Regretfully it latched onto his ever crumbling emotional state, making his glassy red eyes again prickle with sorrow.
He walked away, peeking into the other rooms, finding them empty, just like they had been when he left. Besides their one designated guest room. The closet was empty and so were the few dresser drawers he slid open in search of his clothes.
With a dejected sigh he wandered back out of that room and over towards the master bedroom, finding himself pausing at the door threshold. He'd walked into that room a thousand times, but now it suddenly felt intrusive to do so. Like he didn't belong. Though he supposed he really didn't anymore. She'd made it very clear that it was her house.
And he supposed, technically it was.
The thought pushed a wave of bitterness through the ocean of anger he was bobbing in.
He stepped in anyway, not choosing to linger but instead walking straight to his old dresser. Drawer after drawer he found his socks, boxers, t-shirts, sweatpants, shorts, and jeans. All of his items exactly the way he had left them all those months ago.
With a nonplussed expression, he walked away and sat down on the corner of the bed, a muscle memory action that he'd done countless times after an exhausting hospital shift. The day had so quickly gone from excitement and relief to being mentally and emotionally draining for him. So much so that he suddenly felt overwhelming fatigued clawing at him.
He had no idea what to make of anything. He also had no idea how long he sat there with his head in his hands, puzzling out over her contradictory actions before his ears finally tickled with the ring of their doorbell. Pulling his head up from his hands, he gazed at the doorway, trying to hear who it was. When he couldn't he slid from the bed and walked into the hallway, picking up the bouncer, preparing to head down when he heard a set of heavy feet ascending the staircase.
Arnold had walked back to the office door when he saw Gearld poke his head around the corner, instantly smiling wide when he caught sight of his oldest and dearest friend. The blonde's face instantly lit up, "My man!" Gerald greeted as he closed the distance between the two, Arnold setting his baby down in order to engulf his friend in the largest bear hug. "I missed you, brother."
"I was beginning to think I'd never see you again without plexiglass in the way," He made a half hearted attempt at a small joke before pulling back.
"Orange wasn't really your color anyhow." He watched as Gerald's smile faded a touch as he really looked him over, "All that removed…you still don't look like yourself though. What the hell were they doing to you in there?" His friend remarked, his inspecting gaze turning frustrated the more he observed. Besides the weight loss Arnold knew he looked more worn and aged with stress.
But he merely shook his head, waving away his friend's concerns as he re-hoisted the bouncer, "It wasn't a picnic," as he ushered his friend into the office. "I thought you weren't going to be back until tomorrow?" He looked back he led them over to the small couch on the far wall, underneath the windows that over looked the back yard.
"I took some personal leave," Gerald explained, referring to his cancelled work trip, "I had to come see you in the flesh. Make sure this was real," He smiled as they sank into the sofa, just like they had many times before.
Arnold smiled back, holding his hands out for a second saying, "In the flesh. Until they come haul me away for something else I suppose," He trailed off with a sardonic chuckle.
Gerald frowned, "You'd think they've already gotten enough egg in their face as it is."
"One would think," Arnold popped his eyebrows in agreement, but still kept his skeptical tone.
"Everything alright man? You seem kind of down," Gerald asked, peering at his friend a little more closely. Arnold wondered if he could tell that he'd been crying. His eyes felt so swollen that he was sure they had to be very noticeably red at the very least.
"Yeah, I'm just tired and…a little overwhelmed with everything," He replied, running his hand through his hair, suddenly being reminded of how a decent haircut would be on the agenda the following day.
"I hear ya…" Gerald nodded, eyes falling to the sleeping Hunter, cozy in the bouncer. Leaning over he tickled her sock clad foot with his index and thumb, "Whatcha think about this little girl?"
Arnold noticeably brightened, a smile stretching across his face as his eyes, so dim with tiredness began to sparkle. "Amazing," He said, his voice sounding a bit breathless, "I can't believe she's here. It's the best feeling ever."
His friend smirked up at him, "And before you know it they're walking, talking, testing your patience and you'll love every minute of it."
"I'm looking forward to it. You have no idea."
"I know," Gerald leaned back from Hunter and into the couch, his eyes darting around the room for a moment, "You setting up shop in here?"
"Uh…no," Arnold followed his friends yes before shaking his head, "Helga threw a bunch of my clothes in the closet at some point I guess."
His friend's eyebrows popped once, "You're lucky that's all she did."
"Yeah…no kidding."
"She being…nice with you?" Gerald asked, his voice taking on an air of delicacy. He wasn't sure what to make of their relationship and hadn't had the heart to ask as of late. He knew they were communicating but wasn't privy to what terms.
"She's Helga," Arnold replied rather flatly, "We'll see how all this goes."
Gerald nodded, taking that to mean things were still frigid but maybe not hopeless, "Well, let me know if…staying here doesn't end up working out." He offered his friend an option, though he doubted it would be seriously considered—no matter how hostile the environment became—because he knew Arnold wouldn't want to be separated from his baby any longer than he already had been.
"I will."
"So, you have any plans tomorrow?"
Arnold inhaled before shaking his head, silently thankful Gerald had moved on to less prickly topics, "No. Other than going and getting my haircut in the morning."
