Ghost in the Night

A Hey Arnold FanFic

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold and make no attempt to profit from it. All characters belong to Craig Bartlett, who is a genius!

A/N:This is my first Hey Arnold FanFic. I hope you enjoy it! Dedicated to BrokenRose24 and her wonderful artwork and to all those wonderful authors who write Hey Arnold! I thank you all.

And also to anyone who has lost someone, or been broken; this is for you.

Chapter One: The Hang Over

The smell of whisky and cigarettes burned his nostrils with the familiar sensation of craving and disgust, his stomach churning over the contents he had just eaten and his eyes now stinging with the lack of sleep he had undertaken lately. But there in lay his problem; Arnold could not sleep. The days around him had grinded to a halt, the actions of the people around him slow and fuzzy, his life seemingly cut off from everyone around him. Taking another sip, Arnold glanced lazily from the stool and looked around. No one was here. The bar had shut hours ago, but he remained behind, his part ownership with Gerald being the only reason for his lateness.

He remained slumped over the bar in his stool, the same stool that for the third night straight he had sat in, and as he took another hasty sip, he knew it was not going to change. I'm such a fool; how could I have trusted her? He mused, the nightlight still sitting comfortably on his back. The bar itself was still quite dark, especially in the corner where the music continued to play. It was large, without being able to fit everyone in town into it; the paved floor was a nice touch and made it easier to clean in case of a spill, but was revolting to try and bring back to a shine. The bar he now sat at was large enough to house alcohol Arnold had never experienced before, and was large enough to allow him to drown his sorrows.

A row of glasses continued to grow, his final gulp of the whisky being placed alongside the other empty shallow glasses. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to remember why he was here again; his whole body was aching for rest, with his mind the only thing stopping him. Grabbing a bottle, he tipped its contents in carelessly; he'd clean it up in the morning. The sensation of resting on the stool made him drowsy, the pins and needles in his arms growing as he continued to rely on them for support. How far he had fallen from his old ways he didn't know; the bar had become his life. But it wasn't what he wanted, what he had wanted to be a part of. There was no choice for him here; he would be doomed to watch and grow old here, never knowing what would happen.

Again his heart gave a start; a rustling outside caught his attention, jerking his body upright. Shadows of cats danced past the window, dousing his hopes of company. Taking a sip of the amber liquid in front of him, he coughed slightly at the rough taste it gave him. He was sorry for it all. Placing his head into his hands on the counter, he could feel the tears begin to grow again; his heart was breaking again, no matter how much alcohol he tried to fill it up with. What had he done to deserve this? He had said he was sorry, he had apologised, but nothing was easing his guilt. Maybe Gerald was right; he should give her up. But he couldn't, he wouldn't; Helga was his life and for better or for worse, he loved her.

The words stung him as he sat up; he loved her. But she didn't; how could she ever love him again? He had waited too long; he had remained silent when he needed to shout it out to the world around him. Sharp pain flooded his mind; touching it absentmindedly, Arnold shook his head and stood up. Checking to make sure all lights were finally off, he left the bar, closing it firmly behind him. His watch beeped, making him check it; 2:00 a.m. He cursed himself for being out late; he would have to get up early anyway for work. Arnold smiled to himself as he made his way along the streets. He had to keep reminding himself that work wouldn't start till later in the day.

Gerald though would want to know what happened to him. He could call in sick and take the day off; but he couldn't do that to Gerald. Coming to the apartment building, he opened the door and headed in. Climbing flights of stairs and wishing he had taken the elevator by the time he reached the top, Arnold came to the door he was searching for. There were only three other doors on this level, and one of them belonged to Gerald. Thankfully he knew he was preoccupied tonight, so the chance of him registering his late arrival into his own apartment would be highly unlikely.

Fumbling for the key in his pocket, Arnold managed to turn the lock and enter it without tripping over his own feet. Hearing another lock behind start to turn, he clambered into the hall and closed the door quickly behind him. He'd thought Gerald would have been sleeping at the very least by now. He was grateful for his worry, but he didn't want it tonight. Locks turning, he moved down the hall way and headed for the bedroom. The soft pillow beneath his head made his sleep immediate, a blessing considering Gerald stood outside his door, and head slumped against it, knowing that tomorrow would be another talk about his problem.

D & F

Standing with her on the roof top, he could feel her shoulders slump and the hurt begin to grow inside of her after he had said those words. A single tear had streaked down the side of her face, her hair covering her eyes from his gaze.

