Ch. 19: The Shell of a Man
Right, so this is a bit different to my usual ones, but I really liked writing it. If you like it let me know and I'll do more like it.
"Jughead! Look at me." F.P demanded, clutching the grimy bars. Hesitantly, his son turned, glaring. "Never come back here. You hear me? I never want to see you back here." He gritted through his teeth, holding back tears, watching- for what could be the last time- at his son's ever quizzical expression. Jughead contemplated for a moment, repulsed, or perhaps betrayed? F.P couldn't determine, but finally the boy walked out of his life forever. The low he felt when Gladys and Jellybean left paled in comparison to this; he had purposely quenched the last light in his life. F. P's shoulders heaved, and he desperately clung to the cell bars, bowing his head against the cold metal.
The final conversation echoed around the room, ricocheting off the white-washed walls, reverberating throughout his being. If he was to spend the rest of his limited life as a convict, he should be clinging to the happy memories; not those tormented last few moments. The closest thing to utter blissful happiness he'd experienced recently was the cause of none other than Betty Cooper…
F. P busied himself, glancing at the clock. Jughead was due to be home any moment. His heart swelled at the realisation. When was the last time he'd awaited his son's presence? Their encounters were generally limited, the cause always undesirable. But now, Jughead was willingly back at home, with no excuse other than helping F. P to rebuild their family. As expected, the door burst open, swinging on the hinges; handle denting the frail living room wall.
"DAD!" Jughead called eagerly, dumping his duffle bag on the couch, springing around the trailer in search of his father. F. P grinned at the child-like excitement. Never, in all his years had he seen this side of Jughead. Even as a child, the boy had never expressed immense emotion. In truth, the only time he did so was when venting his anger or discontent. But excitement? That was a foreign concept to the Jones boy. Appearing in the doorway, Jughead beamed at the sight of his dad sitting at the quant table, manuscript in hand. Ignoring the pride that overtook him, Jughead focused on his news.
"Alice Cooper invited us over for dinner the night of Homecoming," he explained in one breath, shoulders sagging after having released the information that had provoked such excitement.
"This Betty girl is special eh?" F. P smirked. Jughead pulled out the chair opposite, eyes closed and incapable of preventing the contagious smile that played on his lips.
"I love her," he explained simply.
Jughead had Betty, he would move on and forget about him. It was best. Knowing that Betty was what his son deserved, F. P should've been happy; should be comforted. But he wasn't. Forsythe was building a life for himself, and F. P would be excluded from the new and improved version. He would never get to witness his son blossom into the author he was destined to be. In years to come, there would be a vacant seat in the front pew of the church, as Jughead would stand nervously at the top of the aisle. What would he tell his children about their grandfather? One false conviction was ultimately erasing him from the picture. But at least Jughead was alive and safe. F. P was hollowed out; a washed-up shell of a man, discarded on the sea shore, while his family was far out at sea. He had had no other option. The ultimatum left him obliged to relent to Clifford Blossom's threat, for there was no doubt that he was currently faring better than the alternative.
Betty Cooper's green, misty eyes bore through his sole. The blonde didn't tear her gaze from him as the coffin was lowered at a torturously slow rate. He couldn't wipe the memory of her clinging to the body as Sheriff Keller arrived on the scene. Now, she needed the comfort of blaming someone, rather than coming to terms with his passing. Her accusations weren't fallacious. Aside from Jughead's murderer, had it not been for F. P's selfish decision, he would still be alive. Roots spurted from the ground, emerging like rattle snakes, curving around his ankles in a vice, running up his legs, cutting off his circulation, ripping through flesh and bone, merging him as nothing more than an elemental part of the world. F. P did nothing to prevent it, holding Betty Cooper's resentful stare as the earth consumed him; moist, grainy soil enveloping him, caking his skin, seeping into his bloodstream. There was no point resisting, instead offering himself to the feeling of nothingness. He deserved to disappear; he had essentially ordered Clifford Blossom to pull the trigger.
Jughead deserved so much more. His whole life had been supressed; an inexcusably absent father, a fleeing mother and a sister destined to be collateral damage. Somehow, he had emerged from the nightmare, growing to be an intelligent boy with immense potential, supportive friends, and a future. There was no question about trying to justify his decision; F.P knew that he couldn't live with himself if he had cut his son's life short. F.P may be rocking back and forth on the cold tiles, consumed by these memories and scenarios, but Jughead was likely sitting in the infamous booth, in the company of Fred's son and Betty. The disgust and disappointment Jughead had unveiled upon his last visit affirmed F. P's suspicions that he would be better off without him. At this rate, he wasn't sure if he wanted anyone to uncover Clifford's secret.
Unbeknownst to the South-side Serpent, Jughead stood in the office of the Sheriff's station, arguing with Kevin's dad.
"He didn't kill Jason! He's innocent!"
"That man has committed nearly enough crimes to amount to murder, he's not getting out of here any time soon." He bit back, trying to intimidate the unrelenting teenager.
"Half of the South side should be rounded up in that case. What are you going to do? Overlook that Clifford is a murderer just because of his status, and keep my father in here because he's 'scum'?" Jughead clutched his fists by his side, holding the older man's firm glare.
"Not tonight." Keller replied with a tone of finality, leaving nothing left to argue or contest. Jughead lingered a few moments longer, in the hope that he would change his mind but to no avail.
Betty waited patiently outside, clutching the thin material of her jacket closer around her, preserving body heat as the temperatures dropped with the rising moon. The door swung shut behind her, and Jughead emerged, posture slouched. He willingly crumpled into her awaiting embrace; explaining nothing, just needing the support. Hooking an arm beneath his shoulder, curving around his torso she led him to Pop's where Veronica and Archie awaited them. While they may have succeeded in proving Jughead's dad's innocence, there was a long way to go to regain the progress that had been lost.
Okaaaaay. The last episode was intense! My poor baby was crying. Broke my heart. But looooved it overall! Anyway, here is what I came up with based off it. If there's anything you want me to develop on from the episode, still send a request and I can always do another one based off it.