What if the Velma that you pinned for so long...
Wasn't your Velma?
What if the friends you knew for so long...
Weren't actually your friends?
What if there were two Scooby Gangs?
One group, outsiders, and stranded…
The other, native to this new timeline?
And if the outsiders staked their claim in this new world, in the face of personal histories not their own...
...Then what happened to the natives?
That is the mystery, the challenge, that Marcie Fleach will have to accept, or Crystal Cove will fall a second time, and there will be no one, this time, to resurrect it...
Time Travel meets with Ancient Magic and collides with High Technology in this new 40-chapter series based on Scooby-Doo Mystery Incorporated.
The Mysteries of Marcie Fleach...
1~
A startled Marcie Fleach flailed out of her bed, just in time for her rattled consciousness to perceive the alarm clock going off, one fine spring morning.
Running her hand reassuringly through her tangled mass of dark hair, she sighed nervously and turned to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Her eyes reflexively looked to the small, framed picture on the bureau, as she reached over to silence the clock.
As usual, the smiling face of Velma Dinkley, struck Marcie's heart with a well-whetted blade of bittersweet longing, and for the umpteenth time in as many days, she debated with herself on the matter of just putting the portrait in a drawer and hiding it from her memory, sparing herself the slow, self-inflicted torture of wondering where in the world she was today.
She took a look across the bedroom to her only means of communicating with Velma these days without incurring her father's wrath over long-distance phone bills, a laptop that sat on a thin-legged table.
Marcie also couldn't shake the odd vibe Velma always seemed to carry with her every day they had the chance to talk. A sense that Marcie could only describe as a feeling of...offness?
And something closer. A tension that followed her friend's voice whenever she would reminisce for the sake of conversation. Years of knowing Velma's moods had given her a sensitivity that rivaled ESP, so Marcie couldn't believe that she had misread the air around her friend as strange.
Just then, a dark pang replaced the bittersweet one that settled in her heart. It didn't help matters that Velma had ran off with her other circle of friends without preamble.
Velma was, she knew, a creature of varied interests, most intellectual, and some, not so, and Marcie had always accepted the fact that although they were as thick as thieves, they wouldn't always have the same interests that kept them so close. But amateur mystery-solving was an activity Marcie would have never thought would lead to a secret rivalry.
Admittedly, Velma had gotten her hooked on mysteries, early on, although they both ultimately saw it more as an entertaining, intellectual exercise, than as a need to bring truth to light and the guilty to justice.
Sadly, she realized that she had fallen into the trap of nostalgia. Like a reckless parasite, the dark pang squirmed in her again, and she sighed, resigning herself to the action of asking herself-was it jealousy on her part? If so, who was she more angry with? Velma for leaving her, or the rest of the gang for taking her away?
The rest of the gang…
What a joke, she thought, smirking bitterly. As if the gang had ever truly embraced her into the fold.
No, she decided. She would never be angry at Velma over this, their friendship was well-weathered. But it was a hard truth that she was only marginally part of the gang, her invitation based solely on her closeness with Velma, nothing more.
She knew she had nothing in common with any of the others. She enjoyed no appetite to rival Shaggy and Scooby's, no wealth or beauty-based social status, like Daphne's, and although her love of chemistry allowed her to learn about metallurgy, she had nowhere near as high an interest in mechanical engineering as Fred had exhibited. Whenever the five of them were together, Marcie had always felt like a sixth wheel.
A memory took hold of her and Marcie smiled wistfully for a moment, remembering that none of it had ever truly mattered, because, in the end, Velma always came to her, her best friend, to make sense of the day. To do homework together in each other's bedrooms. To sing the latest songs by The Hex Girls ad nauseum. To hang out and window shop in the mall. To commiserate their lives in school.
To just enjoy each other's time together.
Time they no longer had.
Marcie picked up the picture and instead of putting it away in the bureau, she looked at it sadly, and traced a thin finger along Velma's round, freckled cheek.
"Velma Dinkley, where are you?" Marcie asked the portrait. Then she slowly got up and prepared for school.
