Disclaimer: All characters and rights (with exception of the few original characters) to Craig Bartlett and Nick.


How to be Dead

Chapter 4 - Speaker for the Dead


Phoebe led him into a curiously decorated living room, where East met West, matching the young girl's unique heritage. She gestured him to sit down and asked him if he wanted anything to eat or drink. After the basic pleasantries were covered, her tone changed. "Why do you want to know anything about Helga?" she asked, her icy voice cutting through his insides, an odd tone coming from the normally cheery young girl.

He recovered quickly, ignoring the nerves filling up his insides and concentrating on his ends. "I can't explain. All I know is that you seem to be the only who knows anything about her and her death."

"That's because I'm the only one who cared."

Another twist of the knife. "You're not the only one," he said softly.

"Oh, suddenly you do? Why the abrupt change of heart, Arnold?"

"I just found out, actually. I was...incapacitated when she passed."

Her eyes fluctuated from the ground to Arnold's face for a few minutes.

"Please, Phoebe. You know I did care about her. I just wanted to know what happened."

She muttered something incomprehensible.

"What?"

Her answer did not surprise him. In a soft voice she explained that no one knew how she died, just that she had a few days before Christmas. No one even knew where she was buried, save her family. It was all a mystery.

"Didn't Bob bury her? Doesn't he know anything? Plus, the guy has one of the biggest appliance stores in the city and is a notorious ass. Everyone knows him. Wouldn't the death of his daughter be in the papers? At least in the obituaries?"

She shrugged.

He processed the information. "How do you know she died before Christmas?"

"Helga and I were supposed to get together after Christmas to exchange gifts and catch up. I hadn't seen her in five years, you know. I was surprised when I heard she was coming to Hillwood, to be honest. It didn't make much sense. Helga and I had remained in correspondence, and she never mentioned that ever wanted to come back, and I assumed that it wasn't feasible for her to, seeing that she had no means to return, and no one to return to, save..."

"Save who?"

"Uh, save me, I suppose."

He nodded, afraid to say anything that may stop her from sharing her tale. While she spoke, his mind began to wonder once again about the life Helga led during her diaspora, and why she would suddenly return to Hillwood.

Phoebe continued. "So she had told me that she was going to be staying with her sister-"

"Olga? But Helga hates Olga. Why didn't she stay with her dad?"

Phoebe shrugged. "I don't know. I figured Bob's new wife didn't like her or something. She never talked to me about her dad, so I have no idea what terms they were on. To be honest, Helga and I didn't talk much about her family...she tended to ask more about me."

"That doesn't sound like Helga. Not that she was a bad person, but she could be--"

"Selfish? Narcissistic? Egotistical?"

"Well, yes."

Another shrug. "I know. I decided that her parent's divorce and the move made her grow up; or, and more likely, she was blocking it out of her mind and avoiding deeper issues. Anyways, back to the original tale, she called from Olga's when she got into town. I called her sister's when Helga didn't call to confirm our plans, and she said that Helga had passed away, and that was all. No explanation. No information on viewings or funerals. Nothing. I searched the newspapers, but I found no information on her death. Still haven't." She sighed. "I don't even know exactly what day she died. I just know it was sometime during Christmas break, before the 28th, which was when I called Olga."

Arnold tried to remember month of December, which he had tried to forget as much as possible. He had spent most of the break in the hospital, as his health deteriorated. Maybe she had even been at the same hospital as him...dying so close to where he lay healing. The thought made him shudder.

"Arnold? Are you cold?"

"No, I'm just...bothered."

"Understandable. I get like that a lot too."

"I'm sorry, Phoebe. You cared for and knew Helga better than anyone."

She gave him a sad smile. "I think you're right on one, Arnold, but not the other."

"What do you mean?"

"I just think that there is someone out there that cared for Helga more, and in a far different way, than I ever could or did. Although I did care for her."

"Who? Maybe that person could help me, er, us."

