PART 6:The Quest Begins
"Well, that was some adventure, wasn't it gang?" asked Fred as he slid into his usual spot in the corner booth at the Malt Shop.
"I'll say," replied Daphne. "Who would have thought that a simple Social Studies assignment like visiting a museum and writing a report about it would turn into such an adventure?"
"Like, I would never have guessed it, man," chimed Shaggy, getting a word in between chugs of his milkshake. "And I bet the rest of the kids in the class didn't have as much fun on this project as we did."
"And," added Velma, "all of us received an A on the assignment for having solved that 'extra' mystery about the meaning of the hieroglyphics carved on that figure." She smiled proudly a she spoke her next line. "How many high school students can claim they made a discovery that baffled even an expert like the professor?"
Fred chuckled. "Not many. But, then again, not many high school students are in the business of solving mysteries like we are!"
"Scooby-Dooby-Doo!" the dog howled, as though echoing the blond man's sentiments, his action inciting a burst of laughter from the four teens.
Fred let the memory of earlier that evening linger in his mind awhile as he stared at the ceiling in his bedroom. The four of them were certainly making names for themselves, solving small cases here and there, but for all their notoriety as detectives, one case still gnawed at the blond boy's conscience. It wasn't a recent case, it wasn't even one of their own, but it was one to which seventeen year old Fred Jones felt a personal connection. Sighing, Fred rolled over in bed and shut his eyes. The image of the teenage Fred and his four companions at the Malt Shop faded slowly, replaced by another image as the blond boy drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
Officer Rogers was working late at the precinct that night, poring over police reports and miscellaneous case files. Ever since his son and the other kids had gotten into the mystery solving "business", Samuel Rogers found himself with more time available to concentrate on cases more important than those involving less-than-reputable adults in Halloween costumes. I gotta give them credit, he thought to himself, for a bunch of kids, they sure have a good track record, perhaps even a better record than some of us here in the department.
"Still here, Rogers?"
Samuel looked up to see the chief-of-police standing behind him, the senior officer's comment catching him slightly off guard. "Huh? Yeah, just going through some old files and stuff."
"You know, your son and his friends have been a big help in solving many of our cases."
"I know, I was just thinking about that. I just wish we could get their help on our most baffling case, you know, the Jones murder."
The chief shook his head. "Look, Rogers, I know how close you are to that family, and that this case probably holds special meaning for you because of that—it's logical. But it's been ten years and we haven't had a single new lead. There's just nothing we can do anymore."
Samuel Rogers lifted his head in an uncharacteristic display of begging. "Look, Chief, can't we keep it open for awhile longer? Just for another month? I promised Frank that we would find whoever did this."
"There haven't been any new leads in the last ten years; why should there be any in the next month?"
Officer Rogers sighed, resigned to his superior's decision. "I guess you're right, Chief." Shaking his head, he closed the dossier, stamped the word 'unsolved' across the front of the folder and placed it in a filing cabinet.
"Mom!" A tiny, blond seven-year-old boy screamed after being separated from his mother in the crowded shopping center parking lot. He craned his neck to see where she had gone, but she was quickly absorbed by crowd, out of sight of the little boy. Around him, faceless, disembodied shopping center patrons rushed past him like spectral figures passing through a wall and showing no concern for the well-being of a terrified child.
"Mom!!" the boy yelled again, but his screams were lost in the crowd, absorbed by the masses of bodies around him. The spectral bodies just seemed to appear out of nowhere, reproducing themselves like splitting amoebas and creating a massive throng of humanity that seemed to have as its sole purpose to separate the boy from his mother.
From somewhere distant, the boy thought he heard a reply. "Freddie! Freddie, where are you?"
The little boy knew the sound immediately and began calling back. "Over here, Mom! Help me!"
The mother apparently did not hear her son's cries, for she continued to call his name. "Freddie! Freddie! Frederick Jones, where are you?"
