[A/N: Okay, ya'll! This one's gonna be a doozy so I hope you like it. It's basically a combination of "Awwww" and "OH SHIT" lol XD. The plot is thickening! My question, however, is whether or not this story still counts as rated T. PLEASE let me know if you think it needs to be changed to M. I'd prefer to keep it at T so if you have any suggestions that would keep me from crossing the line (without losing the essence of the story) please let me know. I don't want to anger the rating gods! lol That being said, the end of this chapter may come as a shock. Be prepared.

D/C: I don't own Hey Arnold]

Later that night, Helga had yet to fall asleep. She couldn't stop the thoughts racing through her head and by one in the morning, she accepted the fact she wasn't getting much rest tonight. The candle Arnold had found was sitting on the nightstand by her bed, casting the slightest of glows over that one section of the room and leaving the rest in darkness. The light was warm and calming, unlike the thoughts swirling around in Helga's mind.

She held the old photo of Brooke - the one that everyone had assumed was a picture of Marguerite. She was standing in one of the windows of her parents' home, facing away from the camera so you could only see her profile. Whoever took the picture had been a reasonable distance away from the house and whether they had intended to capture this fleeting image was uncertain.

Everyone had thought it was the last picture of Marguerite before she disappeared, however, Helga now knew that whatever the last picture of Marguerite was, this wasn't it. This was Brooke, and the more she studied the image, the more she couldn't believe no one had realized sooner. Their features were so similar though: the dark hair, the naturally perfect and pretty facial structure - it all had seemed to fit. And there, resting around her neck, was the necklace Helga had seen Adrienne wearing several times.

What bothered Helga was why Brooke hadn't told anyone that it was her in the picture. She had to have known that everyone assumed it was Marguerite - the police had kept this picture on hand throughout the investigation. Why had Brooke concealed the identity - her identity - of the woman in the window? Could she have had something to hide and if she did, what exactly? From what she'd hear so far, Brooke and Marguerite had been best friends… would Brooke really have harmed Marguerite? When Marguerite disappeared, Brooke hadn't had an alibi but she also hadn't been a suspect. Truthfully, Helga didn't know Brooke or what she was capable of. She knew her daughter, Rhonda, and she tried to think about whether she could imagine Rhonda hurting or killing her best friend and under what circumstances. Could it be possible? Anything was possible, right? But at this point, it was all speculation. There were still so many pieces of information that they were missing and Helga hoped that in the morning, she and Arnold could continue to unearth more secrets and unravel the mystery.

Arnold.

Why was she getting so worked up around him? Why couldn't she stay calm? Even if it didn't appear so on the outside, she felt a whirlwind of emotions pick her up every time he got close to her. She felt dizzy and confused with nostalgia and a resurgence of longing capturing her breath and holding it hostage. She'd spent years mourning the loss of him, forcing herself to never think of him directly, lest she completely disintegrate into a pile of ashes. It was still surreal to adjust to the fact that he was alive, and not just that, but actually in her life, helping her as he always did. It felt like a dream that she never wanted to wake up from. Could she still… no, that was a dangerous thought. The love she'd felt for him all her life had been all-consuming and she couldn't imagine the pain of losing him again if she were to allow her heart to feel such things.

And what about Rich? She'd begun to love him, too, right? Hadn't she? She'd begun to think so but now she couldn't be sure. Regardless, she felt guilty. She felt guilty for her reluctant loyalty to Arnold and a love they had never shared. She felt guilty for not mourning Rich enough. How could she love anyone? She had once wondered if her feelings for Rich were betraying her love for Arnold but now she worried that those dormant feelings for Arnold were a betrayal of Rich and his memory. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore and now Rich was gone. Murdered, no less, and she felt like she was suffocating - drowning in her confusion and love and guilt and pain.

The longer Helga thought about it, the more emotional she became until she couldn't contain herself any longer. Her emotions crept up on her, finally pouncing and releasing tears that stained her pillow and a hiccuping breathing pattern that tired her already burdened chest.

Out in the living room, Arnold had been sleeping on the couch until he heard a strange sound. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he realized it sounded like someone crying and as he finally came to awareness, he realized it was Helga who was crying. He grabbed the flashlight from the coffee table and flicked the switch, illuminating a tunnel of light in his path as he got up from the couch to investigate. He caught the side of his leg on the coffee table's edge and grunted in pain for a moment before continuing. He paused at Helga's door and listened. He could hear her soft whimpering that periodically escalated to a deeper cry, muffled against her pillow. He felt pangs in his heart, hearing her pain, and he gently knocked against the wooden door of her room.

