Chapter 5 - Up

"Helga, please."

The translucent, once blonde girl waved her spectral hands at her companion. She was in no mood to be lectured about the finer details of afterlife etiquette, especially not by a creature who brought his own cutlery with him wherever he went. She threw the scythe in question a sideways glare and continued her pacing, some eight foot off of the hospital floor.

"Just listen to me for a second, I am an expert in this field, after all..." Death was trying to reason with the girl, and to stop her from stomping around in limbo and waking all of the other spirits, but with only half a heart. Or no heart at all, if we're being literal. He knew that it was pointless and moreover he knew that she had every reason to be mad, but Death was... well, Death. He wasn't used to people shouting back.

"An expert!" Helga shouted, throwing her arms into the air and laughing in the most humourless way she could muster. "You!" Death looked sheepish and ran his hands over the wooden handle of his scythe.

"Everyone makes mistakes," he said pathetically.

"Yes, well they're only human," Helga said in a sing song voice. "What's your excuse?" Death tried to avoid her gaze, something he should have been rather good at, having no eyeballs and everything, and yet he found himself pinned under her ferocious glare.

"You don't have to be so hard on me you know," he said finally out of frustration. "I didn't mean to."

"Well I'm sorry," Helga said, trying to put her hands on her hips and failing miserably. "I'm just not quite over my own accidental death yet, ok?"

"You've shouted at me for hours now, perhaps even days. Don't you think I've suffered enough?"

"No."

"Oh."

Helga continued her pacing and stared down at her lifeless form. By her bed sat the sad figure of Phoebe Hyerdahl, who held on to Helga's limp hand in a fashion that indicated she might never let go. Helga wanted to put her arms around her and tell her that it was alright, that she'd wake up just as soon as she'd figured out how to, but she knew she couldn't. Instead she had been forced to watch as her best friend sobbed quietly, filling the space where her parents should have been.

Not that they hadn't shown up at all, of course. They weren't heartless and Helga was their daughter after all. They had been there within the hour when she had first been brought in. Her mother and father had both sat by her bedside with pale faces and a lack of dialogue, they really had gone all out. They just hadn't been back since then.

Helga had to admit that there was at least one perk to this whole tragic comedy, and that perk had just come wandering through the ward doors to give Phoebe a cup of coffee. As he sat down Helga clutched her hands to her bosom, (which was even less to speak of now that she was 'dead' than it had been when she was alive), and sighed. At last, at long last, she had Arnold right where she wanted him. By her side. If only she were awake to enjoy it.

"Er, Helga?" Death had, somehow, acquired a wheezy texture to his voice and it was everything Helga could do not to reach up and sock him in the face.

"Can't a girl get a few minutes to herself?" she shrieked.

"Sure, of course, but we, er, we were in the middle of a conversation," Death prompted gently.

"We were?" Helga asked, her eyes still fixed on a certain cornflower haired boy.

"Well, you were screaming at me and I was listening," Death said matter-of-factly.

"I see," said Helga, who could just as well have been listening to Dino Spumoni's greatest hits, the amount of attention she was paying.

"I'm just going to go and have another little chat with the Higher Powers," Death said numbly, wondering when his skeletal form, billowing black robes and razor sharp scythe had stopped being something so terrible as to catch everyone's breath.

"Oh, ok then," Helga replied, not turning around. With a shrug, Death disappeared into that dark dimension in which men shall never tread.

-

"I don't understand it Arnold," Phoebe said in a quiet whisper. Before her, her best friend lay in a state on inexplicable unconsciousness. It had been just yesterday when they had been in that lunch room, discussing things as trivial as high school crushes when what they should have been talking about was how much Phoebe actually liked Helga, and how much she valued her as a friend. All of the wasted hours the pair had spent, just chatting idly when there were much more serious issues to be addressed. Phoebe could have kicked herself. (Really, she could have. She was taking an advanced Yoga class).

"So, the doctors still don't know what happened?" Arnold asked sympathetically, placing a hand on Phoebe's shoulder. If he was honest, he was starting to wonder what he was doing there in the first place. Of course, he was upset about Helga, and he would be terribly hurt to hear that her condition had worsened, but he really didn't think he was the right man for this job. Surely Nadine, or Sheena, or maybe even Rhonda would have been better here. The person who needed the attention was Phoebe, and Arnold was finding himself wondering what to say. He was like that with girls, 'like that' being utterly dreadful.

"No," Phoebe said, in a voice that was full of the hurt she had suffered when science had failed her. "She just... collapsed. But they've done so many tests and they can't find anything wrong with her. She just won't wake up." Here Phoebe dissolved into a fresh shower of tears, and Helga found herself reaching down to consol her, only to be bitterly disappointed when her hands passed through he friends shoulders.

All at once she found herself encompassed by a feeling of guilt. Here she was, still swooning over Arnold despite the fact that any relationship between them now would result in some serious jail time for the boy, when it was Phoebe who deserved her attention. She was the one who was really suffering.