"I'm here," the boy called back, jumping up and down and gesticulating wildly, but his cries and gestures were futile. The disembodied voice calling his name could not hear his pleas and the phantom throng of humanity just grew ever larger, reproducing itself and increasing the distance between the boy and his mother.
As suddenly as it started, the spectral fission stopped and the faceless crowd parted to either side, revealing a path that would lead the boy to his mother. "Mom!!" the little blond boy called ecstatically, extending his arms and running towards the female figure.
"Freddie!" the woman called, extending her arms towards the boy in a similar gesture.
The blond boy ran as fast as his seven-year-old legs could carry him, but his steps were stymied by something. He seemed to be trapped in slow motion, yet with every step, he got closer to his goal. He could see the woman with her arms outstretched and with renewed vigor, he would quicken his pace, like an exhausted marathon runner within a few yards of the finish line. He could hear her calling him.
"Freddie!"
From out of the crowd stepped a dark clothed figure brandishing a shotgun. The cloaked figure took aim and fired. Strangely, the speed of the bullet seemed unaffected by the slow motion state that surrounded the boy. The bullet struck the woman and knocked her dead on the ground.
"GAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!" Fred Jones sat bolt upright in the dark, his heart beating wildly. It was not the first time he had had the dream, but each successive episode revealed more and more detail. The content of the dreams terrified him more than any of the phony ghosts he and the gang had encountered on their adventures. He knew now that he was the little boy in the dream and that the woman was his mother, but he still could not identify the cloaked shooter and was not quite sure if he wanted to. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he panted, trying to return his pulse and breathing pattern to normal. It's only a dream, he repeated to himself, it's not real, but something at the back of his mind told him that it was very real and that he would someday have to identify the face of the cloaked shooter. Heaving a huge sigh, he dropped back into bed, but lay awake. He feared what he might see if he were to go back to sleep.
Fred trudged sleepily from his last class that afternoon to the after-school football practice, wishing that he could skip it. He had not gone back to sleep after waking up from his nightmare the previous night and had spent most of the day in a half-asleep daze. Approaching the athletic field, he could see and hear the cheer squad practicing their routines. He stopped at the entrance to the field and watched, leaning against the chain-link fence for support. He had seen the cheerleaders practice hundreds of times, but remained fascinated by their graceful, acrobatic moves. His gaze fell upon one girl in particular and he watched intently as her pretty, red hair swayed rhythmically with her every move. Gosh, she's beautiful, he thought to himself. Why hadn't he noticed her beauty before? It was not as though he hadn't had the opportunity to do so. He had known the redheaded girl almost all his life, and whenever the gang was working on a case, he always made a concerted effort to accompany her.
The redheaded girl took a flying leap, gracefully opening and closing her legs in a scissors jump. Fred watched her effortlessly execute the move, the sight of her sending a strange, electric sensation through his body and purging it of all sleepiness. An image was forming in his mind. He imagined himself alone with Daphne on their next case, chivalrously carrying a torch as he escorted her through dark, cavernous passages. He longed to make the image a reality, but just could not work up the nerve to tell her how he felt.
The girls took a momentary break from their practices, and Fred lingered awhile longer by the fence, hoping that the redhead would catch a glimpse of him. She did.
"Hi Freddie," she intoned, cheerfully.
The blond boy's heart began racing. "Uh, hi...uh...Daphne. That was a...really good jump you did...there."
Daphne smiled in response. Very good at reading facial expressions, she recognized the nervousness that Fred was consciously trying to hide, but unconsciously manifesting.
"So, uh, are you and Velma getting together this weekend?" he asked nervously.
The redhead chuckled. "Of course we are. Why wouldn't we? Shaggy already said he's coming..." There was a momentary pause, then she continued, "are you in?"
Fred struggled to find the right words to say, but he was so tired that the words just wouldn't come to him. "Uh...uh..."
"Hey, Jones, move it! You're late!"
Coach Keller's loud admonition interrupted the boy's thought. Snapping back to reality, he blurted, "Yeah, I'll uhm, see you Friday," as he turned his back to Daphne to join the other football players already on the field.
