Chapter 4

Clive's shoulders slumped and he let out a long breath, "Thank you. Now, I'm sure that you are tired…"

Velma interrupted, "I'd like to ask Rob a few more questions."

Daphne interrupted Velma's interruption, "Is it okay if Velma asks you a couple of more questions, Rob?"

Rob looked back at her, "You mean… am I tired? With this body? Nothing hurts. I can run upstairs – two at a time – and not even be winded. Bring your questions on. I'm good for hours, yet."

Velma knew that Daphne had once again stepped over her to be the nice one and took a moment to deal with some emotional baggage from that. Emotional baggage packed, she moved on, "Rob, what was your last memory? I mean of your false memories of being 60 years old. What is the last one?"

"That's just it. I wasn't on my deathbed or anything. There was no blinding flash of light. It was a normal night. I had just gotten back from a jobsite…"

"A jobsite? You're in construction?"

"Yeah. I'm Pre-Bee."

"What's Pre-Bee?"

"It's short for Pre-Build. Then there's Build. And then there's Post-B."

"So, construction terminology has changed?"

"It had to. The industry changed so much in the last thirty years."

"So, what's Pre-B?"

"It's easier to start with what Build is. Build is done entirely by robots. It's not like the Jetsons where the robots look like regular workers. The robots come in several types. My company uses the ones that look like huge trusses spanning between two railway cars. We adjust the length of the truss to the size of the building and then it moves slowly over the building pad creating the building as it goes."

"Creating the building how?"

"Plastics. Picture 3D printing just on a huge scale. It's called an extruderbot. So, people aren't allowed on site during Build…"

"Why not?"

"Safety and cost. You have two options. You can either use OSHA-certified 'bots which cost a fortune and break down all the time or you can keep all humans off the site during build.

"Makes sense. But your' Pre-Build?"

"These huge 'bots can't just extrude a new building on top of a meadow. The site has to be prepared. A lot of 'bot technology is used in Pre-B, too but they are much smaller and we even still use some machines driven by humans. We make the site level, clear the topsoil and build the tracks for the 'bot. And then Post-B is installing things that the 'bots can't do like certain specialty windows and doors. Abd Post-B also takes out the 'bot tracks."

"Electrical wiring is Post-B?"

"No. That's Pre-B. It's not really wiring anymore. We place buses at 80, 160, and 240 around every room and then the extruderbot places the walls around them. Post-B then installs and hooks up the electrical devices. Water and Sewer are similar."

"Could you give me some detail. Say, on the 'bot tracks. What are they and how do you build them?"

"They're not complicated. Just a big, long slab of concrete with two parallel metal channel sections running the full length."

"How do you decide what size to make it?"

"The concrete? We get a geotechnical study done and they tell us the bearing capacity of the soil and then the engineers decide how long the 'bot has to be to build the building. The manufacturer provided weight per wheel based on the various standard lengths of 'bot. That gives you the width of the concrete. Thickness id based on shear stress along the channels and frost depth. Does that answer… Oh… yes, and we put up a power bus running alongside the channels a minimum of 16 feet in the air so that the 'bot doesn't need to carry the weight of a generator. I think that covers it."

Velma smiled. She was not good at smiling but had learned the need for it from watching Daphne, "Yes. That was a great answer." This wasn't a lie. "But let's get back to your last memory. You came home from the project site. How did you get home?"

"I live in Portland and my job site is in Sacramento. So, every afternoon…"

"Every afternoon? You commuted from Sacramento to Portland daily?"

"Yeah. It's a long commute but it beats paying for hotels. So, I take an Uber from the jobsite to the Loop station in San Francisco and the 'Loop up to Portland and then Uber home."

"So, Uber still exists."

He paused and thought for a second, "Not really. It's just a name. The Government took over the transportation network about twenty years ago. What we call an Uber is part of the system of vehicles that take you from wherever you are to the Loop stations. Ubers are driverless vehicles. They would be funny looking to you. They look a little like spiders and are sort of up in the air. It's hard to explain."

"And the Loop is…?"

"Short for hyperloop. Those are the hyper-speed trains that run every fifteen minutes between all of the major cities on the continent."

"Like they are working on in Russia."

"I guess. They were in Europe before they were here."

Shaggy leaned in, "What about cars? Good old-fashioned automobiles?"

