Bluebird

a Hey Arnold fanfic by Pyrex Shards
pre-read by Lord Malachite

A/N: This is a sequel to Ananda. It might help to read that fic first if you haven't already. It is only a oneshot whereas this will be much longer.

Flashbacks, journal entries, and poetry are all in italics.

Chapter 1: Pandora

Two years after the accident...

January 10th, 2002

I have my hands in my coat pockets against the cold of winter. No snow, no clouds in the sky, but it's cold and there's enough breeze to blot out any chance that the January sun could heat anything. I look up at the house while contemplating to myself just how to proceed. No doubt about it, this is going to be awkward.

You see, I ran out of books. I read through my meager collection about a year before, even after reading a few books twice. When that was done Phoebe let me read through hers. Her collection was much larger than mine, and it got me through another year. Of course I visited the book store every so often to freshen up my supply. I feel like I've read an entire library worth of books to Helga now, in just two long years. I finally realized that when I stood at a shelf in a bookstore unable to focus on anything, completely lost.

I sounded pretty sheepish when I spoke with Olga on the phone, asking about Helga's book collection and if I could look through it for more books to read. Olga gushed over the phone about how wonderful it was that I was still reading to Helga, and that I could come over after school and she would let me in. So immediately after school I took the bus a little longer than usual to a home that I only briefly remember. I'm standing here, looking up at the Pataki brownstone.

I breathe in and out slowly, I can see my breath, and instinctively I bundle myself tighter into my coat. I have no idea who's inside other than Olga. I suspect Big Bob is still at work but Miriam may be home. Helga's home life, the parts Helga had cared to share with me years ago, add to my list of thoughts about what I am to experience inside. I take those first steps up the stoop and to the door. No time like the present. I raise my right hand and with a black gloved fist, gently knock against the wood panel of the door.

I'm greeted with a high pitch voice, unmistakably Olga's, that yells "I'm coming!" A few seconds later I see her walking down the stairs through the glass. I hear a click of the deadbolt and the door opens. Olga peeks around the door, then down at me with a warm smile that seems to match the warm air spilling out of the house. "Arnold, I'm so glad you came." Olga opens the door wide and gestures me in with a wave of her hand. She's wearing a deep red turtleneck sweater and bluejeans. Everything about Olga seems warm.

As I walk past her, entering the Pataki household for the first time in years, I catch a whiff of a familiar fragrance. Flowers of some type. I always caught that same fragrance after arriving at the Hospital in Helga's room after Olga's visits. Though now it is stronger since I'm standing beside Olga as she shuts the door behind me, it's still very pleasant. It is something I have not experienced in a year, not since Olga left Hillwood for a job teaching underprivileged children in Uganda. But now that she's back, it's as if a key member of the unofficial Helga Pataki support group has returned.

"Let me take your coat." Olga offers and I oblige, letting her stand behind me and grab my coat as I take it off. Once it's off she hangs it on an empty coat hook beside a pink jacket, and I can't help but wonder if it's Helga's. "It's so awfully cold out there today," Olga starts as she finishes hanging the coat, making sure that it's firmly on the hook, "would you like some hot chocolate or coffee? That is if you drink coffee." She turns to look at me inquisitively and I can't help but smile back.

I wave my hands in front of me dismissively. "No I'm fine, thank you. I'm kind of in a hurry to get home, I have a big homework assignment due tomorrow."

She smiles back, obviously something a teacher loves to hear. "I'm glad you're taking your studies seriously. Why don't we go up to Helga's room and you can pick out some books, okay?"

I nod in reply. As Olga turns to lead me up the stairs to the second floor, I take a long look at the living room, and how odd it is. There's trophies and certificates, ribbons and all sorts of uniquely shaped awards. The walls are lit by track-lighting. There's a red couch and a worn-looking recliner in the center of the room. The recliner sits facing a large Purdyvision console TV at one corner of the room. An expensive looking remote is sitting on the armrest of the recliner, as if waiting for the commands of some modern king.

"So what is your homework assignment about?" Olga's question breaks me out of my trance and I look up at her. She's halfway up the stairs already and slowly ascending. I smile sheepishly and begin following her up the stairs, palming the handrail as I go.