"So this is it?" she gasped in between breaths, his hand wanting to comfort her but finding no solace.

"Helga I'm sorry-"

"I don't ever want to see you again football head!" she yelled, barging him aside before racing down the stairs. Arnold could feel the night time air turn to ice on him, whispering and telling him of all he should have done. His heart began to squeeze harder on him, the will in his body to stand up being sapped away the longer he waited. She hadn't called him football head in years.

"Arnold!"

She must have returned but he couldn't see her; spinning around, he could hear his name getting louder in his head.

"Arnold! Wake up man or I'm pouring the water on you," Gerald called out, causing Arnold to open his eyes.

Slumped in a mess, tangled in sheets and with a hangover to ruin anyone's morning, Arnold groggily faced Gerald, his best friend's eyes sparkling with mischief and delight at the prospect of awakening Arnold. "What are you doing here?" Arnold mumbled, his mouth half covered by the pillow he rested on.

"I would have thought you'd have caught on by now my man; I'm your wake up call," Gerald beamed, carefully placing the water bucket back onto the floor, much to Arnold's relief.

"Couldn't you have waited till later? My head's killing me," he said as he rolled over, turning himself away from Gerald.

"Now that's just rude," Gerald grinned.

Arnold could hear the movement of more footsteps moving closer to him. A scent, one mixed with lavender and bacon and eggs drifted closer to him, Gerald's attempts to move him ceasing as he rolled over. Phoebe, wearing her glasses slightly lop sided and holding a tray of food sat down on his bed, resting it in front of him as he sat up. Out of the three of them, Phoebe was the better cook, a fact that Arnold was forever grateful for.

"Morning Phoebe," Arnold smiled softly.

"Good morning Arnold. How are you this morning?"

Arnold didn't reply, instead deciding to tuck into his food. Gerald smiled, joining his friend and Phoebe. Wrapping an arm around her, he laughed as she tried to feed him some of the egg. The grin on Arnold's face grew, watching the interaction between the two lovebirds grow with each passing moment. He felt happy for them, but he felt cold for it too. He remembered something from long ago about a bed breakfast with a girl with the most dazzling blonde hair and wonderful eyes…snapping himself out of it, he wished he didn't have those memories in his head, wishing beyond anything that they would disappear and leave him alone.

Perhaps he was right to be alone for a while; no one else had spoken to him since he had broken up with Helga apart from Gerald and Phoebe. He couldn't forgive himself for what had happened and what damage he had done. He was glad Gerald hadn't left his side; Phoebe was still best friends with Helga, but she understood him enough to respect what he had done. But he still didn't feel any better for it.

"Arnold are you okay man?" Gerald asked, snapping him out of his thinking.

"Hmm? Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, trying to force the happiness in his voice.

"Arnold, you don't have to pretend around us; we both know how you really are," Phoebe stated casually, eating another piece of the egg.

Tensed up, Phoebe leaned over to his ear and whispered a single word; as if on instinct Arnold could feel his body relax and face change; no longer trying to make himself happy, he lay back onto the pillows and sighed deeply.

"And I thought only one person could make the Shortman relax with a single word," Gerald chirped, receiving a strong punch from Phoebe in his arm.

"You guys don't have to worry about me you know; I can look after myself," Arnold mumbled.

Within an instant the once still bucket was over the head of Arnold, releasing the ice cold water Gerald had so kindly placed into it with the assistance of Phoebe earlier. Spluttering and coughing, Arnold wanted to reach out and punch his closest friend, but stopped after Gerald sat back with a grin.

"Lie to me again my man and I'll show you how cold I can make this water go."

Getting out of bed, Arnold moved to his cupboard and without thought for Phoebe removed his shirt and changed himself out of the sopping wet clothing. "What makes you think I can't handle living by myself?"

"You're not exactly silent when you drink Arnold," Phoebe said gently.

"And besides after what you've gone through, I would think that the last thing we should do is to leave you alone," Gerald said as Arnold tucked his shirt into his pants.

"It was only once Gerald; it won't happen again," Arnold muttered darkly.

Gerald was about to tell him off but stopped after seeing the warning glance from Phoebe. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and sat down on the bed, avoiding the wet patch were Arnold had once been sleeping.

"I'm still confused about the whole thing though," Gerald muttered.