The gleaming, titanic complex was a celebration of modern technological architecture, standing vigil at the edge of town and towering proudly in the sun.
A green-tinted glass, steel and concrete vision of technology and progress, Creationex World Headquarters was the financial and civic pride of Crystal Cove. The small, Californian town's high-tech back stage pass into the world of twenty-first century globalization.
Marcie's class milled around the plaza outside, watching the fountains' water dance in the morning light, glancing dispassionately at employees in business suits or lab coats coming and going, and waiting for their science teacher to finish talking to the two scientists who were assigned to conduct the tour for today's field trip.
Marcie strained her neck trying to look up the immensity of the building's length before the window-reflected sunshine dazzled her into blinking. For as long as she could remember, she would daydream about working for the technology giant as an up-and-coming chemist with a breakthrough formula, a small town wunderkind that would single-handedly propel Creationex into legend, joining the ranks of Ford, DuPont or Harley-Davison.
She was brought out of her current daydream by the friendly tap from behind of the science teacher, Mr. Townsend, when word was sent that the company was ready to receive them.
"Are you okay, Marcie?" he asked softly, so as not to alert the other classmates. He had seen, firsthand, in class, the targeted teasing she would endure from them.
"Yeah. Sorry. I was just in my own head for a while."
"I only asked because I want you to enjoy yourself while we're here."
"I will, Mr. Townsend."
"Remember, I know how lonely you are since your friend left town, and I really appreciate how smart you are, but no playing Sherlock Holmes, and ticking everybody off, like last time, okay?"
"Yes, Mr. Townsend," Marcie droned respectfully as they caught up with the rest of the class and entered the building.
Marcie managed a small smile as the interior's air-conditioning chilled her skin. The lobby was magnificent, a vast, marbled, climate-controlled palace in and of itself. Looking up, she saw, hanging stately, like tapestries, were two banners, showing the proud faces of the company's husband-and-wife founder and co-owner.
So taken was she by the sheer opulence of just the lobby, that Marcie almost missed something that, upon further notice, slightly tarnished the image of the place.
An odor, very faint, but certain, tripped lightly in the cool air. It wasn't a fragrance, Marcie knew, but it was familiar enough that it spurred her curiosity, although she couldn't place it easily while the ventilation system hampered her.
The nearby conversation of two classmates, young, distaff clotheshorses, caught Marcie's attention momentarily.
Brenda, a pretty brunette, preened her hair and asked her friend, Kelly, a redhead, "You asked Rob out to this Saturday's rager?"
"I thought he might be free already, but I'll ask," Kelly said. "I hope his old man doesn't have him working in the shop this weekend."
"I just hope it's not gonna be another snooze fest like that birthday party we went to last month," Brenda complained.
Sensing a prime opportunity in the face of certain dismissal, Marcie, her attitude on gregarious autopilot, stepped into view and closed in on the two girls, grinning and as visually outgoing as her frumpy clothing could convey. She couldn't believe what she was doing.
"Y'know, I couldn't help overhearing that you wanted to liven up a party," she began her pitch. "You can't go wrong with the right set of chemicals. I can whip up a serious batch of black light and neon pigments that uses body heat to change colors with every emotion. I call them Mood Hues. You can use them when you guys are playing Truth or Dare, and find out if they're telling the truth when their colors change. It's great!"
The snide look on Brenda's face, however, was the figurative door slamming on Marcie's face.
"Forget it, Fleach. You're not gonna drag this party down in flames. Besides, don't they need you at your daddy's amusement park? Those churros aren't going to sell themselves."
"Yeah! Don't worry about it, Hot Dog Water," her partner said with a naughty smirk. "We'll have plenty of chemicals to work with at the party. Trust me." And with that, the two left her behind as they continued to plan for the weekend.
Dejected, Marcie mentally kicked herself. She knew it was foolish to try to schmooze her way into the social limelight like that. Without Velma around, she could feel the full, stifling weight of her loneliness crushing her daily, both at school and elsewhere.
