Chapter 5
The battle of the breakfast bar was short, brutal, and one-sided. Shaggy and Scooby made their first exploratory attack at 6:57 AM and, by 7:14, it was all over. From the back corner of the restaurant a woman's shocked voice gasped, "Oh my god." A couple in their mid-twenties, who had been fans of the show, understood what they had just witnessed and stood to applaud. The conquering heroes belched, saluted their fans (both of them), and requested a to-go plate.
But Velma was a no-show. Daphne had awakened to a text from Velma saying that she had been in contact with Dr. Sampson and the only opening in her schedule was 7:30 AM so she had gotten up early and taken an Uber over to Rodney Rudd College. End of message.
Shaggy had not seen her in the restaurant when they came in but, after the breakfast bar was bested, he scanned the room in case he had missed her. The look on Daphne's face in recognition of the look on his face told him that Velma was not there. Disappointed but not surprised, he shrugged and left the room. Scooby waited for the cooks to prepare the to-go plates.
Velma sat in the back of the Uber and tried to calm her nerves. For the first time in years, she was going to set foot on a college campus. And not just any college campus, Rodney Rudd was one of the leading STEM colleges in the nation and had been on her dream list during her junior and senior years of high school which were now over a decade in the past. She could feel the presence of the demon from the bottom of the box almost as if it were sitting next to her. Maybe it was.
As they passed through Pomona and headed toward the foothills, she saw the simple campus coming up on her left. The Uber turned and let her off at a small roundabout. She thanked the driver and got out. The layout of the campus was efficient and elegant. Two rows of buildings were connected by a beautifully landscaped pedestrian lawn. The fronts of the buildings faced in toward the lawn and the backs of the buildings fended off the outside world. The circle at which she had just been dropped was the only point where a vehicle could get into the lawn area and she was on foot from that point.
She checked the map on her phone and it told her that Pomeroy Hall – which housed the Physics Department - was three large buildings up on her right. She felt ancient and out of place amongst the 18 to 25-year-old students who she passed on the uncrowded concrete walks in the early morning. But she felt out of place everywhere so why should this be any different?
It should be different because this was where she belonged. Like she had once belonged with the gang until she had destroyed that. And now, through inaction, she was destroying her sense of belonging in academia. Shaggy was a deceiver and she was a destroyer. Maybe they were made for each other. But she could never know. Such was the life of a destroyer.
The building with the words "Pomeroy Hall School of Physical Sciences" came up on her right just as her phone said it would. She could still count on technology. She turned in and began mounting the wide staircase leading to the four sets of double doors. With each step, her desire to run back to Crystal Cove became stronger. She felt almost like her legs were getting heavier and harder to lift with each successive step. But she had a job to do and she was going to do it and do it well.
She got to the top of the steps and grabbed the handle of the first door. It was locked. Maybe it was a sign. Probably it was a sign to try another door. She tried the one next to it and it opened freely. Steeping inside, she found herself standing in a large entry lobby with a two-story ceiling with clerestory windows above the doors bringing in the morning sun to shine on a bronze replica of the Galileo statue from The Vatican. Velma recognized the statue as any physicist would and stepped over to it. At 7:15, the lobby was empty and she stood for a moment and took in the light hitting the darkened recesses in the statue and creating a beautiful contrast of light and dark.
The light reflected off the tiny dust particles in the air and she reached her hand up to catch some. She watched the dust motes swirl in the eddy currents created by her moving hand and thought of the equations of fluid and continuum mechanics that could be used to model the movements. Never an exact calculation of where any one mote would go but a model of where most of them would go. It was this inexact exactitude that made science into an art. Not trying to figure out any one tiny point in space or time but aiming for the cosmos.
She loved science.
But she also had a mystery to solve and $30,000 to earn so she said goodbye to Galileo and looked around the room for the ever-present building directory which she found next to the bronze walls of the elevator shaft. Dr. Sampson's office was on the second floor in Room 208B. She forewent the elevator and instead took one of the open stairwells which swept up to the mezzanine overlooking the lobby. There were two sets of glass double doors leading off of the mezzanine, one in either direction. The signage told her that rooms 201A to 220A were to her right and rooms 201B to 221B were to her left. The lack of perfect symmetry between the two sides of the building bothered her a little but it was easy to put out of her mind as she took the door to her left. The even numbered rooms were on her right as she walked down the hallway and the fourth one down was 208B.
The door was propped open and Velma stepped in to find a small room with a very neat desk and two four-drawer filing cabinets. The room had no window but it did have another door through which Velma heard Dr. Sampson's voice, "Is that you, Ms. Dinkley?"
"Yes ma'am. It's me."
Velma stepped through the empty room to find another room of the same width but double the depth with two windows at the far end. Dr. Sampson rose from behind her desk and stepped around. She gestured to one of two chairs which sat on either side of a small, round table. Velma sat and Dr. Sampson took the other chair to enable them to have a more comfortable discussion rather than speaking over the desk and battling the power layout of the furniture.
As Velma sat, she made the effort at small talk which was not her strength, "Thank you for making the time to see me. I hope I'm not inconveniencing you."
"Not at all. My first class isn't until nine."
"Oh? What do you teach?"
"A classroom full of morons. Can I get you a cup of coffee?"
Velma took a second to process the first sentence before realizing that the second was a question, "Yes, please. Black."
The physicist had a Keurig coffeemaker on top of a file cabinet next to her desk. It was plugged into a power strip in which every outlet was filled and which sat on top of one of many unkempt piles of papers on her desk. The piles weren't tidy and loose individual papers were skewed at all angles and sliding off the piles. Some were on the floor.
"I hope you don't mind. The only flavor I have is what is cheapest at the grocery store. I'm not much of a coffee snob. I am in it for the chemistry."
"The caffeine boost is my coffee goal as well."
As the machine slurped and made its coffee-making noises, Dr. Sampson was watching the coffee brew which kept her face turned away from Velma, "Ms. Dinkley, I have a confession. Last night, after our meeting, I called some of my colleagues to see if they had ever heard of you. Two of my colleagues recognized your name immediately."
"I used to be on a television show."
"Any fool with a pretty face can be on a television show. They told me that you had published three articles in peer-reviewed journals by the time you were sixteen."
"That was a long time ago."
"I read one of your articles."
