Author Note: All right friends, I know this is a long-winded chapter, but I have some very important notes before we begin! First, I would like to thank my close friend Kate, who so very kindly took the time out of her busy schedule to beta read TWO different drafts of this chapter. She also give me some amazing input and suggestions to make this chapter even stronger. Thanks again for all of your help, Kate - this chapter would be a mess without you. As always, I am so grateful for your friendship and your advice, and your willingness to beta read.
The other reason I don't feel as guilty dropping a lengthier update is because the updates may be infrequent for awhile now...I have the final semester looming ahead at school, so that will keep me busy, and I also have some thing going on in my personal life that is about to keep me really busy throughout the next month and a half! (Good things, I promise! But I'll be fairly busy nonetheless, so thank you in advance for your patience!)
Anyway, please read and review if you feel inclined! I'm still open to any theories/suspects, too :) - iamacliche
Chapter 9
"Well, I think this might be it, Freddy. Do you wanna double check the address?"
"Yup, it matches what I have here, so it looks like this is the one. I am curious to see what Elma has to say since this monster impacted her more than it did most of the other citizens."
Fred crumples the piece of tattered college ruled notebook paper, which contains a smudged address for Elma Richards' house in Erica's loopy handwriting. It is about two hours after the monster ransacked Fred and Daphne's dress rehearsal, and Mystery Incorporated has split up to begin interviewing the locals in hopes of finding more clues. Admittedly, the situation was looking a bit bleak; after the gang combed through the stage and the grassy areas where the monster had fled towards Goose Lake, they had failed to find any clues. Fred had felt himself deflating like a balloon; even though he still didn't know what to think of the fabric that said "cords," he took comfort in the fact that at least there was a clue the last time the monster attacked.
But in spite of the set-back, he and his friends attempted to remain upbeat and optimistic. Instead of wallowing in their lack of clues, Velma announced that it was time to interview the locals to see if someone knew anything. This prompted Erica to rush into the Goose Lake office and return with a frayed piece of paper. She tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail beneath a name and address scrawled on the paper: "Elma Richards, 1607 Admiral Street."
"Be sure you guys stop to speak to Elma while you're out," Erica instructs the gang. "She was hired as the make-up artist for most of our bands for the day of the festival, but those plans fell through when the monster started attacking and forced everyone to drop out of the show. We haven't heard from her since her clients all cancelled, so I'm curious to see how she feels about this mystery. You should find her easily, too; her house is on the other side of Goose Lake, so it's really close."
"We'll make sure to talk to her then, thanks," Fred smiled, but his lips flat lined when Erica cut her gaze towards him and secured him in an intense stare. Ever since the dress rehearsal, Fred has noticed Erica studying him, and it makes him feel like a caged animal in a zoo; a shiver slithers down his spine and his skin breaks out in a cluster of goosebumps whenever he catches her watching him. He isn't sure what's going through Erica's mind, but he knows she caught him reacting to the Fraphne nickname during dress rehearsals. Now he's afraid his intense reaction to the nickname has tipped Erica off somehow; whenever she speaks with Fred, he finds himself trapped in the elastic seconds that stretch between two people who are tip-toeing around a secret.
And somehow, Fred intrinsically knows that Erica is aware of what Fred found on the internet last night; Erica is so perceptive, she might as well be a detective like him and his friends. Based on the furrow etched into Erica's forehead and the way her eyes dart around nervously when she looks at him, Fred also knows that Erica has something she wants to ask Fred. He isn't quite sure what exactly it is she intends to say, but Fred has a feeling it's one mystery he would rather leave unsolved.
Luckily for Fred, Velma had signaled that it was time to leave to speak to the locals, and the moment for Erica to entreat Fred to speak with her dissipated like the waning golden light during dusk. The gang crammed into the Mystery Machine and Fred drove the fleeting two-minute hike it took to reach the sleepy city of Goose Lake. The suburbs were relatively tiny; a cul-de-sac fringed Goose Lake itself, and then several streets ran parallel to the houses in the immediate vicinity. At a glance, the neighborhood appeared to be a typical American house in a more rural area. The houses were a few feet apart at most, and all of the cozy colonials looked the exact same with their white clapboard sides and the brick exteriors on the front. The only distinction between each of the houses were the flowers that poked their yellow and pink heads out of the soil in the front yard, or the tricycle that was spilled in the driveway. Everything was calm and still; there were no obvious ripples or reverberations that indicated the town was fostering a potential suspect.
After parking the Mystery Machine in the middle of the immediate cul-de-sac set behind the lake, Velma had declared that she would split up with Shaggy and Scooby; they would take the streets that stretched further away from the lake, while Fred and Daphne hit all of the houses that looped around the cul-de-sac behind Goose Lake. Before anyone could dispute the arrangement, Velma dragged Shaggy and Scooby away by the elbows, glancing back in the blink of an eye to look at Daphne. Fred knew he was in dire need of some sleep when he saw Velma mouth "just talk to him already!" at Daphne. He shook his head blearily as he tried not to think about ensconcing his body in warm, woolly blankets and soft, feathery pillows.
That was how Fred found himself going door to door with Daphne for the last hour. So far, they had talked to about four different households, and each of their responses to Fred and Daphne's inquiries were almost exactly the same, with very little variation:
"Yes, I've heard about the Goose Lake Monster, and that's why I haven't left my house for the last several weeks or so," drawled a thin elderly man.
"We saw the monster one night when we took the kids camping a couple weeks ago, and we haven't set foot outside of this house; we made sure to add locks and security cameras since then, too," shivered a middle-aged woman as her two young boys cowered behind her shyly.
"I'm not sure why anyone would want to sabotage the concert; personally, I was looking forward to listening to it from my backyard. I didn't even buy tickets because we would have heard it from our own house," explained a man in his mid-twenties who had an affinity for chain-smoking cigarettes as he talked to Fred and Daphne on his front porch.
