And with that," Fred Jones announced as Daphne Blake stepped inside his apartment and dropped her school bag on the floor. "Is officially the end of finals week. Congratulations, gang. We did it."
"Wait, like I thought Velma was with you?" Shaggy Rogers asked as he struggled to stop his Great Dane Scooby Doo from jumping on Daphne.
"She was, but she had to go to work," Daphne said, her voice a little snootier than usual as he emphasized the word "work".
"Oh, yeah. I forgot she was doing that. Where is she again?" Fred asked. Daphne handed him her winter coat and he hung it on a nearby coat rack.
"Jackson's Pharmacy. It's in town, so it's a little ways from campus," Daphne said. "She loves it there, and I think if she had the chance, she'd stay there and never leave."
"Ah. Well I guess we can see her later. After all, we are all on winter break. Actually wait..." Fred thought for a moment. "We're not on break quite yet. There's one more thing we have to do..."
Shaggy and Daphne exchanged looks as Fred left for the kitchen. They waited for a moment, their brows furrowing. Just as Daphne got ready to call out to him, Fred returned, a bottle full of amber liquid in his hand.
"Like, no thanks man," Shaggy said, throwing up his hands as Fred went to pour him a glass of the whiskey. "Like, you know I stopped drinking after Danny died."
"Alright, alright. I understand. Daph?" Fred offered.
Daphne considered for a moment.
"Just a smidge. I drove here."
"Well, you're always welcome to stay," Fred said, raising an eyebrow at her. He winked, grinning as she blushed.
"Like get a room," Shaggy stated, rolling his eyes.
There was no use in saying anything though, as Fred's pale hand had intertwined with Daphne's dark one and they were slowly growing closer and closer to each other. By the time they were nose to nose, they did have a room to themselves... because Shaggy left.
"Good evening Mr. Jackson," Velma Dinkley greeted warmly as she opened the door to Jackson's Pharmacy. "I apologize if I'm a little late. The bus I normally catch got delayed, and I didn't want to be too late so I walked."
"Not to worry my dear, not to worry," a man's voice called from the back room of the store. "I'm just glad you made it at all. I hear there's a bad storm coming and I didn't want you to get stuck in it. Tea?"
An older man white snowy white hair walked backwards out of a door behind the counter, carrying a tray with a teapot and teacups along with a few small cookies.
"Yes, sir," Velma nodded, taking a seat on a stool at the counter. She stood her crutch up against the counter and stretched out her legs, or at least she stretched out her right leg and more or less straightened out the brace on her left.
Mr. Jackson poured them both a cup of tea, and pushed the plate of cookies towards Velma.
"So. What have you got for me today?" Mr. Jackson asked, rubbing his hands together in excitement.
Velma pulled out a small notebook from her coat pocket, and flipped to a page with the corner folded down.
"Mebaral."
Mr. Jackson waved it away.
"Oh Mebaral's an easy one. Methylphenobarbital. Used for sedation and seizures. It's been around for a long time. Come one, you've got something newer, don't you? I count on you to keep me on my toes with all these new drugs. Come on, I know you've got a new one in that little notebook of yours," Mr. Jackson nodded at the small book Velma held.
"Alright, let me see," she flipped a few pages. "Alright, how about pentazacine?"
"See? There you go," Mr. Jackson paused to think. "I can't say I've heard of that one. What does it do?"
"It is a non-narcotic analgesic. Released in July of 1967 after approval from the FDA," Velma read. She looked up at Mr. Jackson. "Narcotics are the ones that are… controlled. So if this is not a narcotic, then it's better…right?"
"Well, it is assumed to be. The reason drugs become controlled is because they pose some risk of danger but still have a medical use. Narcotics tend to have addictive potential, so, yes, if a non-narcotic could be used to treat pain and did so without the danger of death or addiction, it is better."
The phone behind the counter rang. Mr. Jackson raised a finger to Velma indicating that he wanted to continue the conversation, and then rose to answer the phone.
"Jackson's Pharmacy…yes, I see… Of course. Give me about forty-five minutes to an hour, and I'll bring that over to you. Yes, of course. Have a good night," Mr. Jackson scrawled a prescription out on a pad, and hung up the phone before turning back to Velma. "Looks like little Timmy Nesser has come down with a case of strep throat so I need to put together some penicillin for him. And he's only three, so I'll have to suspend it in liquid for him."
"Can I watch you make it?" Velma asked excitedly. Mr. Jackson smiled.
"Certainly. I'll bring it out here so you can watch. But you must go get the books and at least pretend you're here to do what I hired you for," Mr. Jackson wagged a finger, giving Velma a mischievous smile. "Because I don't pay you to get chemistry lessons. Or, so it would seem I do…"
"Yes, of course, sir," Velma said, sliding off the stool. "And I told you, you don't have to pay me for the time I spend here not working."
