THE UNHIGHLANDER

by Galen Hardesty

Chapter Four

WHATCHA GONNA DO WHEN THEY COME FOR YOU?

DARIA: ...At fifteen, I start writing violent revenge fantasies...
JANE: And your parents, et cetera, et cetera. Gotcha.
...from Boxing Daria

~~~

Helen reached the end of chapter three. She stared at the page for a minute, then carefully replaced the manuscript in its hiding place beneath Daria's tee shirts. She rubbed her arms but it didn't seem to alleviate the chill she felt. This story was disturbingly different from Daria's Melody Powers pieces, and even from those graphic revenge fantasies that had gotten her called in for a teacher conference this Spring. Daria often used real locations in her writing, but she very seldom used actual persons as characters, certainly not if harm was coming to them. And she had never before used herself as the protagonist. But here, on these pages, was present-day Daria going around present-day Highland, killing real people she knew or knew of in ways that were apparently within her capabilities. How much of a step would it be for Daria to go from writing this to actually doing the things she had written about? Helen didn't know.

What was Daria's motivation for writing this, anyway? Helen didn't know that either. Did she really hate Highland and its citizens as much as the Daria in the story? Helen remembered her conversation with Daria a few days ago, the one triggered by the article about the drug dealer freed by DA Wannamaker. I can't tell you how much I hate Highland, she'd said. Daria had actually reproduced that conversation quite closely in the second chapter of the tale Helen had just read. Was Daria trying to tell her in another way? Or was she just experimenting with new ways to add realism to her writing?

Helen wished she could truly understand Daria. She had wished this many times before, but she had come to realize that it was just not possible. She remembered Daria once commenting on the saying "There is a fine line between genius and madness." "That's not true." Daria had said. "It just sometimes looks that way to normal people." She had compared it to a retarded person's inability to understand a person of normal intelligence. It had taken Helen quite a while to realize that Daria was being quite modest when she'd said that. The gulf between Daria and a person of average intelligence was as great as the gulf between the person of average intelligence and a lab rat, at least according to the best intelligence-measuring tools available. Whenever she thought about that, Helen shivered at the responsibility that had somehow fallen to her.

Which brought her to the question "What should I do, if anything?" Should she take Daria to another counsellor? That had never seemed to do much good before. Unless Helen could find a psychologist as smart as Daria, she would just amuse herself by playing mind games with them, as she'd done before.

Should she talk to her? What would she say? What approach should she take? Helen almost wished she hadn't found the thing. If she hadn't tried to put away some laundry while her lunch was warming... Lunch. Lunch break. From work. Time! Helen looked at her watch. Damn! She'd wasted over an hour! And it was just a story, after all. She turned to slam the drawer of Daria's dresser...

...and saw some more papers hidden under Daria's slips. Helen hesitated for a second, then pulled out several sheets of copier paper. They were copies of a magazine article titled "Build This Single-Channel Radio-Controlled Actuator In One Evening." In addition to the text, there was a circuit diagram, a parts list, and a photograph of a completed circuit with all the components labeled. There were also a diagram and some notes in Daria's hand on how to connect this to a detonator circuit. Helen knew almost nothing about electronics, but she thought she could probably build this circuit by following these instructions.

Helen swayed a bit and leaned on the dresser. This was getting worse and worse. It showed that Daria was definitely capable of and interested in building remote detonators. But did she intend to actually build them? Did she have the tools? The parts? Might she already be at work on one? Helen couldn't search the whole house, much less all the other places Daria might have hidden one.

She pulled out Daria's chair and sat down. A few bits of something on Daria's desktop caught her eye. Examining them more closely, she saw that they were snippets of thin wire, bits of insulation that had been stripped from wire, and a couple of small electronic components similar to some in the photograph. A cold knot of dread began to form in Helen's stomach. She felt the blood draining away from her face.

Frantically Helen began searching the drawers in Daria's desk. She didn't find any circuit boards, but sticking out of a notebook in one drawer she saw another sheet of paper , folded letter fashion. On it was written, in Daria's handwriting, "To Mom, Dad, and Quinn". Her blood ran cold. Pulling the paper out, she unfolded it and read:

By the time you find this, I'll probably be dead or in police custody. I sincerely hope it is not the latter, but I must risk it. My life here has become an unsupportable burden, largely due to those against whom I have taken up arms, so I have nothing to lose. I could not escape them and the consequences of their evil, stupid, venal acts, nor could any words of mine influence them to change their ways. Since I cannot leave Highland, my only remaining recourse was to take them out. I am not sorry for what I have done. I hope I got enough of them to make a noticeable improvement before I fell, and I hope I died with my boots on.

I am truly sorry if my actions have caused you pain, or negatively impacted your lives in any way. I don't suppose you will miss me, but I hope that someday you will be able to understand, and forgive me, and perhaps remember me kindly.

It's not too late for Quinn. I beg you to get her out of Highland while there is still time.

All my love (and I really mean that),

Daria

p. s.- Please don't bury me in Texas.

Racked with sobs, Helen collapsed onto her forearms on Daria's desk.