"Goose Lake is such a small, tight-knit community; I really can't imagine why anyone would want to make everyone feel this unsafe," lamented a young woman with piercing brown eyes.
They hadn't spoken with many people, but so far it was unanimous; none of the locals could figure out why a monster would feel the need to thwart the concert, and in fact, everyone showed signs of fear, whether it meant they were hunkering down, or they were just outwardly concerned for their families. It didn't make sense to Fred as to why anyone on this street would somehow have a connection with the Goose Lake Monster if they were all so afraid and so concerned about whether or not the concert would still take place.
The door-to-door interviews also made Fred notice a huge difference between the locals who lived here fifty years ago versus the ones who occupied Goose Lake now. Those civilians on the documentary were hostile and less than thrilled about the concert and the noise level; these civilians were disappointed the show was in jeopardy. There wasn't a single person Fred and Daphne interviewed who expressed concern about the noise level or the inconvenience of having a concert in their backyard, which was a staggering difference from the people featured on the documentary film. It was becoming increasingly obvious that the gang's initial speculation that the Goose Lake Monster was a disgruntled citizen was incorrect; unless someone was lying, everyone genuinely seemed disturbed about the Monster's attempts at dissolving the concert.
However, none of the citizens had a direct connection to the concert aside from an expressed interest in wanting to attend as a fan, which is why Fred is especially intrigued to speak with Elma, who was scheduled to play an active role in the show. As Fred and Daphne walk up the cobblestone driveway that leads to Elma's house, he tries to visualize Elma. Will she be bitter because the monster has forced her clients to cancel? He imagines that he wouldn't be too thrilled if a supposed monster damaged his business, so he fully expects to be met with an angry, disillusioned woman.
As Fred and Daphne stand on Elma's front porch, Fred can't help but notice that Elma's house is a stark contrast compared to the perfectly manicured, neat and tidy houses they had visited thus far. Whereas each house has luscious green grass and a garden that has obviously been tended with care, Elma's house lacks any plants, and her front lawn is fried and yellowed as a result of burning under the Michigan summer sun with no sprinkler to nourish it. Her mailbox, which is nailed next to her door, is rusty and needs immediate fixing, as it dangles precariously, unhinged. The purple front door feels too bright and eccentric for this traditional neighborhood, and it is adorned with a black and orange Halloween wreath that must have remained there since last year. Fred hikes an eyebrow and lobs Daphne a look that says, "I wonder what we're getting ourselves into."
Daphne shrugs and smiles sweetly in response, and before Fred can register the flutter of his heart, she reaches forward and knocks loudly on the door. Immediately there is shuffling on the other side of the door, and a woman's brassy trumpet voice muffles, "Be there in just a minute!" Fred hears someone padding towards the door, humming loudly as she approaches, and in just a few seconds the door swings open to reveal a short woman who appears to be in her early 20's, around Fred and Daphne's age. Fred isn't an expert on hair, but he is fairly certain the wavy platinum blonde hair that spills over her shoulders is a wig, and she is presumably wearing contacts, too; her intense blue eyes sparkle more than the ocean when the sunlight grazes the water. But what draws Fred's attention to Elma isn't her hair nor even her eye color, but the way her make-up has been expertly applied; he can see tons of purples and pinks packed into the crease of her eyes, and a vivid cherry red metallic shade sweeps across her lids. Her lips are painted a shade of purple that reminds Fred of grape soda, and her cheeks are highlighted with a swipe of powdery blue sparkles that glimmer when the late afternoon sun kisses her face. Even if Fred didn't know that Elma was a make-up artist before they knocked on her door, he would have correctly guessed her career choice immediately upon seeing her.
"Hi, is your name Elma?" Daphne asks politely.
"Yes, that would be me," Elma's voice is cheerful and upbeat, matching the vibrant rainbow striped cardigan that hangs loose on her thin frame. "How can I help you both?"
"We're here to ask if you know anything about the Goose Lake Monster," Fred explains. "Erica actually sent us to speak with you; she and her dad are running the concert that's coming up this weekend, and she told us you were scheduled to be the make-up artist for the bands."
"Oh yes, of course, I love Erica, please, come inside!" Elma squeals and jumps up and down, giddy as a child, and she steps aside to let Fred and Daphne cross the threshold of her home. As soon as Fred steps into Elma's house, his nose is tickled with a wisp of incense that curls around his nostrils, and he stops in his tracks when he clocks the rows and rows of female and male mannequin busts that stand at attention on the shelves and various sized tables strewn around the living room. Each mannequin head is topped with a wig that varies in color and style, making Elma's living room look like a kaleidoscope or a rainbow: Fred has never seen so much color splashed into one room.
"Oh, don't mind my living room," Elma apologizes, noting Fred and Daphne's wide eyes and curious glances. "I'm a make-up artist, and I even worked out in Hollywood outfitting celebrities for television shows a few years ago. I had to move back to Michigan last year to take care of my father, who passed away just a few months ago. I didn't know how long I would be here, so I brought everything with me from California. I'm glad I had the foresight to do that because I was managing to do well booking private sessions and concerts, but, well, the Goose Lake Monster had other plans, I guess."
"This is so cool," Daphne's voice is dripping with awe and wonder as her gaze sweeps across the dozens and dozens of forward-fixed, unmoving eyes and their multicolored heads. Fred is a blend of impressed and, admittedly, spooked; something about the mannequins and the heads makes him think of all the criminals they've unmasked and all the gaudy costumes he and his friends have encountered over the years.
"I know it probably seems like it's over the top, but since I hope to return to the coast one day I didn't want to waste the money on an office building, so everything is kind of jumbled in my house until I make my way back to Hollywood," Elma's smile stretches as she speaks, yawning across her face as she watches Fred and Daphne. Her eyes shine with a question as she watches the two of them, and from the way her eyebrows are knit together, Fred can tell she is trying to place where she has seen them before; he has been in Goose Lake long enough to know that their Talent Star fame has reverberated throughout the entire country.