Daphne shrugged. Fred could be so enigmatic at times. But he's so handsome. She lingered awhile to watch Fred, just as he had done for her, before returning to her own practice session.
"I hated to do it as much as I hate to tell you this," Samuel Rogers explained, "but we had no choice but to close the case for lack of leads."
Frank Jones lowered his head in sadness. "I understand," he intoned, softly. "Thank you for your efforts, though."
"If anything new comes up, we'll let you know."
Frank gave a wordless 'thank you,' as Officer Rogers departed.
"What seems to be the problem?" Fred asked, walking down the stairs from his room at the same moment that his father closed the door.
Frank Jones shook his head. "Nothing, Fred. It's nothing."
The boy knew better. "They can't solve the case, can they?" he commented.
"No. They closed it due to lack of leads."
"Well, maybe the gang and I can take over then?" It was more of a request than an inquiry.
Frank didn't miss a beat. "No way, Fred," he replied, emphatically. "It's beyond you guys' abilities."
"But we've solved cases like this before, why would this one be any different?"
"Two reasons, Freddie. One, because it is too dangerous; and two, because you are too emotionally attached to this case to be objective. Even if the police asked you guys to take the case, I wouldn't let you."
"Why not?"
"Because it's a murder case, and people who commit murder can be dangerous. If they catch you meddling in their affairs, you could be their next target, or even Daphne, Velma or Shaggy. The police know their own abilities, and if they think it is right to close the case, then I am going to respect that decision, as difficult as it may be for me."
"I still think that if the gang and I were allowed to investigate a bit, we could uncover some new leads."
Frank Jones stood his ground, speaking more out of parental concern than lack of faith in his son's abilities. "I said 'no,' Frederick. What part of 'no' do you not understand?" The older man's expression grew uncharacteristically stern as he spoke his next words. "You are not getting involved in solving your mother's murder and that is final. I do not want to hear any more about this, understood? And if I find out that you and your friends are getting involved in this, then all of you will be in a lot of trouble. Do I make myself clear?"
Fred nodded in resignation. "Yes, father."
Frank's expression softened a bit. "It's not that I don't trust you, Fred," he explained, "it's that I already lost someone I love, and I don't want to lose you too." Frank hugged his son, even though he knew that at age seventeen, Fred disliked receiving open affection from his father. "By the way," the elder Jones added on a lighter note, "Daphne called. She wants to know if she should expect you to join her and the gang at the beach this Friday night."
The crowd of spectral figures parted, revealing a path that would lead the boy to his mother. He began running towards her in slow motion, cursing himself for his lack of speed on his short legs. The sound of a gun firing broke the silence.
The blond boy screamed. "Mom!!!!!!"
He rushed towards the woman's lifeless body, both in an attempt to rescue her and in an attempt to confront the attacker. Holding his mother's dead body, he bravely turned his head to face the killer. He could hear the attacker cackling evilly. "Nice try, Frederick, but you're too late."
The blond boy looked up, only to see to his horror that the black cloaked figure had no face, yet, it knew his name.
"You're too late, too late!" it taunted, punctuating its heartless comments with evil cackles. "Too late! Too late! Too late!"
Suddenly, the figure threw back its dark hood, revealing its face. It was a face the blond boy knew well. It was the face of someone the blond boy had trusted. The little boy screamed in terror at the revelation. "Noooooooooooh!"
The last sound of the little boy's scream corresponded with a gasp from seventeen year old Fred. Panting wildly, he looked around his room, as though verifying that the hooded figure was only a figment of his imagination. There has got to be a reason why I am having these dreams, he thought to himself as his rational mind slowly returned, Velma would know; what would she say? He thought for a moment about the images in the dream—each was imbued with some sort of meaning, but the one which rang in his mind more than any of them was that of the little boy confronting the hooded criminal. Fred had already identified that he was the little, blond boy, but until that moment, he did not know exactly why he was seeing himself in such a predicament. Now he knew. It was as if little Freddie Jones was imploring his seventeen-year old, Mystery Inc. counterpart to solve the mystery of their mother's death. Fred lay awake for a few moments, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. I know Dad told me not to get involved, he mused to himself, but I have to. His mind began slowly forming a plan for how to proceed with solving the case without letting his father, or the others, know what he was doing. Satisfied with his assessment, he fell back to sleep. It was the first restful night's sleep he had gotten in a long time.