"I never knew how dull this town was without V in it," Marcie said to herself weakly.
As the class was led to stand near the receptionist's desk, Marcie tried to shake her blues by studying a few security guards softly reporting into their small walkie-talkies and moving around the lobby's periphery with quiet purpose, obviously searching for something, or, more likely, someone.
Concerned with the general hub-bub surrounding them, Townsend again asked an employee if the tour was fine, or in danger of being stopped. This time, the receptionist, who seemed unconcerned, but answered him, regardless.
"Well, I shouldn't blab, but I heard a top-secret electronic device was just stolen from R&D, and security is looking for whoever stole it. Other than that, it should be okay to continue the field trip."
Visually satisfied, the teacher turned to see the two scientists he had talked to outside, approach him from nearby. The scientists, a man and a woman, then turned to the slightly apathetic class with bright, practiced smiles and addressed them.
"Hi there, kids. I'm Dr. Hood," introduced the man.
"And I'm Dr. Baker," introduced the woman. "Are you ready for your tour of Creationex World Headquarters?"
Except for Marcie and a smattering of like-minded classmates, a half-hearted affirmation bubbled from the crowd of uninterested teens, who already began to fidget and huff under their collective breath, wishing they were back in school, waiting for the last bell to ring.
Dr. Baker could hear the disinterest in the majority of the students, but smiled in spite of it. She was a professional and she wasn't going to let the nonintellectually curious among them ruin it for the others, one of whom was, unexpectedly, sidling off to the side to talk to the teacher in low tones.
"I have to go to the bathroom, Mr. Townsend," Marcie told him. "Can I be excused?"
"It's "May I"," he corrected her. "And yes, but hurry up. We'll be down the hall."
Marcie went down a cozy, side corridor lined with restrooms, as the class marched ahead and Dr. Baker recited her lines as co-tour guide.
"Creationex, as you probably surmised, is one of the biggest and greenest corporations in the world," she explained. "Founded by Richard Owens and co-owned with his wife, Cassidy, the company is one of the world leaders in energy research and new technologies."
They reached a corridor flanked on both sides with plaques, awards, dioramas of earlier buildings in the company's history, models of award-winning devices, and photos of Richard and Cassidy, posing with either Dr. Benton Quest, or with Jonas E. Spacely and Sidney Cogswell, competing founders of industrial parts and aerospace companies Spacely Space Sprockets and Cogswell Cogs.
"But don't think Creationex only deals in scientific endeavors. Oh, no!" Dr. Hood chimed in on cue. "Creationex also has interests in food production, with our patented Ecoponics system, which can grow food at a faster pace, and larger amounts, in almost half the time, and, of course, it's completely green. So, do you kids have any questions, so far?"
"Well, sir," Marcie said, returning from behind the crowd in a trot. "I'm interested in chemistry, and I heard that the Creationex Scholarship is coming up. I know competition will probably be brutal, but I was just wondering what Creationex is looking for in a chemist."
Ethan, a lean, sneering, freckle-faced classmate and school soccer player, brashly teased. "Figures Marcie would ask that kind of question. I guess since Velma skipped town, you have to be twice the brainiac for the both of you."
Marcie gave him a frosty glance that barely hid the threat. "Shouldn't be that hard, Ethan. I'm already twice the man you are."
The hall suddenly resounded with the jeers and hoots of the gratefully perked-up class before the teacher quieted them down.
Dr. Hood chuckled at the tableau and then addressed Marcie's inquiry.
"Well, that's an interesting question, young lady. If you are interested in a career in Creationex, just know that we got to where we are by only getting the brightest and the best talent out there. But I think my colleague, Dr. Baker, here, could tell you more about our chemicals division better than I could. I work in electronics."
Marcie's eyes widened at that faux pas. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were a chemist, because I kept smelling something on you earlier when you came near us."
"Oh? I hope it wasn't my aftershave," the scientist said jovially. "It can be a bit overpowering to the ladies."
Marcie sniffed the air, her face, no-nonsense, as she concentrated on the scent that was still haunting the halls like a apparition.