Velma had steeled herself against the emotions that she knew would be surfacing as she walked through a college campus and into a physics department but she had not been ready for this.
"Oh?"
Dr. Samson stepped over and placed the coffee on the table in front of Velma. She took the other seat herself as Velma sat and watched the steam rising out of the brew.
"Yes. The paper was Quasi-particles and Collective Excitations at Linear Dispersive Degenerate Points with Topological First Principle Chern Numbers. Do you remember it?"
Every word. "Yes, somewhat."
"And you were sixteen when you wrote it?"
"No. I was sixteen when it was published. I wrote most of it when I was fifteen."
"Do you remember Leonard Martin?"
"I met him once at a lecture I attended at Darrow. I stayed after and asked him a few questions."
"What he remembers is that you asked him some questions he couldn't answer and he decided to teach you a lesson by asking you some questions back. And you answered them. All of them."
"It wasn't really fair, I had read all of his latest papers and everything he asked me were logical extrapolations onto his published work."
"In his version of the story, your logical extrapolations shaved three months off of his research and got him published ahead of his competitors."
"I never heard that."
"That's because Leonard Martin is something of a narcissistic jerk. But so are many of us."
"Dr. Sampson…"
"Please call me Maggie. May I call you Velma?"
"Certainly. But what I really came to talk with you about was Rob Matthews."
"The boy is a lunatic. I would much rather talk…"
Velma knew what Maggie would much rather talk about and she had no intention of letting that happen, "Whether or not Rob is psychotic or dissociative remains to be seen and is what my… colleagues and I have been hired to ascertain."
In all of the hundreds of times in her life when she had referred to the rest of the gang, it had always been as her friends. Why was that word eluding her now?
"Very well. We can dispense with that first. What do you wish to know?"
"What is your relationship with Rob and his parents?"
"Clive Matthews contacted me eleven days ago and offered me quadruple my consulting rate per hour to meet with his son and formulate an opinion regarding the veracity and probability of his story. Although it was all something out of a bad science fiction show, the money was good so I took it. I've met with the boy three times for two hours each and then attended last night's festivities."
"During the meetings, what did you do?"
"The same thing that you did last night. I asked him questions about the memories and dug into them for more and more detail waiting for him to slip up and say something provably false."
"Did he?"
"Other than his entire ridiculous story? No. The details of the fabrication are complete and thorough. Whoever tutored the boy did an admirable job."
"Were you looking for information that might prove his story? Details that might indicate scientific breakthroughs that we haven't seen yet."
"There's not exactly a lot of meat on the bone of 'I went to sleep and woke up 46 years earlier.' And I had never seen nor heard of any reasonable scientific treatise that might allow for such a thing. Until I read it last night."
"Huh? My paper? That was not the purpose of my paper at all."
"No. The purpose of your paper to postulate using quasi-particles as tools to map the topology of any of the quantum continua. But, if your concept that the quasi-particles could be used to tie different parts of the continua together in real time, then the 'c' problem could be solved and thus the need for infinite amounts of energy goes away."
"That's a stretch. I was using that definition of quasi-particles as a mathematical workaround to try and get past an imaginary number that blocked my progress. I wasn't saying that they literally worked that way. It was just a shortcut."
"And Fresnel's ether work was a dead end, until Einstein inverted it and made it the foundation for Relativity."
"Are you saying that you are finding that there is a theoretical basis that might support the possibility of what Rob claims is happening to him?"
"No. I am saying that you published a paper 13 years ago that has asked enough questions to keep you in grants for the rest of your life. What you have started with that one paper could very well enable you to kick the can – as you so colorfully put it. And I haven't even read the other two. What I am saying is, whatever has kept you from proceeding with your education and getting the letters after your name that will let you realize the potential of that mind, put it behind you."
"It's not that easy."
"Make it that easy. Because time is running out. In the scientific world, the mind is considered to be nimble and agile enough to come up with breakthrough concepts in our twenties and thirties. We use our forties to flesh them out and try to prove those concepts and make our mark permanent. But then as we get into our fifties, the grants and the research positions and the big labs go to the young. And the rest of us are left with teaching, peer-reviewing, and administration."
She said the word administration as if it had a foul taste.
"Maggie, I'm sure…"
"If you are about to try some platitude, please do me the respect to not finish it."
Velma nodded. That's exactly what she would say.
"You've lost your twenties and it may already be too late. But you owe it to the fifteen-year-old young woman who wrote that paper to try. Otherwise, you will be throwing away the only real gift you have for the world."
"I… Thank you very much. I have to leave now." And Velma got up from the table and walked hurriedly from the room, almost colliding with a teaching assistant that was getting settled into the outer office. She hesitated a moment assuming that Maggie would call after her but heard nothing. She left and, with a force of will, she did not run.
It was a couple of miles out of the way to drop Daphne off at Dr. Strickland's office for her appointment before heading to Clive's home where Fred, Shaggy, and Scooby would be meeting with Rob and the priest. The plan was that, when Daphne was done, she would grab a taxi back to the hotel and meet them there. She waved as the bus drove away. No one was looking and so no one waved back. She shrugged and walked into the building which had once been a medium-sized bungalow home but was now converted into a pair of offices: one being an accountant and the other being the psychiatric practice of Dr. Tabatha Strickland. They each had their own entrance in the front and the signs were clear.
Even though it was an office, it felt enough like a house that Daphne felt odd going in the door without knocking. She stepped into a room that still looked a lot like a small living room with the exception that the furniture was outdated and worn in reception area style. There was a young man sitting at the reception desk.
"Hi, I have an 8:00 appointment with Dr. Strickland."
He looked up, smiled, and then checked his computer screen, "Mrs. Jones?"
"Yes, that's me.
"She said to send you straight back. You go down the hall past the break room and it's the second door on the left."
"Thank you."
The break room in its previous life had been the kitchen and still looked the part. The next door was closed and was labeled 'Consultations.' The last door on the left was open and had a small bronze plaque which read 'Tabatha Strickland, M.D.' The room had been the master bedroom and included windows to the side and the rear. The shades were opened to the rear and the view was of a garden that at one time had been nice but was now untended and overgrown. The birdfeeder was empty.
Tabatha rose behind her desk and extended out her hand, "Daphne, it is nice to meet you again."
"You, too, Dr. Strickland."
"It's Tabatha, please. You are not a patient."
"Thank you, Tabatha. Obviously, I'm here to talk about Rob."