"No, that person knows as much as we do. And even less about their own feelings regarding her and her death."

He stood to leave, his head becoming confused as Phoebe shifted from concrete facts to enigmatic phrases. "I should go, but thank you. And if you ever need to talk..."

"I've not yet finished, Arnold."

He sat back down, watching the little figure carefully. She in turn watched him with an odd gleam in her eye.

"About two weeks after I called Olga, I received several large packages from South Dakota, Mrs. Pataki to be exact. She wrote a note thanking me for being a good friend to her daughter, and that she felt Helga would like me to have the contents of the boxes, which were too beautiful to be destroyed. It seemed that in death she finally realized who her daughter was and what she was capable of."

"Better late than never, I suppose," he muttered, feeling cold guilt seep through his veins.

"She said that Helga would have wanted me to have them, but, to be honest, I've never opened the packages. I felt they didn't belong to me."

"Because they were still hers?"

Phoebe gave him another heartbreaking smile and shook her head. "No, because they were yours."

He frowned, unable to understand what Phoebe was talking about. He told her as much, and asked what was in the mysterious packages from Helga that were meant for him.

"Her journals."


Despite the curiosity that overflowed within him like a volcano erupting, spitting anxiety and excitement like ash over his psyche, he avoided the boxes like the plague. He hid the packages in his closet, fearful Helga would recognize them. To further mask his actions, he found an old, large book in the living room which he hallowed out. He had no idea if Helga had the journals boxed up when she moved to South Dakota, but he knew she would recognize the books on sight. He made sure that when she did appear he didn't leave her alone in his room; he didn't trust her to not go snooping into his life and stuff (he swallowed the bitter taste of the double-standard). Still, he refrained from opening the boxes; It felt too much like spying on her life, respecting her right to privacy even though she was dead.

He hoped to find out about her through other methods. Helga had continued to enjoy the sound of her own voice, monopolizing the conversation when they did talk. Her actions reminded him of Phoebe's words and further confused him as to Helga's current level of maturity and narcissism and her character overall. To watch her unmolested, he focused on studying when she was around, fearing other activities, particularly those that involved heavy conversation from him would betray his motives. As annoying as it seemed to be, since she loved to retell and even reenact some of Arnold's more embarrassing moments from his childhood (her favorite being a certain dark memory that included a bunny suit), he hoped that she would leave small hints about her life that would give him clues to how she died.

So far, he had nothing but hurt pride to show for his efforts. Helga seemed to evade his deeper questions, returning to her favorite pastimes: teasing and annoying him (which happened eighty-five percent of the time) and long, passionate rants on anything from literature to the width of sidewalks (he was beginning to worry about the amount of time she spent looking out of windows). It seemed he had two choices: read her diaries or visit Olga.

One drizzly afternoon, well-rested and free of all spirits, Arnold felt that the time had come to make a decision. he rationalized that in order to help her get to the afterlife now, he had to find out the mystery surrounding her death. The ends, he felt, would justify the means. He would, however, do it with as much honor and respect towards her that he could manage. He put himself in Helga's shoes, wondering which would make her madder: reading her deepest thoughts or visiting her sister. Realizing that he still had no idea how her mind functioned and even less of an idea as to how she would respond, he did what he feared less.

He flipped through the journals quickly to find those that began after Helga moved away, having experienced and noted most of her history in Hillwood. Although the last part of her tale was murky, he felt that it would be best to learn about her parents' divorce after the fact; her mind would probably be less subjective after the fact. He knew this was most like futile; if she wouldn't talk about it to Phoebe there was a chance she could be in such denial she wouldn't write about it, but he was also more curious to find out about her life after Hillwood.

The collection was massive, with volumes spanning from age seven to seventeen. He went through three large boxes before he reached the first one from South Dakota. The writing style varied according to her mood. Mostly it seemed to have a staccato beat, particularly when writing about her family or her classmates. Occasionally there was the mention of a mysterious "him," and the tone of her writing would change from fury to eloquence, language that he could scarcely believe could be written by someone so angry. Helga seemed to almost worship this person, expressing her devotion in a way that made Arnold feel both guilty for reading and jealous that he had never felt so strongly. Even if he had, he never would be able to express it as such.