Arnold didn't listen to this comment, instead choosing to leave the room, followed in close tow by Phoebe and Gerald, who joined him in the kitchen of his apartment. The apartment wasn't the largest one he had ever been in, but this was still larger than his old room. Consisting of a simple kitchen, living room area and a balcony, a bathroom and two bedrooms quickly made up for the price he was paying to live on the top floor. But this mattered little to Arnold as he opened the freezer and began to search for some ice, the headache subsided but insisting to strike back.

"What are your plans for today?" Arnold asked as he stuck his hands into the freezer.

"I'm working late; I'll explain later," Phoebe blushed as Arnold shot her a questioning glance, "And Gerald and you are meant to be opening the bar later on unless you are going to take a day off for once?"

Arnold had managed to find the ice and was now placing it into a single large glass. "What's the point of that? I'm fine," he tried to grin as he placed the ice to his forehead.

"Arnold, as your friend and co-worker, I really do think you should take the day off buddy; you've been drinking too heavily lately for your own good. I can't have you falling sick in the middle of a shift when it could have been prevented earlier," Gerald said, watching as Arnold placed the cup down carefully.

Finally, after silence had descended upon them, Arnold sighed. "I guess you're right Gerald; I have been out of it lately. But I need to work; I can't keep myself distracted long enough."

Phoebe smiled at this and quickly left the apartment. Arnold was about to ask but a hand from Gerald kept him quiet. "Just wait."

Returning in almost an instant, Arnold was surprised to see a blank pad protruding from Phoebe's hands and a single black pen fastened to it. "I figured that after what…happened, you might want something to let your feelings out with. Not with us," she replied hastily at the frown that grew on Arnold's face, "But something personal that can help you try and piece together your story and help you move on."

Arnold accepted the pad from Phoebe and looked at it cautiously. There was something about the design that reminded him of something, but he couldn't be sure of what it had been. Gerald seemed to be waiting for Arnold to yell or cry, but was surprised as Arnold said a softly spoken "Thank you."

Seeing her job done, Phoebe bid farewell to Arnold and then Gerald, kissing him lightly on the lips before heading off to work. Gerald took a seat at the bench to the kitchen and Arnold resumed his appliance of the ice to his head, staring at the book carefully.

"I'll never quite understand what goes on her head, but she knows more than I give her credit for," Gerald smiled.

"I'm sorry about this Gerald; if I hadn't-"

Holding his hand up again, Gerald simply shook his head. "It's not your fault Arnold; we both know it had been building for a long time. If anything I should be sorry for not noticing. But then again, you did play Romeo for a reason."

"But still-"

"No more Arnold; please accept that we are here for you. Neither Phoebe nor I consider you a stranger. Whatever happened to you happened for a reason; it's time you tried to figure out why."

Arnold simply nodded. "Thanks Gerald," he said softly.

Even though in weeks to come he would deny it, Arnold could swear he saw a single tear streak down Gerald's face. When asked later, he attributed it to a stray eye lash. For the remainder of the morning the duo talked before Gerald left early after lunch, promising to ensure that the regulars were looked after and the remainder of the staff knew the go. With the afternoon to himself, Arnold looked out over the balcony and took a sip of the melted ice and felt the coldness settle him in the midst of the summer heat.

After a while, the town grew boring to him so he retreated to the couch and sat down. The notebook by his side, Arnold finally registered where he was and felt a chill run through his spine. It had happened here; he could still feel it consuming him as he tried to fight back, but nothing could block out the memories, the thoughts and the fear that resided in him at that point. Gazing into the empty television, Arnold looked at the book and sighed. Phoebe always had a reason for her logic and maybe she was right about this one.

Removing the pen from the front, Arnold opened up the first page and found a neat message scribbled on the inside:

I figure you need a way to let it out without feeling awkward around us; this is probably your best way of doing so. Just remember we are here to talk if you need it Arnold; you don't have to go it alone.

Love Phoebe.

P.S. Try not to leave it out for Gerald to read.

Arnold chuckled as he gazed upon the first page. Lined in black with a border around it, Arnold felt uneasy about what to do. He could simply follow what Phoebe had suggested, but he wasn't sure he wanted to find out what he remembered just yet. Instead, he thought for a moment about what to write, the clutter that had become his mind unclear and unfocused. Finally with a gentle smile he wrote down a simple sentence, one he knew would help later on if he wanted to write.

My name is Arnold; and this is my story.