~~~

After some time, Helen had forced herself to gulp a few mouthfuls of soup, fix her face, and go back to work. All the way there, her mind kept going round and round the question: Was Daria serious? Did she really mean it? Was she really that desperate, that distraught, or was she just trying to persuade her parents to move out of Highland? Helen sincerely hoped it was the latter.

What did she know? Daria hated Highland. With good reason, Helen had to admit. She had no friends, the schools were poor, the library was small. The town was dirty, ugly, hot, and dry. The people were stupid and corrupt. Well, it seemed like many of them were.

And there was that other theme cropping up again. Since she was trapped here, the only other thing she could do was kill the people who did the most to make it so bad for her.

Okay, so let's say she's desperate.

The murders Daria had written about, none of them had actually happened. No one had died... yet. Was she desperate enough to actually start killing people, or just desperate enough to want Helen to think she was?

Then Helen realized that it didn't matter for her present purposes. Daria was desperate enough to learn to build bombs, desperate enough to plan murders, desperate enough to write what was essentially a serial murder confession/suicide note. Helen would not wait for the bodies to start dropping. She would treat it as a cry for help.

At the offices of Houston, Bowie, Bloodworth, Hidalgo and Clay, Helen called and made sure Daria was in class. She was surprised to find that she hadn't been missed here at work. She held her courtroom face on tightly as she thumbed through her rolodex. She'd discretely run several fresh copies of her resume, and now she needed to decide where to send them. It occurred to her that it had been much too easy for her to make those copies unnoticed. She should have a secretary or an aide to do things like that, or at least an intern! She should look out of place doing drudge work. She was a lawyer, after all, and a damn good one, even if no one had heard of Middleton College!

Jake should be doing this too, she thought. She picked up the phone and dialed his number at the agency. Jake had joined a consulting agency during the last recession when his independent business had dried up to a trickle, but he wasn't happy there.

Jake picked up on the first ring, and she'd barely said hello when he began a rant on the latest round of slights, insults, and abuses he percieved himself as having suffered. Helen broke in as soon as she decently could, saying "Jake, honey, I completely agree. Those people don't deserve you. In fact, I was just thinking that it's time we should both be moving along, or at least getting ready to. I'm sending out resumes, and maybe you should too."

"Resumes? I don't need no stinking resumes! I'll never work for another man again, Helen, you hear me? Never again! I'll go back to being an independent consultant! Be my own boss again! Don't you worry about me, Helen, I'm ready whenever you are! Just drop a hat and ol' Jakey's outta here!"

Helen hung up, a bleak look on her face. "God help us, we're going to starve," she thought. "They'll find our emaciated corpses clutching empty dog food cans, huddled around the fireplace containing the ashes of our last stick of furniture." Just then Bloodworth came by, dumped a stack of folders on her desk and said "Come on, Helen, you're falling behind. The Salty Greasy Snack Foods case goes to trial next Thursday." The stack immediately fell over and several folders fell to the floor, scattering their contents. Bloodworth turned and walked off, pretending not to notice.

Helen scowled at the folders, then at the departing back of Bloodworth, and her expression hardened into grim determination. "If we starve, we starve. We're getting out of this hellhole!" she muttered.