"Helga?" He called softly. "Are you okay?"

When she didn't respond, he tentatively cracked the door open, peering inside. The light from her candle combined with the light from his flashlight and suddenly the room was a little brighter.

"Hey," His voice was soft and warm as he approached her bed. She was bundled up in her blanket in the small twin bed, her blonde hair splayed across her pillow and her back facing him as she lay on her side. He could see the slight shaking of her shoulders and knew he hadn't misinterpreted the sound of her crying. "Hey," He said again, just as gently, as he sat down on the floor next to her bed. "What's going on?"

She didn't respond right away and Arnold sighed. Maybe he should leave her alone. Even though she'd been receptive toward him in the hospital, he still wasn't sure how to expect her to react to her concern. For most of the time he'd known her, she would push him away or supply some kind of bitter retort. Only in the hospital, when she had been the weakest and most vulnerable he'd ever seen her, had she openly accepted his compassion and his embraces. What could he expect now?

He was thinking about getting up and leaving her alone when she suddenly heaved a deep breath and started to turn over. He bit his tongue and waited to see her reaction to him being there. However, when she turned over, she didn't say anything. She was facing him now but she met his gaze for only a second before casting her eyes down in thought. They could barely see each other in the dim lighting but there was something enigmatic about her. Tears hung from her eyelashes and she blinked them away as her breathing calmed. In a combination of instinct and impulse, Arnold reached his hand up to her, resting the back of his hand on her mattress as he offered his exposed palm. Helga looked it for a second, moving nothing but her eyes, before gently placing a limp hand in his. He offered her a soft smile and wrapped her hand in his, brushing his thumb against her hand in repetitive, affectionate circles. Nothing went through his head other than wanting her to feel better. Nothing more than wanting her to be okay, to stop crying, and to smile. He wasn't sure where that desire came from but it seemed to be a recurring instinct in his life that he never quite understood - he just accepted it.

"What are you doing here?" Helga finally spoke in a low voice after several minutes of silence. She sounded so pure and open and vulnerable and it almost took a double-take for Arnold to realize this was the same Helga who'd tormented him throughout most of their school years together.

"I heard you crying," Arnold answered simply, his gaze resting on their hands, and he noticed Helga subtly gripping his a little tighter.

"Sorry," She murmured as she exhaled a short breath.

"No, no," Arnold whispered, rubbing circles into the soft skin of her hand. "It's okay," He paused. "Do you wanna talk about it? You don't have to if you don't want to,"

Helga was quiet for a moment, then inhaled deeply, her body relaxing as the air exited her lungs. She'd stopped crying but was still feeling fragile. "You know, honestly, Arnold? I would… it's just, I have no idea where to start or just… what's wrong with me,"

"Hey," He scolded gently. "Nothing is wrong with you, okay?"

Helga let out a weak scoff and Arnold gripped her hand tighter for a second for emphasis. "I mean it, Helga. You're okay… and everything is gonna be okay," He said in an attempt at comforting her but really, he didn't even know what they were talking about it and with everything going on lately, he wasn't entirely sure if everything would be alright… but he had to be hopeful, if not for himself then at least to help her… right?

"You're such a deluded optimist," Helga finally smirked and Arnold felt relieved. Even if she was teasing him, it meant that she was feeling better and in that moment, that was all he was concerned with.

"Maybe," He shrugged with a grin of his own that widened reflexively when Helga finally met his gaze. Something about the way the flickering light of the candle danced in Helga's pale blue eyes took his breath away and for a moment, he was lost in them.

It was Helga who broke their eye contact when she turned to lay on her back but her hand never left his. It was as though both of them had forgotten that they were holding hands, as if the contact felt so natural that unless one of them moved, they didn't even notice.

Arnold braced himself against the edge of the bed with his free arm, scooting across the floor so that he was sitting close enough to rest his head in the crook of that arm. He could hear the soft sound of Helga's breathing, much calmer and more peaceful than before, soothing him to sleep like a lullaby. He studied his left hand, still holding Helga's secure, as his eyes fluttered closed and he fell asleep.