"You want to grab some lunch with me?"
"Yeah, we can do that."
"Nacho Taco then?" Gerald smiled.
"God I've missed some Nacho Taco," Arnold smirked back, a bit of joy coursing through him at the thought of getting to eat good food again.
"Yeah, and I'm sure they've seen a big revenue drop since you've been gone too," Gerald teased back. "I have no plans tomorrow. Just hit me up whenever you're done. Or…do you even have a phone at this point?"
Arnold nodded, still amazed by that himself, "Yeah, she never turned it off." Gerald looked at him strangely, "Bananas right? She was determined that Hunter would never know I existed, but…was still paying for my cell phone." He rolled his eyes.
Gerald exhaled, feeling his own irritations with Helga begin to smolder again. He chose to smother them down, opting to adopt a glass half full approach for his friend, "Well, as maddening as it is, just be thankful you do have all of your belongings. She could have done a lot more damage. Frankly I'm surprised she didn't."
"She…did her damage where it counted the most," Arnold replied in a quieter voice, not really wanting to get dragged down to that subject again, yet understanding that Gerald had no knowledge of what had transpired between him and Helga downstairs. And really he only had himself to blame for the continued focus on the topic. A simple 'Yes' or 'No' to Gerald's question about his phone would have sufficed.
"Sorry man," Gerald sighed.
The tiniest wail had Arnold's eyes cutting to Hunter before he could reply to his friend's sympathies. The baby squirmed in discontent in the bouncer as he leaned over and hoisted her up onto his chest as he'd done before. She didn't seem overly interested in being cuddled, continuing to squirm and cry out.
"Uh oh. I know that cry. Sounds like somebody is getting hungry…" Gerald wisely speculated before taking the opportunity to push off the couch and to his feet. "I'll get out of here. I just wanted to stop by real quick."
"You don't have to go," Arnold rose to his feet.
"I know you want to spend time with her," He turned to leave, "I'll see you tomorrow anyway."
"Thanks man," He followed Gerald out of the room, "Are you getting hungry?" Arnold murmured in a low voice to the whining infant, striding down the hallway to descend the stairs. "I'm super stoked about lunch tomorrow. And a hair cut," He chuckled, "Imagine being excited about such mundane things."
Gerald smirked, "Man it's going to be the best damn fade and California burrito of your life," he joked as he opened the door.
"My body is ready," Arnold chortled again before, "I'll see you tomorrow."
"You know it." Gerald stepped out onto the porch, "Have a good night and again, welcome home!"
"Thanks! Have a good night!" Arnold bid his farewell before closing the door with a shiver and striding back down the hallway, looking for Helga.
He found her in the kitchen, her back turned, facing the stove top, appearing to be adjusting the gas burner while something sizzled loudly in the pan. He got hit by the most wonderful scent of Italian sausage and roasted red peppers, and by the looks of everything she had out, she was making that pasta they liked. She spun around the second she heard Hunter cry out again, casting Arnold a slightly alarmed look.
"I think she's hungry maybe?" He left a dangling question at the end, cooling his animosity towards her but his tone lacking any warmth.
Helga glanced over at the wall oven clock before nodding in agreement with his speculation, "Probably so. Gerald leave?"
"Yeah he did. Is it something I can help with or…?" Arnold glanced down at the fussy baby, not even noticing that Helga was already moving to the fridge to remove a milk pack for a bottle. He remembered her mentioning in the hospital about an issue with her latching but had heard no more about it.
"You can," She replied, stirring his eyes up to her as she placed the bottle in the warmer and set the timer. "Breastfeeding was kind of for the birds." She remarked. She'd tried to make it work, but ultimately just couldn't get into a swing with it. Though she wouldn't mind giving it another shot should she ever have more children.
In the two minutes and fifteen seconds it took for the bottle to warm, neither said a word to one another. Helga choosing to refocus her attention to the ground sausage she was browning and Arnold to swaying Hunter around in a fruitless attempt to soothe her until her bottle arrived.
They both silently breathed a sigh of relief when the warmer finally beeped and Helga handed off the bottle to him. Shifting Hunter into the crook of his arm he tipped the bottle down to her grateful mouth. "Burp her halfway or she'll spit up," She instructed.
Arnold nodded as he retreated to the living room, not wanting to stand around in anymore of that awkward silence if he could absolutely help it.
Something Helga was grateful for, instantly feeling the tension recede as soon as he left her line of sight. That level of tension was going to get old very quickly but she had absolutely no idea what to do about it. He was angry, he had a right to be. She was angry too, and she had a right to be.
Evening
"Dinners ready," Helga called from the threshold of the kitchen before wandering over to the connected dinning area where she'd already sat him a plate of bolognese out with a salad, some French bread and a glass of Cabernet should he choose to indulge.
She certainly was. Lord knew she needed something to take the edge off, as much as she loathed the idea of needing alcohol.
She slid into the chair across from his as he walked in, tired green eyes surveying the spread before falling into his own chair. As Helga picked up her fork, she watched as he slid his arm onto the table and around his plate, almost protectively hunched as he grabbed his fork and started eating, and eating fast.