Helen thought about the law firms who had made offers in response to her last mailing. The money hadn't been what she was looking for, but some of those firms were located in nice parts of the country. Perhaps she should raise the value she'd placed on quality of life in her evaluation process. And perhaps she should make a few follow-up phone calls. But first, a call to Highland High. Helen picked up the phone again.

~~~

Daria finished loading her book bag as other students flowed past her. She closed her locker door and spun the knob. The note hadn't said why Helen wanted to pick her up at school. It was possible, she supposed, that Helen was going shopping and wanted Daria to serve as her porter, but she didn't think so. It was much more likely that Helen had found some or all of the stories and other things that Daria had carefully hidden for her to find. If so, she hoped they had the desired effect. She pictured Helen finding and reading the story and the note, and examining the detonator plans.

As she headed for the front door, it dawned on Daria that her creative efforts had gone beyond portraying her as terribly unhappy and desperate to get out of Highland. They painted her as a homicidal maniac, a serial killer taunting the police, a psycho going postal, or about to.

Daria would have smacked herself in the head if she'd been alone. This was a fine time for this to occur to her, when it was probably too late to do anything about it.

Daria's stomach began doing things that internal organs shouldn't do, especially if they were supposed to be hooked up as part of a system. She was probably about to find out whether she'd gone too far, and if so, how much too far. She might well be going to see a shrink, and it might not be just an office visit. She may have written herself a ticket for an indefinite stay in a padded room. Nervously, Daria looked down at her boots, and it hit her that she might not see another bootlace for a long time.

Helen was parked at the curb in front of the main entrance. Swallowing, Daria approached the suddenly menacing looking SUV.

"Hi, Mom. Uh, what's up?"

Helen smiled. "Oh, not much. I just have some good news I wanted to share with you. We're leaving Highland."

Caught off-guard for once, Daria stared straight into Helen's eyes like a starving child staring at a hamburger. "Mom, please don't joke about a thing like that," she said softly.

"I'm not joking, Daria. I've accepted a position with another law firm. Your father is going back to being an independent consultant."

Daria's face lit up with a joyous smile, startling Helen. She couldn't remember ever having seen that expression on Daria's face before. "Where are we going? San Diego? New York?"

"Lawndale. I made some follow-up calls and Vitale, Davis, and... whoever increased their offer. Mr. Davis even mentioned a very nice house one of his clients is anxious to sell. Well, don't just stand there. Hop in."

Hesitant, but realizing she had no viable options at this point, Daria got into the car, shut the door, and fastened her seat belt. Helen seemed somewhat more pleased at this latter action than usual. She put her SUV in gear and pulled out into the street.

~~~

At the Morgendorffer house, Helen followed Daria back to her room. "Daria..." she began.

As Daria set her backpack down in its customary place, she noticed her suitcase sitting open on her bed, partially packed.

Helen continued. "Daria, I did accept that offer, verbally. But I haven't resigned yet from Houston, Bowie. Before I do that, I have to make a decision."

Daria saw that the suitcase contained socks, underwear, pajamas, robe, and slippers. No street clothes. Only things she might wear in a psychiatric ward. A sudden numb feeling came over her. Feeling it was expected of her, Daria asked "What decision?" She was pretty sure she already knew. Her scalp began to sweat.

"One good thing about my benefits package here is that it has good medical coverage for the whole family, including... mental health care. Before I give that up, I need to ask you some questions."

Daria realized that Helen had laid out the suitcase as a prop to symbolize the consequences of the decision she'd spoken of. It did that very well. She put a hand to her stomach. She'd never realized that dread alone could cause such physical pain.

"S-Sure, Mom. Go ahead." She replied, with some difficulty.

"Why did you write that... story?"

So, thought Daria, that confirms she found it. "Mom, you know I'm not good at talking about... feelings and emotions and stuff."

"You certainly don't have much trouble writing about them."

"Exactly. That's why I wrote it. I was trying to convey to you how unhappy I am here, and how much I want to leave."

So, thought Helen. That confirms she intended me to find it. She glanced over at Daria, her carefully-controlled expression nevertheless showing concern. "So that's the way you really feel?"

"No. I feel like that might be the way I'm headed. I'm afraid I might get that way. I was trying to give you advance warning."

"And that... goodbye note?"

Daria looked down at her feet. "I was hoping you hadn't found that. I shouldn't have written it. It was over the top. I got carried away." She looked up at her mother. "I was going to tear it up when I got back."

Helen looked into Daria's eyes, searching. Daria returned her gaze openly, not trying to control her expression. This resulted in an "I'm sorry, please don't kill me too much" look.

"If you ask me, the whole thing was pretty over the top." Helen kept her gaze locked with Daria's. "So you're saying you don't want to kill those people?"

Daria shook her head very slightly, not breaking eye contact. "No, I don't want to kill anyone." She paused, then added "That's not to say that I wouldn't be pleased if they went far, far away."

The analytical part of Daria's brain told her that Helen had largely decided to leave Highland, and did not seriously believe that she was insane. But she could still blow it, Daria knew. Helen's legal training demanded she go through some sort of fact-finding process, and Daria must make sure she found only the right facts. And even if they moved out of Highland, a wide variety of possible punishments hung over her head, and there were surely mental treatment facilities convenient to Lawndale.

