Chapter 3: These are Trying Times

"Oh, man, like what a pad!" exclaimed Shaggy as he drove the van onto the campground premises. A number of late model trailers and VW vans formed a semi-circle around the site, effectively separating the encampment from the rest of the park.

"It has all the comforts of home," announced Benji, "without the discomforts and inconveniences that usually come with living in a home, I might add."

Shaggy surveyed the area, wide-eyed "Oh man, this is great! Like it already has a barbecue grill and picnic tables, just perfect for hosting a buffet that serves all my favorites—hamburgers marinated in chocolate syrup, sardine and marshmallow sandwiches, chocolate chicken casserole, with barbecued chicken, I might add…"

Scooby licked his lips. "Mmm mmm. Relicious!"

Shaggy parked the van beside a large redwood tree. "Hey everyone," Benji announced as he climbed out of the van. "I'd like you to meet "Shaggy" Rogers and his dog, Scooby-Doo. Shag's an old friend of mine, and he'll be staying with us for awhile."

Benji turned to Shaggy. "Feel free to look around," he said, "this is your place now."

"Like, thanks, man." Shaggy turned and glanced briefly at his dog. "Well Scoob, like, this is our new home. What'dya think, ol' buddy?"

Scooby took a few exploratory sniffs at the air. "Ri rike it," he concluded, "rots of rees." He took another few sniffs, but ended with a questioning yip. A strange scent had reached his nose, one distinct from the salty air and ambient trees. He took another sniff, this time, deeper; the acrid odor turned his face turned green with nausea. "Ryech," he intoned, sticking out his tongue and clutching his stomach with his forepaws.

"Like, what's wrong with you, Scooby-Doo?" Shaggy asked, concerned.

"Romething rells runny."

The pair turned in the direction of the smoke. A wild looking man with stringy, gray hair and bloodshot eyes sat on a tree stump; a curtain of smoke emanating from his marijuana joint enveloped him in a thin haze. The man was strumming a guitar and singing an off key rendition of "The House of the Rising Sun;" he stopped singing only long enough to take a puff on the marijuana cigarette that he clenched in his teeth. Resuming his singing, his voice cracked on a high note, startling Shaggy and Scooby.

"Zoinks!" Shaggy shrieked, jumping backwards, "like, who's that?"

Benji looked at his craven companion. "Relax, Shag. That's just Savage Jack."

"Ravage Rack?" echoed Scooby.

"No, Savage Jack. He's been here longer than any of us—34 years, to be exact—but he's sort of an outsider. He lives in his own little world, half the time he's so whacked out that he doesn't even know what year it is." Benji laughed as he made his next comment. "He still thinks it's the summer of 1968."

Aware that he was being watched, Jack put down his guitar and approached Shaggy. Scooby uttered a low growl, raising his lip just enough to reveal a few teeth. "And who are you?' he asked, in an affected, raspy voice.

"That's Shaggy," Benji replied, monotonously, in an unsuccessful attempt to brush off the drug influenced man. "He'll be staying with us for awhile."

"Pleased," said Jack, then returned to his joint and guitar. "There's a house out in New Orleans, they call the Rising Sun…"

More than happy to leave the crazy man alone, Shaggy and Scooby walked back to the van. "Like, what was with the teeth, man?" Shaggy asked his dog.

Scooby growled softly. "R'I don't rike r'him."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Taking a much needed break from her work, Velma allowed her eyes to drift towards the photo perched atop her computer monitor, a photo of herself surrounded by her now ex-cohorts from Mystery Inc. Somehow, the very act of seeing her teenaged self had a calming effect on her frayed nerves. Those were the days, she sighed to herself, as she drifted slowly into a nostalgic reverie, recalling the many adventures she had shared with her friends.

"Ms. Dinkley?"

The sound of a formal address abruptly roused the young woman from her nostalgic daydream. "Doctor Harrison," Velma exclaimed, caught of guard by her supervisor's unexpected appearance.

"Ms. Dinkley, may I have a word with you? In private?"

Velma slowly lifted herself out of her chair and turned to face the older man.

"Ms. Dinkley, you have been doing exceptional work here for the past four months."

"Thank you, sir," the young woman replied.

"For one so young, you are extremely insightful and intellectually gifted. You take great pride in your work--and rightfully so—it is rare that we find people like yourself in this company."

The bespectacled girl nodded, pleased by all the accolades she was hearing, but not quite certain how to receive them. "Well, Ms. Dinkley," the senior man continued, "we have been awarded the defense department contract, and would like to designate you as the project leader."

"Me?" she asked, both stupefied and elated at once, "jinkies, I…I'm honored."

