disclaimer: all rights to nick and craig barlett
How to be Dead
Chapter 3 - Into the Dark
For the nth time in just over a week, and the second time that day, Arnold woke on his back with a headache, seeing stars and a bright white light. Is this heaven? Because that bright light sure is annoying...
He pondered death. Sure, it would suck, but he might get to see his parents...isn't that what heaven is about? Pure bliss and seeing those you lost? He tried to sit up, but the movement made him dizzy, and his entire body was sore, although his head hurt the most. Oh God... He turned over and retched.
Ok, so this cannot be heaven. I don't think you can puke in heaven.
"If you get up slowly, you might be able to avoid that," a blunt voice commented.
He struggled to sit up. His whole body felt sore, especially his head, which seemed to be ringing. Helga was speaking to him, although that didn't answer if he was dead or not. She was dead, but she had been haunting him on earth. If he died, then would she be released, her soul finally at peace? But if I'm dead, why am I still in so much pain?
"He's alright! He's alright!" a man shouted.
That's a bit of an understatement. He sat up to find a small crowd gathered around him. Funny, the street was empty before. His eyes searched for Helga. For a moment he feared she too had been hurt, but he quickly remembered her lack of a corporeal form. She was off to the side, watching him with a strange look in her eye. Her face remained frozen in a strange mask as he caught her eye. He gave her a slight smile, but she did not return it.
"What happened?" he asked the man beside him, still feeling very nauseous. The man closest to him said that he had been driving when Arnold stepped into the street. He tried to swerve, but the lost control of the car due to the ice on the street, yet somehow Arnold managed to get out of the way as quickly as he got in the way. Dazed but slowly somewhat comprehending what happened, Arnold turned to Helga. She didn't confirm or deny the tale. She continued to stare at him with a fiery look in her eye, the rest of her face immobile.
She stayed with him as he went to the hospital, although he wasn't sure if this was out of concern or out of necessity. He had yet to discover if he could move around while she was here without her, but she seemed to follow him like a shadow when she appeared. The doctor confirmed he had a minor concussion from hitting the sidewalk, but that was all. His grandparents came to get him in the old Packard. His grandma spent the entire time saying it was fate punishing him for skipping school, and his grandpa said he hoped it had fixed whatever problem Arnold had had with his head over the past week. Helga sat beside him, quiet and acting as if she was afraid to move too quickly, or even move at all. She followed him up to his bedroom and perched in the windowsill, sitting like a statue. He watched her, concerned more about her behavior than his head, as he slipped into sleep, trying to dissect the puzzle of the day.
It was still dark when he woke up several hours later. Helga was in the same spot, illuminated by the streetlights outside. She was still staring out the window to the street below. He watched for a few minutes before she interrupted him by reminding him of his manners. He quickly apologized.
"Not much has changed, has it?" he asked.
"No, but I kinda like it that way. It reminds me of other times." A pause. "How's your head?"
"I'll live...by the way, I haven't thanked you for saving my life. How did you do it, anyways?"
"I -"
"I mean, I can't touch you. Can you touch me? Or you can touch inanimate objects...did you move the car or something? Does being a ghost mean that you have superpowers, or something? Are you really a guardian angel (albeit a very annoying one)?"
"Arnold, what happened-"
"Oh, God, the last thing I said to you was 'Go to Hell.' Helga, how can I repay you? Please, tell me. I'll do anything."
"Arnold, there is no debt. Seriously, I-"
"Helga, you saved my life. I owe you my life. What can I do?"
"Arnold-"
"Just tell me something-"
"STOP TALKING ABOUT IT!" She composed her self. "It makes me sick to think about it."
There was such tenderness in her voice, soft and quiet, so unlike her usual rough bark. It was like a caress. Her face was open and vulnerable. She looked a little depressed and sick herself. "Do you mean that?"
She watched him for a moment before her expression changed. Once again, her face was hard and closed. "Well, your brains and guts everywhere would make me want to throw up, even though that's impossible. Anyways, if you were gone, who would I bug?"
The corners of his mouth twitched. "Point taken." Same old Helga. The vulnerable, honest, caring Helga never stayed around long, although he had always wanted to get to know that girl much better. Still, it made the moments she did act caring more sweet and satisfying, as they were few and far between.
