This is my first try at this. I do not own Hey Arnold.

Chapter 1

This story begins when I was in medical school. I was on my psychiatry rotation in upstate Washington at an in-patient facility, Cedar House. The hospital housed around 200-220 patients with mostly non-violent offenders. My attending, Dr. Mehta, assigned me to follow three patients during my rotation. One, John Amodeo, had a diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia. Another, Zach Blaser, had severe recurrent major depression disorder with suicidal ideations. Finally, Helga Pataki, was here in need of further behavioral evaluation. My interactions with her are what this story concern.

On my first day, I arrived at 6:04 am. I meet my senior resident, Dr. Niven, and the intern, Dr. Perez. They orient me to the facility which consists of five floors but we are working mostly on the fourth floor. To start the day, I begin reviewing the charts, nothing remarkable jumps off the page for Mr. Amodeo who has been largely complaint with his treatment. Mr. Blaser also has been a model patient; he's what we call a "rock" or a patient who is here until we get placement for him to leave the hospital. Ms. Pataki was transferred here overnight from a nearby metropolitan hospital where she was treated for facial lacerations. During her stay, it appears the staff was concerned for possible behavioral issues and bipolar disorder. After she stabilized, they sent her to Cedar House on orders from her family. Interesting.

I finish chart reviewing and prepare to interview the patients so I'm ready for rounds that start promptly at 9 am or so I'm told. Mr. Amodeo and Mr. Blaser are both doing well, tolerating their medications, and we will stay the course of their current treatment plans. Excellent patients to present for rounds as there isn't much to question with that plan. Ms. Pataki, I anticipate, will present a larger hurdle. But as a still somewhat naïve third-year, I am optimistic this will not be too bad. I enter her room on the fourth floor, unit 45, room 12. There's a sliding glass door and a curtain drawn behind it so I can't tell if she's in there. It's now 7:14 am so I am way ahead of schedule. Go me. I knock on the glass and enter.

"Hello, Ms. Pataki?"

There's no reply, she may be sleeping but there are some low lights on so this is not likely. I press on.

"Ms. Pataki?"

"Yeah."

"Hi. My name is Joshua Locker. I am a third-year medical student with the psychiatry team. Nice to meet you."

No response. At first glance I notice a young blonde girl, who I know to be 17 from her chart. She looks a little worse for wear. Her long blonde hair is unkempt, her eyes are injected and red, her skin is pale so much so that I think she is anemic. Also, she is quite thin, and I imagine when she arrived at the initial hospital that she was malnourished. I proceed with the interview although this is more about building rapport with the patient today. I'm a third year so no one excepts much.

"How are you doing today?"

She looks up at me and immediately I notice her striking blue eyes. Her other features are relatively plain and she does have a unibrow upon closer inspection. She's not what I consider traditionally attractive, but any such line of thinking I cut-off as that is highly inappropriate.

"Oh, just swell!"

Great, sarcasm.

"Yes, I read your chart and see you've had an incredibly difficult few days. Can you tell me anything about that?"

"Well, I could or you could mind your business. How old are you anyways? Twelve?"

"I apologize for appearing intrusive miss, but the more we know about what happened, the more we can do to help."

"Yeah, yeah I get it. So how much do you know already."

"Just that you had an injury on your face, then that your parents requested you be sent down here to Cedar House for further evaluation on some behavioral concerns, does that sound accurate?"

"Yes and no." She looks up at me again with those blue eyes, such contrast to the rest of her pale skin and blonde hair.

"How so?"

"Well, its complicated. My dad's a dick. Like a world-class one. My mom's a drunk. Again, like a world-class one. So it was a recipe for little ole me to get in some trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"My dad, Bob, is in the electronics business and hasn't been doing so hot lately. He had an important buyer pull out at the last minute. He was less than pleased. I probably could have been a little more subtle in mentioning this failed deal to him. So then he slaps me across the face, hard."

Interesting, this was not mentioned in any documentation I saw. Domestic violence is always well-documented. Red flag.

"I'm sorry to hear that miss Pataki. What happened next?" I say with a reassuring touch on the knee.

"Get your paws off the merchandise bucko!"

I quickly remove my hand and make a mental note not to do that again.

"Anyways, then I went to Arno… a friend's house and Arno… I mean my friend, made me report this." Her face starts to blush when she talks about this friend.

"Does your friend know where you are now?"

"No." Her eyes darken and her fists tighten around the worn hospital sheets.

"Would you like me to contact your friend for you? Seems like they may be worried."

"No. When I say friend, it's more of an acquaintance."

I raise my eyebrow at this. Seems fishy to me but at this point it's not really relevant to my rounds report so I leave it be and will revisit it later.

"Ok, so you went to the police and then they sent you to the hospital, correct?"

"Yeah, so perceptive Sherlock." She says with some bite in the words.

"Did the police bring charges to your father on the abuse?"

"No, Big Bob would never let that fly. He's got some friends in the department. Those buffons wrote the whole thing off as me being some kind of hysterical teenager who attacked her father."

"Well that doesn't sound very credible to me." I can't imagine how this could be a plausible explanation considering what I've been told thus far.

"Listen here Joshie boy, I'm about to admit something deeply personal that can explain why me being crazy isn't so far fetched so YOU BETTER SHUT YOUR TRAP AND NEVER MENTION THIS AGAIN! Ok?" Helga yelled this emphatically and with a bulging vein on her forehead.

"Ok." I squeak.

"…. I… I may have… I cannot believe I am about to tell YOU this. I have some shrines and books of poetry that when examined out of context seem somewhat odd."

"That doesn't sound so strange… what kind of shrines."

"They are made of bubblegum. Chewed by the person the books of poetry are about."

My eyes widen and I cough into the sleeve of my whitecoat to avoid Helga seeing the reaction on my face. That's pretty weird.

Helga reaches out a pale arm grabs my coat, pulling me nose to nose with her.

She whispers in a threatening tone, "Now you hear me you 14-year old prepubescent child, don't you breathe a word of this."

First off, the prepubescent crack is a low-blow at my baby face. Second off, I am terrified but sense an opportunity to really help this girl out.

"Understood Miss Pataki. If you'll allow me, I would be glad to hear the story behind these shrines. Before you respond, I think that me knowing your reasoning with this will allow me to rely it to our team and clear this whole mess up. If what you say is true, you shouldn't be at Cedar House and your father should be held responsible for his actions." I finish my plea see in her eyes a contemplative look.

Helga purses her lips and furrows her single brow while staring me down. "Ok, Joshie. I'll bite. Come back later and we can chat some more."

"Sounds like a plan, miss Pataki." I extend my hand and she simply looks at it. No hand shakes yet. Baby steps.

I leave her room going over my presentations in my mind for our attending, anxiously awaiting another meeting with Miss Pataki as well.

That is it for chapter 1. Will likely change viewpoints throughout story. Please let me know what you think. Hopefully can update soon.