"I have to write an essay about John Steinbeck."

Olga spins around, on a stair step, and looks down at me with a gleam in her eye. "Oh Helga just loves John Steinbeck. I've seen her reading Grapes of Wrath before!" She exclaims, bringing her hands up to her heart, trotting down the stairs and then putting her hands on my shoulders. "I've got a great idea. Why don't you read one of his books to Helga! I'm sure my baby sister has something of his in her collection."

"I- I'll see what she has." I manage, in shock of how Olga just managed all that on the stairs.

Olga smiles even wider and then turns to trot energetically up the stairs. "This is so exciting!" I follow her up the stairs at a normal pace as she disappears around the corner in a blur of blonde and red, while I try to shake the images of the room with the trophies and the pink jacket out of my head. I hear a the sound of a key latch as I turn the corner. Olga is in front of Helga's room, with an old looking set of keys in her hands, methodically picking through the keys. "I'm sorry, Mum and Dad locked the door and I don't know which key it is, they all look the same."

It's strange to me that her parents would lock Helga's door. Then again there are lots of things about the Patakis that are strange. They're like the opposite of that old show I used to watch in the first grade, the Brady Bunch. I look on while Olga tries a few more keys. I think all these doors have locks on them. Perhaps once upon a time this old brownstone was like Sunset Arms.

"Finally." Olga breathes as the lock clicks. She puts a hand on the knob and twists, then pushes the door open. I feel cool air, it smells stale and stagnant. Olga walks in and I follow. I've been in Helga's room once, when she thought she was dying of some monkey disease. I remember Helga laying in her bed, nervously confessing that she thought I was "okay," right after Phoebe rushed in and told her she wasn't dying. Now that I know what she really meant, four years later, I'm standing in her room again. This time I'm staring in awe at box after box of cell phones stacked in a corner.

They seem to be growing from the wall, invading Helga's room. Violating her sacred space. The fresh blue and white boxes seem out of place against the blue wallpaper. There's a thick layer of dust over everything but the cell phones. Heat pours into the room from the hallway but it's still cold in here. The phones must be covering a vent. I can hear the sound of air whistling in from around the dust laden window seal. A single vacant and dust-laden spider web in the window dances in the light from the outside.

The room is empty save for the cell phones and the furniture. The only pink that I see is the bed sheets and matching pillows, still on the bed though made up tightly, as if waiting for someone to return. Olga reaches the closet and opens it, "Mum and Dad put all of Helga's belongings away." I stare at Olga's back in shock. I've seen in the movies where a loved one is gone and their family keeps their room preserved. All of Helga's stuff is in boxes that I can see from behind the squeaky closet door as Olga opens it.

She turns around and looks at me while she kneels down, I can't tell if she's grinning because she's embarrassed or if she's still thinking about Steinbeck. I'm realize I'm standing in the middle of the room with my mouth slightly open. I pull my mouth closed and walk up to Olga and the closet full of boxes. "Let's see, clothes, magazines," she fingers the black sharpie labels on the boxes and works her way up from the bottom. "Oh, here we are." She stabs a large box at the top of the stack with her index finger. "Books. There's some other boxes of books but I'm sure this is the one that has Grapes of Wrath in it." She reaches for the box and starts pulling it towards her. I realize from the way the boxes are bowing underneath it must be a heavy box. "Can you help me?" Olga chuckles.

I walk into action and stand beside Olga, helping her remove the box and grabbing underneath as she pulls it out. Once the box is free I grunt as I bear the full brunt of its weight while Olga reaches underneath quickly to help me. We walk the box to the center of the room and let it down, the displaced air underneath kicking up dust bunnies that crawled out of the closet with it.

Olga gently lifts the lid off the box and I'm greeted with the unmistakable smell of sour apple. I recognize it instantly as Helga. It perfumed her presence, and was part of the sensation that I remember the most when she kissed me on the roof of FTi, the taste of that salty sour apple bubblegum on her lips and cinnamon-like spiciness on her tongue as she brushed it across my teeth.

