Howdy and welcome to chapter four! Hope you're enjoying it as much as ever, and now, the long awaited moment. We find out what has happened to our beloved Arnold! (If you don't remember what happened, I suggest you re-read!) It's starts getting more sentimental from here, folks! (I hope, oh boy do I hope. *crosses fingers*) But before I start, here are some questions I've gotten from two or three people via e-mail.
1) How do you write your fan fiction? It seems like I'm actually watching an episode or something. (This one is from stormqueen, and I'm so sorry that I can't seem to e-mail you back!)
Well, to answer that, I'll first say that I start by watching a ton of Hey Arnold with my friends. As we watch, I try to pick up on little details that the characters do, the inflection of their voices, and such. But most of it comes from my friends, who I bounce ideas off of, and they give me feedback and tell me whether or not the character works. (We also watch the show together and they lay into me with everything in my fic that's wrong). For instance, my friend is a huge Gerald fan, and completely hates the way I write him. She says he's not the way that she thought he'd be. But I'm flattered to think it could be like an episode! Thanks!
2) What has happened to Arnold??
Um, read on and you'll find out!
3) Do you listen to music as you write? And if so, what kinds? (This one is also from stormqueen ^^;)
Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Most of the time, the music helps me get into the mood of a scene or something. If you're wondering what kinds, just look at the mood of the part and then listen to something that fits. Probably most of these next few chapters would be best read with something melodramatic and slow, which is kind of funny, to me, any ways. Hope that answers your question!
And before I go onwards, does anyone know why all the anonymous reviews have been replaced by that weird . . . whatever you want to call it? Maybe it's so they don't get lost or something . . . oh well, I just thought it was very strange. But woo! I'm up to 37 reviews, even if the page says 32 or whatever it was when I just checked. That's more than my other story got, that's for sure, and my other story has more chapters! Then again, it kind of gets lost in the huge section that HP is . . . ^^; so now, without further waiting, I bring you the fourth chapter.
Love forever and ever:
pottergal
PS. Before I continue, I almost forgot. Disclaimers still apply; I don't own Hey Arnold, Craig Bartlett and Nickelodeon do. I'm a poor student, and if you want to sue me, you're getting nothing because I don't own anything! Oh yeah, and about the story, it's now in Helga's POV for a while, and I'm sorry if she's not normal because I'm having the darndest time trying to get her right. I've spent nearly a whole week with my friends trying to hammer out the quirks, so I apologize now if she isn't how you imagined her. I don't need a flame telling me that you hate her as I've written her.
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A Rainy December
Chapter Four: Helga, the Reluctant Nurse
Part One
By: pottergal
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"Frankly, Arnoldo, I'm surprised you even showed up today. I certainly wouldn't have." Helga said with her arms folded across her chest, her eyes narrowing into a soft glare. Her Arnold, he just didn't know when to lie down and give it up, did he? But that's why she loved him, after all. His unfailing determination, his blind faith in the idea that everything would turn out as planned, no matter what happened . . .
"That's you, Helga. You're not me." She couldn't help rolling her eyes at him, outwardly acting exasperated.
"Well that's obvious." She said and she shook her head. "Yeesh, football head, you never know when to call it quits; you're just too dedicated to school! I mean, look at you, you look like someone beat you with a stick or something." She quipped and frowned a bit as his eyes began to glaze over. "Hey, hair boy, are you listening to me? Hello, earth to Arnoldo!" She waved a hand infront of his face slightly only to watch his eyes roll back up into his head.
"ARNOLD!" Helga's shriek echoed through the street as he gave a small moan and toppled into her arms. All pretenses of anger or disgust were abandoned as she caught him. "Arnold, Arnold speak to me! Can you hear me?" She said, shaking him in desperation. This couldn't be happening, she told herself. Arnold just doesn't collapse like this, what's going on?
"Ugh . . ." He stirred a little, but didn't come around. "Grandma . . ." He murmured quietly. "Grandpa . . ."
"This is too much like what happened to Phoebe . . ." She thought aloud as she looked around the street. Much to her amazement, the whole block was abandoned. No one could be seen in either direction. So Helga stood there, in the middle of the sidewalk, holding an unconscious Arnold with his head lying on her shoulder and began to panic silently. What was she supposed to do? She'd never had to deal with anything like this before.