He'd nearly finished half his plate before she'd even had time to get a few fork fulls of pasta in her mouth. Sure, she understood that that was probably the first good meal he'd eaten in months, but what she couldn't recall was a time she'd ever seen him eat with such aggression and…fearfulness. It intrigued her to the point where she could scarcely take her eyes off of him. Mostly because she suddenly realized how much it reminded her of how food aggressive the boys were at feeding time. Something she always blamed on their rough start to life, being abandoned and starved as puppies.
Yet, it did make her wonder if perhaps the man that went into prison, was not the same one that had come out.
Of course he wasn't the same man. The man that had gotten ripped from her grasp in the airport had never snapped, had never been threatening, had never been hateful or aggressive. But that man had been unknowingly manipulative the entire time, so perhaps this was simply a side of him previously unknown to her too.
He finished his pasta and moved to his bowl of salad without skipping a beat, and she wondered if he was even chewing anything he was inhaling it so fast. He never touched his wine, but once he'd finished with the salad, he downed his glass of water and gathered all of his dishes, minus the wine glass. "That was good. Thanks." He told her as he carried all of the items to the kitchen and put them in the dishwasher.
Helga curiously watched him until he disappeared back into the living room to which she heard creaking as he ascended the stairs. She sat her fork down as she finished chewing, bringing her wine to her lips for long gulp while leaning back in her chair.
Who was that?
Night
"No" Sid vehemently told himself and continued walking on, digging his hands into his jacket pocket in search of his keys. He was growing ever more frustrated with himself for getting hung up on something that was so outlandish that it was threatening independent observation.
Finding his keys he unlocked his truck and climbed in, hurriedly flipping on the heat but not making any attempt to leave just yet. He took a deep breath, vowing that he would step back and categorize this as what it should be: an incredible coincidence.
But, in his experienced mind, he knew that true coincidences happened much less frequently than most would realize. Still…the idea that this guy was Doctor Death was borderline laughable.
The little one was to bed, and according to Helga, she'd stay that way for probably about five hours tops. While she snoozed in her bassinet in the master bedroom, Arnold opted to grab a shower, slinking into the master bath after getting some reluctant permission from Helga.
But he hated the upstairs guest bath. It was old, not very comfortable, and hadn't been touched yet in their remodeling quest and she seemed to sympathize with his want to avoid it.
It appeared that she had tossed all of his bath items from the shower, yet upon his investigation of the vanity cabinet beneath his sink, appeared to have forgotten his replacement items. He grabbed a new bottle of body wash and shampoo and sat them on his old shower shelf before flipping on the water to warm.
He quickly stripped down, folding his used clothes neatly on the corner of the vanity before stepping into the tiled, built in shower. The waterfall of hot water hit him, and he stood there, letting it flow over him as he relished in its heated scorch. It was probably a little too hot but he didn't care. It had been months—months—since he'd had anything more than a hurried luke-warm scrub in a cold stainless steel box.
End of January
"Brooke Stover twenty, Jennifer Hart twenty-two…Jennifer Ford nineteen and Stacey Ledger twenty-eight…" The coroner laid out a photo of each girl with their dental x-rays sheets, "All four reported missing from Snohomish county."
Sid frowned as he stared at each girl. Each looking very similar to the other, blonde hair, blue or green eyes, and all looking very close in age despite their actual age differences. There had been some variation between some of the girls but for the most part, there was a definite type.
"The only thing different about these versus the other is these girls…" The coroner grabbed another X-ray sheet and clipped it to the light board, "Were shot to death."
Sid's brooding brow bunched together in puzzlement as he stared at florescent scan, "Shot?"
The coroner nodded, "In the head. Each one of them."
"Any fragments?"
"A few. Probably a nine millimeter caliber."
A spin through the national missing database revealed that each one of them had been picked up at least once for being sex workers, among other minor offenses.
"Kind of feels like we're dealing with another green river killer," Jeremy compared, as he leaned in on Sid's computer. "Except on steroids."
Sid shrugged, not seeing much similarity other than the prey, "Unfortunately working girls are easy targets for a lot of nut bags. This guy is no different. What about these girls made him want to change his method of death?"
Jeremy deliberated for a moment before replying with, "His target probably."
"Mike and Arnold weren't gun owners," Sid replied, his voice misty with realization.
"So…who he's hunting in snohomish…?" When Sid dragged his eyes from the screen to his partner for a curious look, Jeremy cleared his throat, "He hunts in one county at a time."
Sid sighed, "Makes sense. I think he's been using the orchard for temporary storage for awhile. Don thinks so too."
"Okay so let's look into missing women in Snohomish in the age range we know he targets and see if—"
"Anybody looks interesting in their lives."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"We could also look into stolen nine millimeter reports for all counties," Jeremy suggested.
Sid nodded, "Wouldn't hurt, but I suspect that if—if—he's using a weapon stolen from a potential target, they probably don't even know it's missing."
Early February
They had managed to stay out of each others way for the most part. Rarely speaking to one another unless necessary. He proved to be a big help, choosing to spend his days making up for lost time with Hunter, which freed up Helga to get a lot of much needed work done. The resuming of some normalcy in her work schedule was comforting to her, and provided a shelter from the tension between them that seemed to thicken by the day.