"Yes. I noticed that your questions to him last night were quite discerning. What training do you have?"
Daphne smiled and looked down for a moment, "None really. I got my bachelors in psychology from the Crystal Cove Night School campus of Darrow University."
"Darrow… yes. It's accredited, I believe."
"To the best of my knowledge."
"Well, from the way you carried out the interrogation of the boy last night, you have obviously made the most of the education you received."
Where to begin with that? The use of the word 'interrogation'? Or the two thinly-veiled insults aimed at her educational background? Daphne chose none of the above.
"Back to Rob. When was the first time you met him?"
"Twelve days ago. His father brought the boy to me for a diagnostic evaluation."
"Was Clive referred to you by Rob's pediatrician or his own doctor?"
"No. He was familiar with me since I sat on a panel discussing mental health issues on a public service television show which the local CBS affiliate aired many years ago. Mr. Matthews was just starting out then and he was a junior producer on the show."
"So, you were in television? We have that in common."
"My show was broadcast to a five-county area at 5:00 AM on Sunday morning for six weeks. I doubt our experiences have much in common."
"Only six weeks? But you kept in touch with Clive after it was over?"
"I wasn't on his speed dial but he seems to have remembered my name."
"I understand that I can't ask you for any information that is privileged…"
"On the contrary, both the boy and his father have directed me in writing to open his files to you and your team. I am authorized to tell you anything I know."
"Rob and his father? What about his mother?"
"She appears to be legally irrelevant."
"Legally irrelevant?"
"His father has sole legal custody. I do not believe the mother even has guaranteed rights of visitation."
"Does he ever see his mother?"
"I don't know."
"You didn't ask?"
"No. It's unimportant."
"It seems that in the treatment of a mental illness, knowledge of the patient's relationship with both of his parents would be foundational information."
"Daphne, I am a clinical psychiatrist and diagnostician. I am not a therapist. I am presently in the diagnostic phase of my relationship with this client. I am looking for symptoms and chemical imbalances. Once a diagnosis has been made, the therapy may be a part of the treatment regimen. At that point, a psychologist will work on determining the boy's Oedipal issues."
"What tests did you run to check for a chemical imbalance?
There was no pause and she started rattling them off, "Blood screen, heart screen, thyroid panel, kidney screen, glucose for baseline, lipids for baseline, hsCRP, 25(OH)D, B12 levels, testosterone (free and total), magnesium, homocysteine, zinc, celiac disease panel, MTHFR DNA analysis, lyme, fasting glucose, insulin and hemoglobin A1C."
"Okay. I think I heard three or four that I understood."
"They are the standard tests I run prior to every diagnosis."
"Anything unusual?"
"No. Normal."
"Is it normal for everything to be normal?"
This question seemed to annoy the doctor, "I can rephrase it that the results had the normal amount of minor abnormalities. All results were within normal ranges for a 14-year-old boy."
"How much time did you spend with him?"
"In the same room with him? Not counting last night, probably about thirty minutes."
"That doesn't seem like much time."
"Again, I am not a therapist. The boy spent a great deal of time in the office with my assistant, Randy, doing the questionnaires."
"Can I see the questionnaires?"
"I have copied his entire file for you." She handed over a slim manila folder.
Daphne reached out, took it, and began to scan through the contents. The first seven pages were blood and urine test results which meant little to her. The eighth page started a questionnaire. She began reading.
Patient Introduction Questionnaire
Questioner: Randy Parks
Do you have learning problems in school?
Subject response: My real memories from birth to age 14 are fuzzy but I do not recall any. My false memories include my getting a bachelor's degree in civil engineering and then later a master's degree in construction robotics. So, neither internal reality had learning problems.
Were you in special education classes?
Subject response: No.
Did you have problems learning – math, reading, or comprehension?
Subject response: No problems in any of those courses. I do poorly in music and foreign languages.
How is your memory?
Subject response: Given that I remember things that never happened, I guess my memory is too good. In terms of day-to-day memory, it seems fine. But the fact that my memories of being thirteen-years-old feel like they were 47 years ago instead of one, that could be considered a memory issue.
If you feel that you have difficulties with your memory, has your memory always been poor?
Subject response: No. Just since two weeks ago.
Do serial 7 subtractions from 100.
Subject had no difficulty.
Three-item recall test for memory.
Subject had no difficulty.
Clock drawing test.
Subject had no difficulty.
Spell "world" forwards and backwards.
Subject had no difficulty.
Do you have a bad temper?
Subject response: I do not believe so. You might get a more unbiased opinion from my father.
Do you have poor emotional control?
Subject response: I do not think so.
Has any teacher or adult in your family thought you were hyperactive? Have you been diagnosed with ADHD?
Subject response: No.
Do you have speech or language problems in school?
Subject response: I do not recall any from birth to age 14. My false memories include failed efforts to learn Spanish and German. No recollection of any problems with speaking in English.
Were you teased as a child?
Subject response: I recall being teased because I enjoyed playing games where I drew two armies of soldiers on a piece of paper and kept drawing lines back and forth to see who won. Classmates called me stupid for playing the games.
Did you stop playing the games?
Subject response: No. The alternative was sitting with no one speaking to me. I would get bored and need something to do that was quiet and would not get anyone's attention.
Why did you not want to get anyone's attention?
Subject response: Nothing good really comes of it. Teachers wanted to discipline me and other students wanted to belittle me. Those are not pleasant memories.
Have you ever had a job?
Subject response: 14-year-old me? No. 61-year-old me? Yes. Several.
What is the longest amount of time that your 61-year-old memories tell you that you held a job?
Subject response: I have been self-employed and owned my own company for twenty years.
Do you know if you had any problems when you were first born? Premature? Low birth weight? Heart murmur? Strabismus?
Subject response: I have no idea. I never heard it discussed.
FOR THE INTERVIEWER: Does the patient have signs of receptive speech problems in the interview.
No. Subject answered all questions without need for repetition.
Tabatha remained quiet as Daphne read. Daphne finished through to the end, looked for any more questionnaires or documents of interest in the folder. Finding none, she looked back up.
"Tabatha, what do you make of these responses?"
"We are way too early for a diagnosis but the items of note are some minor socialization issues and some paranoia. As we keep going, the interviews will be longer and the questions get more focused into symptomatic details. We will start creating specific tests for him rather than using this generic."