"Seriously, please, don't talk about it." She smirked. "Go back to hating me. That I can deal with. Be rude and nasty. Tell me to go to hell. Argue with me. This is a good thing we got going."
"I don't hate you."
"Well, then that's some good acting you've been showing off lately."
"C'mon, though, you kinda deserved it."
"Humph." She folded her arms and looked away.
He smiled. This definitely was the Helga he remembered. "I never hated you. Sure, you annoyed the crap out of me a lot, but I never hated you."
"Gee, thanks."
"You're welcome."
She looked at him for a moment before speaking again. "So what now?"
"I dunno. I guess what I should have done in the beginning."
"Which is..."
"Find out why you are here." A pause. "I know you didn't want to talk about it, but do you remember how you died? Anything? You said something about an airport."
She looked away, again people watching through his window. "Did I say airport? Now I'm seeing a bus station...and a McDonald's."
"Are you lying?"
"Probably."
"Were you murdered?"
"Dunno."
"Plane crash?"
"Still don't know."
"Attacked by wild boars?
"No. And that's...sectionalist, or something. South Dakota isn't just some crazy, barren, backwater land where animals attack wondering, nomadic humans. There aren't even any boars in South Dakota. They are further south, and most are in the Eastern Hemisphere."
"How do you know the habitual ranges of wild boars?"
She shrugged. "Swing and a miss, Arnold. Seriously though, don't you get tired of me telling you 'no, I don't remember.'"
"No." He grinned. "Did you eat a strawberry?"
"No--what?"
"You're allergic to strawberries, aren't you?" he asked, still smiling despite the somber subject of the conversation.
"How do you know that?"
"It probably came up at one time or another. So did you eat a strawberry?"
"I don't remember a strawberry. Besides, I think they were out of season then."
"HA! So you don't know how, but you know when?"
She rolled her eyes. "Think about it. I saw you in December and it's now February. Are strawberries in season?"
"No, but you could have eaten some that were frozen, or imported."
"Just give it up."
"What about the in between time? Between you dying and coming here? Or did you just die? I would have heard about it, though...from someone...Phoebe. Do you think she knows? Or anyone else?" he asked himself more than her.
A crack in the mask. "How is Phoebe?"
"She seems to be having a tough time lately..." He stared at Helga. "Though I think I understand why now."
She said nothing, but once again looked away. Arnold sat up in bed to get a better look at her. "You and Phoebe were still friends, right?"
"Yeah, but I think I may have made a mistake before...you know...croaked. Kicked the bucket. Bought the farm. Bit the dust. Pushed up daisies. Cashed in the chips."
"You passed away...can't you take this seriously?"
"No. Does that bother you?"
"Yes."
"You were just making fun of how I may have died."
"Well...I...er...sorry."
She folded her arms. "Well, it bothers me that it bothers you. It's my deal, Arnold, not yours. My life, and my death." She narrowed her eyes and glared at him for a moment. "Don't even think about it."
"About what?"
"You know. I can see your plan forming in that ridiculously formed shape head of yours. Don't you dare try to find out how I died. It doesn't bother me, and to be honest, I really don't care to know."
"I do."
"Since when do you have such an avid interest in the macabre? Let it go."
"Helga-"
"I tell you what, you drop this, and I'll tutor you in English so your grade doesn't drop anymore and you can quit whining about how you're not going to get into college."
"Have you forgotten that it was your fault I got in the school mess to begin with?"
"I believe it was your stupid, noble personality and bloated pride that go in your way there, Shortman."
His cold eye met an even icier one, and he cracked into soft laughter after a few minutes of trying to stare her down.
"Why are you laughing?" she demanded.
"Because you looked how I imagine I looked." He calmed himself. "You know, there are times when I think that you and I have a lot more in common than one would think."
"You and I have anything in common? Please. Except for a mutual disdain for each other, I think you're off the mark."
"I think you're wrong, and you're just afraid to admit that one: we are similar, and two: you like me more than you will admit."
"I won't admit it because I don't like you! You're a Football Headed putz!"
"See, denial."
"Lord, Hair Boy, shut up! Look, are you going to take my deal or not? Otherwise, I'm going to get bored with you and start up with my tricks again."
"You're bluffing."
"Am I?" she dared.