Hourly on some days.
And though she had chosen to throw herself back into her business as a means of escape. It didn't mean she didn't quietly continue to observe this new man in her house. He'd moved his belongings into the furnished guest room. From there he seemed to operate on some new rigid schedule. He ate fast, he said little, and he paced a lot while carrying a general defensiveness about him that made him more and more uncomfortable to be around. He paced around the house, around the yard, down their winding driveway, as if he were restlessly waiting for something.
Sleep seemed to not carry much importance to him and he seemed to roam around at random during the night, often times to the distress of their crated dogs whose whimpers and whines over subtle creaks downstairs often woke her.
For Helga, it was maddening. She appreciated the help he provided with their child, but her patience was thinning with the constant frost between them. She had little—if any—intention of thawing their relations, but that didn't mean she wanted to live within that frigid atmosphere on a daily basis.
For Arnold it was a matter of trying to cope with an overwhelming bout of anxiety that left him in a perpetual state of unrest. He was having a hard time adjusting to being home, to being normal again, to being around…people again that weren't dangerous. Paranoia invaded his nightly slumber, coaxing him awake with thoughts of impending doom. He began to become worried—if not fearfully certain—that whoever had done this to him would be back despite trying to swat it away with rational thought.
Still, somebody had stalked him, and stalked him for a very long time. And while common sense suggested that whoever did this wouldn't expose themselves to possible capture by returning, his mind frequently got stuck on the what-if.
His relationship—if it could even be called that—with Helga was becoming more strained by the day as the channels of communication between them increasingly iced over. She wasn't really trying to fix anything and if he were being honest, neither was he. Their interactions were marred with fatal bouts of workplace professionalism and the occasional snide jab.
And it hadn't exactly been what either of them had pictured when the word co-parent started being thrown around so many weeks ago.
Sid's eyes roamed over a few potential people of interest typed on a list, brief synopsis of these men stapled to the back. Jeremy had dropped the papers on his desk some hours ago before heading home with a request that he tell him his thoughts in the morning. Each one of these men had been seen as a colorful person in the lives of one or more of the snohomish ladies but no known connections to any of the others that anybody knew of.
And of course there wouldn't be. Their perp was a ghost. They were chasing a ghost. With that, he let the parchment fall from his exhausted hands before standing up, pulling his jacket from the back of his chair, preparing to head home for the night.
It was yet another cold, snowy night in Hillwood. The air was quiet, as it tended to be after the holidays when everybody was financially hung over from Christmas. His drive home was uneventful, almost quicker than normal with some well timed green lights.
When he stepped into his apartment, he immediately saw Rhonda peaking her head out of the kitchen, "Oh, right on time." She smiled at her husband's timely arrival.
He smelt food, and as he looked into the kitchen he saw Maddie finishing something off on the stove, "Smells good. What is it?"
"Bourbon pork chops."
Sid's face brightened, he loved pork chops, "Have I got time for a shower?"
"If it's the quickest shower ever," His wife warned as she grabbed some mitts and began removing some sort of small cake from one of the wall ovens. Something from her baking class he presumed.
"That's about all I need," He nodded before jogging off to their bedroom to do just that.
They had eaten dinner, seen Maddie off for the night and had snuggled in on the couch to watch a movie before bed. He'd somehow gotten roped into a zombie movie, not that he minded, he just considered it incredibly unseasonable, though he was thankful she hadn't picked some sort of valentines themed romcom, not that it would have been a total loss either. He often got really good catnaps during those.
As they sat watching, Rhonda cuddling ever closer to him after every cheap scare, he kept hearing the characters throw around the word, 'patient zero.' The origin of the infection.
And while they were referring to a deadly virus, his brain began doing what he often hated that it did when he was at home. Working.
He was chasing a ghost, but he had DNA and potentially video footage of this ghost. And like everybody else in the world, this ghost had to have some connection to somebody or some thing, and maybe, just maybe, like so many other budding serial killers, perhaps he had stayed close to home on his first target.
A target zero.
Everything seemed to hit a boiling point by early February. After a long Friday of trudging around on a cold job site, and a sinus infection raging to boot, Helga had earnestly looked forward to an early retreat to her bed for some rest. Unfortunately she was startled from the sleep she'd been so desperate for by the boy's whining. They weren't winning because it was four in the morning and they needed to go out. No. She knew it was from them hearing Arnold moving around downstairs, doing God knew what. Her head was pounding. In her fatigue she felt her last thin strand of patience finally snap in half. Yanking back her covers she stalked to the door, continuing her furious march all the way down the stairs where she found him in the kitchen unloading the dishwasher.
"What the ever-living fuck is your malfunction?!" She angrily asked of him.
Arnold spun around, appearing a little stunned while scowling at her, "What are you talking about?"
"This!" She splayed he arms out around her, becoming more irritated with his insistence on playing stupid with her, "It's one fifteen in the Goddamn morning! Who the fuck wants to unload the dishwasher right now?"
"I couldn't sleep," He replied in a testy tone, still not sure what her problem was seeing as he wasn't bothering anybody.