"Ohhhh.." Olga swoons, reaches down to grab a hardcover book off of the top of the stack, and hugs it to herself in glee. "Here it is." She turns the old looking book around in her hands and reaches it out to where it is between us. The title Grapes of Wrath is written in fancy handwriting, with accents that look like grapes. Behind that a scene of a dusty field and a haggard looking farming family standing in front of it. The entire book is worn. Its own musty smell meets my nose along with the bubblegum.

I take the book from her hands and look at it closely. It's a heavy book. Lots of pages. I smile as I realize, while most of us were reading comic books before the sixth grade, Helga was reading classic literature. My mental image of Helga seems to get clearer every time I come across something as profound as this. Olga puts a gentle hand on my shoulder as I look at her. "You must promise me that you'll take good care of these books. My sister treasures them and wouldn't want anything to happen to them. Especially these old hardcovers." The shrill beeping sound of a timer going off echoes through the house and Olga lets go of my shoulder. "Oh, my soufflé is ready. Why don't you stay up here and go through this box. I have to go downstairs and finish dinner okay. Don't worry about putting the box back, I'll have daddy help."

I nod at her and she stands up to walk out of Helga's room. Once at the door she turns around as if to say something and I glance over my shoulder at her. But she simply shrugs slightly and walks out the door. I let myself smile. Sometimes I don't understand what Helga's big deal is with Olga. Perhaps I'll never understand. It's not my place to ask, if I could ask at all. I look down at the book in my hands and shrug slightly as I sit the book down to my left and peer into the box.

The box itself is full of books, all stacked neatly as if to fill the entire box as if it were a game of Tetris. I pull a few loose paperbacks out that are being used for spacing between the larger books. Already one of the larger books catches my eye. An entire collection of old plays by playwrights I've never heard of, but one very familiar playwright, Shakespeare. That might be fun to read. I sit it down on top of the Steinbeck.

I pull out a few of the smaller hardcovers. Perhaps these could be read later but I find them unremarkable somehow, I sit those to my right. Another hardcover catches my eye. It's thick. The title says Run with the Hunted, by someone named Charles Bukowski. I pick it up and idly flip through it. Poems and short stories. There's a yellow piece of paper sticking out the top of the book, a makeshift bookmark. I smile and sit it down on top of the collection of plays. Three large books should be enough to last a few months in my estimation.

Underneath the Bukowski book I see yet another book. But unlike the others it doesn't have a dust cover, and there's no writing on it. The book is purple in color. Odd. I lift the book carefully, noting that there are others like it underneath, and look it over, then at the spine:

Volume V

I stare at the simple label, puzzled. It's written in some very fancy calligraphy. I turn the book right side up and open it to the first page, reading the purple handwriting, mouthing the words to myself as I go...

Dearest Arnold,

How I long for the day, when I can pronounce my undying love for you, my precious football headed muse.

I stare at the entry. This is Helga's handwriting. My breathing slows and I look around instinctively; I want to make sure no one's around to see what I've just discovered. I stand up with the book still in my hands, and the thick smell of sour-apple bubblegum follows along with it. I stare in concentration at that first stanza and I maneuver around the box, and to the bed. I back into the bed and let myself drop to sit on the side, I can see dust around me, kicked up from the bed itself. I cradle the book in my hands, and I continue reading.

But alas, I couldn't do it today, just like every other day in your gracious presence. I shoved you out of the way on the bus, squirted water into your beautiful face at the water fountain, and blew ninety seven spitwads into your cornflower hair. I've lost count of the number of sins I've committed against you. Oh if I could only apologize to you, my love. But I cannot. I'm fickle. I long for you to save me from myself yet I push you out of the way.

Perhaps I can make it up to you tomorrow. I'll throw one less spitwad, spray less water, or push instead of shove. Perhaps then, you'll notice me.

I'm yours forever my love.

Helga G. Pataki

Somehow I cannot take my eyes off of the page. I read the sentences in random order, whatever catches my eye...

Perhaps I can make it up to you tomorrow.

I'm fickle.

I've lost count...

Sins against you...