Before Fred can explain what they're doing at Elma's, she snaps her fingers together and exclaims, "Hey, I've been trying to figure out why you two look so familiar, and I think I've got it! I saw you two on TV – aren't you Fred and Daphne?"
"Yeah, that's us," Daphne admits sheepishly, a shy grin flickering across her face. "I'm guessing you saw us from Talent Star?"
"Talent Star?" Elma echoes, her voice rising an octave as she scrunches her face inquisitively. "Nah, I've heard of that show, but I don't really follow it at all; I'm kind of sick of those American Idol and The Voice carbon copies, no offense of course. But I did just see you guys on the local news like twenty minutes before you got here. Here, check it out."
Elma indicates towards a small television set tucked amongst a sea of mannequin busts capped with shades of icy blues. She flicks the screen on with the remote and an anchorman is standing in front of the empty stage nestled beside Goose Lake. His bright, chipper demeanor doesn't match the solemn headline scrolling beneath him as he speaks, which reads: "Goose Lake Monster Strikes Again, Attempts to Injure Concert's Remaining Performers."
Fred swallows the fist-sized lump forming in his throat as Elma turns up the volume so they can hear the anchorman, who says in a nasally voice, "This morning at approximately 11:45 AM, the sole remaining act for the upcoming Goose Lake Concert was attacked by the Monster. Fred Jones and Daphne Blake, the performers who moved into Elliott Finn's headlining slot after he was unfortunately kidnapped by the monster, were ambushed during dress rehearsals, but are reportedly unharmed in this recent attack."
The newsreel cut to a grainy clip of Fred and Daphne performing on stage at Talent Star the other week, and Fred's palms are immediately coated in sweat when he hears him and Daphne's voice simultaneously singing "I love you" on stage; thankfully, the clip ended before it could broadcast their kiss, much to Fred's relief. The anchorman's voice is layered over the footage, and as it plays on a loop he states, "Blake and Jones were runners-up in this most recent season of Talent Star, so it was only natural that they were nabbed for the upcoming festival. As previously reported, all twelve of the other bands were forced to drop from the festival because of the monster. As of press time, Blake and Jones are still committed to performing, even in spite of the monster. Consequently, there has been a report in a surge of views to Talent Star's content on their YouTube and other social media platforms."
"What is he talking about with the rise in streams for our videos?" Daphne's voice wavers, as though she has seen a ghost. "Last I heard, the views plateaued about three days ago."
Elma presses a button on her remote, and the TV screen goes dark. She pulls her phone out of her denim pocket and taps the keyboard, then silently shows Fred and Daphne a YouTube video posted by Talent Star. The video is a clip of Fred and Daphne performing the song Daphne wrote in the tie-breaker round, which had accrued about 12.5 K views the last time Fred had watched it about five days ago. Now, the video is raking in over 2 million views.
Fred coughs as though he has inhaled fear and panic instead of the herbal incense burning in Elma's house, and Daphne's face pales.
"I was watching another news station just before you guys got here, and they were saying your videos have gone viral since Goose Lake announced that you're the new headlining act for their show," Elma beams, oblivious to Fred and Daphne's rising discomfort. "I've never even watched a single episode of Talent Star, but I bet everyone knows who you guys are now, even if they've never seen the show before!"
"Great, good for us," Fred murmurs under his breath.
"Actually, the Goose Lake Monster is why we came here in the first place," Daphne tactfully segues into the reason why her and Fred first arrived. "Erica told us how you were supposed to be doing hair and make-up for the bands before everyone dropped out, and we were hoping we could talk to you and see if you knew anything, Elma."
"We've been interviewing all of the locals to see what they know," Fred clarifies. "You see, we're actually detectives alongside our friends in a group called 'Mystery Incorporated,' so in addition to helping Jordie and Erica with the concert, we're trying to solve this mystery for them, too."
"Holy shit, that's so kind of you both!" Elma's eyebrows shoot up in admiration. "And you're detectives too, huh? That's really sick, and I really appreciate how you both want to stop this Goose Lake Monster, but I'm sorry to say that I don't think I can be of any help. All I can say is that I was scheduled to work on the hair and make-up for almost every band, aside from the headliner – what was his name again? Oh, yeah, Elliott. So yeah, the other eleven acts reached out to me to work on their hair and make-up for the concert, and I agreed right away. They all told me that even though this revival show sold only about 1,000 tickets compared to the 60,000 or so from the original show, they would still pay me top dollar. But it didn't even matter anyway, because as the monster's attacks got worse, all the other performers began to cancel on me, and now I don't have a single client booked for the next several weeks."
"Oh my gosh, that's terrible," Fred laments with a sigh. His heart stutters for Elma, who, like Erica and Jordie, have suffered more than enough at the hands of this Goose Lake Monster.
"It sure has been tough," Elma sighs. "It's bad enough that the bands all cancelled on me, but with this monster no one wants to leave their house and go out to parties and stuff, so there isn't any reason for anyone to ask me to do their hair and make-up; I have no bookings that are based inside of my home. If it weren't for my part time job at MAC Cosmetics, I'm not sure what I would do."
"I'm so sorry," Daphne coos as she wraps Elma in a hug. "It's so devastating to see how this monster has impacted everyone in Goose Lake. I wish we could help somehow."
Elma's eyes suddenly flicker mischievously as a smile ghosts across her face.
"Actually, there is a way you can help me, Daphne!" Elma taps one corner of her mouth, as though she is lost in thought. "You said you and Fred are performing in the concert this weekend, right? Well, what if you guys let me do your hair and make-up! It would help me recuperate just a little of my business, but every little bit helps after I've taken such a large hit."
Fred stammers, excuses churning in his mind, and before he can reach out blindly and grab one Daphne is saying, "Sure, anything we can do to help you during this time!"
"I was hoping you would say that!" Elma beams before she dashes towards a fire engine red wig situated on top of a male mannequin. She wiggles her eyebrows at Fred as she strides towards him, then shoves the wig onto his head in one yank, causing Daphne to erupt into a fit of giggles.