"You say that you are too early for diagnosis, but Clive said that you were going to put Rob on strong anti-psychotic medications."
"Mr. Matthews statement was premature, overly simplistic, and hyper-emotional. My guess is that he was trying to create an emotional impact which would sway you to take his case."
"Trying to manipulate us?"
"Yes. To about the same level that most people will do so to achieve a specific goal. It was an obvious manipulation and I am sure that you were not taken in by it."
"It was also unnecessary. As soon as we knew a child was involved, we were going to take the case."
"Do you have the final say in these matters?"
"Me? No. We make group decisions."
"You appeared to be in charge last night."
"We each have specialties. Mine is the early period when we are looking for clues from talking to people and gaging their reactions. Shaggy and Scooby…" She thought about the conversation she had overheard on the plane between Velma and Shaggy, "Shaggy and Scooby - they sort of delay the person – the villain - who is trying to stop us from the solving the case. During that delay, the rest of us get to think through our parts. Then Fred focuses on physically capturing the villain while Velma takes the available information and comes up with the solution."
"So, there's always someone actively trying to stop you from investigating."
"Yes. Always."
"Do you feel like there is a villain in this case. Trying to stop you?"
"Not yet. But the case is young."
"I couldn't help but notice that there seemed to be some tension within your team."
"Why would you say that?"
"While I'm not a therapist, I am still trained to be observant of body language, non-verbal communication, and tonal behaviors. The focus of the tension appears to be the other woman, Velma, I think you said."
"I don't see the relevance."
"The relevance, Daphne, is that this particular case has some unique aspects to it that could create publications which, in turn, could create financial opportunities for me professionally. Therefore, I have a vested interest in your investigation. If the boy does have severe psychological and psychiatric issues, then your actions could very easily do him damage and damage my professional prospects."
"How is that?"
"Right now, he is exhibiting one significant symptom. And that symptom is relatively passive and does not affect his ability to function in society. That gives us a wide range of latitude in treatment options including a primary therapy approach which prescribes very few medications. However, if the preliminary results are correct and he does have some paranoia issues, that will mean that he is attuned to interpersonal relations and emotions and will pick up on the tension. His paranoia could manifest with his choosing a side within your group and reacting very strongly to the perceived opposite side. This could then have a snowball effect on his symptoms and put us in a position where medication and even hospitalization could be our only options.
"I recommend that you separate this woman from the rest of your group and minimize contact to the smallest amount possible for the successful conclusion of your investigation."
Daphne was stunned and annoyed by the bluntness of the statement, "Is that your medical opinion?"
"To some extent. But it is more the opinion of a person who has a vested financial stake in this and does not want to see it screwed up by a bunch of amateurish meddlers."
Meddler? Well, Daphne was thirty now. Her days of being a 'meddling kid' were behind her.
She smiled and stood, "Thank you for your time, Doctor. I can see myself out." If there was one thing that being a Blake trained you for, it was being able to make a graceful exit while seething inside.
The bus pulled up to Clive's house which was ritzy enough to be set back about 100 feet from the street but not ritzy enough to be called a mansion. It was situated in a neighborhood of eclectic architectural and landscaping styles unlike the back-to-back-to-back bungalows of the middle-class neighborhoods which they had navigated en route. There was a turnaround in the front of the house which Fred judged was going to give Herbert some headaches in maneuvering the large bus. But that wasn't his problem. The Mystery Machine sat idly in Crystal Cove slowly turning to rust. Fred forced his mind off of that depressing thought as the front door opened and Clive stepped out. He was dressed in his usual work outfit of golf shirt and slacks.
"Good morning. Did Daphne and Velma make it to their appointments okay?"
Fred had no idea if Velma had or not, "Yes. Everything is on schedule."
"Good. Fred, I believe that you wanted to speak with Father Benjamin. He just arrived and we are putting you two in my study. Shaggy, I'm afraid that whatever his mental age might be, Robby is a teenager in body and I just pounded on his door to get him up so it may be a few minutes. Please feel free to wait for him anywhere in the house. Make yourself comfortable."
Shaggy looked at Scooby, "Well, then we might just as well wait in the kitchen. It's almost time for our late early morning snack."
"Rich comes before our midmorning snack."
"Which comes before our late midmorning snack."
"Rich comes before lunch."
Clive stepped toward the door, "The refrigerator and pantry are fully stocked. The kitchen is…"
Shaggy put his hand on Clive's shoulder, "Clive, old man, no directions necessary. We can always find the kitchen." And they entered the house sniffing the air.
Fred stepped up to Clive, "Well. I don't know where the study is. So, if you could lead the way?"
"Certainly Fred. Follow me. After I get you and Father Benjamin settled in, I'll be on my way. I'm afraid that I have to be at work in order to pay for all of these fees."
"I understand."
They entered into a large, two-story foyer with a huge glass chandelier. A formal dining room was to their left and a spacious living room to their right with French doors down the entire side of the house looking out on a brick patio with a large built-in barbecue. Clive walked straight through and past a stairway that led up to what were likely the bedrooms. Fred then followed him down a corridor which led toward what appeared to be a sunken den. But before they made it that far, Clive stopped and gestured Fred into a large room with a massive desk in the center. Behind the desk was a wall full of books and various awards. There were two movie posters on the windowless side wall. One of which was the movie that had been made based on their lives. The poster featured the two actors that had portrayed Velma and Daphne wearing even less clothing than Clive had allowed them to wear on the show.
Fred hadn't liked the movie. A big part was that it portrayed him as a stupid pretty boy. But the scripted episodes of the show weren't much better. But the movie didn't make any effort to capture who they were. And the mystery was even more ridiculous than some of the scripted affairs that Clive and his network cronies had sent down.
But none of that had anything to do with Father Benjamin Taylor who was sitting in one of two chairs at a small table next to the window which held a chessboard. The pieces on the board were arrayed in their starting positions and there was a patina of dust over the game pieces and the board itself. The priest stood and extended his hand. Fred shook it.
Clive had stayed at the door, "I will leave you two to it."
"Thank you." They both said in unison.
Clive left and Fred took the seat across from the priest. The priest looked down at the board, "Do you play?"
"Me. Not really. It moves too slow. I get bored. You?"
"No. Never had the interest. I just asked because we were sitting right in front of the board and it seemed the proper thing to say."