It's okay, calm down, Helga, old girl. You can handle this. She drew several deep breaths, her arms tightening around Arnold unconsciously. Think, she told herself. What would be the most logical thing to do right now? I need to get him home. I need to get to the boarding house. And with setting that first task, she began to formulate a way to get there.
"Yeesh, he's heavy." She muttered and after a moment, she had Arnold on her back with his arms draped over her shoulders. Bending forward slightly to ensure that he wouldn't fall off, she secured her arms beneath his legs and started off. As she walked, she wondered what she would do if someone saw her carrying Arnold piggyback style. Should she have left him there and gone for help?
Help? Did you see anyone on the street that could've helped? Sure, if you'd wanted to abandon him in the snow you could've gone for help. And who knows how long it might've taken you to find someone who would've been willing to do so. She glanced over slightly at his sleeping face and couldn't help a small smile. He was even more handsome when he was resting like that.
Helga, focus! Arnold is undoubtedly sick, and you need to get him to a place where he can get better. You don't have time to obsess over him just yet. She thought to herself angrily and focused on the sidewalk infront of her. Arnold groaned softly and stirred a little more, making Helga stop. She couldn't have him slipping out of her grasp.
" . . . Grandma?" He said quietly, his voice a half mutter. "Grandma . . . where's . . . where is . . ." Helga couldn't stop the concerned look on her face as Arnold stirred a bit more violently. What could he be dreaming? "Grandpa . . . house . . . fell down . . . where . . .?" He groaned again and fell silent. After waiting a few moments to ensure that his sudden speaking spell was over, Helga started off again.
It took Helga about fifteen minutes to lug Arnold's dead weight back to the boarding house. When she got there, she spent five minutes just pounding on the door, but much to her frustration, no one answered. She muttered something about stupid, deaf boarders before removing Arnold from her back and rummaging around in his pocket for a key. She found one and opened the door, but forgot to step aside for the animals and nearly was trampled in the sudden stampede.
"Hey, watch it!" She shouted as a cat ran into her legs before hissing up at her and continuing on its way. "You move aside next time!" She yelled after the herd but then caught herself. Who actually yelled at animals? "Lord, I'm really losing it." She muttered before turning back to the house.
"Hello?" She called to the darkened interior, a faint creak of the door hinges answering her. She frowned; where was everyone? She knew Arnold's grandfather was in the hospital, but what about his grandmother? And what about the other boarders? She bit her lip as she thought things over. No boarders meant no quick and easy solution to her problem.
"Better get him inside first." She picked up Arnold and shut the door behind her. She peered into the living room and the kitchen, though both were dark and deserted, before walking up the stairs. It was difficult with Arnold in her arms, but she managed. The second floor was as dark as the first, and no one came out to see who was in the hall. It was beginning to give Helga the creeps; shouldn't people wonder who was causing the footsteps? Shouldn't someone come out to check and see?
His room is . . . ah. She reached the end of the hallway and looked around for the stairs in the dark. She finally found the cord before pulling it gently and the stairs to Arnold's room fell from the ceiling. She carried him up the second flight of stairs and cautiously opened the door to his room. She always loved this place, his sanctuary. The general blue scheme enhanced the overall calm atmosphere that it held and Helga would've killed just to sit in it and admire her surroundings.
"First things first." She told herself firmly before she could begin to drift. "Get Arnold better. Then you can daydream." She muttered as she set him on his bed and began to shake him again. "Arnold! Can you hear me, Arnold?" His head lolled from side to side, but he still didn't wake. Helga sighed softly, but part of her hadn't really expected it to work. She then removed one of her gloves and placed her hand to his forehead. Her eyes widened slightly. She was no expert, but she was willing to bet that he had a fever.
A thermometer, I need a thermometer. But before she left on her hunt for the tool, she first removed Arnold's boots, scarf, and gloves and pulled his comforter over him. He groaned slightly, but rolled on his side and pulled the blanket around him more tightly. Smiling to herself over Arnold, she then found his remote and after a little experimenting and an extremely loud blast of jazz, she got his couch to pop out of the wall, with the blanket she'd been looking for. She unfolded it and placed it on top of Arnold. He stirred slightly and she touched a hand to his cheek to calm him.
