awakening

by green-lights-n-rabbit-holes98

Something is rotten in the town of Riverdale. Sabrina must come to terms with her choices before the odds turn against new. The Uktena, once forgotten by the Serpents, makes a powerful resurgence, led by no other than a descendant of the founding members. And Alice has to decide once and for all - to let the guilt of her past swallow her or to embrace her roots as a witch.

3. Oneirataxia

ALICE

I'm getting weighed down carrying this man through Fox Forest. Even with Hiram taking the other side, it's still heavy and unpleasant. He's muttering nonsense, how we need to get to his hideout, how no one has stepped foot into his house for years until now. The words are floating in my head, but I'm not processing them. More than anything, I'm still in quite a state of shock from who I just met.

The Conways had a third child. Joseph was the only survivor of his family's massacre. He's still in Riverdale, but doing what? Scaring people away from the House of 1000 Corpses? The questions overtake my current thought process as we limp our way further into the woods. I never realized how deep Fox Forest was until now. Snow falls off the branches, splatting onto the ground below. Squirrels chatter, the wind screams. I hope this hideout that Joseph keeps mentioning is closeby. I'm not in the mood to be led into a witch hunter's trap and forced to make a grand escape. Nor do I really want to get lured into being bait for Hal. If Joseph has been working for Hal….

His ankle got rolled from when I flexed my magic onto him. I can't tell how much damage I inflicted by solely staring at his snow boots, but I should still examine it anyway. The wind has picked up, and I'm regretting not putting on warmer clothes or an outer-layer.

Joseph raises a finger to a patch of snow ahead of us. "The hatch is just there. I was worried I'd lose my way with all this snow." I have a vague idea of where he's leading us. I can see footprints leading away from this supposed hatch. "I should be okay to hobble over. I'll open it up for us." Hiram and I don't respond, not really understanding what he means. Joseph insists, "Please. We have to hurry before he returns."

He….hold on. Is Joseph referring to who I think he just referred to? Hiram must be on the same wavelength as me, because he removes his hold of Joseph and asks, "Before who returns?"

Joseph frees himself from my supportive grip, stumbling closer to Hiram. He places his hands on Hiram's shoulders, making me a bit on edge. I'm ready to come at him with another spell, but Joseph clarifies his point, staring us both in the eye.

"The Riverdale Reaper, that's who. He still lurks in these woods." I teeter back on my heels. My lips part, my head throbs, my tattoo itches. So Hal is taking refuge in these woods during his down time. He must have before he ran into me, before I trapped him in the Conways' home. Now I have to question how Joseph made his way to Fox Forest, and what exactly this "hatch" does to avoid Hal like the plague.

Joseph releases from Hiram and begins to hobble towards the footprinted path. Each step is accompanied by a wince he fails to hide. He lowers down onto his knees, scraping away some snow off the top of….a steel circle door. Oh my Satan, he wasn't kidding about this hideout. I send Hiram a look of "What the actual heaven?" with my brows raised and my eyes popping, to which he responds with a sarcastic eye roll. I watch as Joseph yanks at the handle. His age is starting to show, he doesn't have much strength pulling this hatch door open. Part of me wants to go over and help the poor man, maybe even use some She-Ra strength and get the thing open with just a small maneuver of my arm. But I don't, and I'm not sure how a middle-aged mortal would react to a witch pulling a hatch door open with little contact.

He gets it open on his own, he pushes it way over to the other side. He lowers down so he can climb into the open hole in the ground, twisting to grab at the handrails. He grunts, climbing down the rails, "Come. Quickly."

I watch him disappear underground, still half in a daze. Okay, the fact that I had no clue there could be salvageable land underneath Fox Forest says something about my knowledge of this town. How would someone like Joseph Conway learn about this secret? I should go, my curiosity is begging me to fall down that rabbit hole. But what if it's a trap? What if he means to kill us?

I approach the hole and glance down. A staircase goes into pitch-black. A small flicker of a light comes from one side, but it's so faint I wonder if my mind is playing tricks on me. Hiram reaches for my arm and says, "I'll go first. See if this bunker's legitimate." I nod my head, still gathering my thoughts. Hiram twists and contorts his body to get a good hold of the staircase going into the unknown. He looks up at me with a hopeful smile, then he descends. I'm left with the howling wind, the noises of the wild. I'm left out in the open for Hal to grab. What if I don't come out of these woods alive? How would the Joneses go on? How can this town be safe? What would happen to Sabrina?

There's a tap on the railings, spooking me. I gasp and look down. A source of light appears in Hiram's hands. "It's good." he whispers, gesturing for me to join him and Joseph. I have to steady myself for a second, just to ease my nerves. Once I regulate my heartbeat and my breath, I begin to climb down.

