Settle down with me
And I'll be your safety
You'll be my lady.
I was made to keep your body warm
But I'm cold as the wind blows
So hold me in your arms.
4 » archie andrews
As the impending darkness fades in the skylight, Betty and I expedite on what could possibly an extremely calamitous journey tonight. While my attention focuses primarily on the Black Hood and his intentions, I can't hide that my fear builds up as I worry about Betty's safety. I need to protect her, and I'm just glad that I could be here to ensure her safety. I can't imagine what would happen if she didn't confide into me when these anonymous calls started bombarding her phone. What would she do? Would she roam on these whereabouts independently? Though Betty's strong and capable of caring for herself, I would never forgive myself if one day, I received a phone call telling me my best friend was hurt, or even worse, murdered.
At the sight of the Sisters of Quiet Mercy home, my eyes take shutter and I must calm myself before heading down. Betty makes the first move, opening the door and I must run to catch up with her heels clanking. It probably wasn't the best idea for her to wear boots with heels while we could possibly have to run either towards or away from the Black Hood. But her outfit came together perfectly, and so did everything about her entire stature. As always.
Speaking to one of the head nuns, Betty questions, intensively, "Did he suffer from survivor's guilt?"
Turns out Mr. Svenson actually had a troubled past while at the group home. His family was murdered at a young age, and as a child, he falsely accused a man of killing them all. As a result, a group of individuals executed the suspect, only to find out Mr. Svenson was mistaken. All this newly acquired information came flowing out of the sister's mouth like a canary, that is after Betty had threatened to reveal the hideous truths that her sister experienced first hand while staying here.
"Was there anyone specifically accused of carrying out the murder?" asks Betty, and apart of me is truly impressed with her ability to hold control in times like this.
"A group of men and women, I don't remember much of their exact names, but one woman had distinct white hair," She adds.
Betty and I exchange a glance, and we connect exactly who she's speaking of. Nana Rose Blossom.
Next thing we knew, we're outside of the the Blossom residence, ringing the doorbell until an unimpressed Cheryl winds up opening the door. She rudely acknowledges our presence, then goes on to invite us in with her attempt at a sweet voice. But she's really not fooling anyone.
Showing us to Nana Blossom, who sits creepily in a cushiony chair, Betty once again takes the lead with the questions. She asks Nana if she was there during the execution of the Riverdale Reaper, and the answer was a solemn no. Nana explains that the men of the group did the dirty and gruesome work.
"Where was he hung?" adds Betty, who is now practically on her knees pleading for viable information.
"Polly, dear, he was not hung. He was buried alive," she continues, "Ask your grandfather. It was just underneath the devil's hand."
But Betty's grandfather has already passed. I worryingly place my hand on her back, pulling her a bit away from the creepy, though helpful, woman. As Betty stands, Nana Blossom asks Cheryl to help bring her upstairs. Cheryl snarls at us for inspiring Nana to suddenly become ill, and so Betty and I leave the house.
Once we recollect everything Nana Blossom just shared with us, Betty begins to panic ruthlessly, obtusely expressing her guilt and stress.
"What if this is why he picked me? The Black Hood—that's why he's been calling me, revenge for for something I didn't even do!" She raises her voice, excessively shedding tears while she loses it.
To stop her, I immediately catch her hands in mind, holding them in a duct but gentle form. Ultimately, Betty pauses from her ongoing babbling, an apparent look of shock seeping through her face.
"Betty, Betty listen to me! This is the part where we end this, where we save Mr. Svenson and stop the Black Hood, tonight, but I need you with me. I can't do this alone."
Though I'm trying my absolute best to comfort her and reassure that this is not her fault, my eyes guiltily scan her beguiling lips. My words muffle as I continue to speak, and I could tell that when her eyes drift towards my mouth, the feelings of intensity and intimacy is reciprocated.
"Tomorrow we're going to wake up and everything will go back to how it was, but right now I need you with me. I need Betty Cooper."
Then, Betty shockingly moves, at the sound of my name, "Arch..."
She leans forward, our hands still intertwined in a tight knot, kissing me softly. Once our mouths collide, I quickly respond and kiss back. Nothing occupies my mind besides the burning and pleasing sensation that comes from our lips interacting. Nothing feels better and works as a perfect balm then the tensity of Betty's lips on my own. Her lips are soothing, they're as soft as honey, and I can taste the remaining flavor of strawberry gloss on the tip of my tongue. I could feel her dried tears on the side of her cheek, and just about as I try to dwell into the kiss, she leans away; but as if by impulse, I lean a bit forward. My eyes flicker open when I see the look of absolute disgust and regret. Like myself, she's shocked, and she quickly says we have to hurry to distract from the situation.