Fred smiled, "If you hadn't asked, I probably would have."
"Are you of the faith, Fred?"
"My birth certificate says I am. I guess my parents had to write something. They weren't religious and I never have been."
"So, you're agnostic."
"It would be more accurate to say indifferent."
"That is a very honest way to put it. But I believe that we are here to discuss Robby?"
Fred nodded and pulled out his tablet, "Right. When did you get involved with the case?"
"His father contacted the diocese late last week and I was asked to come out and see if we could assist in any way. Mr. Matthews, in all honesty, has offered to pay me an impressive sum of money to stay involved. The Church gave its blessing – as it were – and here I am."
"What have you done with Rob to date?"
"Not very much. I informed Mr. Matthews that I would have to contact Robby's mother. He was opposed to that idea as apparently the mother has no legal custodial rights with the child."
"But you contacted her anyway?"
"The Church is not as quick to separate a parent from a child as the legal system is. We will do nothing unless all living parents are contacted and consent. She did not consent."
"What was the tone of the conversation with her?"
"She provided a very biologically explicit description of precisely where I should put the entirety of the Roman Catholic Church."
"So, it was a heated conversation?"
"Her half of it was. But, of course, she is the boy's mother and she made the same assumption that your team made. If a priest was involved then The Church was itching to perform an exorcism."
"And you're not?"
"No."
"So, you don't believe that an exorcism is warranted?"
"I don't know, yet."
"So, you're still evaluating."
"In a manner of speaking. But there isn't a checklist. There is no 'head spins 360 degrees, check; spews green bile, check. It is a long, slow, and very quiet process. It involves a great deal of focused prayer and very open communing with the Holy Spirit."
"The Holy Spirit." Fred could not quite keep his left eyebrow from going up slightly but his eyes did not roll. He was a professional.
The priest smiled, "Yes. The Holy Spirit. That aspect of God the Father who resides within us and keeps us in constant contact with His guidance and grace. I have to rely completely on the Holy Spirit because demons have been around since the dawn of time. They are not stupid or reckless and they have one job. That job is to deceive. And the goal of that deception is to separate the creation from the Creator. To put it concisely, to separate us from God. And the bridge between God and Man was forged by that aspect of God Himself that we call Christ and no demon can break it. Only we can break it. And the easiest way for us to break it is to not believe. So, the last thing that this incredibly long-lived and wizened evil creature desires is to provide incontrovertible evidence that it exists.
"Take you, for example, Fred. Right now, you are a non-believer. Just as the demon wishes. Would it then make a grand spectacle of itself in order to torment a 14-year-old boy and run the risk of fracturing your disbelief? So, it does not present itself as a demon. It presents itself in any number of ways. From a mild confusion in the mind of the possessed to a mental illness. But never as anything that can't be explained in such a way as to keep the 'indifferent' indifferent."
"Then, how do you tell if there is a possession?"
"First, you start with the fact that 999 out of 1000 reports of possessions are false. They are mental illness or a child who is expressing themselves in ways that run contrary to their parent's beliefs. Parents are painted as monsters in these scenarios and, honestly, some are not good people. But there are those who have been told that their child is going to be medicated for the rest of their lives and will never again have a whole or full life as they go from one chemical cocktail to the next believing that the perfect mix is always just around the next corner. Those parents want it to be demon possession because the horrors of what they have seen in the movies pales against the thought of their child living their life in such a chemical and mental prison. They want The Church to come in, say some Latin, and they have their child back. Can you honestly blame them?"
"So, you don't believe that Rob is possessed?"
"I told you that I don't know. Demons are smart. They are not going to take a human body out for a joy ride. For them to risk discovery by possessing a human, there must be something specific to be gained by it. But that is where the prayer and communion come in. A demon will always be able to outsmart me. But it will never be able to outsmart the Holy Spirit."
"How long does it take for The Church to make a decision in a case like this."
"For that, I only have a terrible answer which you are going to hate. It takes as long as it takes."
"And you are getting paid by the hour?"
The priest smiled and reached out with his pointer finger to touch the point on the top of the bishop piece on the board, "Yes. By the hour. But even if I were to come to a decision tomorrow that an exorcism was warranted, it would not matter. I can do nothing but observe or call emergency medical facilities in the event of such a need unless both parents provide consent. You have heard me explain this clearly to Mr. Matthews. With the full knowledge that I can do nothing, he is choosing to continue to pay me. I, in turn, continue to cash the checks. At least until I, in communion with the Holy Spirit, have determined that the boy is not suffering under possession. At that point, there will be no value to The Church for me to be here and I will leave. Even if Mr. Matthews offers to pay me more money."
"How much time have you spent with Rob?"
"I don't know. Probably about four hours. Give or take."
"Is there any chance that I can see your notes from those meetings?"
"I don't take notes and, if I did, the answer would be no."
"What are your conversations with him like?"
"Like you saw last night. We talk at length about what he refers to as his false memories. Those memories are very detailed, very rich. If I were to close my eyes and put aside the tenor of his voice, I could very well believe that I was listening to a man that had lived them."
"You said that he refers to them as false memories. What do you refer to them as?"
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
"In my business, that is called a deflection or a non-answer."
"It's called the same thing in mine."
Fred waited a moment to see if more information was coming. It was not. So he made sure that his notes were saved on his tablet and tapped the power button, "I think that's all of the questions that I have, Father."
"Then may I share something with you, Fred?"
"Certainly."
"While the process that I am working through is a long one, there are times when something strikes me and I saw such a thing last night."
Fred turned his tablet back on and glanced down as his note-taking software booted up, "Okay."
"If there was anyone in that room last night that I fear might be wrestling with demons, it would be the small brunette woman in your group."
"Velma? Velma's an atheist." Fred hit the power off button again.
"It doesn't matter. If you are her friends and you love her; and she tries to pull away and isolate herself from you, don't let her. Surround her. Ring her in. Protect her. Don't let her out of your sight."
"Uh-h-h-h. Thanks for that. It's been nice speaking with you, Father. I have to be going." Fred couldn't go anywhere until Shaggy and Scooby were done with Rob but he would rather sit out in the bus with Herbert than wait for this conversation to get even stranger.