"I've been dying to put this wig on you since the second you stepped into my door!" Elma trills enthusiastically.
"It looks great on you, Freddy!" Daphne chuckles, her pretty face flush pink with giddiness. "I love the new look!"
When Elma turns away for a brief moment, Fred sticks his tongue out at Daphne, who winks back at him playfully. He feels that wink course through his entire body; the top of his head is suddenly pooling with heat, and he feels it burn all the way down to his toes.
"Hey Elma, I think Daphne would like a wig, too!" Fred sing-songs, resisting the urge to burst into laughter at the way her face is suddenly panicked as Elma whirls towards Daphne with a gleam in her eyes.
"Oh yes, of course, I wasn't planning to leave you out too, dear!" Elma's smile is so wide that Fred is sure her face is going to crack. As she glides towards a flesh colored nylon skullcap, Daphne mouths, "How dare you!" to which Fred merely shrugs and mouths back, "Hey, I couldn't leave you out of the fun!"
Elma strides back towards Daphne with the skullcap and a black colored wig in her hands. First she stretches the skullcap over Daphne's head and feeds her real hair beneath the stretchy fabric, and once Daphne's auburn hair has been controlled, Elma molds and fits the new wig over the cap. As Elma's fingers fly around Daphne's head, adjusting and tucking and smoothing any stray hairs, Fred shakes and trembles with suppressed laughter, which intensifies when Daphne cuts him a glare.
"Okay," Elma stepped back to admire her handiwork. "What do you think, Daph? Do you like it?"
Elma grabs a pink hand sized mirror from the table closest to her and holds it in front of Daphne. Fred's heart stops; he isn't sure what exactly he was expecting, but unsurprisingly, Daphne looks just as stunning with a wig as she does with her real hair. The wig is dark black and sweeps upward into a sleek ponytail, and in spite of the dark shade, it doesn't look overdyed or inauthentic; it makes Fred think of the midnight Michigan sky, of strobing tunnel lights and crisp air running its fingers through his hair as he leans his head out the van's window.
"Look at you both!" Elma squeals. "It's like a perfect match!"
Fred is trying not to think of the double implication of Elma's words, so he hastily replies, "Thanks, Elma, but uh, I'm not totally sure that I'm a wig kind of guy; this color clashes with my ascot, and ah –"
"Oh Fred Jones, don't be so modest!" Elma scolds him with a wink, and this time it's Daphne's turn to stick her tongue out at Fred, and there's something about this action that loosens inside of him and makes him blush, the warmth pooling beneath his cheeks.
"Hold on, the ensemble isn't complete yet!" Elma marches towards her closet and yanks it open, rifling through frilly tops studded with sequins and chic bohemian dresses before her hands stop on two leather biker jackets. She grabs both and strides towards Fred first, slipping the black jacket over his shoulders. Fred doesn't typically gravitate towards leather jackets (something about them just feels corny, and all he can think about is Grease), but he has to admit, he feels pretty cool right now; the jacket hugs the corded muscles in his arms, and it fits as though it was tailored with his measurements specifically in mind.
Elma nods at Fred, satisfied, and she turns on her heel towards Daphne, draping the red leather jacket around Daphne's slender frame. As he stares at Daphne, Fred's heart is beating so loudly that he is sure Elma and Daphne can both hear it, and he struggles to inhale past the lump in his throat. Daphne, of course, looks so stunning in not only the wig, but now the jacket, too; it accentuates Daphne's curves, making her waist look nipped and corseted, and the flap collar spreads across her chest like wings. Fred's eyes rove all over the living room as he tries not to linger on Daphne for longer than a few seconds, but he can't help himself; his eyes are glued to Daphne, attracted to her like a magnet. (Seriously, how was it possible for someone to look so beautiful no matter what they were wearing?!)
Elma stands back to eye both Fred and Daphne before she darts towards a purple make-up bag resting beside the handheld mirror. "Hang on, I'm almost done!" she exclaims as she rifles through the bag. "Daphne, your make-up already looks so flawless, and I can tell your skincare routine is impeccable because your skin looks so good, but I do want to try one thing with the lips since you aren't wearing lipstick."
"But I am wearing lips –" Daphne begins to protest before Elma uncaps a tube of cool-toned red lipstick and expertly swipes it across her lips in one stroke. Fred's knees are really quivering now; Daphne's lips look fuller now, and the strawberry red shade suits her well, unsurprisingly.
"Okay you two, now that we've added some serious sass to your wardrobe, I think you're ready to hit the stage!" Elma announces, smiling beatifically. "Let's see you two strut your stuff now! C'mon, act like you're striding onto the stage as you're met with thousands of screaming fans!"
Daphne and Fred both exchange an embarrassed smile, and Fred frowns. "Eh, I'm not much for strutting per say – "
Before he can finish speaking, Daphne laces her hand through his and leads him up and down the center of Elma's living room, her hips swaying like they're walking on the streets of New York instead of inside a stranger's house in the middle of Michigan. She sashays back and forth with Fred trailing awkwardly behind her, with their only audience being the unblinking mannequins and an exuberant Elma.
"Come on, Freddy," Daphne smirks at him, and Fred's heart races and his back is coated in a sheen of sweat when he clocks her sultry gaze; something about the way his name tumbles out of her cherry lips makes his thoughts scramble in his head, and he can't think straight.
In his unfocused haze, Fred wraps his right arm around Daphne's shoulder as she slides her left arm around his back and slips her fingers in his free hand, and they walk that way together, hooked hip-to-hip, striding slowly, as though they have all the time in the world and they don't need to rush to get where they're going because no one minds waiting for them. Fred feels electric, as though his veins are live wires thrumming with electricity, and for a fleeting moment, he can't help but wonder if he and Daphne would ever walk this way in public, and if they did, if it would always feel this good.