He watched her for a second. It was a pattern of Helga's, to become soft and almost human and relatable, and likable, and then as quick as the change came it passed, and she was cold, hard, and mean again.
Yet he knew her. She had truly been scared earlier in the day when she thought he had been hurt. It had been more than guilt, but pure concern and relief that he was fine. She realized how much pain she had caused him, what a mess she had made, and, although she hadn't said the words, he knew she was sorry and would not deliberately hurt him again. He knew his path. He knew how to repay her for saving his life. He knew how to set her free.
"Deal."
He'd find out how she died, and, if necessary, bring that person to justice.
It was February, and the days, although getting longer, were still too short and grey for Arnold's taste. Hours were spent in the hell that was school, only to be followed by other hells, including work, homework, and the social awkwardness that is high school. Helga floated in and out, giving him an unusual amount of space when she was around, and often his days were so filled that often he didn't notice she was there. It was quite a change from the days before.
He had gotten what he wanted, but he wasn't so sure he liked it.
She was calmer, that was true, although she was always ready with a sharp comment or a sarcastic remark. Occasionally, he noticed her teasing was in light fun rather than her usual wickedness, like his own was for her, but those moments were few and far between.
She kept her part of the deal, helping him with English, as their teacher moved from Shakespeare to The Great Gatsby, which, to be honest, he didn't need much help from her on, but it was still nice to discuss literature with someone outside of a classroom. She was particularly fun to watch as she was roused with passion over the characters. Gatsby seemed to be a particular favorite of hers, and she hated the Buchanans with a passion.
"That's the one thing I don't get about Gatsby. How can a man so full of love, so filled with passion that he is consumed by it, be in love with someone so vapid and selfish as Daisy."
"Isn't Gatsby selfish himself? Daisy is married-"
"To a lying, cheating oaf."
"But he still covets her."
"He loved her first!"
"But that doesn't mean that he has a permanent claim on her love. Gatsby breaks laws to make himself the man he thinks Daisy wants. Nick may think he's better than the rest of them, but I don't think so. Maybe more passionate, but he made as many bad choices."
"Gatsby's only real crime is living in the past. He is a man in love, hopeless so. He is a man reaching for the moon, happiest when he was across the lake from her. When she was close enough to touch, to meet, but there was no interaction, so he couldn't fail. He could just hold onto the dream. Can you really judge him for that?"
Arnold shrugged and smiled. While he had caught on to all her points, he enjoyed her help nonetheless. It was as if she had opened a little window into her soul, allowing him to peak in for just a moment to see her in her element, as her true self.
They spent hours together, although much of the time was spent with her reading and him studying. When she did talk, however, she continued to provide a running commentary on his day, although she did it to amuse instead of aggravate as the days went by. He was finding it much easier to hide his enjoyment, although a laugh and a smile did often leak through. Most people, however, ignored him, since he had certified himself as part crazy during the days before.
His favorite time of the day had become the evening, right before he went to bed. Helga always seemed to be around then, when he was tired. He spent more of the time asking her questions, although most of them she seemed to sidestep. He asked her about the afterlife, but she responded that she didn't remember anything but darkness.
"So, tell me about South Dakota. I don't really know much about it," he said one night after failing once again to get a peak into the great beyond, as she called it when she felt particularly ghastly.
"To be honest, neither do I. And besides, talking about that is about as boring as listening to you, and, since I'm such a charm, I'll spare you that pain."
"Thanks." He fidgeted in the dark, his curiosity overcoming his fatigue. "So, who was your first kiss?"
"That's invasive."
"Just answer."
"You. Yours?"
He smiled to himself, glad she couldn't see him in the darkness. "You." She didn't say anything, so he continued on. "Any boyfriends?"
"Nope."
"Friends in South Dakota?"
"None."
"None?"
"Don't make it sound depressing, Hair Boy. I am an island, and proud of it."
"Your worst day?"
"Any day with you."
"Your best day?"
"Any day without you."
"What about your parents? Wasn't that a bad day? When they decided to get divorced?"
"Am I on a fucking gameshow? What about your parents?"
"My parents..." he stopped, quickly becoming choked up. Besides, if she didn't want to share and open up, he didn't want to either. At least not about this.
"See, not so much fun answering questions, is it?"
"Fine. What's your favorite color?" he asked after a few moments of silence.
"Black. What's yours?"