Shaggy's physical abnormality where he could dislocate his jaw and open his mouth extraordinarily wide was well-known and documented. But, as he got older, it got harder to pop the jaw out and back in and it tended to be sore for a day or so after he did it. So, it was rare for him to take advantage of the physical gift of late. But this was a kitchen. It was an extremely well-stocked kitchen. It had artisan bread, home-made mayonnaise, fresh produce, and a spectacular array of cold cuts. In short, it was a sandwich mecca. And when you are in a sandwich mecca, you make a sandwich. And if you are going to make a sandwich in a sandwich mecca, you make a huge sandwich. And if you are going to make a huge sandwich, then you have to stuff it all into your mouth at once. Those are just the rules.
And it was three-quarters of the way in when Rob appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.
"Hi guys."
Shaggy turned with a mega-sandwich peaking a quarter of the way out of his mouth. Scooby, in turn, had a combination of mustard, ketchup, and horseradish sauce encrusted around his mouth. Scooby's tongue came out and wiped away the various condiments while he sent a backhand paw into Shaggy's face, knocking the mired sandwich through the back of Shaggy's mouth where it hit his throat and he swallowed it without a single chew. It hurt. Necks weren't meant to do that.
"Rerro, Rob."
"Hello, Scooby Doo."
"Rease, call me Scooby."
"Can I call you Scoob?"
"No."
Shaggy's face was put back together and was going to be sore but everything worked, "Good morning, Rob. Your dad said to make ourselves at home."
"I know. That's why we put so much food in here. We knew who we were dealing with."
"Yes, and maybe because we are who we are, we should talk somewhere besides the kitchen to avoid Scooby and me getting distracted."
"Sure, I enjoy sitting on the kitchen patio. I had forgotten how nice my Dad's yard was." He led them out through another set of French doors to a small patio just large enough for a table and four chairs. The patio was brick laid out in a herringbone pattern. It was surrounded by tall bushes with a single gravel path leading out into the rest of the yard. It was still in the low 70s though it was supposed to get up over 80 later in the day. Cool for mid-summer.
They sat. Shaggy noticed a small ornate water fountain at the corner of the patio which was not turned on. Probably good. It would make him need to go to the bathroom. Of course, thinking about that made him feel the need to go. Now, he would have to hold it through the interview.
"Which Rob are we talking with? The 14-year-old or the 60-year-old?"
"Inside my head, there isn't a 14-year-old. There is a 60-year-old with 46-year-old memories of when he was fourteen. I don't remember 'now' very well."
Shaggy nodded, "Sounds like me about 5 years ago. I had a lot of trouble remembering 'now' sometimes."
Scooby joined the nod, "He's rot kidding."
Shaggy got back to business, "Okay, dude. Let's keep this easy. We don't worry about trying to be 14. You be you and we'll just talk to the 60-year-old you."
"Fair enough. What do you want to know?"
"Starting from when you were 14, give us the highlights of your life."
"Okay, starting next year, I go to high school which I hate for four years."
"What did you hate about it?"
"Well, if I had to boil it down, I would say… everything. The cliques, the harassment, the emotional bullying, the sense of being an adult trapped in a child's world. But I wasn't an adult. I look back and remember all of the embarrassment that I put myself through because I thought that I was super-sophisticated. And now I have to live through all of that again."
"But it's a do-over. You can do it better this time."
"No. The people who hated… or are going to hate… me didn't hate me because of anything I said or did. They hated me because I wasn't in a position to fight back. I didn't fit into any of the cliques then and I certainly won't now so I was like the wounded gazelle that's separated from the herd and all alone. That is unchanging and I'm going to have to live it over again."
"Why not just join a clique. Become a nerd or a stoner. Those groups take anybody."
"I'm not cut out to be a stoner. I'm kind of a nerd but nerds are all gamers now and I see what happens to gamers in the next couple of decades."
"What's that?"
"It goes completely holographic and, if you think they get lost in it now, you should see it when you can truly fully immerse yourself into the gamer world. It spawns a huge upswing in serious psychoses. Mental illness increases 300% and becomes the leading cause of death in the United States. Beating out heart disease and cancer."
"So, they haven't cured cancer."
"They have and they haven't. It turns out that cancer isn't one thing. It's about a thousand different things and each one has a different treatment. If the doctor diagnoses it early enough and gets it right, then most of them are curable. But its really hard to get the diagnosis right and a lot of people still die from cancers while the doctors are trying to figure it out.
"And heart disease. Americans still eat like crap and we still don't exercise, so we still get heart disease. No magic pill there, either."
To someone with Shaggy's food and exercise preferences, that portent for the future was not well received. But he persevered, "How do people die from gaming?"
"Several ways. One is accidental deaths. In somebody's game world, they can fly, so they jump off a building in the real one. Another is starvation. Gamers get so immersed in the game that they convince themselves that the holographic food is real. They're found after a few days out in the woods somewhere. Then there is exposure. In the game world its summer but in the real world, its 10 degrees. But number one is suicide. They just can't deal with the fact that there is a real world and they refuse to go back to it."
"Wow. That's a long way from Ms. PacMan. The worst I ever got from that was a blister on my hand from the joystick."
Scooby leaned in, "Rats what he told everybody, anyray." The patented Scooby snicker followed.
Shaggy looked askance at Scooby, "Well, rather than Scooby and I continue to take this stroll down memory lane, why don't we get back to your memories? You hated high school."
"Yes, but it ended and then I went to college."
"Where did you go to college?"
"Westtown Tech."
"Where is that?"
"It's here in town. A small engineering school. It closed its doors… It is going to close its doors about twenty years from now. They couldn't keep up with the costs of changing over to robot technology. It's sad, we had some pretty good alumni events. A bunch of geeks in a room trying to pretend they were cool back in the day. The stories can be pretty imaginative."
"Were you in a frat? Social club. What did you do for fun?"
"There were no fraternities on campus. A group of people would just get some kegs and announce a party. I didn't really socialize much. I've always been sort of a loner. My grades were okay and I graduated in four years and passed my EIT."
"Your what?"
"Engineer-in-Training test. You have to spend at least four years being humiliated by the title 'Engineer-in-Training' before you can take another test which you have to pass in order to be called a Professional Engineer. Its sort of a right of passage of our profession. Out of college, I went to work for CALTRANS until I got my PE. The construction industry was changing so rapidly and transportation was kind of leading with robot technology because of the linear nature of the projects. I kind of saw the writing on the wall and started taking night classes until I earned a Masters in Construction Robotics. That was probably the only time in my life that I ever hit anything exactly right. I had multiple job offers – all with huge pay increases compared to CALTRANS - and so I took one and then, about fifteen years after that, I started my own company."