So caught up was she in her feeling terrible, that Helga didn't notice that Death had returned. He could see that she was in a place where she needed to be left alone, their discussion not moments before had shown Death that Helga went there quite a lot, but he felt that he had urgent news. In the time honoured tradition of announcing one's nervous presence, he cleared his throat.

Now, when most people clear their throat, there is perhaps just a sense of slight revulsion from the people around them, concerning which germs and been in that throat and which ones were now subsequently air born. The problem is that Death is not most people. When the Grim Reaper clears His throat, there is a sound like a gun going off which reverberates around whichever walls surround the being in question. It is not a matter of what has been ejected from His throat but who... and then things really start to get ugly.

Helga leapt about four foot in the air, (bringing her height to a grand total of twelve feet, some of which went through to the ward above her), adding to it a delightful scream and then, much to Death's surprise, she flickered out of being for just a second.

When she returned, Death finally managed to realise the true meaning of 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'. Or scared, in this case.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at!" she screamed, advancing on him in a way that Death knew he shouldn't be frightened of. She was non-corporeal, after all, but that didn't stop his knees knocking together in a fine little tattoo.

"Sorry, I, um, didn't want to disturb you," he said quickly.

"Well you failed there bucko," she replied, clutching a hand to her chest. It was then that she noticed the expression on his face. "What's the matter with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Rather 'not seen one' would be more accurate, I think," Death replied feebly. Helga knitted her eyebrows together at him.

"In English, bones," she said menacingly.

"Well, it's just then when I frightened you just then, you seemed to flash out of existence." Helga swallowed thickly. She had to admit that for the briefest moment back then, she had felt somewhere else. And she had seen something too, she just couldn't put her finger on what it was. She felt she was owed an explanation, but these aren't commonly found on the end of the word;

"Huh?" Death shrugged his shoulders at her, and Helga tried to replay the whole incident back in her head.

"I remember hearing the gun shot..." she mused quietly. Death put a hand to where his throat should have been.

"Yes, sorry about that. It's been a little dry recently." Helga ignored him and went on.

"I remember thinking 'holy crap, a gun!' and wondering how on earth I'd survive if I got shot at. I'd sort of forgotten about my current state..."

"Well, you do when something like that does... or in this case, doesn't, happen."

"...and I thought... bullet proof vests!" Death fixed her with a quizzical stare.

"Now you've lost me," he said.

"Oh, there are these things that stop bullets and-"

"No, I know what a bullet proof vest is," Death said, with an air of someone who does nothing but breathe, eat and sleep bullet proof vests. "I just meant, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, if I was shot at, I'd want to be wearing one, and the next thing I know I'm down the bullet proof vest aisle of some gun shop in Texas."

"I see..." said Death, thinking he needed a holiday.

"So what I really needed, to prevent my world coming to an end, was a bullet proof vest, and the next thing I know I'm surrounded by them!" Death's eye sockets opened up to the size of plates.

"Helga, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked, beaming.

"Yeah!" Helga said with a grin. "It's so weird! Anyway, what did the Higher Powers say?" Death smacked a bony hand to his forehead and sighed.

"No, you stupid girl," Death said, not caring that he was walking on wafer thin ice. "What I meant was, if I did something so scary that what you'd need to survive it was to be back in your own body..." The little cogs in Helga's head whirled around rapidly as she considered this. Finally, she reached the conclusion she was looking for and it was as though a little light bulb went on above her head that only she and Death could see.

"But what can you do that scared me enough to be back in my own body?" Death, surprisingly, displayed a rather smug expression and polished his nails on the front of his robe.

"You forget that I am Death," he said importantly. "Everything I do is scary."

"Really..?" Helga said disbelievingly. Death looked up and dropped his cocky expression.

"Yes, really," he insisted.

"Well, go on then," Helga said maddeningly. Death straightened up and raised his hands to his hood. Slowly, and with every sense of ceremony, he drew back his hood. Underneath there was a nest of the most terrifying things Helga had ever seen. Maggots scrambled over one another trying to reach the top of the pile, blood seeped out through the cracks in His skull and of course, just below his ear socket, there was a large, fat rat with red glowing eyes. Helga screamed and popped out of the air in front of Death. Smiling, he pulled his hood back over his head and looked down at Helga's body.

"Well, she did better than the barber," he said with a sniff.

-

Half an hour later, the spectral, and slightly trembling figure of Helga G. Pataki reappeared in front of Death.

"Well?" he asked. "What happened?" Helga opened her mouth, but no sound came out. "Where did you go?" he said.

"Fiji," she finally managed to reply.

"Fiji?"

"Fiji. In a small market village, the one place in the world that is furthest from this hospital." Helga looked as though she would never close her eyes again.

"Of course," Death said thoughtfully. "If you'd have gone back into your own body, you still would have only been about eight feet from me..." Helga nodded and squeaked at the same time. "Hmm... I'll have to think about this..." Death said, and he disappeared once more. Helga just stood where she was, with her mouth hanging open like a fish.

-

A few hours later, when Helga had finally managed to calm down, she found herself once again watching Arnold and Phoebe. She sensed a longing in her that she had never felt before. She missed other people, ones who's skeletons you couldn't see and who thought that there was more to life than death. She sighed, and also missed being able to rest her chin in her hands.