Undying love...

I'm yours forever...

Cornflower...

Just like every other day...

Dearest Arnold...

I look around the room and listen to the silence and the echo of Helga's words in my head. I notice a pink polka-dot clock on the wall. It seems out of place, straight out of the eighties, the second hand isn't moving and its stuck somewhere between four-oh-six and four-oh-seven. I wonder idly when the battery died. I imagine Helga in this room, writing in the book I now hold in my hand, and thinking of me.

I let out a breath and look down at the book in my arms again. This is only the first page. I wonder what the other pages hold, so I gently lift the page with my finger and turn it. This time of course there are two entries, one for each page. The next page starts out like the last, but towards the bottom it has a piece of yellowing tape stuck to it, and a single strand of blond hair.

Dearest Arnold,

I'm happy today my prince. When I got home, I noticed out of the corner of my eye the faintest hint of a flaxen glimmer on my shoulder. One of your hairs, one of those precious cornflower strands that I can only dream of counting, followed me home. It must have caught my shirt when I pushed you in the hallway. I could dance with this fiber in my hands all day, twirling until I'm dizzy with images of those green eyes in my mind as I hum a love song to you.

But I must not lose this memento. I'm taping it to this unworthy page as a reminder of a day when a piece of you followed me home, danced with me, and let me dream for an evening.

Thank you for this precious gift,

Helga G. Pataki

I blush at the image of Helga dancing around this room with a strand of my hair intertwined between her fingers, humming some love song by Dino Spumoni. Even if the dancing image before me is just a shadow, I smile at her. I look down at the piece of hair, and chuckle. I lose so many of those things in my hairbrush at home. All those times when she pushed me in the hallway at school. Any of those times could have been this day. I look for a date on the book, anything, there has to be a year somewhere. I start leafing through the entries.

Dearest Arnold,

I love that annoyed glare you gave...

No date on the top of the page. I thumb several pages again.

To the boy in all my girlhood fantasies,

I dreamed about you last night.

Again, no date. I thumb an even larger group of pages. The air rushing from the pages as they turn brings fresh sour apple to my nose.

It's hypnotic my muse,

when you laugh and turn,

and your hair dances around on your head,

I'm beginning to understand that every single page in this thing is devoted to me as I read through yet another devotional. I sigh and run a hand through my hair. Helga didn't date any of these. How did she expect to catalog these things. Is this a journal? Am I missing the point. She's such an enigma! I shake my head slightly, forcing myself to concentrate, and grab a good amount of pages, then flip through to another page towards the back of the book.

Dearest, and very waterlogged, Arnold,

You tango like a god and you hair smells divine,

You're my hapless April fool.

April fool? Tango? I look at that lingering imaginary shadow of Helga in the center of her room wearing the glasses of a blind man, and I smile.

Fourth grade!

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

"Oh I cannot believe this!" I let out an exasperated breath and ran my hands through my matted-wet hair. I sat hunched over on the top stair step of the YMAA building, on one edge. The rain fell at an angle, blocked by the building so I could sit and not get wet. Not that it mattered much after the little swim I had in the pool. But I didn't treasure the thought of having to dry out again either. It was a little after ten o'clock, I think.

"Believe what Arnoldo? That I managed to pull off yet another perfect April Fool's day prank?! Admit it. I won football head!" I glared across the stair steps to the opposite edge, where Helga sat. She didn't look any better than me. Her clothing was a crumpled and damp mess after being hastily rung out in the women's restroom. Her pigtails sat limp and her matching bow had no perk. Her wicked grin seemed to broadcast across the empty space. I swore to myself that I wanted to wipe it off her face.

To put it lightly, I was enraged. "This is all your fault!" I snapped back at her.

"What? That we missed the bus or that you thought you had blinded me?" Helga chortled from her perch. She had her sunglasses clipped down her shirt and her cane propped up behind her on the wall. She unclipped the glasses and put them on, then went for her cane. "Oh Helga. I'm so sorry." She mocked while pretending to poke around with the cane. "I play moronic April fools pranks and I let you make me think I blinded you with a stupid flash bulb. Oh the humanity. Oh the drama."