"What was the hardest part about running your own company?" From running the restaurants, Shaggy knew what any owner would answer.
"Employees and personnel issues. I absolutely hate that and it takes up so much time and accomplishes nothing. So, after getting up to 32 employees and working all over the world, I decided to simplify a few years ago. I let everyone go and now I run a one-man shop and only take jobs where I can be home almost every night. I don't make as much money but I have a lot fewer headaches."
"When you go home, do you go home to someone? Are you married?"
"No. Marriage isn't really much of a thing."
"There's no marriage in the future?"
"Well, people do it but its just sort of a quaint excuse to have a party. There's not much religion any more and when the Government implemented single-payer healthcare about… thirty years ago, the insurance companies dropped all of the stuff about dependents and spouses and such."
"There are still insurance companies if there is Government-provided healthcare?"
"Sure. I mean, from what I recall, under the present system, rich people use their money to get better doctors and shorter wait times. In my time, there are two systems – the public system and the private system. This allows the rich people to use their money to get better doctors and shorter wait times. Some things don't change."
"But aren't you a rich person?"
"No. I'm a business owner. That is not the same thing as a rich person."
"I hear that."
"Re, too." Scooby chimed in.
"What about your father? He's pretty rich."
Rob shook his head, "No. Dad lived a lot richer than he really was. Which I found out when he… passed."
"So, fourteen-year-old you is here living with your father while 60-year-old you remembers his death. How is that working out?"
"That messes with my brain every single day." There was a tangible change in Rob's mood. "Do you have any more questions?"
"One more. If you are here, then what do you think is happening right now 46 years from now?"
"There is no 46 years from now. It's all in my head. Are we finished?"
Shaggy took the hint, "Yes. That should do for now. We'll let you alone to have your breakfast."
"Re left three eggs and two slices of bread." Scooby didn't volunteer that he had had his eyes on the last two slices of bread when Rob had come in.
Shaggy stood, "Thanks Rob. It was nice talking with you again." He and Scooby stood and headed for the door.
"Shaggy?"
They turned and stopped, "Yeah?"
"One more thing. Last night, when I was talking about having Velma's picture under my mattress. I was just trying to prove that I was willing to be completely candid. I didn't mean to upset her."
"It's fine."
"I mean… she seemed really upset."
What do you tell a stranger that you just met a little over twelve hours ago? That Velma's always upset? "It's fine."
"Please tell her I'm sorry. I don't want her to be upset with me."
"I'll tell her." And, now a little confused, Shaggy followed Scooby out to meet Fred and Herbert at the bus.
They got back to the hotel and found Daphne in her and Fred's room working on her laptop. She looked up when they entered, "I think we need to postpone Clive's ex until tomorrow morning. This afternoon and evening needs to be research time."
Research time was usually about half the time they spent on a mystery but it was really boring so they never filmed it. If they had, it would be the five of them crammed into a hotel room complaining about the speed of the internet. Every so often, one of them would look up and say 'this is interesting' or 'I might have something' and then they would all stop and discuss it. The basic idea of research time was to take as much information as possible from the internet and plug it all into Velma's amazing brain to process into the solution.
So, research time meant Velma.
As a group, they walked down the hall and huddled in front of Velma's door. Daphne knocked. They waited a moment and then Fred knocked. They waited another moment and then Shaggy pounded, "Velma!"
The door opened and Velma stood there and looked up at all of them, "What?"
The gang wilted slightly under Velma's withering glare. Shaggy finally spoke, "Lunch?"
"I'm not hungry. I thought we were meeting at 1:00 to go out to Hanna Timberlake's house." Velma, of course, had already memorized all of the names of the persons of interest, including Clive's ex-wife.
Fred stepped up, "Change of plans. That's tomorrow morning now. This afternoon and evening is research and discussion. So, we're all going to have lunch together and compare notes from this morning and then we're all going to go into our hotel room and do research through the afternoon."
"I think that I'll get more done on my own. I'll see you in the morning."
"No!" Fred almost yelled.
Velma took a half step back.
Daphne looked at her oldest friend and knew exactly what to say to get her to come along, "Velma, there's a process and we have to follow it."
Velma focused her glare on Daphne knowing that she had been outplayed, "Give me a minute."
Daphne smiled, "Fine. We'll wait right here."
"With the door open," added Fred.
"To save you the effort of having to open it again when you come out." Shaggy continued.
"Reah." Concluded Scooby.
The elevator ride down to the restaurant included a stern lecture from Daphne to Shaggy and Scooby to not replicate the gastronomic melee which had occurred at the breakfast bar. They were to have a nice, normal, seated lunch with no jaws being dislocated and all food being properly chewed.
Shaggy received the scolding petulantly, "Okay, Mom."
And Scooby concurred, "Reah, Rom."
In response to which, Daphne got very, very quiet.
Their entry into the restaurant started with some tension as the wait staff saw Shaggy and Scooby and immediately requested reinforcements from the kitchen. Five staff people encircled them as they sat at the table and menus were handed out. Everyone in the restaurant waited with bated breath as they each ordered. When it came time for Shaggy to order he said, "A double cheeseburger, with everything, an order of fries, another order of fries, a cherry cola, and a chocolate milkshake – with malt if you have it. And please be ready with the dessert menu for later."
Scooby followed with, "I'll have rhe same."
A collective sigh of relief was issued by all within earshot.
As they waited for their food, Fred pulled out his tablet and prepared to take notes, "Okay, Velma. What did you find out from Dr. Sampson?"
Velma did not look at her notes, "She is a remarkable woman and is dedicated to science in its pure form. As such, she hates teaching, administration, and everything else about the academic life. She is disgruntled…"
She was interrupted by Scooby giggling, "Disruntled." He laughed some more.
She scowled slightly at the interruption and continued, "She is disgruntled and feels like science is in the process of putting her out to pasture. She needs money to fund her personal research and that is why she took the job. She is totally indifferent to Rob and believes it all to be a fabrication of delusional adolescent brain. Her mind seems closed on the matter."
Fred nodded, "Anything else?"
Velma looked at the faces around the table, "No. Nothing else."
