With a sigh of relief, Jughead pulled the last tarp off of the couch and stood back to survey the room proudly. It had been hard work, sure, but with the walls freshly painted, the small house his father had bought looked a thousand times brighter and more inviting.
Folding up the canvas, Jughead shook his head in disbelief. It was amazing to consider he'd completed this task in less than a week's time, but he and—
Jughead paused, frowning. He'd been about to think that someone else had stepped in and been a huge contribution in helping him fix up the house, but it had just been him. His dad helped out sometimes, but work prevented him from being able to give that much of an effort.
Still, it nagged at Jughead as he surveyed the room. He really didn't think he had painted the entire home on his own, but apparently he had.
Running his hand through his russet red hair, Archie winced as he contemplated the red marks dotting his English paper. True, he could have made more of an effort, but between football season and practice with Josie, he'd felt proud of himself for completing the assignment at all when he'd handed it in. And with Betty devoting more and more time to the River Vixens, Jughead preoccupied with fixing his new house, and—
Huh. Archie had been thinking there was a third person in their group who usually helped him with his papers, and, like Betty and Jughead, had been doing so for years. But Veronica was still too recent of an addition to their group for Archie to feel comfortable going to help for with his schoolwork.
And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was a third person who regularly tutored him. But there wasn't. He was certain it was only Betty and Jughead.
Weird. He shook his head, setting his paper aside. It must just have been the stress of his busy schedule getting to him.
The first time Betty sensed something was wrong was when she was at school, enjoying a lunch outside with her friends and boyfriend. It was perfect late September weather, sunny but with a slight breeze, and all of them were laughing, though when she looked back, Betty wouldn't be able to remember the joke.
And just as contentment was settling over her, as she sat holding her boyfriend's hand and smiled as him and her two best friends, her happiness vanished, replaced by an strange chafing, a notion that simply just wouldn't leave her alone. Something was missing . Something was wrong .
Accustomed to studying individuals and their reactions, Jughead noticed her disquiet and asked her about it when the bell rang to signal their return to class.
"You okay?" He kept his voice low, and Archie and Veronica, conversing amongst themselves, didn't notice the question.
"Fine." Betty tried to give him a smile, but couldn't ignore the feeling that she was forgetting something terribly important.
But the first time Betty actually realized something was wrong was when she was out at Sweetwater River later the next week, gathering water samples for a biology project.
She was stooping down on the sandy bank of the river, dipping the vials in just enough to catch the water, trying to avoid getting her hands wet. While it was only the beginning of October, the evenings were becoming chilly, and there was already a strong wind blowing, rustling the leaves and bringing a few to drift down from their branches.
Another gust of wind was starting when she first heard the call.
Betty.
For a moment, she wasn't sure she heard correctly, and she sat back on her heels, looking around. No one else was in sight, and though she waited for several moments for someone to appear from the cluster of trees around her, there was no sign anyone else was there.
Puzzled, Betty frowned, listening intently. Had it just been the breeze rattling through the trees? The burble of the river? She could have sworn someone was calling her name.
Shrugging, she returned to capping her water samples. Must have been her imagination.
Betty.
Glancing up sharply from her work, she tried to determine where the voice was coming from. She swept her gaze around the riverbank, and for a heart-stopping moment, she was positive she saw a figure standing on the opposite side of the river, on the Greendale shore, its gaze fixed on her.
The blood in her veins turned to ice and her mouth went dry as she realized she was being watched, and adrenaline began coursing through her as she tried to determine her next move.
But by the time she blinked, the figure was gone.
It was her imagination, Betty tried to tell herself. No one was watching her. In the lengthening shadows of fall evening, her eyes were playing tricks on her.
But she still hastily packed her materials into her backpack, hands trembling all the while. She hurried away from the river, glancing over her shoulder until she reached the car she shared with Polly and drove home.
That night Betty dreamed of two strangers.
In her dream, she was sitting on a picnic blanket with someone she did not know, but seemed familiar to her all the same. She was comfortable with this person and she laughed with them as they sat together on a picnic blanket on the lush grass of a sunny field. The sun's warmth felt wonderful on her face and back.
Two more people approached them, descending winding stone stairs that were heavily shadowed by a line of trees. One of them was Jughead, and the other was another person she didn't recognize, but still was happy to see. She waved, welcoming them, and as they joined them on the picnic blanket, she felt full of happiness and contentment.
She awoke with the last remnants of the dream fresh in her mind and lay awake for a time, trying to puzzle out the meaning. Who were those people? Why did she think she knew them?
The questions and images left her thoroughly disoriented the next morning as she stumbled around trying to prepare for school but only causing chaos. She spilled orange juice all over her outfit and had to run upstairs to change, missing breakfast, and just as she and Polly were about to head out the door, she remembered the stack of library books from her history report that were due back at school that very day.
"I'll be right out!" She promised Polly, dashing back inside the house to the bemusement of their parents, who were still lingering over coffee. "Go and start the car."
Polly groaned in frustration. "I swear, Betty, if you're not in the car in thirty seconds, I'm driving to school without you!"
But it was an empty threat, and they all knew it: Polly would never bail on her; they were sisters and best friends and thoroughly loyal to each other.
Betty grabbed the pile of books from her desk with only the most cursory glance and flew back to car, collapsing into the passenger seat. During the drive she took the time to sort through the stack, determining which books went back to the school and which ones belonged to the public library. She was flummoxed, though, to come across a book that didn't appear to belong to either one, and checking the inside cover, found only a partially distinguishable name. The ink from the marker had blurred, rendering the first name an illegible smear, but the last name was clear as day: Keller.
Blinking, Betty tried to determine where the book had come from. She took a moment to flip through the pages of the book, which was titled Chancellorsville and denoted as the fourth book of The Civil War Battle Series. With notes in its margins and dog ears on certain pages that she absolutely did not leave, it was clear that whoever the book belonged to was an avid history enthusiast.
And yet, the only Keller Betty knew was Sheriff Keller. At no point he had lent a book to her, she was sure of it—she really didn't know him all that well, and besides, they didn't frequent the same circles given their differences in age.
Still, if it was his book, then she had to return it to him.
Stuffing the book in her backpack, Betty decided she would stop by the sheriff's station after cheerleading practice, before she went to Pop's for her date with Jughead.