"Fine! Don't sleep in your room then! Not wandering around the house where our dogs can hear and whine and wake me up!"
"Bring them downstairs for all I care!" He spat back, already sick of hearing her angry voice, "I can't sleep and I'm not going to confine myself to my room like a fucking child."
"Oh! Okay good!" Helga threw her hands in the air, "I'll just move their crates down here, and on the nights you do decide to sleep like a normal human being, you can clean up their accidents when nobody hears their need to go out. Sounds like a swell fucking plan!"
Arnold rolled his eyes, "Just shut up. You sound ridiculous. It doesn't matter what I suggest. You're going to find issue with anything I do at this point!" He barked back.
"You're fucking right I am. I'm tired. I get up with Hunter every other night. Now I have to get woken up with your bullshit? No. Fuck that! So either figure something the fuck out, or there's the damn door," She pointed in the direction of the front of the house.
"You're going to kick me out because I have insomnia?" Arnold replied in a tone of absurdity, "You're just looking for reasons to be mad. Just go back to bed."
But Helga wasn't having any of his crap, "Figure your shit out, or get out of my Goddamn house." She stabbed her index finger at him, and Arnold very much felt that vibe at the prison visitation again.
He paused, not saying anything as his lips pursed and he watched her breathe heavily before she turned and stalked back upstairs.
Saturday
Saturday morning found Sid running down to the precinct to grab a bunch of files before dawn and then sitting in his office to pick through them while shoveling bites of syrup drenched Eggo waffle into his mouth—a guilty pleasure from childhood that Rhonda couldn't ever get on board with. "Darling, they're yellow."
She always made sure they were in the freezer for him, none-the-less. He was most interested in Mike Harding's background as the assumption was made—by him—that Mike was target zero. The thing about Mike, was that he was about the most average individual one could come across. Married, two children, had worked as a two truck driver for ten years before starting his own wrecking business.
Sid realized that Mike's line of work alone could have opened him up to the Ghost. Maybe this guy had had his car towed by Mike's company. Maybe that's how he found him. If so, it might as well be a needle in a haystack. Setting his fork down, Sid reached for his cup of coffee and took a long draw from it.
He didn't think it would be a connection that random. But if it was then that probably meant that Mike wasn't target zero after all.
Sid set his coffee back down before sliding his phone off the desk and finding Don's number. The dial rang as many times as it could before going to voicemail, "Hey Don, I need to pick your brain about something. Give me a call back at your earliest convenience. Thanks."
Arnold trudged downstairs about mid-morning, having gotten off the phone with Gerald about possible lunch plans. Either way, he was getting out of the house for awhile. He found Helga in the living room, still visibly looking more tired than usual, but enjoying watching Hunter work at her tummy time.
He'd offer to take her off Helga's hands so she could rest but, if he were being honest, he really didn't feel like speaking to her. And he didn't. He walked to the foyer closet, grabbed his thick coat and left.
He made the fifteen minute drive over to Gerald and Phoebe's house, pulling to the curb in front of their house. Making his way up the snow embanked driveway, he opened the gate on the side of their house, that led into the backyard and walked down the path to Gerald's detached garage or his 'man cave'.
Cracking open the side door to the garage, Arnold saw his friend racking balls on his pool table, seemingly having just wrapped up a solo game maybe. "Shoot a round already?" He stepped into the warmth of the finished garage with a smile.
Gerald smirked back but rolled his eyes, "That kid of mine has been in here messing around," He rolled all the balls into place and removed the rack, "Want a beer? Bloody Mary?" It was still a little too early for lunch and they had intended to kill some time chilling in the man cave anyway.
"Surprise me," Arnold tiredly requested as he shrugged off his coat to hang on the hook near the door.
His friend strolled to the fridge behind the bar and pulled out one of the IPAs he kept around specifically for Arnold, wretched the top off on a nearby bottle opener and sat in on the bar, "Hop your heart out bro."
Arnold chuckled and grabbed the frigid bottle, taking a swig, eyeing Gerald removing his own bottle of brew. He then grabbed the remote and flipped on the mounted TV, turning it to ESPN for sports talk.
"How's everything going? You sleeping any better?" Gerald asked as he walked around the bar and took a seat on one of the stools.
Arnold's eyes, which had gravitated to the TV, slid back to his friend, "Eh, not really."
"Man, I think I would have already gone to the doctor to see if I could get something."
"Yeah," Arnold shrugged as he hopped up on the stool he had been standing in front of, "I don't want to be unconscious though. I still have a baby getting up at night."
Gerald conceded his point, "Point," He tipped his beer to his lips, "How's everything else going?"
Arnold inhaled and exhaled kind of slowly, taking a swig of his chilly boy, "Well, I was kind of planning to talk to you about that today." He watched as Gerald's eyebrows elevated in interest, "That apartment upstairs still available?"
Gerald's brown eyes thinned just slightly as he attempted to read into his friend's request, "Did she finally kick you out?"
"No," Arnold shook his head, "But we can't stand being around each other at this point so," He shrugged again.
"Yeah man, I cleaned it before you got out, just in case," Gerald cast him a small smile.