Initially Fred feels silly sauntering down a pretend catwalk to only the sound of Elma's whoops and high-pitched commands to lift their chin and raise their eyebrows, but Daphne is really into it; she steps with a silly, sugary swagger he's never seen before, and he's feeding off of her energy as she bumps her hip against his as they walk. Maybe it's Daphne's bubbly laughter, which he drinks in like a gin and tonic, or maybe it's Elma's cheers, but before he can even second-guess himself he pauses, causing Daphne to stop moving too, and he enwraps both his arms around her and dips her with a flourish. Elma squeals and laughs as Daphne locks her hands around Fred's neck, and in an instant Fred realizes that their faces are mere inches away from each other; they're so close that he can feel the heat radiating from Daphne's cheeks, and her breath tickles his cheeks as she stares at him, blinking. He is so, so close to kissing her again; all he would have to do is erase the little space that remains between them, something he failed to do last night in his hotel room, and –
The sound of Elma clearing her throat wedges into the moment, and Fred jolts as though a bucket of ice chips has been dumped over his head and he straightens Daphne up with a cough as his senses come crashing down on him. He and Daphne sheepishly rearrange their wigs and smooth the folds of their jackets, mumbling a string of apologies to each other. If Elma has noticed the way the atmosphere is suddenly charged and tense as an impending thunderstorm that hovers over Fred and Daphne, she doesn't say anything; instead, she's too busy rummaging through her closet for a burlap bag, which she offers to Fred and Daphne as they stammer and waltz around Fred's sudden change in demeanor.
"You guys won't regret hiring me for the concert, honestly!" Elma gushes. "Here's a bag for your wigs and jackets, and I'll be sure to be on hand for make-up and costumes on Saturday. Will you be paying with cash or for today?"
Daphne's eyes flicker towards Fred's face as he peels some bills from his wallet and hands them to Elma. Elma hands over the bags, and the three begin to exchange good-byes and promises to speak again soon. But before Fred and Daphne can step onto the front porch, Elma smiles and adds coyly, "For the record, you two make a great couple. I haven't seen Talent Star, but I can tell you have wonderful chemistry."
"Oh, ah, erm, we're not a cute couple, or that is, if we were a couple, which we're not!" Daphne protests, clearly flustered, and Fred feels his arms blanket with goosebumps as he opens his mouth to speak, but he falters, words failing him; this feels eerily reminiscent to when Daphne attested that they were not a couple last week in Chicago, when he and Daphne were speaking with Mel Richmond, and for some reason he can't articulate, the moment feels crushed with melancholy.
"We better get going," Fred finally manages to say. "We have tons of other people to speak to before the day ends. It was great speaking with you, Elma!"
Elma says nothing, but she smiles knowingly at Fred and Daphne as they retreat down her driveway, as though she is carrying a secret about them that only she knows.
The suburbs of Goose Lake are swollen with people; there's children playing hopscotch on the sidewalks and dogs on leashes yanking their owners across driveways and throngs of young teenagers flowing down the street, talking and laughing as though they're the only people outside enjoying the sunny afternoon. Fred and Daphne have interviewed about twenty more people since they've last spoken with Elma, and their feet are starting to blister and throb from all of the walking; they started out on the cul-de-sac that winds behind Goose Lake, but since then, they've covered about five different streets, and they've walked a good mile from where they first started. To make matters more difficult, neither of them had the foresight to leave the bag Erica had gifted them in the Mystery Machine, so Fred is carrying the wigs and the jacket as they moved door-to-door; he can feel the bag weighing him down like an anchor as he walks.
After interviewing their twentieth civilian, Fred and Daphne looked at each other and silently swapped a look that begged for a rest. Luckily, the street they were on had a cute, mini playground snuggled at the end of the cul-de-sac. There wasn't much in the way of equipment aside from a jungle gym and a constellation of benches sprinkled around the perimeter, but there were still quite a few children spilling over the equipment and leaping around the grass in spite of the smaller park size.
Fred gestured towards an empty bench, and he and Daphne silently settled into their seats, the bench groaning quietly beneath their weight. For a minute, neither of them said a word as they both watched the groups of kids running and jumping and screaming, with not a single care in the entire world. Fred sighed – he could remember the light, feathery feeling of being a child, of waking up on a summer day with the day stretched before him like endless reams of blank white paper. For the most part Fred was pleased with his life and with the adventures he had with his friends, but he would be lying if he didn't admit that there were moments when he wished he could revert back to childhood, especially when they were in the crux of a difficult mystery, as they are right now.
"Okay," Daphne breathes, exhaling an afternoon's worth of names and dead-ends in one long, winded breath. "So, let's review a bit here; would you agree that as of now, no one seems to know anything about this Goose Lake Monster?"
"Agreed," Fred nods. "And would you also agree that there is no clear motive for any of these civilians to be a potential suspect?"
"Yes," Daphne sighs. "I also agree with that."
There's a silence that stretches between them as they both dance with their own thoughts.
"What did you think of Elma?" Daphne finally asks. "I thought she was really nice. It's terrible that the monster has destroyed her business, too."
"Yeah, she was nice, but something about her felt odd at the same time, if I'm being honest," Fred admits wistfully. "Didn't you find it a bit unusual that she just casually has all of those wigs and outfits stored away in that small home? Her house couldn't have been more than one thousand square feet; why would someone want to live that way?"
"Well, she did say she didn't want to bother wasting the money on an office space since she was returning back to California," Daphne muses. "So I didn't think it was unusual at all. Why did you find that odd, Freddy?"
"I just can't explain it," Fred shakes his head. "Something about all those wigs made me think of all the costumes we've unmasked over the years. I like Elma, I truly do, but I think we would be remiss if we didn't consider her a potential suspect. She is a professional make-up artist from Hollywood after all, so couldn't this potentially mean she could have easily outfitted a monster costume?"
"That's assuming the monster is fake," Daphne shivers. "Which, in our experience, usually is the case, but it was odd that he was able to jump back into the lake and escape so easily after he attacked us this morning." Daphne expelled another sigh. "I don't know, Fred; I see your point about Elma, but why would she want to sabotage her own income?"