"No," she carefully analyzed. "Definitely not alcohol, fragrance, propylene glycol, menthol or BHT. It's…" She sniffed again. "An acid, definitely. Uh…hydrochloric? Watered down, I think. And something else…"
Everyone around Marcie focused in on this strange scene, wondering with some irritation as to what this girl was playing at, and why she, in their opinion, was grinding this already boring tour to a dead halt.
Marcie ignored them and softly inhaled again. "Whew! A heavier scent. Uh…" She leaned next to the man to gather one last confirming lungful, then looked at him suspiciously. "Knockout gas?"
Mr. Townsend was momentarily silent, busily trying to understand why Marcie's behavior took this turn, and mentally composing a report to give to her father afterwards.
"Not again," he finally said under his breath.
The classmates who were too shy to ever be sociable to Marcie, along with the students who chose not to be, stood still in the moment that hung, either waiting to see what would happen next, or gleefully waiting to see the scientist verbally shoot the odd girl down for her insolence. In either case, they didn't have to wait long.
Dr. Hood blasted off through the startled crowd of teens, without a word, running hell-bent-for-leather back toward the lobby, his eyes, desperately locked onto the glass doors of the main entrance.
The throng of students and teacher stood clustered together, confused, and not wanting to have anything to do with the possibly dangerous man, as they watched him tear ass down the hall.
Some students were suddenly jostled out of the way by Marcie, who forced herself forward of the crowd and thrust her hand into her jacket.
In her thin hand, she pulled out a sealed vial of blue liquid and, reaching back, unapologetically threw it at the runner's feet.
The vial cracked open against the marble floor ahead of him. Freed from the vacuumed interior of the container, the cooling liquid splashed across the path of the not-so-good doctor, thickening in the exposed air and turning into a jagged ice block that swelled around his shoes when they made contact. He tripped and crashed hard on the polished floor.
He painfully tried to crawl past the receptionist's desk before two beefy guards wearing uniforms that heroically tried to fit their frames, scooped the man up, arm-in-arm, and stopped his progress.
Townsend, followed by the now entertained class, arrived back at the lobby in time to see the thief being searched and one of the guards producing a small device from the man's inner coat pocket, electronic in nature.
"What's going on?" asked Mr. Townsend.
One of the guards responded, nodding towards Marcie. "We got a tip from this student here to look out for a suspicious looking scientist. We didn't know what she meant until we saw this guy running towards the exit."
The teacher, annoyed, turned his attention to the girl in question. "I thought you said you had to go to the bathroom, Marcie."
Marcie's achievement in uncovering the crime couldn't shield her from her own culpability, and she sheepishly said, "Sorry I lied to you, sir, but after I heard the receptionist talking about the R&D theft, and then kept smelling that scent out in the lobby, I put two and two together. He's obviously an industrial spy."
Flushed with success, she fearlessly turned to the spy and asked boldly, "Out of curiosity, who do you work for? Steelco? Majestic Electronics?"
The spy shrugged and confessed. It seemed he had nowhere to go, anyway. "Steelco. It was a big score, too, and I would've gotten away clean, if it wasn't for you, you meddlesome brat."
Marcie's eyes open wide in happy surprise. She called out to her classmates proudly. "You hear that? He called me meddlesome!"
The guard who spoke, then said to his partner, "Okay, let's take James Bond here to holding."
He then turned to regard Marcie. "Thanks, little lady. You did really good."
Marcie's face exploded in a blush. "No problem, sir. Like my mom used to say, 'There's no mystery without the chemistry!'"
The guards, too blunt to make any sense of the bon mot, stared in blank silence at the now embarrassed girl. They then led the thief away.
"I'll be back," Mr. Townsend told his charge as he walked towards the receptionist's desk. "I'm going to call the school and tell them we're coming back now."
"Don't quit your day job, Nancy Drool," Brenda said in a snarky, deadpan critique. "You're still not crashing our party this weekend."
A large, huskily-built boy named Gary, a close friend of the spindly Ethan, peered at Marcie, as if studying a new species of insect, and asked, "How did you do all that? You can't be that smart."