The blonde took another long, thirsty swig of his IPA before setting it behind him on the bar, "I greatly underestimated the amount of resentment I feel towards her."
"Things are different when you're confronting them head on as opposed to a distance," Gerald nodded.
"I spent months worrying about getting my life back and my daughter back and not thinking as much as I should about Helga's place in everything and now…I really don't know what to do with her," Arnold sighed, feeling a bit like a weight was being lifted being able to air his frustrations, "I love her. I do. But I do think she's right on this."
Gerald felt bad for his friend. He had his own issues with Helga as of late, but it didn't change the fact that she was someone that his best friend loved, and loved dearly despite all of the present issues. "She doesn't want to try anymore."
"I don't think she thinks any of this can be repaired…and I don't…I guess I'm beginning to think so too" Arnold shook his head, "She doesn't trust me and rightfully so, but she also abandoned me in my time of need."
Gerald blinked, taking a swig of beer as he really mulled over what to say to help his friend. Again, he had plenty of issue with Helga, but that didn't mean he necessarily wanted to see them split and his friend be absolutely miserable over it. "Well…she did come back. I will give her that."
At that Arnold scoffed, "Yeah after my innocents became so glaringly obvious she couldn't ignore it any longer."
"Agreed," His friend nodded, sensing his friend's rightful bitterness.
"I mean, she dropped me when things got dark. Shouldn't somebody that loves you have more faith than that?"
"Her prideful ass owned up to her mistake and she came back. I'd consider that a big step for her," Gerald sighed, "And I say that as someone whose done nothing but yell and demean that girl for months over how she did you. I know her head was battling with her gut this entire time, because she called me shortly before you decided to go be stupid in the woods."
"She did?"
Gerald nodded, seeing Arnold's surprise, "She was worried that you were going to harm yourself. Of course she tried to make it seem like she was only interested in justice but…for all of her ferocity, she can be alarmingly transparent at times." He quipped with an eye-roll, "Even though she wouldn't say it, I know that it bothered her that you were in a dark place, but I honestly don't think she knew how to…un-dig her heels."
"I guess," Arnold reluctantly admitted as he crossed his arms, "Is stubbornness really an excuse though? I mean…if Phoebe left you to rot in prison could you get over it?"
"You're asking her to forget and move past the shady crap that you did to her," Gerald pointed out.
His friend frowned, "That's a little different don't you think? I mean…she of all people should have known that I wasn't out killing people."
"I agree but…it's like I told you before. I think her having a lot on her plate and a baby coming played a lot into that willingness to buy in. And then you didn't do yourself any favors by confessing all that shit to her," Gerald politely pointed out, "Look I'm all for honesty, but sometimes, some things are best kept to yourself." He shook his head before fixing his friend with a very stern look, making sure he physically got his next point across, "And furthermore, stop being so damn shady to her."
"I know…" Arnold shook his head, "I just wanted to have a clean conscious since…you know…was in a dark place."
Gerald sighed, not really knowing what else to say other than imparting some practical advice, "Maybe just say, screw everything else and try starting over together."
"How exactly do you start over in the midst of all this crap?"
"Do something you should have done in the first place."
"What?"
"Date," Gerald stated the obvious, "Like real dating. Not hooking up in my bathroom and then moving in with each other a month later. No. I'm talking about getting to know one another again as people and as friends."
It was a little past lunch when Sid felt his phone vibrating in his pants pocket. He dropped the rag he'd been using to polish the chrome bits on one of this motorcycles in the garage to dig it out, seeing it to be Don finally returning his early call, "Hey Don."
"Hey Sid, sorry I haven't called you back sooner. Had the grandchildren over last night and they just went home."
Sid smiled, "No worries. This probably could have waited until Monday anyway."
"What do you want to pick my brain about?"
Sid tucked the rag back into his tackle box of cleaners and snapped it shut before carrying it back to the shelf, "Are we one hundred percent sure, that Mike Harding was the first?"
"We can't be a hundred percent sure, no. We only have DNA to suggest it is. Why?"
"I don't know…I have this theory that if Mike was the first one, then perhaps the perp picked somebody who they were familiar with as a first kill," Sid explained as he stepped back into the elevator and punched his floor number. "So I've been trying to cast a net on his acquaintances to see if there are any…overlaps or interesting characters, you know?"
Don paused for a moment, "Solid line of thinking. I thought that myself when I became suspicious that it wasn't Mike."
"So you already have that net?"
"Sort of. At the time I had nothing to compare it to."
"Of course," Sid agreed as he watched the button lights in the elevator light up as he ascended floors, "I've also thought that it could have been as simple as him crossing paths with the perp because he was a wrecker."
"Yeah, it isn't a profession that leads to many friends."
"Do you still have all your old files from your net?"
"Yeah, I'll give them to you Monday if I can make it down."
"I could probably come up Sunday if you aren't busy. Or Monday too."
"You want to meet at the same diner again tomorrow? I'm fine with that."
The elevator doors opened and Sid stepped out, "Let's do it. Let's say…seven?"
"Perfect," Don replied, "Oh and maybe consider this question that I started asking myself when the DNA popped up again. How did we get from a forty-three year old married man to a twenty-year old college student, living on campus? I don't know if it means anything. It could be as random as many other things with this guy."