The final class bell rang on a bright, autumn afternoon as throngs of high schoolers poured out of the buildings and into the parking lot where they clamored into their cars and drove away for the weekend. As he had done since his freshman year, he stood by his locker and waited for the rest of the gang to meet him.
The redhead was the first to arrive. "Hi, Freddie!" she intoned, cheerfully. She planted an unexpected peck on the blond boy's cheek, catching him by surprise and sending a rush of emotions through his body.
"Uh, what was that for...Daphne?" he stuttered.
The redhead giggled. "No reason. I just felt like it." She giggled again, her actions unknowingly observed by Shaggy and Velma, both of whom knew that there was more to Daphne's motives than just 'I felt like it.' For months now, the redhead had been revealing to Velma her secret crush on the blond boy, and unbeknownst to them both, Shaggy had been having similar conversations with Fred. Maybe now, they both thought, Fred and Daph will finally say something to each other.
"So, like, you gonna join us for that beach party tonight, Fred?" queried Shaggy.
"Uh, yeah," Fred replied, still reeling from Daphne' sudden display of affection, "but can I, drop by and pick you guys up later this evening rather than just going straight from school? Dad wants me to come home to help him around the house with a few things."
"That's cool," the skinny boy replied, "can you still give us rides home?"
"Get in, gang," Fred gestured, "the sooner I get back home to finish what I have to do, the sooner I can pick you guys up."
Daphne was the last to be dropped off that afternoon; Fred had planned it deliberately that way. "I wish you didn't have that commitment with your Dad," said Daphne, somewhat dejected, "we won't have as much time together as we usually do." She looked Fred straight in the eyes as she spoke those words, her grey eyes sparkling flirtatiously.
Fred's mind reeled for a few moments. Should he tell her the truth about why he wanted the extra time after school? He flashed back briefly to the day of his mother's funeral, remembering how the little redhead had come up to him, taken his hands and apologized for his loss. If anyone would understand his motives, she would, but he knew that if he told Daphne, she might tell Velma who would then tell Shaggy and then the whole gang would become involved in what was Fred's personal case. No, he reasoned, don't tell her the truth. At least, not yet. "I...I know, Daph," he replied, "I wish I could have more time with you guys too, but this is just something I have to do."
The redhead's shoulders slumped in defeat. "But I promise I will try to finish as quickly as I can, okay?"
Daphne looked at the blond boy. "Promise?" she asked, taking his hands.
Fred nodded. "I promise."
She gave him another gentle peck on the cheek before turning to leave. "There's one more in it for you if you keep that promise."
Fred grinned, broadly. I will.
He waited until Daphne was inside her house before climbing back into the driver's seat and easing the van away from the curb, pointing it in the direction of the Coolsville library.
It was less than two hours before closing time, but Fred decided that he wouldn't need that much time. Pushing open the heavy oak doors, he walked straight to the reference desk in the center of the room.
"Can I help you?" a middle-aged, white haired librarian asked.
"Uh, yeah. I need to find some newspapers from about 10 years ago."
Fred followed the librarian into the basement reference room; she led him into a large, locked room piled wall to wall with newspapers and magazines. "I can't promise you anything, as we don't usually keep periodicals for more than ten years, but hopefully you will find what you are looking for among these."
Fred thanked the woman and began his journey back in time, keeping a constant eye on both his watch and the clock on the wall. I'm not going to stay here for more than two hours, he told himself. He had a date with the gang that afternoon, and he didn't want to be late for it, especially after what Daphne had said to him.