"Deductive reasoning," Marcie explained with slight annoyance, not eager for a lengthy conversation with a jock, which, she joked to herself, was truly a oxymoron. "For example, I can tell that you like Beatrice Cummings. A lot."
Gary's eyes opened slightly at the proclamation. He hadn't made that public knowledge in school yet, and wondered quickly how Marcie even knew the girl's name, let alone his attraction for her. Still, he played it off.
"Really, nerd-girl? How?" he scoffed.
Marcie assumed a casual pose and said, "Well, in History class, the other day, I saw you take a small photo of her out of your jacket pocket and slip it into your history book. I recognized her face because I would see her sometimes when she went to cheerleader practice. I guess she was more interesting than the Black Death of the 1400's, huh?"
"So?"
"Well, during class, when you asked to go to the bathroom, I noticed that you took the book with you, and when you came back, I noticed that you smelled nicer on the way in, than you did on the way out. Need I say more?"
Gary suddenly stood in the shadow of Marcie's smug and faux-innocent demeanor, attempting to figure out how she could have possibly known what he did outside the classroom. Every conceivable possibility, from the reasonable, to the far-fetched, blurred in a rage-fueled whirlwind in his mind.
Without another word, Gary, furious and blushing, reached out, grabbed a fistful of the front of Marcie's jacket and blouse, and lifted her with seeming ease, off her feet.
"That's it! Don't think I don't know your game, Fleach!" Gary railed, blasting some spittle on her face. "I know you want to show off how smart you are to everybody, with that mystery solving crap you keep doing. But I also know that little hobby of yours is your way of getting back at us when you can't run to the teacher. You play Little Miss Detective, and then you throw our business back in our faces."
Marcie stared back at Gary, her demeanor, unperturbed and positively flippant. "Wow, brains and brawn. You might just be a better detective than I am. Just wish you could've told me that without letting me know what you had for breakfast." And with that, she wiped her face dry.
"I'm tired of you knowing everybody's business, you knowy nerd-it-all, uh, I mean, you nerdy know-it-all!" Gary said with a raised fist. "You won't need much to solve the Case of the Busted Lip. It was me, in the lobby, with the knuckle sandwich!"
Ethan's hand gently held Gary's arm.
"Take it easy, Mr. Boddy," Ethan joked. "The teacher'll see ya. Besides, you gonna let a girl get to you like that? She's a dweeb, a geek. Look around."
All around him, Gary saw the wide-eyed looks of the classmates focused completely on Marcie and him, either oblivious or apathetic to his bathroom secret, yet curious as to whether or not he would actually punch a teen-aged girl in the face.
"See?" Ethan reasoned. "They probably don't even know what Marcie was talking about. Don't waste your energy on her."
Still held by indecision, Gary glared at Marcie to gauge her reaction, hoping she was exhibiting the satisfactory amounts of fear, regret and contrition.
But she did and said nothing. She simply looked past him, with a calm, sad silence, waiting for the blow.
The uncomfortable stillness of the moment, the waiting to see if he'd strike her down, made his conscience burn in shame. If he, indeed, hit Marcie, he knew that he would pay a dear price in the end, scholastically, if not legally, for the satisfaction of his bruised ego.
Opening his fingers with a sneer, he let her drop back on her feet.
"Eh, you're lucky my buddy talked me outta smashing you," Gary said with sneering bravado. "Next time, I might not be so nice. C'mon, guys, let's go wait outside by the bus. This science crap makes me antsy."
"Tell you what, Marcie," Kelly said nastily as the teens filed out of the lobby. "Here's a mystery for you to solve. Why is it you'll never get a life?"
The laughter lingered in Marcie's mind long after the kids left. She ignored Townsend's quiet order to meet up with the others outside. She didn't care if they couldn't return to school, waiting for her.
She willed herself to stubbornly stand in place in the cold lobby. She would leave the building on her own terms. Her tears were her own, she decided, and she would expose them to no one.
But she was just too depressed to cry.