It was close to dinner by the time Arnold decided to take himself home for the night. He felt slightly in better spirits about everything but he couldn't tamp down on the subtle dread that he had as he got closer to the house. A gnawing anxiety really.
It gnawed even harder as he pulled his SUV into the garage, quietly stepping out and into the house. It was mostly silent, save for the low murmur of the TV as background noise. He saw Helga sitting on the couch, typing away at something on her computer. Work he surmised. Based on the hour, he figured Hunter was already down for the night.
"Hey…" He called out in a quiet but even voice, one she spared him no glance at as she continued to work, "Can we talk?" He asked as he walked around the couch and took a seat in the chair across.
Helga watched him with cold blue eyes before finally deciding to humor him with her attention, saving her document and shutting her laptop. "Talk."
Arnold nodded as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor for a moment, "I'm going to move out."
Helga blinked in surprise, "Okay."
"I know that you don't want me here and…staying out of each others way isn't really working."
The young blonde nodded in agreement with him, "I think that is probably the best option at this point." Lord knew she was exhausted with the eggshells they lived on because of tension.
"I guess…tomorrow I'm going to move my stuff over to Gerald and Phoebe's little apartment thing over their detached garage." He explained.
This didn't surprise Helga, as Phoebe had warned her a while back that Gerald had offered up the spot to him if he wanted it. "Sounds like a plan."
Arnold nodded, "I think it would also be best if we split Hunter. She'll be with you half the week and with me half the week."
At that, Helga sat up a little straighter, crossing her arms as she bestowed upon him a look that suggested she thought he'd lost his mind. And perhaps she had. She was all for him getting out of her house so that they could both have some damn reprieve from the constant tension, but in no shape or form did she like the idea of her baby spending the night anywhere away from her. "I'm not just not going to see my daughter for several days."
Arnold huffed and sat up, his gnawing anxiety morphing into irritation, "But that's exactly what you expect me to do," He called her out.
"I'm her mother," She replied back in a warning of a tone.
"Yeah? And I'm her father," Arnold stared her down before licking his lips and sighing, "I have news for you. This is co-parenting. We don't want to live together so we have to compromise on her."
"She is an infant."
"Why must you be so fucking hard to get along with?" Arnold groaned loudly, "You told me last night to either get my shit together or get out of your house, so I am. I'm leaving so hopefully I can figure this out. And still, there's a problem." He gestured his hand at her, rolling his eyes.
"That's fine," Helga replied in a heated tone, "You can do that. But Hunter isn't going anywhere."
"She is. And you aren't going to be the fucking gatekeeper to our child just so you can keep controlling me to your liking." He said before collapsing back in his chair and running his hand down his face. "Helga…I didn't mean that."
Helga's icy blue eyes, thin with disdain practically bore a hole through him, "Really?"
He regretted saying it the moment it left his mouth in anger. It was hateful and completely untrue. For all her faults, she'd never tried to be hateful towards him about anything involving Hunter. "Look," He sat forward again, giving her a genuine look, "I don't want to fight anymore okay?"
Normally she wouldn't have let something like that go so easily. Perhaps it was the Sudafed fog she was in because of her sinus infection or maybe a part of her actually believed him, but she felt whatever icy dagger she had waiting on the tip of her tongue melt away in favor of some trusty snark, "You have a real interesting way of showing it," She still spat at him. She may have silently agreed with him about being tired of fighting but she was more than ready for him go or she might change her mind.
"We can figure out Hunter at another time. I just…" He brought his hand up and ran it through his hair and down the back of his neck, "I don't want to be one of those dad's who sees their kid every other weekend or something like that just because we aren't together."
Helga sat back in the couch, uncrossing her stiff arms for a more relaxed posture as she picked at a piece of thread on her black leggings. "I know," She conceded his point. She didn't necessarily want that for him either.
"I think I would really like it if we went on a date sometime soon too," Arnold went ahead and threw that out there as well. If anything it would distract her from their disastrous Hunter conversation.
And predictably, it did, sending Helga's eyebrows almost to the edge of her hairline in a questioned expression. "We can't even be under the same roof with each other at this point. What makes you think a date is a good idea?" Her head was beginning to throb with how all over the place he had been since arriving back home.
"It's just to say that…I'm not necessarily ready to throw in the towel with us yet…but I recognize that there isn't going to be any picking up where we left off."
"No…there isn't," She agreed with him, but she'd known that for awhile. There could be no resuming what they had after everything. Whatever that was. They probably could at least agree that neither of them knew anymore. And while she personally didn't think that things could be repaired, she felt like she at least owed him a date—if that's what he wanted—before they each agreed that things were the way they were for the best.
Arnold realized he probably wasn't going to get anything else out of her. No omissions or agreement about anything other than that things couldn't go back to the way they were. He supposed he shouldn't have expected any more. She'd had more time to ruminate over their relationship than he had.
Mostly he knew that he was tired of being angry at her for everything.
With a final nod, he rose from the chair, preparing to take himself upstairs to begin packing his belongings for his move tomorrow. As he ascended the staircase he heard her say, "Next Saturday," He stopped and looked over the stair railing, seeing re-open her laptop on the coffee table to resume her work, "Pick me up at eight."