Helen relaxed a bit and allowed herself a hint of a smile. "Yes, well, you probably wouldn't be the only one. However, I need to be convinced that you're not a danger to the public, even those whom you think need killing. Texas doesn't really have a 'He Needed Killin'' murder defense, you know."

Daria smiled back slightly. "I know, but being desperate implies being desperate enough to do something, and those were some things I thought I might do if I flipped out. As to convincing you, well, say I did rub out a bunch of corrupt city officials and school administrators, and various thugs, morons, and other annoying people. Say I got away with it, which is extremely unlikely. When the smoke cleared, I'd still be here. I'd still be going to Highland High, scrounging through that pitiful little library, walking these filthy streets and broken sidewalks, and vainly trying to avoid the tumbleweeds, stickerweeds, sandburrs, scorpions, and fire ants."

"I don't want to kill those people. I'm perfectly happy to leave them to each other and their chosen way of life. I just want to leave."

"And anyway, if I were really going to do something like that, I certainly wouldn't start by writing it all out in such gruesome detail and "hiding" it where you'd be sure to find it. None of you has ever found my diary, and I know Quinn has really searched."

Helen asked, "What about the circuit diagram?"

"I copied it out of Electronics Hobbyist magazine at the library. It went with the story. I wasn't going to build the circuit."

"No? What about those components and bits of wire on your desk?"

"I'll show you." Daria got down on her knees, reached under her bed and pulled out a dark gray object about the size of a large soap bar. Helen recoiled slightly and reached for the doorknob.

"What's that?" she demanded.

Daria looked surprised. "It's okay, Mom! It's just a radio."

Helen hesitated, hand still on the door handle, staring at the unidentifiable object in Daria's hand.

"Or it was. It's smashed. I found it in the street." Daria let the case fall open and displayed its innards to Helen. "I got those components out of here. Those and the circuit plans are two other things I wouldn't leave lying around if I were serious."

Helen looked at the trashed radio, relaxed somewhat, rested her forehead in one hand, and shook her head slightly. "Throw it out," she said. Without comment, Daria dropped the thing into the trashcan. Helen sagged against the door and stared wearily at the rug.

Daria hesitated , then asked, "What's the matter, Mom?"

Helen rubbed her forehead as if focusing her thoughts. "Leaving Highland would be a big step for all of us, Daria, pulling up stakes and moving to another state. We were staying here because we wanted to give you girls a stable environment, not move all over the country and take you away from your friends and familiar surroundings."

"But you know now that I've never had a friend, and that I never will as long as I stay in this town."

"Yes, I know that now. But I'm worried what this will do to Quinn. She has lots of friends."

"No, she doesn't. Surprisingly, she's almost as bad off as I am. She has acquaintances and cordial rivals, but no actual friends. I'm not sure she understands what a friend is."

Helen stared at Daria for a few seconds, then turned to stare out a window, a surprised look on her face, obviously thinking. "You know, you may be right." The surprise began shading into sadness and maybe guilt. "Where did I go wrong?"

"It's not your fault, Mom. It's this town. The people who live here aren't like us. They're the ones that didn't have the gumption to leave."

Helen turned back to Daria, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"The kids in Highland High today are the children of the people who didn't move on when the government closed the Dead Coyote Flats facility, who are the children of the people who didn't move on when they closed the training base after World War Two, who are the children of those who didn't move on when the oilfields played out, who are the children of those who didn't move on when the railroad extended the tracks and this wasn't the trail head anymore. These just aren't ambitious, hard working people, by and large. These are people who just wait for something to come along, and get by any way they can till it does. You and Dad weren't raised like that, and you didn't raise us like that. I'm not going to find any friends here, and I doubt if Quinn will either."

Helen looked stunned. "My God. That's something I've sort of been feeling for years, but couldn't quite put my finger on, and you come along and just lay it out like it's the most obvious thing in the world. And, now that you've pointed it out, it is obvious. How do you do that?"

Daria thought, "With my large, powerful brain." But that brain also told her this wasn't the best time to say something like that. She just shrugged and smiled a tiny bit.

Helen was once again reminded of what huge potential Daria had, and how great her responsibility was as Daria's mother. She needed to live around more achievement-oriented people, in a town with good schools and libraries and a more culturally rich environment. As did Quinn, of course. "Well, it's obvious we don't belong here. We need to move on. Tomorrow we'll get boxes from the movers and start packing."

There was that strange joyous smile again. Daria took a hesitant step toward Helen. Her arms lifted from her sides a little. Helen returned the smile, held out her arms, and enfolded Daria in a hug which, for once, Daria willingly reciprocated.