"I'll be right back." She whispered as she ventured down the stairs, back to the dark hallway. Part of her began to jump at shadows, and she was immensely relieved when she found the light switch near the first stair well. She hadn't been able to flip it on her way up due to the fact that she'd been carrying Arnold. She flipped it now, the hallway lighting up in one brilliant flash and she had to blink a few times to get her eyes to adjust. She then found the bathroom with its "W.C." nailed to the front and began to rummage around in the medicine cabinet.
Come on, where to they keep that thing? She began to mutter to herself as she found a couple of bottles of tylenol and motrin, but no thermometer. She then began to search the drawers of the cabinet beside the sink and found some rubbing alcohol and cotton balls, which she figured might come in handy. Sighing in frustration, she picked up her loot from the bathroom and headed downstairs. Maybe they had a miscellaneous cabinet in the kitchen or something.
Braving the downstairs was even harder than the upstairs, partly because it had even more shadows and dark corners. Helga could've sworn that she'd seen something move at one moment, and felt ten times better once she finally found the switch for the kitchen light. Placing her things on the table, she began to go through the cabinets, and sure enough, his grandmother kept one devoted entirely to bandages and general medical supplies.
Yeesh, where'd she get some of this stuff? Did she raid the hospital or something? Helga wondered as she came across a particularly strange looking bottle. But her perseverance paid off and Helga finally came across an old mercury thermometer in its own plastic case. Adding it to her pile carefully, she took everything back up to Arnold's room upstairs.
"Arnold? Are you awake?" She tried as she entered his room, and gave a small sigh of relief as she watched his green eyes open blearily. "Finally. Here, I need to take your temperature, so could you sit up?" She said as she set everything down on his desk. She then opened the little case and gave the thermometer a few good shakes to get the mercury back to the bottom.
"Wha . . .?" He stared at her, his eyes only half open. "Hel . . . Helga?" He murmured. "Where . . . where am . . . I?" She walked over and sat beside him on his bed. He rubbed his eyes a couple of times as she checked to make sure that the thermometer was back to where it should be.
"You're in your room. I brought you here after you collapsed on the street." He blinked a few times and his eyes grew larger. "Now open your mouth. I need to find out if you have a fever or not." Obediently, he opened his mouth, and Helga placed the thermometer beneath his tongue. She watched as he collapsed against his pillow, his eyes focusing on the skylight above their heads, and part of her felt extremely relieved that he wasn't asking questions. Helga then turned her attention to the clock across the room to keep track time.
After a few minutes, she took the thermometer from him, and after twisting the thing back and forth, she finally figured out how to read it. Matching the miniscule silver line up with the scale, she then gave a small whistle. Arnold, who'd draped an arm over his eyes, peered out from beneath it questioningly.
"One hundred and one." She told him and he groaned. "Seems like you finally got sick with what everyone else has, football head." She shook the thermometer to clear it before putting it back in its plastic case and then walked over to the desk. "I'll give you some tylenol like the nurse did for me, okay?" She opened the little bottle and doled out two of the white pills. "Do you have any water up here?"
"Nope." He shook his head, his face hidden beneath his arm again. She put down the medicine and sighed.
"Then I'll go get you a glass. In the meantime, Arnoldo, you need to get out of your street clothes. Where are your extra blankets? And the switch for the heater? It's freezing in this house of yours. Yeesh, where is everyone to complain?" She said as she began to rub her arms to warm herself up. "Crimeny, how am I supposed to get you better when this place is like a fridge?" She muttered, reverting to the tone she used around him normally as he sat up. He pulled off the extra blanket before wrapping it around himself.
"I'll go turn on the heater, okay? It'd be too hard to explain where it is." He started to get up and Helga pushed him back down.
"You're not going anywhere, hair boy. You understand me? You're sick, and that means you stay put. I'm perfectly capable of finding everything, bucko, so I suggest you start explaining." She said as she folded her arms over her chest, her walls of anger back up. He glared up at her darkly, causing part of her to quail in fear. He rarely used his honestly angry glare, but when he did, he was frightening.