I sigh, aggressively taking the seatbelt strand while she drives away. What was I thinking? I should have pushed her away knowing she wouldn't like the output. I can't hide that I enjoyed the moment, and I even wanted to further savor it. But I don't deserve her, Betty Cooper is far too perfect beyond me and my stupidity. She's too good for me, and I know from her expression that she's not in love with me, she loves Jughead.
Back at her house, Mrs. Cooper is no longer in the kitchen baking up or decorating cookies. The fireplace radiates warmth in the room, the orange flames reflecting the color of autumn leaves sways besides against the yellower fire. Betty brings an album book, which I suppose has the photo of the "Devil's Hand" that Nana Blossom described to us.
And once she turns through the pages, there's a group of people, like we'd expect.
"That's at Pickens Park," I add, and Betty stands to grab her coat and well, I guess we're going. Before heading out she grabs a few flashlights, her hands signaling to come along.
Betty instructs, "Call Sheriff Keller to meet us there." And I do as she says.
Roaming through Pickens Park, Betty hands me a flashlight to observe the grass for anything signaling any sign of Mr. Svenson. As much as we truly hope to see him tied up, easy to be freed, I doubt that's going to be the situation. And I turn out right. There's a tombstone in the grass, labeled "Here Lies Joseph Conway" with a shovel hanging on the side of it. I take the shovel and begin to dig quickly, hoping to save Mr. Svenson from being buried alive. After finally feeling a wooden box at the end of the silver shovel, Betty helps me open it up. A bit worried of what to see, I'm fearful when I realize the coffin carries absolutely nothing.
Exchanging confused glances with her, I ask, "Why would he bury an empty—"
So distracted by the holes of the situation, I fail to notice a man approach us. He's dressed in all black, wearing a ski mask, and now holding Betty and I at gunpoint. "Get in the coffin," his deep voice disgustingly groans.
"No, no way," I reply, shaking my head. My heart's beating fast, and I'm far too nervous to be in the right of mind.
But what I do know, even with all the imploding stress flying by me, when he says the words, "Get in the coffin or I shoot her in the head" while pointing the gun to Betty, is that I must listen. There's no way she's getting hurt tonight.
Slowly, I give her a tense look, possibly the last I may ever give her if I suffocate, or worse, she gets killed. The thought pains me and I begin to think back on our time together, and how I never really got to tell her what I need to say.
A tear falls from her cheek as she's forced to close the coffin on me. By command, she begins plastering soil on top, and through the small crevices of the not so sturdy wooden box, dirt falls to shoot me in the face a bit. Closing my eyes, I try to think of things to distract me, places, people and things that make me happy. All to get away from the fact that I may actually be getting buried alive.
My eyes are still closed, my mind still staggering, and then I hear police sirens. Soon after, a clink of a shovel rings in my ears. Not Betty, I think, please.
I don't even have time to process much after when my heart is relieved at the sight of a blonde haired teenager offering me a hand out of the coffin. As soon as she pulls me up, I grab the gun I notice dropped on the grass, and we both start running towards the police sirens and the masked man.
Intuitively, I know I must catch this guy. He's not getting away after what he's done to all the people I care about, and so my feet begin sprinting excessively, even surpassing Betty who had a head start. I point the gun, and my heart pounds and it's scary because I don't want to shoot him as much as I say I do.
His leg hovered over the bridge, I shout at him to stop. "STOP!"
And then I close my eyes, feeling crinkles appear as my fingers pulls and releases the trigger. When I open them, I wish to see sun, the days where I used to be happy. I wish to see myself smiling gleefully, with my dad, with Betty, with Jughead, with Veronica. But the harsh reality takes over as I see the Black Hood's apparent corpse lying on the ground. Sheriff Keller approaches from behind, pointing a gun, and I wonder, did I shoot him? Or did he? And for some reason, I couldn't live with either.
All the rest of the night leaves hazy memories, and all this I have to think about just from today causes me enough stress. I turn to Betty, who's standing and even shaking a bit. She goes to hug me and I throw my hands around her waist too, allowing me to accept her warmth, her comfort, and her homely feel that, for once, I believe I actually deserve.