"You don't see too many of them anymore. The Government tore out most of the roads to put in Uber rails and the few roads that are still around aren't maintained. And the Government taxes cars out of this world. And that's the electric ones. Only the very, very rich can afford the taxes on a gas car. And no one can afford gas. I wouldn't even know where to buy it."

Shaggy's mouth dropped open, "So, there are no gas stations?"

And Scooby joined in, "And ras station rot dogs?"

Shaggy 's voice rose, "What sort of dystopian hell doesn't have gas station hot dogs?!"

Velma took back over, "So, after you got home…?"

"I went to bed. And woke up like you see me."

Velma stopped and pensively looked at Rob. Daphne pensively looked at Velma. Shaggy and Scooby were looking out the window where they faintly saw some golden arches in the distance. Fred gave it a five count to see if anyone had anything else to say and then looked to Clive.

"It looks like we're done for the night. Unless anybody has anything else, we'll be heading back to our hotel."

Clive looked around at all of them "Thank you, Fred. Thank you all."

This was not the Clive they remembered.

Everybody stood and there were as many handshakes as post-Covid etiquette required and then the gang was on their own again. Herbert took them to the hotel and they found that, luxuriously, they all had separate rooms except for Fred and Daphne. After checking in, they were riding up the elevator and Fred asked, "Fifteen minutes to spruce up and then we grab dinner?"

Scooby Doo looked around, "Rifteen minutes? Rho needs rifteen minutes?"

Shaggy agreed, "I'm with Scoob. Five minutes tops."

"You guys go ahead. I'll just grab some room service." It was Velma.

Fred started, "But…" but was stopped by Daphne reaching over and grabbing his wrist.

Daphne smiled, "No problem, Velma. It's a little after 8:00 now. Can we all meet up in my and Fred's room at 10:00 and go over the case?"

Shaggy's face had fallen from its pre-eating ecstasy of a moment before, "You sure you don't want to come with, Velma?"

Her smile was uncomfortable, "Thanks for asking but I'm good. Just need a little down time."

He tried to force himself to be upbeat, "No problem. But you will not want to miss breakfast. The signs in the lobby were bragging about their breakfast bar. You will really want to see me and Scoob bring it to its knees."

Another half-hearted smile, "I wouldn't miss it."

The elevator door opened and they dispersed into their separate rooms for a few minutes before Fred, Daphne, Shaggy, and Scooby headed back down to have Herbert take them to a nearby restaurant. Velma didn't order room service. She changed into a t-shirt and shorts and went through her work-out routine. And then went through it again. And then a third time until her muscles were burning and she was straining to get enough air into her lungs. She then took a shower, brushed her teeth, dried her hair, and got into the same clothes which she had worn through the day. That made it a little after 10:00. It was time to leave her room and meet up with the rest of the gang.

As she approached Fred and Daphne's door, it was propped open by the little metal lock thingy which she assumed meant to come in without knocking. But she paused anyway and raised her hand to knock just as a peal of laughter exploded within the room. Her hand froze. She wanted to stop, turn around, go back to her room, and call them and tell them she didn't feel well. But that's not what she was getting paid for. She was getting paid to solve a mystery. She rapped twice on the door and then pushed through.

The gang was sitting around the room with the wave of laughter that had just passed through ebbing.

"Velma!" Daphne looked up from wiping her eyes. "You're here! We were just talking about that time Mitchell went out to smoke one of those nasty cigars of his and, when he came back in, the green suit was smoldering and looked like it was about to burst into flames."

Fred took over, "And Scooby looked over at Shaggy and said 'Should I rell him?'"

Daphne took it back, "And then Shaggy said 'You better tell him before he farts and takes out half the studio."

The group burst into laughter again. Velma stood and smiled. When it died back down she said, "As I recall, Mitchell was very flatulent."

They erupted again. Which was odd. She knew that understatement was a form of humor and her monotonous vocal delivery worked well with it and, of course, flatulent is considered a funny word which she did not use very often… And then she noticed the smell of alcohol in the air. That explained the boisterous mood. Apparently, dinner had changed from dinner to dinner and drinks.

"Are we going to be able to concentrate on work?"

Fred stopped laughing and stood. His eyes were clear and he was obviously sober, "We put a two-drink limit on ourselves. The mood isn't the alcohol. When was the last time that we were all together and we weren't at a wedding or a grand opening or a bar mitzvah? When was the last time it was just us, together, doing what we do best?"