"This is my house, Helga, last time I checked. I don't need you to boss me around here too!" She scoffed slightly and rolled her eyes.
"Well last time I checked, football head, you could barely stand upright on your own. And last time I checked, I'm not the person with a fever who needs rest. Do you know what that means, Arnoldo?" She tapped his chest slightly. "You get to stay put while I get you the glass of water and turn on the heater." They started glaring at eachother and finally Helga sighed. She couldn't ever win with him; she couldn't ever overcome his determination.
"Look, football head." She tried, her tone a bit more gentle. "I know you want to help, but right now you need to stay in bed. I can't have you making your fever any worse, okay?" Her abrupt change clearly threw him off as he blinked several times in confusion. "So could you please just tell me where the heater switch is? I'm not so much an idiot that I can't find it."
"All right, all right." He said with a defeated sigh and began to tell her where to find everything.
" . . . and the extra blankets are in the closet in my grandparent's room!" He called after her as she walked down the stairs from his room.
"Yeesh, football head, give it a rest! You've told me about ten times!" She called back to him and began mentally reciting his instructions. The switch for the heater was in the hall, but before she could turn it on, she had to venture into the basement and make sure the pilot light was lit on the furnace. If it wasn't, she'd have to light it, and then she'd be able to turn it on. But even then, she may have to go downstairs and give the beaten up old thing a few good whacks just to get it to start.
I can see why he said it was complicated.
It took her a while to get the heater to come on, seeing as at first she couldn't even find the basement. Determined not to have to head back and ask Arnold, she opened every door downstairs, even if it meant being hit in the head by an ironing board. Rubbing her head sullenly, she decided it was still better than having to deal with a triumphant "I told you so" from a sick Arnold.
Once she found the door to the basement, which turned out to be through the kitchen, it took her a minute or so to work up enough courage to venture into the pitch black. She decided to find a flashlight first, and with it, she was able to find the cord to pull for the light. Then she had to figure out which one was the furnace, which took her a little bit, but she breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed the pilot light was still lit.
Heading back to the thermostat, she clicked it on and waited for the familiar groan that usually followed. However, nothing happened. Swallowing a curse and with the thought of that "I told you so" from Arnold egging her on, she ventured back to the basement to do battle with the furnace. He'd said a few good whacks ought to do it, so she picked up a piece of pipe that seemed as though that's what its use was, and hit the thing. A large cloud of dust accompanied the metallic clang, making Helga cough and sputter and covering her with a layer of gray. But it had worked, and the furnace groaned to life.
Feeling pretty satisfied with herself, Helga went back upstairs and shut the door behind her. As she'd already opened all the doors downstairs, she knew which one was home to Arnold's grandparents. Opening their closet, she found a large pile of thick blankets and grabbed them off the shelf. She then returned to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. With the blankets in one hand and the glass in the other, she then climbed the two flights of stairs back to Arnold's room.
"Have any trouble?" Arnold asked when she entered the room. He'd changed into his pajamas and was curled up beneath both blankets. He peeked out at her wearily as she entered and she squashed the smile that had been threatening to form. She then shook her head and set the pile of blankets on his couch before picking up the medicine from where she'd set it.
"None at all." She handed him the glass of water and the two tylenol and he gave her a look.
"Then why are you all dusty?" He asked as he took the medicine from her and swallowed the pills with a gulp of water. "Have any problems with the heater? I noticed you got it to turn on."
"Of course I did, Arnoldo. What do you take me for, a big moron? Crimeny!" She said and rolled her eyes. He sighed a little before placing the water glass on his bedside table and snuggling down beneath the covers. Instinctively, Helga reached over and pulled the blankets around him more tightly. "Before I let you drift off, where is everyone? I know about your grandfather, but . . ."
"Grandma is with him, and everyone else left for the holidays. There's no one here but us." He murmured, his voice muffled by the pillow. "If you wanna get a hold of Grandma, she's at the main hospital . . . but I don't know which room they put Grandpa in . . . check under Phil . . ." And he trailed off before he could tell her the last name. Sighing a little, Helga finally allowed herself a small smile at Arnold. He looked . . . so angelic when he was asleep. Well, he looked angelic most of the time, so it was kind of ridiculous to say he looked that way just in his sleep.