I thrust my hands out towards the street. "We missed the bus we needed to catch because you insisted on playing one last prank!"

Helga grinned at me devilishly, and eyed me for a second from over her sunglasses as they fell uneven across her nose, then she fingered them back up in front of her eyes and continued. "Here, let me be your personal assistant for a day so you can torture me. Let me buy you a hideously expensive milkshake. Ha ha haha." Helga pulled off her sunglasses and hugged herself in laughter. "You're so gullible Arnoldo. It's just a stupid holiday football head. Don't get your damp undies in a bunch."

"You locked me in the janitors closet, in the dark, for a half hour!" I stood up and paced the distance between us. "What kind of an April fools day prank is that? Huh?" I looked down at her in disgust.

Helga returned my glare but didn't break her smirk, nor did she back away. "So!? People come and go here all the time, including the Janitors. I couldn't let April Fools go with a fizzle, you frazzled maroon."

I crossed my arms and tapped my foot on the ground. "Are you finished yet?"

"No. You're way too uptight about this hair boy. Is..." Helga gasped melodramatically and reached up to poke my neck "is that a vein I see in your neck."

I flinched and batted her hand away. The staring match continued over the din of the falling rain, until I noticed a glimmer of something in Helga's eye. She turned forward to face the street and the rain. "Look." Helga said amongst a few remaining chuckles in her throat. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll apologize for one thing I did today. But you're only getting one apology from me Bucko. Don't think I'm making a habit of it either."

"Anything?" I asked incredulously.

"Doi!"

"Okay." I thought for a moment then grinned. This was a golden opportunity to teach Helga a lesson. That I could outsmart her if I wanted to. "I want you to apologize for being a bully." I looked down at the ground and idly kicked at a piece of loose cement. I could feel Helga's eyes burning a hole in my head.

"Bzzzt. Wrong answer. Times up! And what does our contestant get? Zilch. Nadda."

"But you said anything Helga." I laughed triumphantly.

Helga scowled at me, "I lied. So sue me. April fools is still on for about two hours."

"Gah!" I yelled, put a palm to my forehead, and paced back to the other edge of the stairs after kicking the chunk of cement into the rain. It clacked on a few of the steps over the sound of the rain before hitting the street and disappearing under a torrent of water. Once safely away from Helga, for her sake, I leaned against the brick wall. I stared out into the myriad of thick raindrops as they fell onto the street. Silence descended upon us again.

That is until Helga finally cried out in frustration, it snapped me out of my trance. "What?"

Helga stood up and looked back at me from across the stairs. "It's almost ten-thirty and the bus isn't even here!" She yelled out in frustration. "How am I supposed to get home at a decent hour without getting grounded by Big Bob and Miriam the smoothie queen!"

"Oh now you realize that..." I said sarcastically. Helga shot me a dangerous glare from across the stairs and I looked down at the ground, finding the cracks in the cement interesting. "Why do you call them by their first names anyway?" I asked without thinking.

"None of your beeswax pal!" Helga yelled.

I looked up at her and shook my head quickly. "Okay. Sorry I asked."

"Good." Helga folded her arms while crossing the distance between us until she stood mere feet in front of me. She leaned forward. "Stay sorry and quiet at the same time. I don't want your dork rays invading my brain!"

I weighed my options. Boredom or dangerous conversation with a short-fused firecracker. I decided upon the latter. "I'm just surprised you don't call them mom and dad. That's all."

Helga snorted out a laugh and turned away form me. "I called them that once upon a time. Fat lot it did for me." Helga seemed to lose her composure, she looked back at me with a scowl. "Don't you ever tell anyone that, okay? I shouldn't have even said anything. But you're being all nosy and psychoanalytic."

"Psychowhat?" I arched an eyebrow.

"It's what a shrink does to your mind. And I didn't give you permission to start talking, Arnoldo."

"Hmmph." I looked away from Helga and to the rain again. "I don't recall needing permission from you. I'm just trying to make conversation. The next bus doesn't arrive until eleven."