"Black's not a color. It's all colors."
"If you're mixing paint, maybe. Black is the absence of color. White is all colors."
"Well, Miss Know-it-All, black still isn't a color."
"Fine. Pink," They said together. "You are so predictable," he said.
"Humph."
"You are. Or maybe just to those who know you well."
"Oh, and you know me well? Listen, buddy, you don't know anything about me."
"I knew you were going to say that."
"You are so irritating! What is this, payback? Look, buddy, I already apologized for acting like a jerk, but acting like a jerk works for me. It's a very bad look on you, so stop."
"It's not payback. I'm just trying to get to know you."
She sighed. "Arnold, you don't want to get to know me. Trust me."
She said nothing more after that.
He slowly learned more and more about her, although it was just surface level stuff, her likes and dislikes. He was hoping to find some clues as to what kind of person she had become and what had happened to her.
That project, however, was seeing less results. As he had lost complete contact with Helga, along with nearly everyone else, he had no idea where to begin his search. His only clues where the two month window between when he saw Helga in December and the moment she appeared as a ghost to help him figure out exactly what day she died and that she mentioned remembering an airport. He was glad that she had told him that before he mentioned trying to find out what happened. He had an odd feeling that she knew more than she was letting on, but for some reason she didn't want to tell him. He was beginning to fear the worst.
He started by looking for information in Hillwood. Given that Bob Pataki still had a very predominant business in town (he had branched out from beepers to other electronics, as the technology had faded into relative obscurity), he figured the death of his daughter would have brought some press. He found, however, nothing about Helga or the Patakis in the Hillwood papers, except for information on her parents very public and very ugly divorce years earlier and Bob's wedding, which took place late last year.
He recalled Helga mentioning South Dakota when he ran into her in December (he pushed down the nausea building in his throat about the anxieties he had felt watching her leave...only to have her die sometime later. Clearly something had been wrong then). With no clues as to where to start, he was unable to locate anything about Helga or her mother in South Dakota. It was as if Helga had disappeared into thin air after her parents' divorce and after she left Hillwood. He hadn't asked her anymore questions out of fear of her wrath, and he felt the one who could help him the most, Phoebe, would be off limits since she seemed to have taken Helga's death so bad. Of course, seeing how his other former classmates had reacted, perhaps he was in assuming she had been down and depressed over Helga's death. He had no idea who else to ask, since no one sans Phoebe had heard from Helga for years (and he was just guessing in regards to Phoebe). He asked kids who when to PS 118, but he found that none had kept in touch with Helga. He also found that most of him didn't want to talk about her, or cared very little. Arnold began to wonder if they knew she had died.
Furthermore, there was the problem of Helga herself, who, although she seemed to be around a bit less, he had yet to figure out what made her appear or disappear. And he was sure that he would be less than pleased if she found out what he was doing.
And so he found himself sitting at his computer on a Friday night, working on trying to find out more about Helga, determined to discover her mystery. He had started collecting notes and typing them, but they were meager at best. He had been working for several hours, finding nothing new, before she appeared suddenly at his shoulder.
"Whatcha doing?"
"Nothing," he said, quickly shutting his laptop.
"Fine. Be that way. All secretiveand crap. Like I give a damn what you are up to." She leaned forward. Arnold blushed as he realized that, had she been solid and alive, her hair would have falling on his shoulder, brushing his cheek. She was right next to him, and although he could sense her beside him (and see her out of the corner of his eye), he felt nothing. She couldn't touch him either.
"Isn't it Friday?"
Her questioned pulled him out of his reverie. "What?"
"It's Friday, right? That's what the calendar says. I haven't been around in a few days so I can't keep track."
"Where do you go when you are 'away'?"
"I dunno. I just assume time has passed because the time has changed, and you are wearing different clothes and doing something different."
He eyed her, still believing that she was hiding things from him. "Yeah, it's Friday."
"So what are you doing here? Why aren't you out partying or coming up with more lame handshakes with Gerald?"
"I dunno. Now that you're here I figured you and I could just watch a movie or something." To him, it seemed like a plan for a good night.
Something flashed over her face, but it quickly passed. "You're telling me that you would rather hang out with someone dead than go to a party or something with real, live people? And me, of all ghosts?"
