It's not real, he told himself, starring the creature down.
About nine foot tall, and big eared, the monster from Spooky Island stared back at him. It was, of course, not the real thing, just a replica. But it was still, for want of a better word, spooky. Despite the years that had passed since the events that took place there, he still thought about it often.
And not just Velma, even if she did make some of the memories more bearable, but of the monsters, the protoplasm vat, swimming in circles like a fish. It hurt him. He continued to stare at the monster. The monster stared back, decidedly silent.
The Coolsonian museum had a display for almost every monster. After it's disastrous opening, he'd been sure it was going to be shut down for good, but Patrick Wisely, for whatever reason, had decided to fight for it's re opening. And it had. Six months ago. He'd even been invited to it. Probably so the press could cause drama for the newly formed couple.
He didn't roll like that.
While he would have appreciated the free food, he had no desire to disrupt the happy couple. For what? Velma to be mad at him? He smiled slightly, despite himself. She looked so happy, with Patrick. Much happier then he'd ever been able to make her. He was happy for her, really. A little jealous, maybe, but mostly. Mostly he was happy for her.
Mostly.
Mostly.
Mostly
Mostly
Mostly
Funny how things turn out, isn't it? He tilts his head slightly to the left to make eye contact with the creature he was starring at.
He remembers the tearing pain in his arm as he was wretched up.
He remembers being dragged along the ground, fingers scrabbling for purchase, breaking every nail.
He remembers the stone cross he was strapped to, the fear, the crying, the begging.
He remembers the soul vat. The endless expanse of blue and white as they swam in circles, unable to do anything else.
He remembers.
He remembers.
"It's a good replica isn't it?" A voice speaks. He turns. Patrick Wisely in the flesh.
"I suppose." He replied, "They were a lot scarier, though."
"You were there?" A nod. A smirk.
"Yeah."
"What do you think, then?"
"They're fine." He said, "Just, when they were there, I thought I was going to die." he chuckled. "And now? Well now I can stare at them and realize that well. They're not as bad as I thought." As my nightmares make them out to be, he adds, mentally.
"I'm glad our display could help."
"Hm." The man replied, and looked down at his little brochure.
It was probably the mostly speaking but he didn't see what made Patrick Wisely a better choice them him.
Except that he could.
Patrick was smart, smarter then him. Patrick ran a freaking museum. He worked at a Malt Shop because he studied music in college when he should have done finance or something.
Patrick was more worldly, if the little blurb in the back of the pamphlet was anything to go by, where as Spooky Island was his first and last time even leaving Coolsville Ohio.
Patrick was interesting, funny, kind and a bit of a nerd.
And he was none of those things. He was mostly awkward. He kept things to himself, preferring to observe then enter mostly. He mostly didn't get lectures she had taken him too.
Mostly
Mostly
Mostly
So many mostly-s
"Tell me." He glances at the red headed man next to him, eyebrows raised. "Can I expect trouble from you?"
"Trouble? I'm just here to see the costumes." He smiled, it was his habit now, to pretend he didn't know. He didn't want them to talk about it anymore. He didn't want their sympathy. Their statements about fish in the sea. Not anymore.
"I know who you are." He tilted his head in question. "You dated Velma in 2002."
"That's correct."
"I'll ask you again. Can I expect trouble from you?" Patrick asked, a crease appearing between his eyes in frustration.
"What sort of trouble?"
"Trying to steal my girlfriend trouble?" The man laughs. It's bitter. It tastes bitter.
"Steal Velma? If someone steals your girlfriend it's because she wants to go. Trust me, you'll have to worry about the press a lot more then me." Patrick doesn't respond.
And he doesn't have anything to say so they stand in silence. "Does it frighten you?" The man looks at Patrick.
"They used to."
"Used to?"
"Doesn't seem all that frightening in there."
Quiet again.
Mostly.
Another parton is rustling in her purse. A man is talking on the phone. A child is humming innocently. Normal sounds. He tunes his senses to the place. Patrick's deodorant. The cafe around the corner. The clack clack of high heels. The feel on his shirt sleeve under his folded arms.
"Did you love Velma?" A long pause.
"Mostly."
"Mostly?" He asked, with a slight frown.
"I would have done anything for her." he commented, looking down at his pamphlet. "So when she asked me to leave…"
"You did." The other finished. It was probably the mostly talking but damn. This man was annoying and persistent.
"We were doomed from the start. She was amazing. Me? Well." He shrugged. "I always told her when I made it big I'd take her to solve mysteries all over the world."
"But?"
"That was four years ago. I still work at the malt shop. I still have no money. I'm still not very smart." He smiled weakly. "She's better off with you."
"Better off?"
"You're smart. You probably understand all the lectures and facts and things that I just don't."
"You really mean that?" Mostly, he thinks.
Mostly
Mostly
Mostly
"I do." A pause. " Patrick. I'm happy for her." he said, "So, by extension, you" He seems unconvinced. "I'm not gonna be any threat to the pair of you, I swear." He opened his phamlet to examine the contents of the next page. "I'm just here to look at some costumes, eat over priced food and buy something at the gift shop." Patrick remains unconvinced.
"Metalhead."
"That's not my name."
"I didn't catch it in the papers."
"I never threw it." He responded, dryly.
"What am I to call you?"
"Metalhead." He said, sounding very serious. Patrick studied him. He knew he was being a bother and probably unreasonable, but it was the mostly-s fault.
"Metalhead, then, forgive me, but I don't believe you." The man smiled at him.
"Your paranoia isn't my problem." He said, giving the monster one last look, and then walking on. He stops to look at a replica of giant Scrappy Doo.
His memory swirls.
He had been one of the last to receive his protoplasm. He distinctly recalls the pulling sensation of powering the dog. He distinctly recalls the feeling of Velma's face under his fingers. Being punched in the chest. Not even being upset about the small bruise.
He does love to think about old memories.
He hears Patrick follow him briefly, before turning away and leaving him to examine the costumes in peace.
He eats a sandwhich at the café.
He buys a stuffed Scooy Doo at the gift shop.
He goes home, and is glad to be in the silence of his apartment again.
(Mostly)