"Yeah, that's the only snag in my theory," Fred admits dejectedly, kicking a pebble next to his shoe as he speaks. "It's just so hard proceeding with this mystery when we have virtually no leads and no clues at this point, so maybe I'm grasping at straws more than I normally would here. Do ya think Shag, Scoob, and Velma have had more luck than we did today?"
"I'll call them and find out!" Daphne brightens at the suggestion. She grabs her purse and begins to dig through the bottom, but then her eyebrows knit together as she gasps.
"What?! What's wrong?" Fred asks, an unexplainable wave of fear washing over him as he watches the panic mounting on her face.
"My phone, it's gone!" Daphne moans, emptying her bag on the park bench for good measure. "Ugh, I think I left it at the house we just left; I pulled my phone out of my bag to show that man a picture of Elliott when we were interviewing him, and I think I remember leaving it on his kitchen table. I can't believe I was so careless."
"I'll go and grab it really quick," Fred volunteers with a smile before Daphne can even offer to do it herself. "You just stay here and rest. We still have to walk back to the Mystery Machine, so we have a lot of walking ahead of us still."
Daphne beams, and Fred feels as though her smile has wrapped around his chest and constricted him, making him sputter for air. "Thanks, Freddy!" she says warmly. "That's really kind of you."
Fred nods wordlessly, bounding off towards the house with a wave of his hand and shouting, "I'll be right back!" He sees Daphne recline against the bench as she smiles distractedly, watching the kids starting a game of tag. The summer wind blows tendrils of cigarette smoke and freshly cut grass that tickles his cheeks as Fred lopes down the street, eyeing the house they had just visited several feet ahead, and his mind tugs him back to when they were at Elma's house earlier. Once again, just as she had last week, Daphne was quick to attest that she and Fred were not an official couple, and he would be lying if he didn't say that a tiny corner of his heart had cracked off, flitting daintily towards the ground when she spoke. He had spent the last several days telling himself not to overthink every little thing, but that had snowballed spectacularly, and now he was sinking in his thoughts, as though he was submerged in quick sand. When he and Daphne were walking towards Elma's front door, he had resigned himself to monitoring Daphne's reaction before he could decide if he should move forward with speaking to her about his feelings, but he was starting to fray like the ends of a loose string. What is he supposed to think and feel if Daphne keeps vehemently opposing the idea that they're a couple? And what if –
A scream spears the afternoon air, slicing Fred's thoughts, and he flinches, his eyes raving up and down the street as he searches for the source of the scream. All around him everyone has stilled, as though the street has collectively held their breath; a young boy on the other side of the street is frozen, leg dangling in the air as he pauses mid-jump in a game of hopscotch, and just behind him a woman turns around slowly, her panic streaking across her face. Even the animals are still, as the birds have stopped twittering and chirping in the trees and the dogs have ceased barking and howling. The eerie silence blankets over the cracks in the sidewalks and the roofs of the houses and the mothers scooping up their crying children before another screech erupts down the street, and Fred feels this desperate howl in the cavity of his chest, reverberating throughout his body like a vibration from a loudspeaker. A shiver ripples over Fred, and he glances back towards the park where he left Daphne; he can't explain it, but something is definitely not right, and he somehow intrinsically knows he should probably go back to collect her before he does anything else.
Fred turns on his heel, preparing to turn and go back down the street when he clocks the Goose Lake Monster just up the road ahead of him, standing on its back legs and eyeing everyone in sight with its beady red eyes. His green scales are glimmering in the sun, and he looks like all ropy muscle and teeth and nails as he unleashes another gut-wrenching shriek, leaping towards a man who's watering his front lawn just a few feet away from him. The man shrinks back slowly, holding his hands up in surrender, and it's then that the Goose Lake Monster barks in the same robotic voice as earlier, "I want Fred and Daphne, NOW! Surrender them, and you'll all be saved!"
The frozen street suddenly explodes, and people are flying apart from each other like shrapnel. Goose Lake is throbbing with white-hot panic and cries and screams as people race in all directions while the monster hurtles towards anyone he can, leaning in closely to examine their faces before he tosses them aside with a casual deference. Fred watches, jaw-slacked, as a man runs towards the reptile in an effort to tackle him, only for the monster to sweep its webbed feet beneath the man's legs, sending the man careening to the pavement. Undeterred, the monster plows forward, forcing his tank-sized body into bystanders like a battering-ram, his eyes hunting for its prey. Shockingly, he doesn't purposely swipe at anyone unless they attempt to incapacitate him, almost as if he is intent on finding something or someone specific, and when Fred notices the monster drinking in the faces of those who surround him, his heart sinks in his chest when he realizes it's because the Goose Lake Monster is interested in finding a specific person: him and Daphne.
Fred's feet are already churning before his brain even processes his next steps, and he zigzags through the groups of frantic people knotting the sidewalks and the streets. All around him people are taking cover inside their houses, as doors slam shut behind Fred while he barrels down the street. He realizes with a jolt that he and Daphne will have nowhere to hide; they can try and go in someone's backyard, but they're all fenced off, so the only other option is knocking on someone's front door and hoping they can take refuge until the monster passes, which isn't likely; why would someone answer the door when the monster is rampaging through the streets? Fred attempts to silence the panic bubbling inside of him as his feet pound against the pavement, his breath spluttering as he sees the park where he left Daphne coming into focus. He hears another shriek split the air behind him, and he notices the groups of children and their parents pausing as every eye swivels towards the sound, suddenly aware of the impending doom.
"What's going on?!" Daphne raises herself from the bench and grips Fred's shoulder, her pretty face splashed with fear.
"No time," Fred rasps, slipping his hand in Daphne's just as the monster unleashes another ear-piercing scream, causing the children at the park to scatter as they begin to pour down the street. Some scream for their parents, while others race towards homes, banging the front doors behind them with a resounding THUD. Fred squeezes Daphne's hand once as he whispers, as though the monster isn't right in front of them and not further down the street, "The Goose Lake Monster is here, and he's looking for us."