"There are more of you hanging out?" he answered automatically, but he was thrown. The answer to her question scared him. He had to get away, get away from whatever was happening. "Good point. I'm heading out...I guess you will be to, right?"
She shrugged. "I'm not really a party sort of girl, you know? Besides, I think it's time to see if we can be separated or not."
Disappointment rushed through his veins. He hated parties just as much; Gerald was usually the only person he really cared to talk to. Although he had many acquaintances, he was Arnold's only true friend, save whatever Helga was becoming. He kept in touch with few of his friends from high school, although she shared a good word or two with them in the hallways at school. As a result, he had gotten bored with parties early in high school, turning into tiresome affairs which were indistinguishable from the last, but he hoped to have Helga's colorful commentary to keep him entertained. He reluctantly left her, which was possible, both relieved and depressed to be away to be away from her company, and scared as to what that might mean.
After calling Gerald, Arnold found himself in a crowded apartment a few blocks away from his house. The usual groups of people were there, but none of them attracted his attention. The liquor table, however, did, and he stayed there for a good while, hoping to hide from his more confusing thoughts for at least a few hours.
It didn't work.
He sat down and watched others move around him. He watched drunk girls and the boys chasing them. He watched soon-to-be frat boys play beer pong. Drugs being passed around. People making out in corners, and probably doing more behind closed doors. He didn't judge them. He didn't care enough.
He wanted to be at home. With her. A companion that, although often annoying and tiresome, at least was enjoyable without being somewhat degrading. She was intelligent, sometimes caring. He saw that. He saw none of that here. At least none that caught his attention, sparked his curiosity, or made him feel at home. Nothing here made him feel like himself and nothing else.
"Arnold, there you are!" Gerald said, flopping on the couch beside him and smelling strongly like beer and perfume. "What are you doing on the couch. Join the party."
"I'm drunk. Isn't that enough?"
"My poor, shy friend, we need to get you a lady. Oi!" he yelled at a group of girls. A few turned around and smiled.
Arnold glared at them and at Gerald. "No. No lady."
Gerald frowned. "Arnold, what are you thinking? Those girls are cute!"
"Hey-ya," he muttered.
"Did you just say 'Hey ya'? Dude, that song's been out for years...it's not even cool anymore...Or maybe it's so old and lame it's cool again...you might be on to something."
"Helga!"
"What?"
"Helga. I was thinking about Helga."
"And why are you thinking of Helga G. Pataki?"
"Not about her. About what happened to her."
"Uh, Arnold, she died. Like weeks ago."
His words snapped him out of his stupor. "You knew? When? How? How do you know and I just found out about a week ago?"
"It happened over break...I think. You were messed up with pneumonia, remember?" He shrugged. "I mean, she's been gone for years. Not much was said about it. I asked Phoebe, and she confirmed it, but she didn't say anything else. She seemed like she didn't want to talk about it."
"How'd she die?"
"I don't know, man, I never got details. No one did. And to be honest, you are killing my buzz right now."
So he would have to talk to Phoebe. She seemed to be the only one with answers. He left soon after, apologizing to Gerald for being such a bore.
She was gone when he got home. He had hoped she would be waiting for him, with insults and comments about his drunkenness. Instead the room was empty, an open book on the couch the only sign that she had been there.
The next day, Arnold headed out early (Helga had yet to reappear, and he knew his time was limited) to Phoebe's. Thankfully, the Hyerdahls lived in the same home they had during Phoebe's childhood. He dreaded talking to her, but no one else seemed to have answers to the puzzle. She was his last hope.
He knocked on the door, and for a moment he thought no one was home. As he turned to leave, he heard the door open. A small, bespectacled girl appeared at the door.
"Arnold?" Phoebe asked, surprised to see him on her doorstep. They hadn't spoken much in years...since Helga moved, to be exact..
"Hi."
"What are you doing here?"
He was taken aback by her slight rudeness, although it was somewhat to be expected. "I wanted to talk to you about something."
Her eyebrows rose and threatened to invade her hairline. "I can't say I'm not surprised, Arnold. It's been a long time since you and I have talked alone. I'm flabbergasted as to what we could possibly talk about."
"Helga," he stated bluntly.
Phoebe stared at him blankly. For a moment, he thought she would turn him away. She finally spoke. "Come in."
A/N: on the literary references, and full author's note, see my homepage.