"It's been a while."

His face grew serious, "It feels good, doesn't it? Just a little?"

Velma realized that all eyes were on her. Once again, it was everybody-against-Velma.

"It will feel even better when I have $30,000 in the bank account and actually pay my Mom the rent I owe her."

Daphne was seated at the rooms desk and she opened her laptop, "And that is our Velma's ever so subtle way of telling us it's time to get to work."

Fred sat back down, "And our Velma would be ever so subtly right. Let's put on our thinking caps and start making our plan of attack."

Daphne sat at the desk and Fred sat at one of the two chairs next to the window. Shaggy and Scooby were sitting at the head of the king size bed with their backs against the wall. That left the chair opposite Fred for Velma. She sat and waited for Fred to start the process.

Fred looked to his wife, Daphne, you ready?"

"I am."

They had been through this hundreds of times before. Fred started, "We start with Occam's Razor. The situation here is that Rob is delusional and suffering from some form of psychosis. Daphne, could a psychosis create what Rob is experiencing?"

"Not really. Not like what he is describing."

Velma turned to her, "What about false memory disorder?"

"False memory disorder tends to have a single false memory – usually a traumatic event. And it's usually created by some form of external influence like a psychiatrist using hypnosis to find a repressed memory that isn't there, so a suggestible patient's subconscious creates one. It might be possible to create multiple false memories with a deliberate and focused long-term effort. But 46 years of memories? That would be unheard of."

"But possible."

"Yes. I guess it's possible."

"Could this happen without external effort. Could Rob simply be suffering from a psychosis that came on him organically?"

"I don't see how."

Shaggy was leaning against the headboard of the bed with his hands resting on his expanded stomach. It was already beginning to deflate after dinner and he was comfortable that all would be ready for the breakfast bar. "But I've heard of people with entire artificial lives."

Daphne nodded, "Yeah, but they live them. They have delusions and they live their false lives in real time and the memories are simply memories of the false lives they lived. A 14-year-old would not have time to create 46 years worth of false life memories."

Fred jumped back in, "So, we take organic psychosis and make it our base. We try neither to prove nor disprove it and see if it remains after everything else is disproven. Are there any other possibilities that don't require an external influence? What we used to call on the show, a villain."

"How about that it's true? He actually is a 60-year-old guy who got relocated back to his 14-year-old self? He sounded pretty convincing to me." It was Shaggy.

Daphne nodded again, "He did. His speech patterns were not the speech patterns of someone his age. They were someone far older. His mannerisms and facial expressions; his interaction with his father; everything indicated that he was the older of the two.

Velma had her glasses off and was polishing them with the bottom of her t-shirt, "Technically, he didn't say anything that wasn't an extrapolation on ideas already being considered. Everything he said has been published by somebody. Usually, when someone is trying to create a large-scale ruse like this, they lose it in the details. The kid held up. Everything he said made sense. But the math just doesn't work. There are no theories out there that could explain this from a scientific perspective."

Shaggy again, "Maybe somebody kicked the can."

Velma turned to him, surprised that he had actually been listening to her earlier scientific soliloquy. "That's always possible and is an unknown variable. But his recollection didn't include being a part of any kind of experiment. His memories were of going to sleep and then he woke up two weeks ago."

Fred waited for Daphne's typing to catch up, "Let's baseline the 'it's real' theory, too. We are not going to put any effort into trying to prove or disprove it and then see what falls out. Anything else in the 'no villain needed' list?"

Shaggy was thinking, "There's a priest. How about demon possession?"

Velma shook her head, "We are not going to entertain demon possession."

Daphne disagreed, "We have to Velma. But not in the literal sense. A young man with a suggestible subconscious and a religious background could be convinced that he was possessed by a demon. That is not terribly uncommon. If I were going to try and create something like what we saw tonight, I think it would be easier to convince a young boy that he was possessed by a demon who was telling him to lie about these memories."

Shaggy, "But then there's a villain.

Fred, "Right. So, we're into the next part. Motive? Why would someone do this to a kid?"

Shaggy, "To get at Clive because they hate him."

Daphne, "That makes us suspects."

Scooby, "Reah, Clive's a jerk."

Fred, "Who else hates him?"

Shaggy, "His ex-wife."

Daphne, "How do you know that?"