After reading the journals, he tried to grasp the story of Helga G. Pataki. After her parents' divorce (which he already knew rough details on) she and her mother moved to South Dakota to live with Helga's grandmother and aunt. The grandmother died soon after, and the two sisters and the young girl lived together at odds. Miriam's sister, described by Helga as a "tea-totaling, Bible-beating, bat-crazy evil woman" who believed Miriam would go to hell for her drinking and that Helga would for her various unChristian tendencies, particularly her lack of respect for her parents and authority figures in general (Helga actually complied a list of all her "bad" characteristics that would place her in Hell; she seemed to be proud and unrepentant of them). Miriam continued to be incapacitated most of her days, leaving Helga under the sharp eye of her aunt. This woman, although through a different means, was nearly as brutal as Bob, although he had occasionally shown signs of being a decent human being. She criticized all of Helga's qualities and going even so far as to blame the "vile, sinful creature" for her mother's alcoholism and her father's apathy. "How could a father be proud of such a malicious, ugly, and stupid girl! A daughter should be the sunshine of a father's life, and you, my dear, gave that man nothing but hell. And your behavior caused your mother to collapse into sin herself! Oh, if you were my daughter, such behaviors would have been stomped out of you at a young age. Now, it seems too late for even Christ himself to save you." Helga wrote that despite all her threats, her aunt continued to accost her and try to change her. Arnold was left to wonder what was worse: being ignored or verbally abused.

For years Helga lived this way, living a life where the only one to hear her true thoughts and feelings was an inanimate notebook. She didn't make any new friends, or if she did she made no mention of them. She seemed to scorn everyone around her. She occasionally mentioned Phoebe and her family, but she was the only one person from back home. She seemed to be beaten, a candle extinguished before its flame had time to truly shine. Even in her anger she seemed to lose her old spark. The only flourishes of the spunky, fiery girl he remembered occurred when she wrote of "him," a thought to keep her mind strong, free, and vibrant whilst in her dark, iron cage.

So it continued, page after page, book after book, until shortly after her sixteenth birthday Helga began to write of another "him." Arnold could differentiate between the two not just from past to present but also by physical features and personality. For example, the old "him" had "cornflower hair" and "eyes of the emerald isle," a good angel, while the new "him," raven-haired, dark and capricious, seemed to be "an angel from the underworld." Arnold learned his name, his character, and his affect on her, which seemed to affect him. No longer was she forced to cower in sorrow--things got lighter. Her writing changed to poetry and long passages filled with expressions of love. Nothing, however, was concrete; her writing was filled with symbols, her own private code describing feelings but not tangible events.

Arnold felt a strange heaviness in his chest as he read about the boys, a flame running through his veins. It was stronger than being jealous over her eloquence; he assumed it was due to the extremely personal writings that he was now reading behind a friend's back. His curiosity kept his eyes moving, reading the words with as much speed as a parched dog lapping up water.

And then those passages stopped with as much warning as they began. The writing turned to darkness and anger, symbolism gone. There were no more mentions of either "him" or any one else outside of her family. Several pages had been ripped out, and all that was a available was a cryptic note, "I shall never speak of him again..." and a quote he had read somewhere before: "O that this too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!"

"Hey Football Head, what's shaking?"

He jumped. "Helga, hi."

She sat down beside him. He scooted away and put the book down. She eyed him for a few minutes. "What is wrong with you? You're acting weird."

"No I'm not...not weirder than normal, right?"

More staring. "Since when have you become such a bookworm? All I see you do is read. And that same damn book, too!" She looked around him. "What are you reading, anyways?"

"Nothing."

"Secrets of Snails: A Tale of Landscape Change. Sounds riveting."

He stared at the spine and mentally hit himself in the head.