Let's just say that it enhances his charm. She thought with her admiring smile. She reached out to touch his cheek tenderly, but thought better of it for fear of waking him up. Drawing her dusty hand back, she turned and crept from his room, making up her mind to call her mother. She'd need to know where Helga was, at least.
"But what am I going to tell her? I can't just leave Arnold here alone with no one to watch over him." She mused as she descended the stairs to the first floor. Lost in thought, she barely noticed as she locked the front door. It was the ringing of the phone that snapped her out of her trance and back to reality. "Now who could this be?" She murmured as she picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Hello, this is Arnold's grandma. Is he in?" Helga felt a surge of relief at the sound of the older woman's voice. Now she wouldn't have to badger already annoyed secretaries to find out where Arnold's grandfather was.
"Yes, as a matter of fact he is! But there's a problem, he can't exactly come to the phone right now." Helga said, trying to think of the best way to explain it to his grandmother. "You see, Arnold is - "
"Oh, he's indisposed, is he? Well, I can call back if he needs more time." Helga blinked a little, trying to understand what the woman was suggesting. "Do you know when he'll be done in the loo?" Helga felt her face heat.
"No, no! He's not in the bathroom." She said hastily, and heard a faint 'ah' from the other end of the line. "Arnold is sick! He's upstairs resting; that's why he can't come to the phone." There was another faint 'oh' and Helga drew a deep breath. "Look, I have a problem. There's no one here, and Arnold is sick. I -"
"I see. Who, may I ask, is speaking?" His grandmother said, not allowing Helga the chance to finish her thought.
"Helga, ma'am. Arnold collapsed as he was walking home, so I brought him here and he's got a fever of about one hundred and one, and I honestly have no experience caring for sick people. I -"
"Oh, so this is Eleanor! How are you, my dear? How kind of you to get young Franklin home safely." Helga frowned at the phone, soundlessly mouthing the word 'Franklin'. Didn't she mean Arnold? "From the sound of it, you have everything under control. I'll call back in a little while to check up on things, all right? Bye-bye!" And with a faint click, the old woman hung up. Helga stared at the phone blankly for a moment and then replaced it on the hook.
"Oh, this is just perfect. Now what do I do?" She muttered hopelessly. "Arnold is sick, his loony grandma won't listen, and I don't know what will help him." She ran her fingers through her hair as she began pacing back and forth. "And what about Miriam? She's going to be worried sick." Her mind wandered back to her own mother, and she sighed.
Yeah, I bet she's real worried about me. It's likely that she's more worried about her smoothies than me. Helga thought bitterly and looked at the phone. She should call her at least, or even go home to get a change of clothes. The more time that went by, the more it was looking like she was going to have to stay with Arnold. There was no one in the boarding house, and his grandma couldn't seem to understand that her grandson was sick.
"Here goes nothing." Drawing a deep breath, she dialed her number and crossed her fingers, praying that Miriam would pick up. After five rings, someone did pick up, but it wasn't her mother. It wasn't even her father.
"Hello, Pataki residence." Came Olga's prim and cheery voice through the phone line. Helga goggled at the phone for a moment before jumping for joy at her sheer luck. "Hello? Is anyone there? I'm going to hang up if someone doesn't say something."
"No, wait! Olga, don't hang up, it's Helga!"
"Helga?! Baby sister, why are you calling home? And where are you? Nobody is home. Do you know where Mother went?" Helga rolled her eyes at Olga's barrage of questions.
"I have no idea what happened to Miriam, but listen, Olga, I need your help. I've got a major problem on my hands." She said and heard her sister say a faint 'go on'. "It's like this. A . . . well, I suppose you could call him a friend of mine suddenly collapsed as we were walking, so I brought him back to his house and it turns out he's got a fever and is really sick."
"Oh dear!" Came Olga's voice and Helga shushed her.
"Let me finish, crimeny! His guardians are both sick in the hospital and all of the other people who usually stay in his house are gone. All of them left for the holidays so there's no one to stay with him and help him get well." She licked her lips, part of her hesitant to say the rest. "So here's where you come in, Olga. I need a really big favor from you."