Shaggy, "I don't. It's just a starting point."

Velma, "Shaggy, I don't remember you being this involved in these meetings back in the day."

Shaggy, "Yeah, not being high makes this all make much more sense than it used to."

Daphne, "Did we ever meet his ex-wife?"

Fred, "No, they were going through their divorce during season one. I don't think any of us ever met her."

Velma, "I would put her right after Rob on the suspect list."

Daphne, "Rob?"

Velma, "He's the only one who could do this without help."

Daphne, "Other than finding out about a closely guarded Blake family secret a week before it went public."

Velma, "Other than that."

Daphne, "What motive would he have?"

Shaggy, "How many millions of reasons can a kid have for hating his father?"

Fred, "Dark, but true."

Velma, "Co-workers who might benefit from him being taken out of the picture or distracted?"

Fred, "Right. We'll have to check on everybody who works with Clive and who might be up for a promotion if his being distracted took him out of the pictiure."

Shaggy, "What about the physicist, the psychiatrist, and the priest?"

Scooby, "Roo they walk into a bar?"

Daphne, "I don't really see how they fit. They were all called in after it started."

Velma, "I still think we should talk to them as persons of interest. They've had a lot more time with the kid than we have."

Fred, "Okay, then. That's where we'll start in the morning. Velma, you talk to the physicist. Daphne, you talk to the psychiatrist. I'll talk to the priest. And Shaggy, you and Scooby talk to Rob. Then in the afternoon, we'll find out where Clive's ex lives and pay her a visit."

Fred looked around the room, "Any last business? Seeing none, I declare this meeting adjourned. So, now we can get on to the truly important business of declaring this an official Mystery, Incorporated road trip." He reached down to the floor behind his chair, pulled out a bottle and set it on the small table next to Velma.

Velma looked down at it, "Oh. A cheap bottle of whiskey."

Shaggy stood, "Consider it a memoriam to its many brethren who have passed this way before in forging the tradition of the road trip. And I have cheap plastic cups. He pulled them out from behind a pillow on the bed where he had been sitting and began to tear open the plastic wrap.

Fred began unscrewing the cap.

To Velma this felt very staged. Planned to again isolate her and make her the only one who was not in on the plan.

"My memory of those days must be different from yours. I remember drinking too much, saying things I wish I had never said, throwing up violently, and then waking up the next morning feeling like last week's bologna sandwich."

Shaggy held out a glass for Fred to fill, "Exactly. It's called fun."

"Just the same, guys, I think I'll pass."

Fred spread the plastic cups out on the table and poured five glasses, "C'mon Velma. This is a gang tradition and the gang isn't complete without you."

Really? Velma thought. Then why does it never feel like it?

"Thanks just the same, Fred. But I'm good." She got up and began heading for the door.

Daphne picked up a cup, took a sip, and grimaced, "Smooth. Velma, party nights were the only times we ever saw you relaxed. It's the only time you ever let your hair down and we could see the real Velma."

Velma stopped. She knew she should keep going and just walk away. But the anger rising inside her made that impossible. She turned, "Drunk and stupid is not the real me. This is the real me." She wouldn't tell them how many times she had considered walking down to the liquor store and getting herself a bottle just to get through the night. But that was a slippery slope on which she had never stepped. And it was her business. Not theirs.

"You know what I mean. It's the only time we ever found out anything about you."

"You know everything about me!"

"No. You give us facts. Guarded, carefully worded facts. We know what happened to you and we know when but we never knew how you feel about any of it. That's what we miss from party nights."

Fred had quit pouring, Shaggy had quit drinking, and Scooby sat on the bed dumbstruck as this conversation escalated. Velma and Daphne had known each other the longest of any of them and were the founders of the gang. Their bond was special but also very volatile. Sometimes the three males just had to stay out of the way and let their relationship play out.

The volume of Velma's voice came back down, "I trust facts."

"But with people who care about you, they aren't enough. You refuse to open up about your feelings."

"You mean like the rest of you do?"

"Yes!"

"Give me an example."

"Fred shared his family issues with the whole world on the show."

"He what? That was all crap! Fred's father is a plumber and always has been. There was no fake father who was mayor. There was no real father who made a living making traps. No one makes a living making traps…"

Fred raised his glass, "Amen to that."

Velma went on without noticing the interruption, "…It was all scripted nonsense created by the network."