"So what are you really reading?"

"Huh?"

"Nerd that you are, and science geek on top of that, do you really believe that I believe you are reading that book? No, there's something else there. What is it?"

"Why do you think something else is in there?"

"Let's just say I have experience, ok? Now let me see the damn book."

She again tried to take the book, but he snatched it up and held it close to his body, safe from her intangible grasp. "There's nothing here. I'm reading about snails. It's fascinating, really--"

"I bet. Is it porn?"

"WHAT?!"

"Porn, Football Head. Please tell me that you have seen porn and know what it is. Otherwise you have problems beyond what I can fix."

He felt his face change colors rapidly, from white to red to nearly purple. "I know what porn is, Helga."

"Have you seen it?"

"Yes."

"Huh. Well, out of respect for your privacy I'll ask no more about when or where...except what are you looking at? Tasteful artsy-fartsy stuff, or really nasty stuff?"

"Helga, it's not porn!"

"I'll take that as a nasty. Good for you, Arnoldo. I didn't think you had it in you."

"Helga!"

"Fine, than what is it?"

"I can't tell you."

"Because you're embarrassed? I'm a woman of the new millennium, Arnold. I am fully aware of sex and everything that goes with it."

More curiosity. "Because..." he asked, ignoring the salt her words put in his already guilt-induced wounds.

"Internet," she said simply.

"Ah."

"Forget about sex for a minute--"

"Can you?"

"Whatever. You seriously can't tell me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

"Because you are sworn to secrecy and will be killed on spot?" She crossed her fingers. "Cause that's what I'm hoping for."

"No, Helga. I just can't. And I don't know why you are so bothered. You haven't told me everything. You're keeping secrets from me."

"Like what?"

"Like...what happened after you left Hillwood."

"I don't want to talk about it. Besides, not a lot. Boring stuff...though maybe I should tell you. Payback for having to watch your ridiculously boring life."

"Helga, I've almost been chucked out of school for cheating and killed since you've been around."

She shrugged.

"What about your parents divorce?"

She flinched. "It's too personal to talk about. Lots of pain, inner turmoil, blah, blah, blah. And on that note, you didn't talk about your parents."

"Fine. What do you want to know?"

She raised her eyebrows. "You are really going to talk about it?"

"We are friends now, aren't we?"

She watched him, a strange look passing over her face.

"I mean, if that's ok with you..."

"No. Friends. Right. Anywho, your parents."

"I don't know what happened to them. I have this." He walked over to the bookshelf (taking the other book with him) and grabbed his father's journal. "This was my dad's. It's his journal."

She thumbed through it. "So, what do you know about them?"

"They loved each other. They loved me."

"Little happy family. Right. So what happened? Why is this little happy family no more?"

He shrugged off her insensitivity. "They were adventurers. They traveled the world, exotic places, trying to make a difference. Dad was a doctor, Mom a botanist." He sighed. "I was a toddler when they left. One last mission to help people deep in the jungle, which was where they met. No one has heard from them since."

She read for a few minutes. He watched her through unfocused eyes, deep in his own thoughts. "Your parents really loved each other, didn't they? And you."

"Yes. At least that's how it comes across, doesn't it?"

"Do you hate them for leaving you?"

"No. It was their job. And they didn't mean for it to end the way it did. It was fate, or the universe, or God, or whatever. Not them."

She nodded, continuing to read. "Did you ever want to go look for them? Get answers?"

He smiled. "I was going to, once. When we were still at PS 118. I got a business that worked with my parents to sponsor a trip, but it got cancelled. Disputes between management."

"Stupid suits. Didn't they realize how important it was for you to get answers? Closure on the whole story that kept you riveted for years?"

"Clearly not." Pause. "So, I told you my sob story. What about yours?"

"There's not much to tell, especially after your story."

"You promised, Helga."

"I didn't, but whatever. Bob left Miriam and tried to give her the shaft out of everything, the house, money, assets. All he wanted to give her was me. So she fought back; you know, she's not so useless when she's determined, and when she's not..."