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

A car horn from the street below breaks through my memories. I've slid slowly off the bed and I'm sitting on the dust laden floor with my back against the bed-frame. It was a fond memory, even though we argued. Helga finishes my memory in her journal, devotional, whatever it is:

Your cute when your flustered and angry, for I can get under your skin and stay there forever, comforted for the briefest of moments. I didn't want to leave you tonight, so I pressed on and you couldn't avoid me. I'm sorry my angel. I'll make it up to you.

April fools, Arnoldo.

I take my hand and lay it palm down on top of the page. I can almost feel the grooves in the paper from the pen that Helga used. "If only you'd of told me," I whisper at the book and close my eyes. If only Helga would have told me, I wouldn't feel as confused as I do right now.

I lift my hand and turn to another page of the journal, diary, whatever it was to Helga. The sour-apple scent lingers, like its sticking with me. How many of these books does she have? I close the book and lean forward towards the box. After depositing the book on top of the stack I already have, I reach in to the box and pull out another unmarked volume. This one is light blue, on the spine it says volume eight, more recent than the one I just sat down.

I open the book, and sure enough, no date, just an entry. A poem...

A boyish blue baseball cap...

I shut the book slowly. I can read no further. I'll be here forever, I realize. But I want to read these. I can hear Helga in those pages, talking to me. Is this how I can solve the puzzle? Is this how I finally see the picture? What I am doing here is wrong, I know. I have no right to read these. But it is too late for that. I'm sorry Helga, but I have to take these. I sit volume eight down and reach into the box. I grab for two more plain books and the spines, luckily enough, say volumes six and seven.

Surprisingly these books are not as heavy as they seem, and they lift up easily enough as I stand. As I approach the door, maneuvering cautiously around the box, I take one last glance at the scene around me. I can feel her presence, as if Helga is in here, and I know it's just the memories that are hidden from me, her own memories of this room. But I feel them too.

I make a silent vow to return as I take the stairs a step at a time. The vow isn't necessary because Olga wouldn't mind at all if it means I can continue reading to her sister. The smell of sweet potatoes and cinnamon greet my nose when I set foot on the ground below the stairs and walk the short distance towards the kitchen. Inside, Olga is washing utensils in the sink, on the kitchen table is a baking dish resting on a towel, inside the dish, that divine smelling soufflé.

"I got the books." I say simply, and Olga turns to smile at me. Over her red sweater she's wearing a plain white apron.

"Wonderful!" She clasps her hands. "Do you have enough?"

I nod at her in return, smiling. "Several months worth. Helga has quite a collection. " The spines of the books are pressed against my stomach so she can't see what I have. It's sneaky, I know, but I want Helga to talk to me some more, and this is the only way I can see her doing that.

"Here, let me get you a tote bag." Olga offers as she turns off the water and reaches for a cupboard to withdraw a plain looking blue tote bag. She approaches me with the bag. "You can use this bag as long as you like. Just return those books when you're done and we can get more books from Helga's room."

"These will last me until at least spring."

Olga approaches me and holds out the tote for me to deposit the books. "How often do you visit her?"

"As much as possible. Every other day right now, and Sundays. I've had to cut back a little."

"That's a lot of time to devote to Helga." Olga's expression turns curious as she hands me the tote and we walk into the hallway. She's right, it is a lot of time. Helga never stopped bullying me up until the accident. Of all the people she bullied, she had it out for me the most. But I know her secret and I can't tell Olga the real reason I visit Helga.

"I know, it is. But it's something I have to do."

"Why do you feel that way?"

Because I'm falling for her. "Because. I... Guess I feel like I owe it to Helga, you know. She didn't deserve what happened to her, and doesn't deserve to be forgotten."

I sense Olga stopping behind me and I turn around to see her leaning against the wall, one hand hanging on to her other arm. "Are you okay?" I ask, stepping a few paces forward. Her eyes seem moist as she stares at me. My heart reaches out to her, for seeing Olga Pataki like this, that isn't something one should have to witness; a very heart wrenching sight. "Was it something I said?"

