[Ahhh I'm so sorry I haven't updated in forever. The end of the semester was a bloodbath. It ended well but holy crap I was exhausted! I'm also sorry that this chapter isn't very long. I'm trying to get back into "the zone" and work my motivation and momentum back up. I have a lot of ideas laid out so I know what's going to happen but I've been having the hardest time getting motivated to do anything productive. Regardless, I hope you guys like this update and I'll try to get more updates out soon. In the meantime, please review and tell me what you think. Thanks!

D/C: I don't own Hey Arnold or any of the movie plotlines I am weaving together in this story.]

Flashback – 4 Months Ago

Lila had heard Arnold come in after she'd already gotten into bed for the night. She pretended to be asleep as she felt his weight jostle the bed and the warmth of his lips on her shoulder before he turned on his side, facing away from her. Lila stewed in her thoughts for a few moments before the bright light of her phone going off caught her eye. The ringer was off so there was no sound to disturb Arnold as Lila reached over and plucked her phone from the nightstand.

He did it.

Lila's heart sank into her stomach as she read Rhonda's text. She didn't have time to respond before Rhonda sent another.

Can you talk?

No.

Lila quickly replied. Getting up this soon would probably wake Arnold up and she'd rather him just believe she was asleep.

Are you sure? Are you alright?

I'll be fine. At least I know now.

He's an asshole, Lila. Say the word and I can make a few phone calls that make his life a living hell.

Lila paused, reading over that message, and a strange feeling swept across her.

That won't be necessary. Thank you, though.

But Lila had her own ideas. How dare he treat her this way? And then crawl into bed as though it were any other night. She wasn't sure how yet but Arnold would regret this betrayal. She'd loved him – she'd actually loved him and for what? After everything she'd been through, it took a lot to be able to trust a man again. The last person she'd ever thought would hurt her in this way was Arnold but even the nicest guys could commit the most unforgivable of acts. If that was the case, she had no reason to trust them. She had no reason to hold back and give chances and reach out and pretend that she saw anything but evil when she looked into the eyes of a man. Not after what happened to her and not after this. Not anymore. Arnold had given her hope. Arnold had made her believe that a man could treat her right but that was a pathetic joke that she was the butt of. No more. No more being taken advantage of by men she should have been able to trust. No more pain and abuse and lies. No more "nice" Lila.

Lila put her phone back on the nightstand and carefully rolled over so she was facing Arnold's sleeping form. She exhaled a deep breath, her eyes narrowed and a few salty tears escaped them as she fell asleep.

. . . . . . . .

Present Day

Dinner with Henry had been interesting to say the least. Helga and Rich had arrived at seven, as promised, and were greeted by a woman with tight curly hair.

"Hi Aunt Adrienne," Rich said politely.

She smirked at him, then her eyes turned to Helga as she opened the door wider and stepped aside so they could enter. "So you must be the one snooping around in family business,"

Helga whipped her head around to face the older woman. "Excuse me? I didn't ask to be here,"

Adrienne chuckled. "Of course you didn't, dear," She smiled as she closed the door. "Uncle William never let it go," She sighed as she led them through the house. The floors were old wood and the walls were paneled with old portraits and landscape paintings hanging from them. The two young adults followed Adrienne into an open area that functioned as the dining room and behind an island, Henry was moving a large serving bowl of potatoes to the table.

"Talking about Marguerite again?" Henry chuckled as he pulled oven mitts off of his hands.

Adrienne shrugged and walked past him and into the kitchen to retrieve the rest of the food.

"Why is this a problem?" Helga asked suspiciously and her eyebrow quirked when Henry began to laugh. Adrienne emerged with a serving tray of what looked to be some sort of pork dish.

"Oh, it's not," Adrienne chuckled as she put the tray down on the middle of the dining table. "It's just we've been through this so many times. Uncle Will has never given up but the rest of the family has preferred to mourn her disappearance in peace, you know?" She sighed, resting her arms against the back of one of the chairs as Henry brought a chilled bottle of wine to the table and began setting glasses at each of the places. "After all this time, the chance of finding her is slim and the rest of us, well… you understand, don't you?"

"I guess…" Helga said, still not convinced but willing to drop it.

"Don't you guys wonder though?" Rich asked curiously as he and Helga approached the table and sat down.

Uncle Henry poured wine into each of their glasses. "Wonder only opens wounds and keeps them from healing," He poured wine for himself and Adrienne then sat the bottle down on the table. "For most of us, we have already grieved Marguerite. Uncle Will's relentless search for her only brings more pain. I check in on him often to help with whatever he needs and each time it is the same conversation," He sighed. "It becomes exhausting."

Rich shrugged and Helga listened intently as she sipped the white wine in her glass.

"I guess I understand," Rich shrugged. "I don't see him as much but I know he must talk about it a lot,"

Adrienne chuckled. "That's an understatement," She sipped her wine. "But who knows, with such a skilled professional amongst us, maybe we'll learn something," Helga lifted her gaze at that and rolled her eyes, biting her lip.

"Perhaps," Henry said as he served himself some pork. "Have you two learned anything? Any clues?"

Helga and Rich looked at each other briefly and Helga silently begged him not to say anything.

"Not much," Rich shrugged, sticking a fork into the potatoes on his plate. "It's too soon to know,"

. . . . . . . .

Flashback – 2004 – The Summer Before Ninth Grade

"I understand this is hard, Lila," The detective, a middle-aged brunette with a kind face, said as she stood beside Lila's hospital bed. Tears were streaming down her bruised face as her head lay back against the pillow and her auburn hair was disheveled. "Anything you can remember will help. Any distinguishing marks, smells, an accent…"

Lila's face was still significantly swollen but the nurses had wiped away much of the dried blood from her face. The detective waited patiently as Lila whimpered and her shoulders shook with each cry she tried to contain because moving her body made her hurt worse.