Arnold nodded, "Okay," A ghost of a smile brushing across his lips as a dash of optimism filled him for the first time in awhile.
Sunday
Don and Sid met up at that trusty road side dinner again for an off the record dinner with the intention of picking one another's brains. A round of drinks had been had as well as two thoroughly eaten Salisbury steaks. "Mike Harding has this weird paradox where everybody says what a nice guy he was but then has no short list of people who hated his guts for towing or repossessing their vehicles," Sid pointed out as he flipped through one of the stack of folders Don had carted into the diner with him.
"I'm a little surprised he made it in such a soul sucking business as nice as he was," Don said in agreement, forking the last of his mash potatoes in his mouth before tossing the fork on the plate and pushing it aside.
"Maybe I'm wrong…" Sid kept flipping, feeling himself become a little disappointed at his crumbling theory, "I mean…I don't doubt that Mike was the first. Look at the body count. How it's so much less than Shortman. He was emboldened by that point. I don't think this guy was confident in being able to pull off something larger at that time."
Don chuckled, "I've been wrong on a lot. Nature of the job unfortunately. This guy is like wind. You know he's there but you can't see him." He reached to his side and fished out a file that was crammed under some others, "I got so obsessed with trying to find somebody with a motive in his life that I even started secretly investigating his wife and all her dealings." Sid looked up from the file he was holding and at the one Don casually tossed across the table beside him, "Talk about reaching," He laughed again.
Sid closed his file, setting it aside and picking up the new one, casting Don a wry smile, "Trust me, you don't even want to know how outlandish a couple of my theories have gotten," He cryptically replied as he began reading. "I guess she owned rental houses?"
"A few. Inherited them from her late father if I recall."
He was about ready to discard the file when his eyes scrawled across the address 64 hidden pond lane. If it sounded familiar, it's because it was.
And it was because it was the house that Lisa Kirk had rented while he and Jeremy were in high school. He'd been there on many occasions with the other boys they all hung out with.
"Something catch you eye?" Don asked, seeing the eyebrows of his younger friend pulled tightly together.
"Uh, nah," He snapped the folder shut, intending to keep that bit to himself for the moment.
Arnold had an alarmingly small amount of stuff to move to his new dwelling. A lot of that had to do with the fact that it was already fully furnished and he simply brought his clothes and electronics with him. He couldn't deny the relief he felt leaving, though it bothered him greatly that Hunter wouldn't be just right down the hallway at the furthest anymore. At least not for a little while.
The sun had set and he laid sprawled out on the couch, flipping through the TV, belly full of Nacho Taco that he'd gone out and bought for himself earlier that evening. It made him think seriously about a job for the first time in…well awhile. There was quite a bit irony behind the whole situation and it wasn't lost on him. He'd moved out to spend time away from her, but steadily used her money to buy the things that he needed.
It bothered him greatly if for no other reason than he'd always been taught to pay his own way in life. If it had bothered her, she hadn't made a snide remark about it, as she had the habit of doing.
He didn't really even know what he could do as far as a job was concerned. He was a mid-residency medical student who'd just got out of prison—wrongfully locked up of course but still. The odds were against him.
It was in the middle of marinating on his sudden bleak employment and financial situation that his phone began to vibrate. Which was strange because nobody called him, except for Gerald, who was just across the yard in his own domicile. But it was a number he didn't recognize, and he almost gave into habit and let it go to voicemail, thinking it was most likely spam, but he didn't. He didn't trust anything those days.
"Hello?"
"Arnold?"
The voice sounded so familiar but he just couldn't place it over the phone, "Yeah? Who is this?" He politely asked.
"Monica."
Arnold bolted upright, "Mo-Monica?!"
"Yeah," He could almost hear a smile in her voice.
"Oh my God…you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice," He gushed into the phone.
Monica laughed, "I know. God I didn't even know if this number was still yours or not. I've been debating calling for weeks now."
Arnold was a little embarrassed that he'd almost forgotten about her. Not out of slight, but just with so much coming at him. Freedom, fatherhood, Helga. Forgotten had been the girl whose will to live and clever thinking had set them both free. "Monica I…don't even know what to say. How…how are you?" He felt small asking such a simple, yet loaded question of her.
"Healing. Staying with my parents for now."
"I'm glad to hear you are out of the hospital," He smiled.
"I'm glad to hear that you are out of prison," She replied back, earnestly.
"I wouldn't be if it wasn't for you," His smiled faded as another thought crossed his mind, "I'm so sorry that…that this happened to you because of me."
"None of this was your fault, Arnold. There is no way you could have known somebody would do this to you."
"I feel like I could have…paid more attention or something." In the midst of his insomnia rattled anxiety of this person returning to get him, there had been quite a bit of self loathing over the fact that he'd never noticed a thing in his daily life.
"You couldn't have," Monica assured. "And I don't blame you for any of this."
A/N: More clues or red herrings? And yeah, I think they had to fully separate. Maybe Gerald is right though. Maybe starting over with dates will help. We'll see. Still love reading your theories and thoughts. Onward!