Dr. Harrison grinned assertively at the young girl. "You were the only one we ever considered for the position; you will begin work on the project tomorrow."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jinkies, what a day, Velma groaned as she trudged up the stairs to her apartment. Whoever thought that being a project leader would be so much work? Lightening the moment, she thought to her self, Fred sure made it look easy. Pausing by the door, she retrieved her mail, then threw it on the kitchen table. Bills…department store sale ads…the latest issue of Popular Science…more bills…Nestled amidst the myriad of junk mail was a small, letter size envelope. The envelope was yellowed, as though it had been exposed to the elements for a long time, yet it was postmarked only a few days earlier. Her whole body trembled with excitement as she caught sight of the postmark: Santa Cruz, California. Eagerly, she tore open the envelope, and read the letter.

Dear Vel, she read. Hey, how are things going at NASA? Scoob and me, we're living the good life out in beautiful Santa Cruz, groovin' to sound of the ocean and just enjoying the sand which is there (get it?). Scoob and me started a business selling pottery made from sand and sea shells. It's nice out here, but, like, I still wish you were here with me. Took this shot a few days ago; the only things missing from my side are you and a giant, chocolate covered sardine and marshmallow sandwich.

Velma smiled as she looked at the enclosed photograph, the lanky man and his dog, both sporting John Lennon style sunglasses and holding their respective fingers and paws in a "peace" sign. Theirs looked to be the epitome of an idyllic lifestyle—no deadlines, no high expectations for large scale projects, no cares, whatsoever—a lifestyle 180 degrees removed from her own.

Well, like, I gotta jam; the gang is calling me. Licks from Scoob and a mouth full of Scooby Snacks from me, Shaggy.

Reaching the end of the letter, the young woman proceeded to reread it, as if in an attempt to get closer to the writer. Shaggy always had a way with words, but those words just didn't come across on paper as well as they did in person. Velma sat down at the kitchen table, preparing to reply, but to her dismay, Shaggy had not provided a return address; disappointed, she put the letter aside and focused her attention on the rest of the mail.

Exhausted from the hard day at work, Velma retired without fixing dinner. As she crawled into bed, she took one final glance at the photograph. "Goodnight, Shag. I'll see you again, someday," she whispered, before turning out the light and drifting off to sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Come and get it!" Shaggy called, standing beside the barbecue. "We have hot dogs, with chocolate dipping sauce, grilled egg plant burgers marinated in jalepeno salsa, and the requisite condiments—chocolate syrup, marshmallow syrup, strawberry syrup and relish."

Benji shot Shaggy a dirty look. "Shaggy," he scolded. "Ever since you arrived here, the only things you've ever cooked are those disgusting meals that only you can stomach. Give us a break, man and cook something normal for a change."

The lanky man shrugged. "Like, this is normal," he objected.

Benji and the others turned their backs to the pair; Shaggy sighed, despondently. "Like, I guess I never realized how good the gang had treated us."

Scooby looked sympathetically at his owner. "Reah, I riss them."

"Yeah, Scoob," echoed shaggy, taking a bite of the eggplant burger. "I miss them too."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Velms, Miss you a lot. When can I see you again? You can come out and we can share time maybe other things too. Time passes on; hope to see you before you fade and we both forget.

Not only had the letters gotten shorter, but they arrived with less frequency, too. Velma's eyes teared as she read the most recent one; there was something very disconcerting about its style. In the past, Shaggy's letters had been written in a manner that resembled his speech pattern; this particular letter, though, did not contain a single "like," a single joke or a single food reference. It was almost as if this letter had been written by someone else, someone who knew nothing about Shaggy's true character.

Even more disquieting was the last line. What did it mean "before you fade and we both forget?" Shaggy? Forget about her? She couldn't imagine it even being possible. Velma read the letter several times, but the rereads only added to the questions in her mind. If Shaggy didn't write that letter, then who did? What happened to Shaggy? Why would he stop writing? The uncertainty surrounding those questions frightened the young woman more than anything else ever did.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Ms. Dinkley—I'd like an update on the progress of the new missile defense shield design."

Velma growled silently to herself. After all the years of hanging around with Fred, she was used to taking orders, but nothing could have prepared her for the rigors of heading such an important project. "Yes, Doctor Harrison, you'll have that in just a minute."

"And you have another design meeting in half an hour, I expect that this one will go a little more smoothly than the last one?"

"Yes, I can assure you, it will."

"Ms. Dinkley…"

Velma screamed silently to herself. Ever since she was a little girl, she had wanted to work in the scientific realm, but she never imagined that the field would entail so many high stress situations. "I need a vacation," she muttered to herself, "maybe then I could approach my work with a much clearer mind." She thought about the prospect for a few minutes, then realized that there was only one place she wanted to go, a place that would be not only be stress free, but would allow her to tackle some of her own personal mysteries as well. Santa Cruz, here I come, she muttered to herself, that is, after I get out if this meeting.