"I'm listening, baby sister. Go on."
"I need you to bring me a bunch things, because it looks like I'm going to have to be the one to take care of him." She said and a stunned silence met her. Helga waited anxiously for her sister's decision and began to chew absently at the inside of her cheek.
"That's a pretty big responsibility, Helga. And I'll do whatever I can to help, okay, baby sister?" Olga said cheerily and Helga breathed a small sigh of relief. "Just tell me what you need and I'll bring it right over."
"Okay, here's what I need you to do . . ."
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"Arnold . . ." A soft voice broke through the quiet surrounding the boy and he struggled to ignore it. He'd been resting; why would he want to move right now? "Arnold, you lazy bum." The voice said with a giggle, a high annoying giggle to be exact. "Arnold, wake up! You can't just sleep all day, you know."
"What do you want?" He muttered and opened his eyes slowly to see that he was surrounded by darkness. He blinked and looked around again. "Hello?" He called and the same giggle that had awoken him now taunted him from the blackness. "Who's there?"
"You're such a silly goose, you know that?" The voice said with yet another giggle and Arnold frowned. "Come and find me, Arnold!"
"Who are you? What do you want with me?" He called and took a small step forward. Abruptly, the darkness vanished and Arnold had to hold up a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden bright light. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair and brought the smell of warm salt water to him. He wiggled his toes and found that he was standing in the whitest sand he'd ever seen.
Where . . . am I? He wondered as he looked around. He stood at the edge of a bright beach, right where the tree line met the sand. Tall palm trees towered above his head and puffy white clouds floated across a cerulean blue sky. His gaze then wandered to the ocean, which was a deep sapphire blue; it was a blue he never thought could possibly exist.
"It's . . . paradise." He murmured as he took several steps towards the water. The sand wasn't hot, despite the brilliant sun overhead, and it warmed his feet pleasantly. "This is wonderful." He said as he reached the water's edge and rolled up the pants of his pajamas so he could wade in up to his ankles. The water was a delightful temperature and playfully lapped around him.
After he'd had enough of the water, he walked out and sat down on the sand, part of him wishing that he could stay here forever, with the delicious salt smell and gentle breeze. The ocean, where he lived, was cold most of the time, and beaches weren't fun unless it was summer.
"Isn't it just beautiful?" A familiar voice said and Arnold looked up to see a girl standing at the water's edge, her white sundress rippling slightly in the breeze. "I love the ocean, it just makes me so calm." He stood slowly and watched the sun reflect off her golden hair. Her back was to him so he couldn't see her face, but her voice . . .
"Who . . . are you?" Arnold asked and she started to turn to him slowly. But before he could see her face, darkness swallowed everything. "Hey!" He yelled as he reached out for the girl, but she was gone. "What is going on here?" He muttered and looked around.
"Arnold, come find me!" The giggly voice was back, taunting and angering him. "You have to find me, Arnold!"
"I don't even know where to start looking!" He shouted and moved to take a step. Just like before, the darkness lifted, and Arnold found himself at school. He stood in the abandoned cafeteria, blinking. Everything looked as though it had gone through a fire and was charred to a cinder.
"All right men, let's try and find the bodies!" The door suddenly burst open and five firemen stormed in, their bight yellow gear contrasting sharply with the blackened interior. "There should be three students that didn't make it out alive. The least we can do for their families is find their remains."
The firemen rushed passed Arnold, completely ignoring him. He didn't try to call out to them either, he just walked through the open door to see about half the school waiting on the blacktop. A slightly singed Mr. Simmons was there, holding the hands of two young students, who were screaming at the top of their lungs. The rest of the students looked shell-shocked.
"Calm down, Phoebe! Calm down!" Arnold heard his own voice say and turned to see himself trying to quiet Phoebe, who was wringing her hands and shifting from foot to foot anxiously. "I'm sure they're all right, just calm down!"
"No they're not! You heard the fireman! They're dead! Helga, and Lila, and Gerald . . . they're dead! All three are dead!" Phoebe screamed at him before falling to her knees and sobbing. Arnold felt his eyes widen as he watched himself place an arm around Phoebe, who couldn't stop screaming and crying uncontrollably.