After a moment, Daria looked up at her mother. "You know, there are loads of boxes behind SavMorMart. We can at least get enough to get started."

Helen gave Daria a quizzical look. "Come on," Daria urged, "We can get a shake or something on the way. My treat."

Helen knew she should get back to the office and at least make a start at tidying things up. She was about to demur, when it occurred to her how rare and precious moments like this with Daria were. With a wry smile, Helen allowed Daria to pull her out into the hall and toward the front door.

~~~

Driving from Dairy Cowboy towards SavMorMart, Helen realized she felt better than she had in a long time. She smiled contentedly and leaned back a little. Glancing to her right, she saw that Daria was watching her, and smiling too. "Don't you get too comfortable, young lady," she said, trying to look severe. "You're not out of the woods yet. At the very least, you exercised poor judgment writing that goodbye letter and leaving those plans and components lying around. I'm holding you responsible for every gray hair I find on my head for the next two months. And I'm going to be keeping a very close eye on you for potential serial-killer tendencies."

Daria's smile widened a little. "Being in the woods beats the heck out of being in Highland. And you'd be wasting a perfectly good close eye trying to find serial-killer tendencies in me. Murder is too much like work."

Helen turned a gimlet-like close eye on her daughter. "Ha. 'Daria? Such a polite girl. Very quiet. Never caused any trouble. Kept mostly to herself. Kind of a loner.' You couldn't fit the profile any closer without being male."

Daria had a great comeback on the tip of her tongue: "That's the profile of a sniper, not a serial killer," but decided not to use it.

"When we get to Lawndale, you're going to lose that 'loner' persona. You're going to choose some activities to get involved in, or they will be chosen for you. I will not have my photograph plastered all over the world media above the caption 'Mass Murderer's Mother.'"

"As a way to meet people and make friends, you mean, right? Not just to burn up my free time?" Daria glanced sideways at her mother.

"Well, of course, Daria." Frowning slightly, Helen glanced sideways back at Daria. She did want to commit a large part of Daria's free time to social activities. The amount of reading that child did was totally unnatural. But she knew that to come right out and say that would provoke a contest of wills, even now when Daria was trying to be extra conciliatory. She'd have to boil that frog very gradually.

Daria looked away and blanked her face. Social activities rears its ugly head again, she thought. Well, maybe there were some tolerable activities available in Lawndale. A writing club might be good, or possibly a chess club or an astronomy club. Hmmm, an excuse to stay out all night. She could work with that. But Helen was more likely thinking something like band, glee club, or Up With People. If so, of course, that would mean a fight to the death. Best to put that off as long as possible.

As she gazed through the windshield at the mean streets of Highland for, well, pretty close to the last time, Daria seemed to see old Diogenes glaring at her with disapproval. "You should know" he seemed to say, "that no situation is so bad that it can't get worse."

Daria thought about it. "Philosophically you are, of course, correct," she imagined herself replying to the ages-dead founder of Cynicism, "but if you were a contemporary American and knew Highland, you'd agree that the odds of my landing in a worse place than this are pretty slim."

The shade of Diogenes said nothing, but seemed to stare at her with an unpleasant, knowing smirk. Breaking out of her reverie, Daria looked to her left at Helen, behind the wheel. "So tell me," she said, "Where is this Lawndale place?"

La la LA la la.

~~~

This is my 19th Daria fanfic, after The Whole Truth, Emancipation, Blood Oath of Patriots, Blood Oath of Patriots, Part II: By Any Other Name, Smackdown, The Beaches of Barksdale, Le Dejuner Chez Daria, Reindeer Bait, A Date With Death (a poem), Brainworms From Outer Space, On A High Note, The Warrior Awakens, Scanner, It's In The Cards, Down By The River, Ah, Sweet Mystery, and Watch For Falling Rock, in that order. If you got this far, please email me and tell me what you think, good, bad, or so-so. You know, reviews are the closest thing to pay we poor fanfic writers get. Thanks.

Disclaimer

"Daria" and all related characters are trademarks of MTV Networks, a division of Viacom International, inc. The author does not claim copyright to these characters or to anything else in the "Daria" milieu; he does, however, claim copyright to all those parts of this work of fiction which are original to him and not to MTV or to other fanfic authors. This fanfic may be freely copied and distributed provided its contents remain unchanged, provided the author's name and email address are included, and provided that the distributor does not use it for monetary profit. (as if.)

Galen Hardesty [gehardesty@yahoo.com]