. . . . . . . .

"Lila…" Rhonda murmured, half asleep as she stretched in her bed, her cell phone propped between her head and her pillow. "It's the middle of the night; what's going on?"

Lila's lack of response alarmed Rhonda and she quickly forced herself to wake up more. "Are you okay?"

At Stinky's house, Lila sat on the edge of a double-bed with the light of two nightstands illuminating the room. "I don't… I don't know, Rhonda,"

Rhonda groaned as she sat up in bed, holding her phone to her ear. "Dammit, Lila," She grumbled in a mixture of frustration and exasperated concern. "What is going on with you?"She softened her tone. "I know you wanted to get back at Arnold for cheating on you - you've done it, okay? I don't understand why you need to be so secretive or why you and my mom are having these private conversations that neither of you is willing to tell me about!"

Lila drew in a deep breath, her eyes vacantly staring at the floor in front of her as she listened to Rhonda.

"I mean," Rhonda said more calmly. "Lila, you're my best friend. You've been my best friend since high school… I just want to know what's going on and I'm… I'm worried about you," She said and when Lila remained quiet, she continued to talk. "How far are you going to go with this Arnold thing? Ugh," She groaned. "I can't believe you did this without talking to me first. Everyone thinks you're dead now, Lila. What the hell? Arnold is looking at possibly going to jail for the rest of his life. Was that your plan? I don't know how you expect to come back from this…" Lila was still quiet. "Why won't you tell me anything anymore?" Rhonda almost whimpered.

"It's too late now," Lila said cryptically.

"What?" Rhonda said, more confused now than before. "What are you talking about?"

"It won't matter soon anyway," Lila said more forcefully, though she was still vacant and dissociated. She fidgeted with the hem of her nightgown.

"Lila, what's going on?" Rhonda asked then paused. "Come on… you're scaring me… are you okay?"

"I'm doing what I need to do," Lila said and Rhonda began to feel desperate.

"Please tell me what's going on," Rhonda begged. "You know I'd do whatever I could to help you,"

Lila was quiet for a moment. "I have to do this alone," She said. "You're my best friend, too, Rhonda," And with that, she hung up, leaving Rhonda more confused, worried, and frustrated than ever.

Little was she aware, however, of what was truly going on with Lila. When Lila hung up, she held the phone thoughtfully in her lap before looking over to the other side of the bed. The sight of blood all over the sheets didn't phase her for some reason, probably because none of it seemed real. Even as she felt the warm red liquid soaking through her nightgown, she felt disconnected from it, like she was in a dream or watching a movie. It couldn't have been her.

But it had to be. No one could protect her but herself.

Stinky's lifeless body lay sprawled along the other side of the bed, his head still resting on one of the pillows and a slit across his throat where she'd caught him with a box cutter she found in his toolbox.

She couldn't let him keep her here and she couldn't convince him otherwise. She needed to find the man who attacked her… the man who may have hurt her mother. Nothing could stand in her way and she needed to keep telling herself that in order to keep up the disconnect. She needed to rationalize what she was doing… what she'd done… things that she hadn't even thought about for long enough before she'd done them.

She stood up from the bed and walked awkwardly over to Stinky's side of the bed. His eyes were open but vacant, his last expression of shock at the betrayal evident on his face. She'd known what she was doing when she'd seduced him. She knew he loved her and would gladly accept her advances. She knew what she was doing when she'd planted the box cutter under one of the pillows and when she'd pulled him on top of her. What she hadn't expected was the sudden rush of memories: the fear, the paranoia, the anger, the outrage, the anxiety, the despair. She'd distracted him with ecstasy and longing and when he finally met his release is when she betrayed him, flipping him over until the life drained from his body. She acted out the revenge she sought but this was not him. This was not her attacker. He was in her way but he had never betrayed her, never torn and bruised her body. He'd only loved her but she was so dissociated, she couldn't decide if that mattered anymore. Tears had welled up in her eyes and a flash of humanity within her wondered if she was making a mistake but it was too late.

Lila gently brushed her fingers over Stinky's face, lowering his eyelids, before leaving a soft kiss on his forehead. Without another thought, she gathered her belongings and the cash she could find in Stinky's wallet, and disappeared into the night.

[A/N: Yup. Lila's done lost her mind... Stay tuned for more of the mystery unraveling! And please review :)]