"No. I'm fine Arnold. It's just that I thought I was the only one who felt that way. The thought of my baby sister all alone in that hospital room... I would live there if they'd let me. It's so wonderful to see one of her true friends devoted to her like that." There's something to her voice, and I feel some guilt somewhere in my heart about certain books in the tote bag I am holding. I have to will that thought even deeper.

"What about your mom and dad? They visit her too, she's not alone all the time."

My attempt to deflect the subject away from me seems lost on Olga as she walks forward and reaches for my coat, then holds it out for me to slip into. "You better get going if you want to turn in that report on Steinbeck tomorrow." She smiles at me. "You'll do great, but you need to spend some time on it."

"Thank you." I finish slipping the coat on and she steps back, I turn to face her. "I'll take care of these books for Helga."

She's holding her hands and looking at the space between us. I open my mouth to question her silence when she abruptly steps forward and encircles her arms around my shoulders in a tight embrace. We're not the same height so it's an awkward hug as she leans down slightly and rests her head against mine. I simply stand staring into space while holding the tote bag between us.

Olga's hug is a soft feeling, not at all unpleasant, and I can smell flowers in her red sweater. I realize that this is the Olga Pataki, hugging me in the entry way of her family's house. Any other boy would kill to be in this situation, but all that I can think about is the slight tremble in her arms, as if she's about to cry. "I just can't thank you enough" she squeaks "This means so much to me."

"You're welcome." I say softly, trying awkwardly to soothe her with my voice. I let go of the tote with one of my hands and reach around to pat her on the back.

"Don't be a stranger okay. Helga's friends are my friends too. If you need anything at all just let me know."

"You don't have to do anything. These books are quite enough."

She loosens her embrace and pulls away from me to stand, though she has her hands resting on my shoulders. She shakes her head, but she's still smiling a sad little smile, and I see tears in her eyes. "No, I insist. It's the least I can do."

"It's a deal." I smile at her, throwing as much warmth as I can into it, despite my mind orbiting around the words in Helga's journals.

Olga lets go of my shoulders and walks for the door to unlock the deadbolt. She turns the latch and opens the door. The small entryway is flooded with the cold air from outside, and I feel a little shiver down my back from the cold air hitting my face. As I walk out the door and down the stoop, Olga follows to stand in the doorway. "Arnold?"

I turn around to look back at her. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Olga stands there for a few more seconds, then backs away from the door, closing it along the way. I watch as she locks the deadbolt then waves at me from beyond the glass. We both turn away and I walk home, carrying a heavy weight in the tote bag and wondering what kind of Pandora's Box I am about to open.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Author's Notes

Thus begins Bluebird. Arnold now has several volumes of Helga's poetry and journal entries. He's beginning his adventure in unlocking the enigma of Helga Pataki and there's lots of trials and tribulations ahead. Will he figure out just what Helga means to him? Can he keep his optimism against insurmountable odds? Just how deep into Helga's psyche can he go?

For those of you who may bring it up, yes, I know about the little pink book Arnold has in his possession. It's just that Arnold hasn't connected the dots just yet, and he's dense enough for that to be plausible. He will in time, believe me. The pink book will make an appearance at the most appropriate time. Now if I can just figure out what time that will be. :)

There's actually a lot of material drafted already, which made chapter one hard to draft believe it or not. I'd sit down with the intent to complete chapter one, then I'd end up writing a draft scene for another chapter. Doh! I've been working on this story since around October of last year whenever several people (you know who you are), made a request that I continue the Ananda metaverse. Since then this storyline has slowly evolved. To give you an idea of just how much it evolved, the first chapter in its present form is a complete 180 degree departure from my original design.

But I think this version works out for the better.

Shout-outs where they're due, to Lord Malachite, Jae B, and The JAM for beta-reading chapter one and offering words of encouragement and/or asking just the right questions to get me motivated towards starting this story out right!

Next up: The day after discovering Helga's writings, and Arnold is understandably haunted. Phoebe makes an entrance into the story, and the state of affairs with Phoebe's life will be revealed. Stay tuned!

Like always, I appreciate all of your reviews, and I will personally reply to them (provided they're signed, of course). So by all means, click the review button below this sentence. :)