"Commence dead time." Ryan's words struck fear into everyone's hearts, especially Shaggy. Just a day earlier, when dead time commenced, he'd been attacked and nearly killed. For this round of ghost hunting, Shaggy was placed on tech duty, as the ghost had attacked him previously, with Velma taking his place in the field. Daphne and Fred were still also actively participating, and the couple had not talked to Shaggy since their argument earlier that day.
At technical headquarters, Scooby Doo had flat-out refused to leave Shaggy's side, making a member of PRS take his place. Eilfie was assigned to the task, and she and Velma at least tolerated each other, which at this point, was all anyone could ask for. Through one of the cameras, Shaggy could see Eilfie and Velma wandering the corridors of the fourth floor, Velma inspecting each hanging painting carefully, while Eilfie attempted to contact the spirit.
"If there's someone here, we want to talk to you," Eilfie called out to the darkness cascading down the hall. "Can you show us that you're here? Move something? Touch someone? Say something?" Silence.
Velma was too busy focusing on a hanging picture to notice Eiflie's antics. She paused, taking careful inventory of each detail in the picture. "Eilfie," she paused. "How long has this home been in the Berkshire family?"
"I'm not quite sure, why?" Eilfie turned to face her colleague.
"Because these images were developed in the 1800s. That's far longer than any human could live, and yet- that appears to be Mrs. Berkshire herself." Velma pointed to the left side of the portrait.
Eilfie took a closer look, approaching the picture in an almost cautious manner. "Are you sure that's not a relative?" Eilfie raised her glasses slightly above her eyes, altering her vision. "But they look… Almost…"
"Identical?" Velma finished.
Eilfie was truly stumped. Taking out her portable radio, she spoke hesitantly. "Tech?"
In technical headquarters, Sergey was the first to reach the base-end of the radio. "Go ahead, Elf."
Shaggy and Serg could barely make the woman's voice out over the static. "Ow… ong… Berksh… liv… ere?" How long have the Berkshires lived here?
"Uh… That was never determined." Serg gave the vague answer with guilt, knowing it wouldn't help his teammate in the least bit.
"Come on, Fred." Daphne snapped, pushing him into the wall so she could move by. "We're supposed to be working."
The royal bitching via Daphne had been ringing through Fred's ears for the better part of the hour now. "Daphne just stop. It's not my fault you figured out she had the hots for him!"
Daphne, who had been stalking down the hallway, stopped in her tracks. "Fred Jones, you're the one who was a completely psycho around her!"
"Is it my fault someone's temper matches her hair?" Fred's temper was growing as well. As if they were getting ready to fight, the couple took steps closer and closer, faces only inches apart.
"Is it my fault someone forgot the fucking condom?" Daphne spat, slapping her boyfriend.
Fred was taken aback. "W-what?" He began to stutter incoherently. "You're-"
Daphne opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by a loud crash which seemed to come from the end of the hall. Deciding not to answer her lover, she turned to investigate, leaving a slightly zombified Fred slumped against the wall. Slinking down the corridor, Daphne made sure to peek her head into each room. Every room looked the same to her, bed jutting out from the right wall, a night stand and a dresser. 'Are they all bedrooms?' she thought to herself quietly. After examining what appeared to be close to ten bedrooms, the redhead stopped, looking back on the hall, which to her dismay, appeared to have not gotten any longer than when she had left Fred. She continued, delving farther and farther down the hall, and upon finally reaching the end, found that someone or something had knocked over a lamp. Looking to her left, she saw and heard a door flapping open with the wind, which struck her as odd- because there was no way for any wind to reach the door. Against her better judgment, she left Fred behind, reaching out with a shaking hand, loosely grasping the door knob. Opening it cautiously, she felt her entire body began to shake. "H-he-hello?" She stammered. Unable to see any of the room's contents, she shined the ray of the flashlight directly inside, afraid of what the room contained.
In the room were boxes upon boxes upon boxes. Dozens of them, stacked haphazardly. Perching precariously on the balls of her feet, Daphne crept in, shining the lights everywhere first before walking there. Upon doing so, she found that one box was open, and tip-toed over to investigate. Holding the flashlight with one hand, she felt down in the container, feeling for the first object she could pull up. Seeing that the contents were papers, Daphne picked up the first one, holding the flashlight close to the page so that the ray of light was clear for reading.