"Drinking?" he finished.

"Bingo. So it went back and forth for a year, or two, I forget exactly how long. Bob trying to go after Miriam's inheritance, some crappy farm in South Dakota, Miriam just trying to get enough money to get by. She also wanted Bob to have some custody with me, but he refused. Finally they settled, but Miriam got nearly nothing, and Bob had to pay ridiculously low child support. And lucky me, I had to go to some of the stupid hearings and testify, basically talking about how awful both my parents were. But, the dust settled, and Bob continued to run his stupid appliances, cell phone, and beeper empire while I lived with Miriam in exile."

"Why did he leave?"

"I dunno. They never said."

They sat in an awkward silence. "Anyways, everyone's got their own story. It's not like I'm a victim or anything. Everyone goes through tough shit."

"Yeah. You know, I envied you as a child," he said after a pause.

"Me? Why?"

"Because you had a family. A real family. You know, parents and a sister. I wanted that."

"Hopefully you grew out of that. Arnold, my family wasn't a very good family. Sure, we had all the ingredients, but when you looked carefully, it was just a hot mess. I did envy you, though, because all though your family wasn't conventional, it was a family."

He smiled. "Yeah, I suppose."

"So..."

"So..."

"So what about you? What have you been doing since I left? You keep asking about me...yet another sign of your double standards...or whatever."

"But you didn't tell."

"Because there is nothing to tell."

He knew that wasn't exactly true, so he took the bait. "Not much. School about the same, except English, though I have you to thank for that."

"You're welcome."

"Humph. As for friends, Gerald is the only one I'm still close with. I mean, I'm on friendly terms with everyone. You saw Lila the other day."

"Yeah, that was a real treat. 'Ever so lovely.'"

"Helga, you made her cry."

"I still maintain that was your fault, Hair Boy."

"Helga!"

"Arnoldo, just continue. No sense in starting another fight."

She was right. He had other things to talk about. "So that's basically it."

"Sounds pretty boring."

"To some. But didn't you say your life was boring too?"

She sighed. "God, aren't we two dull peas in a pod."

"It's not so bad, is it?"

"Depends. Are you lonely?"

"Not really. Were you?"

"I prefer my own company. I am a rock, and island."

"That sounds lonely. And you seem like deep down you crave emotional attachment. Wasn't there anyone you cared about? A boy, or anyone?"

She eyed him carefully before responding coldly, "This conversation is over." And so it was, as she didn't talk to him for the rest of the day. Unable to continue reading due to guilt, Arnold watched television until she disappeared and turned in.

He was more careful about talking to Helga, who, bright as she was, had figured out that he was up to something, although he was sure that she didn't know exactly what (if she did there would be hell to pay). She built up her walls once again, and he decided that the only way to get to know the real Helga, the one she didn't let anyone see, was through her journals.

He continued, slowly emptying the boxes. The last journal told how her plans to move away for college, which she had wrote of with some hope before, were thwarted. For some reason, she seemed dead-set on remaining with her mother, which Arnold thought relatively out of character for the selfish Helga. She had come through for her family in the past, notably saving Olga from marrying a con-artist, but he could not imagine what would cause her to sacrifice the chance at freedom that she so desperately craved.

After several days and many interruptions by the appearance of the author, Arnold finished the last journal, completed in November, leaving him with more questions than answers. He had found no clues to help him. Why did Helga suddenly return to Hillwood for Christmas after being gone for years? She hadn't mentioned Bob or Olga at all. Why did she decide to abandon college? Who was the mysterious first boy she loved, and what happened to the second?

He was pondering the questions one afternoon as he headed home after school. He arrived to find his room in disarray. Panicking, he noticed the journals had been gone through, as had his snail book. His desk was a mess, drawers and clothes lying everywhere. Had Helga been here? Did she know? He quickly packed the journals up, hoping to find some way to make them disappear and find a way to explain to Helga how physical copies of her thoughts ended up in his room. At the moment, she was no where to be find, but that didn't mean she wasn't lurking around somewhere, waiting to unleash her fury on him.