"No . . ." He muttered before turning and running away from the cries of anguish. He ran down the streets to his house and threw open the door, running into the kitchen to see his grandmother and grandfather sitting at the table, their expressions somber. Grandpa had his head in his hands and Grandma had reached over and touched his arm gently.
"Nothing this bad has happened in years, Pookie." He said, his voice choked with emotion. "I wonder how short man will take it . . . his best friend . . ." Arnold stood in the doorway to the kitchen watching his two grandparents, his heart sinking. What was this? Could this really be happening?
"And Eleanor . . . poor little Eleanor. I'm going to miss her, I really saw so much of myself in her . . ." Grandma said as she squeezed Grandpa's arm. "She was just so much like me when I was her age!"
"Grandma, Grandpa, they're not dead! This isn't happening!" Arnold shouted, but neither heard him. "Both of you, listen to me! They're not dead! They can't be!" He tried again, and Grandpa stood.
"I'll go and find him and bring him home, all right? I'll be back soon, Pookie." Arnold watched helplessly as his grandfather turned and walked towards him, but before he reached Arnold, the darkness came again, shutting out everything. Arnold fell to his knees, slightly shocked from what he had seen. What was this? What was going on?
"Arnold?" He turned quickly to see Helga, though she looked battered and bruised, her hair matted and her pink jumper torn. He stood slowly and stared at her, and she looked back, her gaze unflinching. "What're you doing here? You're not supposed to be here."
"What are you talking about?" But she remained silent, her gaze fixed on him steadily. Arnold stared deep into her eyes and felt himself drift off into the intense blue, their emotion and color swallowing him. Suddenly he was choked with sadness, a deep, painful hurt pulsing through his soul.
This feeling . . . where's it coming from? He wondered as he curled into a ball. It's so cold, so . . . so much pain . . . It grew and grew, stabbing directly into his heart, piercing his very being with its anguish and sorrow . . .
"Stop . . ." He said, his teeth gritted as wave after wave of the sadness broke over him. "Stop . . . it! I don't want this!" He shouted, but the emotion merely grew, making him scream at the very top of his lungs . . . yet no one heard, and his cries were swallowed, dwarfed by the sheer power of the feeling.
And abruptly, the feeling stopped.
It quit coming, it quit breaking over Arnold, who was able to finally focus on the sound that now broke the quiet of the darkness around him. He listened carefully, intently, and finally realized what it was. It was the sound of the soft sobs as someone cried.
"Who . . ." He said softly as he tried to place the source of the sound. He looked around and finally his gaze landed on a small child, their blonde hair wet and their clothing soaked. It looked as though someone had splashed him or her with mud. "Are you all right?" Arnold called to the child, who stopped crying and looked up.
"Who are you?" The child was a small girl with the deepest blue eyes and lashes thick with tears. "You're not here to splash me too, are you?"
"I wouldn't dare." Arnold said and he held out a hand to the girl. "Come with me and we'll figure out a way to get you dry, okay?" She looked at his hand and then her gaze traveled up to his face.
"You're nice, mister." And she stood slowly. "I've been alone for so long now . . ." She smiled at him, and Arnold couldn't help feeling like he'd seen that smile somewhere before once. "It's nice to know someone cares once in a while." And with that, she waved at him and vanished.
"Wait!" Arnold shouted, but it was no use. He was left alone once again.
*~*~*
And there's a good place to stop. Yes, yes, I know, it's shorter than my normal chapters, but I figure long chapters are harder for people to read. Don't think that'll stop me in the future though; I like writing long stuff. So what's going to happen? Is Olga going to help? And what's with Arnold's dream? That is a dream by the way. Why else would it be in italic? Well, you're going to have to wait for chapter five! And expect more dreams, I love doing them. See you all there and don't forget to review with the answers to those questions, except do them for this chapter!
What do you think of the dream? Crazy enough for ya? I love doing surreal stuff like that because it gives the writer a chance to hint at things subtly, or maybe not so subtly. Anyhoo, enough of my chatter, I'll head off to write chapter five.
Love forever and ever:
pottergal