"And I've told you it's no bother at all. I enjoy our conversations," Mr. Jackson chuckled. "You're keeping this old dog's mind sharp, I'll tell you. My wife and son have noticed. I keep up with the grandkids' conversations a bit better. I don't forget things as easily. Yes, your curiosity has helped me quite a bit."
Velma smiled shyly, and then went off to the right to the office to get the books. The door was unlocked as usual, and the books were just where she had left them the last two times she visited. She picked them up and turned to leave when she caught a glimpse of something outside the window.
The sky outside was dark, and the snow Mr. Jackson had mentioned had already begun to fall. Wind spiraled past the window pane in thick white clumps, some already sticking to the windowsill outside. The window looked out over part of the pharmacy parking lot, and had a good view of the town square. And there, in the bushes just past the square were a pair of glowing yellow eyes.
Velma closed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened them again, the eyes were gone. She waited for one more moment, but they didn't show up again. Chalking it up to an overactive mind tired from constant studying, she turned and left for the counter.
Mr. Jackson had out a mortar and pestle along with a bottle of tablets and a few bottles of clear liquids. Velma returned to her seat at the counter in front of him, eager to watch his process. But just as he opened his mouth to explain the first step, there was a loud moan. They looked at each other, and then around. They were alone.
"Must be the wind," Mr. Jackson said with a shrug. "Nothing to worry about. So. Penicillin. Can you tell me who discovered penicillin?"
"Alexander Fleming," Velma replied. Mr. Jackson nodded, and held up the bottle of pills.
"Yes. He discovered it. However, he was not the first to…" Mr. Jackson's voice trailed off as the lights overheard flickered. He waved it away. "Don't mind that. They do that when the weather gets bad."
Velma glanced over at the windows at the front of the store. The snow was stilling falling at the same rate it was when she looked out the window in the office. The lights flickered again, and then went out, leaving Velma and Mr. Jackson with only a small amount of moonlight from the window for light.
"Not to worry. I've got a flashlight here somewhere," Mr. Jackson said.
Velma could hear him shuffling through some drawers. A light clicked on, and he raised the flashlight. It shone past Velma into the dark store.
"Dear…God…"
Mr. Jackson's flashlight fell to the floor. Velma turned.
A dark hulking figure was coming out of the shadows. It appeared to be wearing a long black hooded cloak. The only things that could be seen from under its cloak were glowing yellow eyes. The figure let out a deep moan, the same from earlier.
For a moment there was silence as the figure and Mr. Jackson stood off against each other.
"I will tell you for the last time," Mr. Jackson said in a low voice. "You are not welcome here."
The figure moaned again, and then lunged at Mr. Jackson, knocking him backwards. Velma slid off the stool, and tried to get to him, but she couldn't. Her skirt had gotten caught on a nail in the counter. She struggled to pull it loose, but every time she heard a crash from behind her, her heart raced faster and her hands got shakier.
Finally, she got it loose and turned back to the scene. Mr. Jackson was on the ground, fighting against the hooded figure. Tablets, display cases, and papers littered the floor. Mr. Jackson, who was not a young man by any means, was holding his own. He pushed the hooded figure to floor, and struggled to gain the upper hand. The figure let out a low moan again.
From under one cloak sleeve, the figure produced a handful of white powder. Blowing hard from some unseen mouth beneath their hood, the powder dispersed in the air. Mr. Jackson stopped for a moment, shocked, before collapsing to the side, unconscious.
The figure turned on Velma, who instinctively backed away. The figure took a slow step forward, as she took a slow step back. She could feel the wall behind her. The figure took another step forward, as Velma tried to back up further.
Her heart was beating so fast she could barely hear her own thoughts. Hundreds of options and half-formed plans swam through her head.
Run? She couldn't. Yell? No good, there was no one around. Fight? Fight.
She grabbed her crutch from next to the counter, and swung it hard. The figure, caught unaware, tried to side-step, and ran into the counter. Velma swung again, but lost her balance and hit the floor. The figure saw a moment of opportunity, and produced another handful of the white powder. They blew again.
Velma held her breath, but the force of the exhale was too strong; she couldn't stop it from getting to her. She continued to hold her breath as hard as she could, but she started to see lights in her field of vision. She couldn't hold it any longer.
With the powder still hanging in the air, she drew breath. Immediately, her muscles started to relax. Her glasses slid off her face. In the darkness, highlighted only by the lone beam of light from Mr. Jackson's fallen flashlight, she could see the blurred outline of the figure disappear into nothingness just before everything went black.