A knock at the door. "Arnold! Jeez Louise! What happened in your room? It looks like the Battle of Bunker Hill here. You know, without the dead bodies."

"Hi Grandpa. I'm actually not sure what happened."

"How can you not know what happened to your room? Are you pulling a Pookie on me?"

"No, honestly, I don't..."

"Hey Gramps! You gonna fix this toilet here?" Ernie called from below.

"I wouldn't have to fix it if you wouldn't plug it up!"

A squat, plump man appeared at the door. "It's not my fault your plumbing can't handle my dietary choices. Jesus, Kokoshka did a number on your room."

"Oskar?"

"Yeah, I saw him coming down earlier, mumbling something about you being a selfish little boy who keeps his money from the poor."

"Kokoshka was taking money from Arnold?"

"Trying to. Anyways, the toilet?"

"I'll get it, and I'll get Oskar too. What would happen to this place if I wasn't around?"

The two disappeared, and Arnold breathed a bit easier, happy it was Oskar instead of Helga who ransacked his room.

"Whoa, what happened to your room?"

He turned. Helga was sitting on his desk in the spot where moments ago her journals rested.

"Oskar came in looking for money."

"That weird Slavic man? Why don't you get a lock? I mean, you live with a bunch of weirdos."

He eyed her, remembering that she had stated her jealousy of those same "weirdos" just days before. "They're not so bad once you get to know them."

"Still, he just came in and looked through your stuff. Aren't you upset?"

"It's only Oskar. He's basically harmless. And I don't have anything worth taking."

"Why did your eyes just dart to your closet? You got something in there?"

"No...just...I..."

"What's in there? Stolen goods? Love letters? A woman's suit you like to wear when your alone? A stack of porno magazines?"

"What's with you and porn?"

"A likeness of your love made out of gum?"

"What? Gum? Who does that?"

"No one." She turned the conversation back to him, and he quickly evaded her questions, telling her some lame excuse that he was sure she saw through.

"God, I hate when people put their nose where it's not wanted, going through your stuff. Don't you?"

"Yeah." A rush of guilt hit him like a train.

"I mean, some stuff is just private and sacred, you know? I don't understand why that's so hard to understand. At least Miriam and Bob gave me space, though that was mostly due to them ignoring nearly every moment of my life."

"So who did pry then? That made you hate it so much? It sounds like everyone left you alone."

"I just like my privacy, you know?" She gave an angry grunt. "Perfect Olga was always trying to find out about me, or get involved in my life. I never asked for her help, or anyone else's, you know?"

He nodded.

"I bet she went through all my stuff after I died...especially my books and journals. Nosy bitch."

He pounced. "After you died? You know when you died? You were here?" he asked, trying to sound surprised. He knew the information already, but it proved that Helga knew more than she was willing to tell him.

Her eyes widened, realizing she was clearly caught. "I mean, I...I don't know. I mean, I was here. You saw me. Didn't you tell me that? I was staying with Olga...I think. I mean, who else would I stay with? Yes, I was. I remember now. It's a miracle."

"What about how you died?"

"Still a blank. I remember being at Olga's. I remember the misfortune of running into you. That's all."

After her misstep, Helga was careful not to talk about herself at all. She evaded all questions and mostly talked about him. She was determined not to give any information away. Unfortunately for Arnold, the only information she had given away he had already learned.

Still, the episode wasn't a complete loss. He now knew that Helga knew when she died, and, he guessed, knew everything. His goal was no longer about finding out to let her know and put her soul at ease. He now suspected something more sinister and dangerous had led to her demise. He smelt foul play, and the oder was coming from the direction of the Pataki clan. And with Helga putting a muzzle on herself, there was only one way forward.

He knew the next step.

He had to talk to Olga Pataki.