Daphne gulps, her brows furrowed as she begins to shake. "Us?! How do you know for sure?"
The monster erupts again, and Fred begins to tug her down the street so that they're trotting away from the open, exposed park, which offers no protection nor hiding place.
"I know because the monster said he was looking for us specifically, and it looks like he isn't even attacking anyone because he's so intent on finding us," Fred pants as he runs.
The Goose Lake Monster's bouldering footfalls reach Fred and Daphne now, who pause on someone's front lawn as they see the towering reptile in the distance. Sure enough, it's apparent he is seeking Fred and Daphne; as he tears down the street he pauses to gaze into someone's face briefly before moving on to the next person. As long as the civilians aren't Fred and Daphne, then it seems as though they're safe, even if they are terrified. But what does that mean for Fred and Daphne? Fred shudders, a shiver forking down his back as he ponders this.
"We have to hide," Daphne whispers tersely, her eyes darting everywhere.
"How?! Everyone is starting to run inside, and there's no way we're going to convince anyone to open the door for us with this thing running around!" Fred is frantic, his eyes bulging out of his face and his pulse thundering in his ears so loudly that it practically mutes the Goose Lake Monster's exclamations as the creature draws nearer and nearer.
Daphne snaps her fingers together and exclaims, "I've got it! We'll just disguise ourselves with the stuff Elma gave us." She hoists the bag on her shoulder and fishes for the wigs and the leather jackets that Elma sold them only an hour ago, hastily pulling the skullcap over her head before messily applying the black wig. With shaky hands, Fred yanks his red wig over his head and slides the jacket over his shoulders, but there's no way this will be enough; just down the road he sees the Goose Lake Monster peering into people's faces closely for a beat before he moves on to the next petrified civilian. Worse yet, he's running out of options; the street is quickly thinning out, as doors creak and shut while people huddle in fear.
"This isn't going to work," Fred bemoans as Daphne slides her arms through her jacket. "This was a good idea overall, but I think he's going to recognize our faces still. And we're running out of time!"
Something indecipherable glazes across Daphne's face, and she murmurs solemnly, "I think I've got it." With a strength Fred didn't even realize Daphne had she tugs him into the narrow strip between two houses, tucking themselves against the side of one house with no fence. He cocks an eyebrow at her inquisitively as she blushes, and she leans in and whispers, "He won't catch us if he can't see our faces distinctly."
Fred's thoughts begin spinning out as he attempts to process what Daphne is implying. She nudges him up against the side of the house almost roughly, plowing into him until his back is smashed against the wall, and then she shoves herself up against him so their bodies are fused together. "Please just trust me," her breath wafts across Fred's face in uneven spurts as the Goose Lake Monster gurgles nearby, the noise sounding as though it's only around the corner now.
Fred doesn't even have a chance to respond before Daphne swings her arms around Fred's neck, drawing him in until their foreheads are touching. "Play along with me," she whispers, and before he can even ask for a script or a cue or an idea of what she is talking about Daphne leans in and presses her lips against his mouth.
Fred logs the passing of one clean second before he responds, his body taking over as his mind shuts down, his thoughts corkscrewing into chaos and fragmented, single-worded exclamations, most of which are four-letter swear words. He wraps his arms around Daphne's waist so he can pull her even closer; he feels like he's drowning, holding onto Daphne for dear life, bouncing aimlessly between different sensations such as the rapid gunfire of his heart and the thrum of Daphne's heart pushing against his chest, her apricot scented shampoo tickling his nostrils, and the tart strawberry lip gloss coated on her lips. Fred is kissing her hungrily, starving for her after all of this time, and then Daphne parts her lips and he moans when he feels her tongue stroking his, causing him to jolt; it's as though there are sparks on the end of her tongue, electrifying every nerve ending and every bone in his body.
The monster's sharp cries are close now; Fred guesses he is right in front of the house they're hiding beside. Just as suddenly as she kissed him Daphne retreats, but she dips her chin into the cleft of Fred's neck, eliciting a small groan in the back of Fred's throat.
"Sorry," Daphne whispers, and Fred has the wild thought to tell her not to be sorry, that she has no reason to apologize ever again as long as she's making him feel this good; he's almost forgotten the reason they're doing this until he feels the wail of the creature strumming across his chest. They burrow into each other even closer in response, and Fred shivers as Daphne's lips press against his neck; it feels like his skin is on fire, every nerve and every part of him burning beneath her fingers, which begin traveling up and down his spine as the monster's steps draw closer. "He's coming," her words flutter like gauzy butterfly wings across his skin. "Shhh – hide your face, now!"
Fred takes Daphne's cue and buries his face in her wig, weaving his fingers through her soft hair as they fold into each other; her mouth is still smashed against his clavicle and his lips still brush against her ear while the hair from her wig wisps across his nose. Their hearts are pattering like hummingbirds, and Fred prays they blend into the house and play a convincing role as the lovesick young couple who can't be bothered to stop making out as a monster thrashes through town. They remain like this, faces concealed and tucked into each other's necks and hands roaming ravenously down each other's backs as the Goose Lake Monster pants behind them curiously; Fred guesses he's about ten steps away from them now. He hears the monster cough and murmur, and he can practically imagine the confusion knotting his grotesque features as he studies Fred and Daphne. After what feels like forever but is probably only a few seconds the creature sneers with pointed disgust and squeals once more, and then Fred hears it retreating away from them, moving further and further down the street until the silence absorbs him.
Fred and Daphne remain frozen, and she doesn't pull herself off of his body until the front door to the house behind them swings open and a man's shouts carry down the street, informing the neighborhood that the monster has vanished. They stagger from the shadows of the home and surreptitiously glance around as people begin frothing from their homes, bursting with curses and cries about the most recent attack. Someone is demanding that Fred and Daphne turn themselves in and spare the city, which causes panic to swell over the couple, who exchange a wordless look and begin moving down the street, walking towards the street where Fred has left the Mystery Machine.