Fred finished his notes, "Good. Daphne, what about Dr. Strickland?"
Daphne did look at her notes, "Dr. Strickland appears competent and thorough but she didn't exhibit much in the way of empathy. I would guess that she is an extremely good diagnostician but lacks in bedside manner. She views Rob as a subject but seems to have completely segregated her emotions from him."
Shaggy was looking at the kitchen wondering where the food was but listening close enough to ask, "Aren't doctors supposed to do that?"
"To some extent but not so much that they can't see things from their patient's perspective. Especially when the patient is completely lucid, like Rob. It just seemed a little off. I asked her about Clive's statements last night about her recommending medications at this point. She answered that his statements were premature and misleading. But she didn't take such a regimen off the table. She just said that the diagnosis was not complete and therefore no treatment regimen was yet being discussed. Her preliminary notes showed some socialization issues and possible paranoia."
"Sounds good, Daph. Is that it?"
Daphne looked directly at Velma when she answered, "Yes. That's all."
"Okay, we'll keep Shaggy and Scooby's report on Rob last. So, I'll go next." Fred handed the tablet to Daphne to continue with the notes.
"The priest seemed very scientific about his religion. He provided a lot of information on his process and almost no information on Rob. He was deflective and dodged any specific questions. He is also getting paid a lot of money but money doesn't seem to be his main motive. I couldn't put my finger on what it might be."
"Maybe he just wants to do the right thing. Like, he is a priest and all." It was amazing how well Shaggy could pay attention when his eyes were riveted to the kitchen door.
"That could be it, but something… I just don't know. I need to dig deeper."
Daphne looked around, "Any questions? Anything else to add, Fred?"
Fred also looked at Velma with a hint of sadness, "No. Nothing to add."
Velma's lack of people skills meant that she was able to tell there was something unusual in the way Fred looked at her but not what it was.
Fred took the tablet back from Daphne and looked to Shaggy, "You're up, Shag. How did it go with Rob?"
Shaggy forced his eyes away from the kitchen taking some comfort in the fact that Scooby maintained the vigil and would let him know as soon as food was incoming.
"Rob still talks like an adult much older than he is most of the time. But that slipped once or twice." He glanced up at Velma and then continued, "The main thing I noticed was that, when he was talking about middle school and high school, he used a lot of very emotional language. Words like 'hate' and 'bully'. But then as he progressed through his story, it was like he was reciting facts."
"Memorized facts?" Fred prodded.
"I don't know, dude. I am just reporting. Not extrapolating. But there is one more thing. I asked him about what might be happen in his future 46 years from now. What tomorrow might be in his timeline. Like, he seemed to get a little testy with that one. Don't you think so, Scoob?"
"No, rhe food is not here, ret."
"I'm not asking about the food. I'm asking if Rob seemed testy when I asked him about his future."
"Reah, resty." Scooby's eyes never left the kitchen.
"Anything else?"
Shaggy gave another look to Velma, "No. I'm done."
Fred shook his head, "You know, Shaggy, if we had known you were this good at this when you were sober, we would have checked you into rehab years ago."
"But then I would have lost some of the best memories that I don't remember."
Velma wasn't listening to the last bit of frivolity. She was focused on the fact that everyone had looked at her in funny ways. Again, there was something going on and they were not sharing it with her. Her feelings of being ostracized by the gang rose up and she pushed them back down. Daphne was right. There was a process and she would be spending the afternoon trapped in a room with these people. She would smile and fake it. Well, maybe not so much smiling.
Scooby's tail suddenly jerked violently back and forth, hitting Shaggy in the cheek, "Rere it is! The rood is on its ray!"
Shaggy barely dodged the return swipe of the tail, "Okay buddy. I'm excited, too."
And that ended conversation for the next ten minutes.
Later that afternoon, they settled in to Fred and Daphne's room and found that research was just as boring as everyone remembered it. The hotel wifi was slow and they did complain about it. The room was silent except for the tapping on keyboards, clicking on mouses, and Shaggy and Scooby's stomachs grumbling. That had been a very light lunch and there had been no late mid-morning snack.
Even with the air conditioner going, the air was getting stale with the five of them sharing the small room. This was exacerbated by the onions which had been on Shaggy and Scooby's burgers. But research, at least, felt like the old days. That is, for everyone except for Velma. She was having a problem concentrating on her research as she thought through the prospect that after this trip, the rest of her life would be spent without these people. The way they were treating her was clearly showing that they no longer considered her to be one of them. She was alone now.
About two hours in, Daphne said softly, "I may have something."
Per protocol, everyone stopped what they were doing and waited for her to explain.
"Dr. Strickland is 47 years old. She graduated high school here in Los Angeles 29 years ago. Its all here. Her senior picture, clubs, etc. But if I go back one more year, nothing. And when I say nothing, I mean nothing. Nothing anywhere. Not a digital trace of her first 17 years. It's almost as if she didn't exist.
"So, then I start reading her biographical information and it says that she moved to Los Angeles from a very small town north of Sacramento that was utterly destroyed by forest fires that year. I checked and the town did exist and was destroyed."
Shaggy pondered that, "It sounds like her story checks out."
"But we're talking zero digital footprint from birth to 17. Just a birth certificate which is from San Diego."
Shaggy was shaking his head, "That was 29 years ago. The internet was not then what it is now. Sometimes a cloud is just a cloud."
"Yeah, I suppose."
Velma had always made it a practice to not speak much during research. She listened. "But it's data. Thanks, Daphne."
The room quieted again except a few minutes later when Fred started making telephone calls. The phone calls went on for the better part of an hour when Fred hung up and said, "I've got something."
Again, the room stopped.
"Father Benjamin Taylor isn't."
Daphne, who knew her husband's speaking eccentricities better than the rest, responded, "Isn't what? A priest?"
"Right. I have checked all of the Roman Catholic and other denominations in North America that use the title 'Father' or the word 'priest.' There are two Roman Catholic priests named Benjamin Taylor. One is in Pennsylvania and the other in Florida. I've just spoken to both of them. They knew of each other and said that they would most certainly know if there was a third priest named Benjamin Taylor anywhere. I then called the local Catholic diocese. They are very protective of their information but also very interested in helping out when someone is falsely claiming to be a priest. There is no one of that name associated with The Church in California.
"So gang, Father Benjamin Taylor is a fraud."