"She's really not so bad you know," Phoebe was saying, looking down at Helga's peaceful face. "Once you get to know her, she can be quite sweet."

"I know," Arnold said, who remembered the odd occasions when Helga hadn't been peppering his head with spit balls.

"She's just very complex you see," Phoebe continued. "She has so much going on and so much to hide..." Very quickly, the petite girl brought her hand to her mouth and tried to look as though she hadn't said anything. Helga curled a translucent fist at her.

"Hide?" Arnold repeated.

"Everyone has secrets Arnold," Phoebe said, tip-toeing around the issue. "Of course, I can't tell you..."

"Oh, of course not," Arnold said, and Helga breathed a sigh of relief. "It's just hard to imagine someone like Helga been so deep. I mean, I know she has another level somewhere, but surely nothing too bad."

"You don't know that half of it," Phoebe continued in a distracted voice. Helga wanted to rush up to the girl and shake her until she stopped talking.

"I guess I don't," Arnold admitted.

"And now you never will!" Phoebe said with a huge racking sob. She slumped forward on the bed, burying her head in her arms. Arnold patted her gingerly on the back.

"Come on now Phoebe don't say that," he urged gently.

"It's so unfair!" Phoebe said, her head snapping up suddenly. "She never got the chance to go to the prom! Or graduate! She never had a pistachio and banana sundae! She never got the chance to tell..." Phoebe trailed off again, just as Helga pushed her ghostly nose an inch from the girl's.

"To tell..." Arnold prompted, intrigued.

"She never had the chance to tell you..."

Helga shook her head rapidly from side to side. "No Phoebe, don't do it! Please! As your friend and possible murderer I'm asking you not to talk anymore!"

"To tell me what?"

"Helga, she... she lo-"

Helga's screams could be heard echoing through the Underworld for years to come. Every single Arnold based fear that Helga had ever had rushed to the surface and paraded about for all to see. She screwed up her eyes, and waited for the final blow. When it didn't come, she opened them again.

"Helga?" Helga squinted around, unsure to where she had taken herself this time. "Oh my God Helga? Are you awake?"

"I hope not," she mumbled groggily. From beside her a high pitched happy scream emanated, piercing through her brain and into her socks. She brought a hand to her forehead, and was surprised to see a tube sticking out of it.

"Nurse!" someone cried, before dashing from the room. Helga looked around, and when recognition dawned on her she smiled. She had seen this room before, but this time it was from a whole new angle.

Henry, she thought. You can go now.

And he did.

-

The hospital had insisted on keeping Helga in for at least a week after she had woken up, but being unable to find anything wrong with her, and with getting sick of Bob complaining about how much it was going to cost him, they finally let her go. She was glad to be home, and more than that she was glad she had adverted total disaster from spilling from Phoebe's lips. She had tried to explain to Phoebe, or at least, to have a go at her, but she couldn't find a way to explain that she had heard what Phoebe was saying without involving Death, ghosts and Texas. Eventually, she had just let it go and gotten on with her life.

That was until her eighteenth birthday, when a familiar figure appeared in her room.

"Oh no," she said. "Not you."

"It's alright," Death assured her. "I'm not here on business." Helga breathed a sigh of relief and looked up from her English homework.

"So what is it?" she asked. She would have been more hostile, but the plain fact was that despite the fact that he wasn't as clever as he seemed, and despite the fact that he had once accidentally killed her, Helga couldn't help liking Death. He was a nice guy.

"I come bearing good news!" he said cheerfully.

"Really? You? Get out!" Death looked rejected, and shuffled toward her window. "It's an expression," she said dispairingly. Death looked embarrassed for just a second.

"Oh," he said. "I knew that."

"So what's up bones?" she said. "I haven't seen you since you scared the bejesus out of me." Death grinned and rolled up his sleeve.

"I got you a new watch," he said happily. Helga smiled, a smile that quickly turned to a frown.

"So why are you wearing it now? Don't you remember what happened last time?"

"It won't happen again," Death said proudly. "This watch doesn't have a reset button. Doesn't actually have any buttons at all, not even one of those ones that light the face up all blue."

"Excellent," Helga said, and the smile returned.

"Also, I got you a new cause of death," he said, offering it out like a child offers his nursery school paintings to his mother.

"Aww," Helga said in fake affection. "And there I was thinking I wouldn't get anything more than bath salts."

"I thought considering I told you what you were going to die of, you might be pissed that it wasn't going to be a surprise."

"And who'd like that?"

"So I had a word with the Higher Powers and they changed it."

"So now I don't know what I will die of, but I know it won't be heart failure..."

"Or will it?" Death replied slyly, tapping the side of his invisible nose. Helga laughed and picked up her English homework.

"Here, read this," she said. "I wrote a story about us and our time together for my English assignment." Death took it with an approving nod and glanced over it.

"What is it, tragedy?" he asked. Helga looked down to her pink fluffy slippers.

"Comedy, actually," she replied.

-THE END-

A/N: Quite.