There's an indecipherable silence hanging over them as they move now; Daphne is smoothing the wig on her head and Fred is straightening the creases on his jacket. It's evident that neither of them wish to be the first one to speak, and Fred is still recovering from this most recent scare; lingering adrenaline ignites aftershocks through his bones, causing him to flinch at any sudden movement in his peripheral vision. But maybe it's because something has noticeably shifted between him and Daphne now; the threat is over, but Fred can't run and hide from the last few minutes and what had happened between them. He can't escape it, and it makes him feels as though he is ensnared in one of his own nets.
"Come on Fred, say something," He berates himself, then clears his throat.
"Uh, thanks for that," Fred offers shyly, but then he feels a blush pool from the top of his head all the way to the soles of his feet inside of his shoes as he realizes that his thank you can be interpreted in multiple ways. "I mean, thanks for your quick thinking back there," Fred clarifies hurriedly. "I don't think he recognized us with the disguise, and the, ah, ya know."
"You're welcome," Daphne's nods curtly, but that's all she offers. Fred exhales; he wants to ask her if the kiss (which one? There are two now! TWO!) meant as much to her as it did to him; the question beats inside of him like a second heart.
"Daphne," Fred pulls her to a stop on the sidewalk beside him, and he gazes into her sparkling green eyes before he continues, "There's something I want to ask you."
"Well, that's good, because there's something I need to tell you," Daphne gulps; Fred notices the perspiration beading on her forehead.
"Oh, you can go first then," he replies hastily, his breath trapped in his throat.
"Oh no, really, you can go first," Daphne insists. Fred resists the urge to scream; why does this feel so achingly familiar?
"Well, all right," Fred exhales. Here it goes. "Daphne, I just wanted to say, I – "
"FRED! DAPHNE! Is that you guys?!"
Fred and Daphne grimace as they recoil away from each other, turning to face Velma, Shaggy, and Scooby as they head towards them from down the street.
"Oh, hey Velma," Daphne responds shakily, and in one swift yank she pulls the wig off her head. "I can't believe you guys recognized us with these silly wigs on our heads!"
"Like, Scoob and I can smell the Scooby Snacks in your purse from a mile away!" Shaggy laughs as Scooby giggles. "But like, what's up with the silly get-up, anyway?"
"You wouldn't believe what just happened," Fred declares, trying not to think about the double meaning behind his words. "The monster just attacked, and we barely got away by dressing up in the wigs and the jacket!"
"And worse yet, he specifically called out Freddy and me," Daphne mourns. "He is getting riskier and making it really apparent he doesn't want us in this show."
Velma, Shaggy, and Scooby gasp collectively.
"Jinkies!" Velma exclaims. "We better get moving then; it looks like there is more and more at stake here now. I propose that we return to the hotel and regroup for a bit, and then we can reconvene with Jordie, Sid, and Erica. C'mon gang, we better hurry!"
Daphne and Fred trade a furtive glance, and at the same time they both chorus, "Ah, yeah, let's go!"
And just like that, all pretenses have been dropped once more; Fred feels the moment slip between his fingers like sand, and he's reminded of when he and Daphne had left Chicago last week. It had felt like they were so close, teetering on the edge of something, hanging precariously over a cliff, both wanting to reveal something before it ever quite grew to fruition –
"Yeah, this is beautiful and I loved it and all, but does anyone else get the sense that this is as far as Fred and Daphne will ever take things? Or worse yet, maybe it was all for show?"
The comment ScoobyDoobyDoo left on DeviantArt smacks Fred in the face, suffocating him like a death sentence, and it flashes through his mind swift as lightning. He can't help but feel like a man condemned as the words waft over his skin and echo with each beat of his erratic heart – As far as it will go THUMP-THUMP, all for show THUMP-THUMP, as far as it will go THUMP-THUMP, all for show THUMP-THUMP. Why is this random internet stranger's damning remarks causing Fred to cough and suffocate for air?
Fred's skin prickles, and he notices Daphne staring at him, her eyes drilling into him as she attempts to read what's on his mind. He can't explain why his heart whispers aggressively in his ear like a coconspirator as he looks at the space between his feet guiltily, avoiding eye contact with her. His recollection of the remark now crushes the moment with resounding melancholy; whenever he's standing close to Daphne now, all he can think of are the stream of internet comments washing over him, drowning him in uncertainty and hesitation because one resounding comment stands tall above the rest, above the stans and the fans, above the shippers and the fangirls and fanboys. ScoobyDoobyDoo, he realizes with a start, is absolutely correct; the closest Fred and Daphne will ever come to becoming an established couple is the simmering "will they/won't they" anticipation that flickers against Fred's nerves and torches through the comments section on internet forums. It's the tale that's narrated his life, and he knows the conclusion will always look like this: good friends who flirt and skirt around the issue, but who never quite pull the trigger. But he is so tired of skirting around the issue. He is exhausted with continuously churning over these interactions in his mind and studying them like an ancient text; he's frustrated with glimpsing into the murky rivers of their conversation and retreating to shore when it seems like things are becoming questionable.
As far as it will go THUMP-THUMP, all for show THUMP-THUMP, as far as it will go THUMP-THUMP, all for show THUMP-THUMP. He is tired of his heart's betrayal; he is tired of being its accomplice. It was time to admit this wasn't a fairy tale, and that he and Daphne would, at best, always just be good friends, and that's it. After all, Fred had stopped believing in fairy tales so long ago; that was kid's stuff. When he was child, his favorite movie was Peter Pan, and he remembers how he broke his arm and shattered his ankles in an attempt to glide through the air after he tried jumping off of his family's garage. What stands out above the physical pain was how his older cousin jeered at Fred when he recounted the story and explained that he was just trying to fly. "Stupid kid," his cousin sneered. "You'll learn to stop crying when you figure out that fairy tales aren't even real."
He knows that fairy tales aren't real, and he knows this fairy tale with Daphne isn't real; he knows this.
So why does he still feel like crying?