Three weeks had passed and she could still see every detail. Clear liquid running down the walls; shattered glass littering the floor. The coloring around her mothers neck where the rope had hugged too tightly, the vacant look in her expression, her dress splattered crimson from where her father had fired the gun ending his own life. His large body; stiff and motionless staring up at the ceiling.

Three weeks had passed and she could still smell the alcohol. Who had thrown the bottles? Her mother? Had she angrily shattered her addiction? Or had her father done this when he'd seen what his wife had done?

Three weeks had passed and she could still hear the screaming. Not their screams of course, they were gone, their voices silenced by death. It was her, she couldn't stop screaming. Not even realizing she was until she felt someone grab her shoulders and turn her away from the scene, until she heard that someone try to soothe her and she realized how raw her throat felt. How long had she been standing here, screaming?

Later she'd realize that the person who'd turned her away from that horrible scene had been her sister Olga. Later she'd overhear them say that she'd been screaming for ten minutes. It would take her a week to utter another word, and two to eat without feeling like she was going to be sick.

The funeral was held a week later. The two sisters sat at the front, holding each other in silence. Neither chose to speak, both too traumatized by everything their parents had put them through in life and death. Many came to offer consolation and Olga politely thanked them. Helga sat motionless, unable to really take it all in.

On the third week they'd had to resume life. Olga worked in the next city over, and had started to arrange their move. Helga felt indifferent about Oakdale, she felt indifferent about most things these days. Olga had tried to make the move sound exciting, while still ensuring that it was just a train ride away from her friends. But they both knew what this move meant. This was a chance to start fresh, without the reminder of what their parents had done everywhere they went.

Her return to school was met with many whispers and stares. Helga barely noticed anyone, therefore she barely noticed the gossip and barely noticed her best friend. Phoebe had been her shadow all day. Mostly in silence, as she realized trying to make conversation with Helga was futile.

Phoebe struggled on how to help her best friend, they were just eleven after all, and she was frustrated by her lack of power. What did you do when your best friend's parents ended their lives? How did you help her? Were you supposed to keep pushing them to talk? Were you supposed to leave them alone? If you were truly supposed to leave them be, that was something Phoebe had a hard time accepting. She had been there with her through everything. Helga had held her hand while her father went through chemo. She would not let her down.

Four days had passed and Phoebe had been unsuccessful in getting Helga to talk. She didn't need her to be okay, or to even pretend that everything was normal. This zombie-like state she was in scared Phoebe. It was worse than having to see her cry or even get mad. This was like she wasn't even here.

"I'm just giving her space," Arnold said to Phoebe. They sat across from each other at lunch. Helga had taken to disappearing this time of day.

The truth was, he also had no idea how to help. His grandpa and he had talked about it, and he'd understood that there truly was no way to understand what she was feeling or going through. He wouldn't have to understand that loss for some years to come.

"She might listen to you." Phoebe continued her plea.

"If she doesn't listen to her best friend, why would she listen to me?" Arnold sighed.

"It's different with you." She trailed off.

When he didn't respond she spoke again, "You'd be surprised what she really thinks of you."

Truly Phoebe didn't mean to betray her best friend. When she had originally resolved to talk to Arnold she'd been convinced his good naturedness would be enough to get him on board. Yet Phoebe had overlooked one thing, the very reason she believed Arnold and her best friend were made for each other. They were both stubborn as mules. Once they believed something, it was fact, and you'd have to prove them wrong to even get them to consider otherwise. And Phoebe could see what he had decided. He had decided that Helga needed space.

Helga had taken to sitting in the library during lunch period. It was quiet, and no one forced her to eat. She wasn't trying to starve herself by any means but her appetite wasn't quite there. Here it was easy to let her mind go, she didn't have to force concentration. Yet she knew she needed to at least speak to Phoebe about her move to Oakdale. It was Thursday, and by next Monday she'd be an Oakdale Junior High student.

With fifteen minutes to spare, she made her way into the cafeteria and spotted Phoebe and Arnold at their usual table.

"She's been in love with you since preschool-"

Hearing the tail end of Phoebe's proclamation, Helga froze in place.

That moment defined a major point in all of their lives. Too late, Phoebe spotted Helga.

What's better than feeling nothing? Anger. She'd been wronged by her parents, and now her best friend.

"Have a nice life." She spat.

Helga didn't return to school the next day, and when there was still no sign of her on Monday Phoebe grew worried. She kindly asked her homeroom teacher for Helga's homework hoping to extend a branch back into her life.

"Ms. Pataki is no longer a student at P.S. 119."

Shocked, Phoebe and Arnold tried to find out where she was.

"That is confidential information. Please have a seat Ms. Heyerdahl and Mr. Shortman."

After school Phoebe and Arnold went by the Pataki's only to find a for sale sign and a house devoid of furniture or personal belongings.

It would be six more years before they'd see her again.