She could see his face staring back at her, each detail permanently engraved into her brain though she willed herself to forget. His sadistic smile, the piercing coldness and hate in his eyes. She wanted to pretend this never happened. She wanted to go back to being as carefree as she'd been only yesterday. Sure, things hadn't been easy but from this point on, she knew nothing would ever be the same.

"I don't remember," Lila finally sputtered. "It hurts too much to talk,"

The detective bit her lip and sighed. "I'll let you get some rest and come back in the morning,"

Lila listened to the sound of the detectives footsteps across the room and the door being pulled closed behind her. She heaved a sigh that was peppered with cries, her breath catching at the pain that induced in her sides. She refused to move her legs because she didn't want to think about the pain between her legs. She wanted to deny as much of what happened as possible so that she might have a chance at getting past this. Still, she knew that would be impossible. He'd known her mother and a dark, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach wondered if he'd been responsible for her mother's death.

The detective's words from earlier spun around in Lila's head. The only reason she was probably alive was because somebody had happened to have been driving by and heard her screams. She learned they'd been parked on the shoulder of an infrequently used highway and the chances of someone driving past had been slim but she got lucky. Lucky. Was that really a word to describe her? Sure, she wasn't dead but lucky?

Whoever that guy had been, he scared off her attacker when he pulled over along the shoulder and interrupted everything. The man had climbed off of Lila, rolled her out of the truck and onto the pavement, hopped into the front seat and sped away. They'd gotten the tag number for the van but when they ran it, it registered to an elderly man a few towns away who'd reported his vehicle missing the day before.

Lila took a tentative breath, careful to avoid it hurting as much as possible. As she nestled her head against the pillow, she attempted to fall asleep even as tears soaked into the fabric.

. . . . . . . .

Present Day

Later that night Helga was sitting at a small wooden desk in her bedroom at the cottage. Rich was in the shower so she had a little bit of time to herself. She opened one of the drawers in the desk and pulled out a folder with an old newspaper clipping tucked away inside. Her donor list was still nestled in the drawer. She pulled the newspaper clipping out and heaved a deep sigh.

SEVEN KILLED IN FATAL CRASH

Beneath the headline were a few pictures of the deceased and their names.

Maurice Loenstein. Cindy Loenstein. Jimmy Loenstein. Brianna Loenstein. Thomas Anderson. Maria Gutierrez. Arnold Shortman.

There wasn't a picture for Thomas or Arnold but Helga knew in her heart it had to have been her Arnold. She remembered seeing his grandpa's green Packard coming right at the crash she'd caused. He must not have been able to stop in time. It was her fault. It was her fault that one of the most amazing and kindhearted people she'd ever known was lost to this world forever.

Helga hung her head as her shoulders heaved and tears flooded her eyes almost immediately. She slammed a fist down on the desk and sobbed even harder.

I'm trying, Arnold. Helga pleaded in her head. I'm so sorry and I'm trying. I'm trying to make up for what I've done. I caused this and I just… I'm so sorry.

She hadn't heard the shower turn off and was surprised at the sound of Rich's voice just outside her door.

"Helga, are you okay?"

Helga scrambled to shove the newspaper back into the folder and the folder back into the drawer just as Rich gently knocked at her slightly ajar door.

"Helga?" Rich said as he poked his head in the room. Helga had done her best to wipe away the tears but her pale face was still pink and splotchy from crying. "Helga, what's wrong? Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Helga's voice cracked but she quickly put up a front. "I'm fine,"

Rich wasn't buying it. "Helga, I—"

"Look, if I tell you I'm fine, I'm fine," She snapped, turning around in her chair to face him. "And if there was something to talk about, I obviously don't want to! Capiche?"

Rich pursed his lips together and sighed, looking down at the floor between them. "Sorry,"

Hearing that tone in his voice immediately reminded her of the way she'd always snap at Arnold when he managed to see a crack in the veneer of toughness she put up and she back-peddled. "Wait, no, I'm sorry," She sighed. "But I really don't wanna talk about it," She emphasized.

"Okay," Rich said simply and a peculiar silence fell over them. Helga turned slightly away from him, the soft, warm light of the desk lamp casting a glow over that corner of the otherwise darkened room. Rich stood in the doorway, his silhouette illuminated by the hallway light but most of his features were indistinguishable. He was wearing a T-shirt and red plaid pajama pants. His hair was still wet and tousled and he wasn't wearing his glasses. He leaned against the doorframe and after several moments of pregnant silence he spoke. "You know, Helga," He said slowly and Helga remained silent, listening. "I… can I tell you something?"

"Sure," Helga said quietly, her gaze set on a particular corner of the desk.

"I… I really liked you in high school," He said quietly.

"You what?" Helga's head snapped around to face him which took Rich back for a second.

"I-I – god, I'm sorry," He stammered. "Terribly, terribly inappropriate," He muttered, then speaking louder, "I don't know why I said that. I just – hey, if you need to talk or anything, I'm here. To talk. I care… okay? Um… excuse me," He finally ducked out of the doorway and disappeared, leaving Helga stunned.

"What?" She murmured to herself incredulously. Leaning her elbows against the desk, Helga rubbed her face with her palms. Amidst the sorrow, regret and self-loathing she'd been feeling only five minutes ago, she now had confusion, surprise, and curiosity added to the mix and the combination left her emotionally exhausted. Rather than ask questions, think, or try to deal with anything, she turned the desk lamp off, shut the door, and crawled into bed.