Certificate of Death:
Elizabeth Berkshire, age 5.
Born: Oct. 13, 1893
Died: Oct. 13, 1898
Cause of Death: Strangulation
Daphne was taken aback by these findings. The client, Mrs. Berkshire, claimed to have a daughter named Elizabeth, who was attacked by whatever was haunting the house. 'Could it be the same person…´ She pondered to herself. Something else seemed odd to the redhead as well: the date of birth and death. October 13th. 'This little girl died on her birthday.' She folded the document into a small square and inserted it into her front pocket. She then reached into the box for the next document, pulling out yet another death certificate, this time for a Claire Berkshire, who had died seven years after Elizabeth, also on October 13th. Reaching to her back pocket, she scrambled for her radio, beginning to panic.
"Shaggy?" Daphne squeaked, hands shaking.
"Hey Daph, it's Serg." She could barely make out his voice over the static.
"What's Mrs. Berkshire's first name?" Daphne found herself gasping for air, not even remembering the feud she was currently in with Shaggy.
"Like, let's see here… Client information… Claire?"
Daphne let out a short scream, dropping the radio. "Oh my God. Holy Jesus…"
"Daphne, what happened? Is it something I said?"
Not bothering with the radio, Daphne took off running, one death certificate in hand, the other in her pocket. "Freddy!" She screamed. "Freddy! My god Fred, it's real! There's no mask this time!" Her footsteps shook the centuries old mansion as she stampeded down the hall, continuing to shout.
"Shaggy, there's something seriously wrong up there." Serg sounded panicked, moving the microphone away from his mouth.
Though Shaggy was genuinely concerned, he wasn't sure whether to show it due to his anger towards his friends. "Like, what happened?" He gulped, signaling he was worried.
"Daphne lost it, but she wouldn't tell me why. Her radio malfunctioned, and we've lost contact."
Beside Shaggy's feet, Scooby's ears were perked up, and he began to whine. Placing his head on Shaggy's foot, he got to thinking. Realizing a useful tactic, Scooby shot up, shoving his head into his friend's pockets.
"Scooby Doo, what the hell are you doing?" Shaggy asked quizzically, as Scooby shoved his head further into the pocket, and closer to his privates than was comfortable. Scooby opened his jaws and returned for air with Shaggy's cell phone, dropping it on his lap.
"Rall Raphne!" He barked, wagging his tail. Cocking an eyebrow, Shaggy did as he was told, dialing the redhead.
"We're sorry, but your party cannot be reached at this time. Please try again later."
"Roh rap."
"Hold up, did your dog just talk?" Serg's jaw was hanging wide.
"Yeah, he, like, does that." Shaggy advised, getting up from the chair.
"Daphne, it's always someone in a mask. It's just logical."
"Fred, for the love of God, this isn't logical. This is real! It tried to kill Shaggy! And it is the client! We need to get out of here!"
"We?" Fred paused for a moment, grasping Daphne's shoulder. "Daphne, are you pregnant?" Daphne pulled away, continuing to walk down the hall. Fred bolted after her, taking her wrist. "Answer me." He turned her around, placing his hand on her stomach. "Are you carrying my child?"
Moving backwards, Daphne turned, grabbing the camera planted into the crown molding. She ripped it out of the wall, giving it a good toss down the corridor. "Yes, Fred. I am pregnant. With your child." She pushed him away once more, only to be caught by the wrist.
"When were you planning on telling me? Were you going to tell me?" Fred rarely found himself as angry as he was now. Wrenching free of her lover, Daphne backed away slowly. "How long, Daphne?"
Dipping her head, she allowed her headband to fall from her scalp, her fiery locks swallowing her face. "Twelve weeks."
"Three… months?" The blonde shoved the redhead's shirt upwards, exposing her stomach. "You're showing… Jesus Christ."
"Freddy-" she reached out for him, but only managed to grasp his ascot.
"That's my baby in there. Why didn't you tell me? How long have you known?" Fred was beginning to stutter, sliding down the wall.
"I've only known for a few weeks- I had no idea how to break the news."
"I want to keep the baby, Daphne. Please. I might never get the chance again to be a father."
"I don't know, Fred-"
"Daphne! We're Catholic, you can't abort our child!"
"I guess the Pope will have to make an exception!"
"Please. Just… please."