"You weren't there when the writers came down. They tapped into Fred's abandonment issues from when his parents divorced. His sense of loss and betrayal were based on his very real emotions."

"And what about your super sisters? Every word that came out of their mouths was scripted. Not one word of it real. And then the other one… the marine… Desultra or Divina…"

"Delilah."

"Whatever! She was always played by an actress. We've never even met her."

"She was at my wedding."

"Which one?"

"You know very well which one. The one at which you sat alone at the table feeling sorry for yourself and never tried to interact with anybody."

"My point is that you're talking about being real and your sister was never even really on the show."

"I'm sorry, she was busy wasting her time in Iraq and Afghanistan."

And we thank her for her service but that doesn't change the fact that everything on the show about your family was a fraud. All scripted. All fake. Maybe I would buy into this argument if the whole world knew that, with the exception of Divina…"

"Delilah."

"Whatever. With that exception, you hate all of your sisters."

"But you know that!"

"What?"

"You know that I hate all of my sisters except for Delilah…"

"Divina."

"Stop it. How do you feel about your sister?"

"Why does that matter?"

"You know how I feel about my sisters, how do you feel about yours?"

"She's fine."

"She's fine. Thank you for that deeply felt insight. When was the last time you spoke with her?"

"Thanksgiving."

"How did that go?"

"It was fine."

"Fine? No. Fine is not an answer. How did being with and interacting with your sister make you feel? Happy? Angry? Concerned? Sad?"

"That's none of your business."

"It is my business! You are my business. Because I love you. We love you."

Velma's hands had balled themselves together into one fist in front of the middle of her chest as if in prayer. She stared down into the ball of knuckles and spoke so softly that they all leaned in to hear.

"First Shaggy on the plane and now this. You are all ganging up on me and I want it to stop."

She turned and headed toward the door but Fred stepped in front of her, "We can't stop, Velma. You always have been and always will be one of us."

"Well, you can take your intervention and shove it, Fred. Please step aside."

Fred stepped aside. During the argument, Scooby had silently moved to a position sitting next to the door. His ears were flat down against his head and his tail lay limp on the floor, unmoving. He looked up at her as she grabbed the door handle.

"Relma?"

She looked down into his eyes and leaned down and briefly hugged him around the neck. "It's okay, Scooby." She stood, opened the door and left.

Daphne looked at the whiskey in the cup she was holding, "That went well." She walked to the sink in the bathroom and poured the drink out.

Shaggy was still standing next to the bed. He put his drink down on the nightstand, "Maybe that's who she is now and its time for us to just deal."

Daphne frowned, "But I want the old Velma back. I miss her."

Scooby's ears were still flat and his tail remained motionless, "Re, too."

Fred tried to put a silver lining on it, "Maybe the new Velma is just stronger and more assertive. Less likely to go along with the crowd."

Daphne shook her head, "I don't think so. I think she's hurting."

Shaggy squatted down next to Scooby and began to stroke the top of his head down his neck. Long, gentle strokes. "How do we help someone that's hurting when we are the ones that hurt her?"

Daphne's left hand reached out and she absently touched Fred on the arm. Her fingers stayed in contact. She didn't even know she was doing it. She just needed the touch. "I don't know if we can."

Shaggy nodded, "Yeah. I don't, either. Guys, I think I might be partied out. I'll see you in the morning."

"Re, too." Scooby followed him out the door and they retired to their rooms.

Velma kept it together until she made it to her room. The electric lock refused to open on the first two tries and she was beginning to feel tears of frustration beading up within her eyes when the little light finally went green, the lock clicked, and she was in. As the door shut behind her, she ran to the bed, picked up a pillow and then buried her face in it, screaming. Screaming until she was gasping for beath and then she screamed some more. She then flopped down on the bed on her back, balled her hands into fists and started beating on her stomach with all of her might. Beating and pounding. Over and over again. Day after day of rigorous exercise and endless sit-ups made her abdominal muscles hard which served only to hurt her hands as much as her stomach but she kept pounding.

And then the tears started in earnest. Not pent up. But the practiced tears of night after night alone in her apartment and letting loose hoping for some catharsis. Finding none. When the tears failed to calm the storm of emotions within, she dropped to the floor and began doing sit-ups. Her beaten stomach muscles cried out in pain, but she didn't stop. One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Six… Seven…

She continued into the night.