The light of the outside world shrinks the farther down I step. This hole is getting claustrophobic, I'm doing my best to not experience a panic attack. I need to breathe. I need to fight the nerve to just climb back out, leave this forest, and go back to town. Hiram is on the other side, he's there in case I fall. Daisies and candles, you're almost there. One step at a time, Alice. Take it one step-

My ankle misses a bar, I almost slip off the damn thing. I can barely grip onto the rails, I can feel myself going backwards. But I don't - Hiram catches me by the waist, blocking my backwards motion with his chest. "Hey….I got you. I've got you. It's okay." My breathing intensifies, I squeeze my eyes shut, letting Hiram lower me down to the ground. His arms snake around my stomach, holding me there. A low-registered melody enters my subconscious. A baby version of Blue, I guess. I wind up resting my arms over his and absorb his warmth. I can feel his fingers make circles across my forearms. It's comforting.

After a few moments, he backs away, leading me by the hand into Joseph's secret corridors. What I lay my eyes upon astonishes me. Candles are lit throughout a circular room, I swear I think it's a sewer pipe. A small table and bed rest on opposite ends of each other both of which are littered with papers, clothes, and scraps of canned food. My gaze wanders over to the makeshift workspace. A corkboard lays against the wall, covered in…..are these police records? Some look like the same information Howard worked with before his death, some look fairly recent. I recognize Tom Keller's handwriting from where I stand. It's a mix of police records, photographs, newspaper articles, all connected by string. I loop a finger around the string and tub gently. It seems like Joseph wants to catch whoever murdered his family, and he's gotten ahold of information regarding what Hal and I did. What Hal is doing currently.

Joseph jumps onto his bed behind me. "Those weren't easy to snag, mind you." He coughs and struggles to get his boots off. I glance over my shoulder as he peels off the boot and corresponding sock from his injured ankle. I exhale, releasing my shoulders. It doesn't look too injured, which is good. He rambles on about the stolen paperwork, "I don't like stealing, I don't like to label myself as a burglar. But they said awful things about my family. Facts that were only proven to be lies. And nobody could still see the truth, not even me. That's why I took it. I wanted to…." He stops, wincing at the pain when he rolls his ankle around. I watch the limb go clockwise, counterclockwise, over and over. Does the man own a single ice pack to use? Or another pillow to leverage it upright?

"Hey, you're going to make the pain worse." I bark at him, my voice ceasing his ticky movements. I bring a chair from the desk and plop it down in front of the bed. I sit down, hesitating to reach out and grab this man's ankle. Could he go after me for injuring him? Would this act of kindness risk my job, my reputation, my relationship with Sabrina? No good deed goes unpunished, but I don't believe one samaritan act would kill anyone.

"Stay still for me, okay?" I ask calmly. Joseph swallows a lump in his throat and nods. I only hope that he doesn't jerk at what I'm about to do. I place one hand on his shin, the other at the bone of the ankle. My thumb rests in between, pressing down onto the flesh. I can feel Hiram's eyes judging me from behind, but I can't focus on how….weird this is. I get it, why are we helping a stranger who spooked me? But this is Joseph Conway, for hell's sake. He may be the one chance we have at understanding why Hal killed those people and covered it up. I'd rather take the blind shot then let the man die without getting an answer.

I wedge my thumb into his flesh, making it appear like I'm massaging the area. In reality, I'm speaking the healing spell to my head and allowing the magic to radiate out of my hands. Electricity pulses in my fingertips. I feel the wounded muscle underneath the flesh mend together once more. The raw bone stops its friction, it aligns back with the rest of the leg and foot.

I release my hold on Joseph, my work completed. He glances down at his ankle and runs a hand across the healed section. "How did you…" He mutters, but immediately shuts up. Good. I really don't need the unnecessary questions that require an immediate memory removal. He pulls back on his sock, this time not wincing at any pain. "You're a kind lady."

The words hit me funny. A complete stranger I just met sees me as….kind? Something builds in my throat, I cough and don't say a word back. I glance around the room again. Since I don't have the gall to thank Joseph for the act of gratitude, I decide to get into why we really came here. "How long have you been living underground, Joseph?"

"Long time, miss." I watch Joseph swing his legs off the bed, he looks like a little kid. Like the same little boy in that photograph. He's about to speak, so I motion for Hiram to pull over another chair and join me. We wait for Hiram to settle down before Joseph gets into the meat of his history. I ask why he chose the bunker, and he explains, "Noise disturbs me. I hear whispers constantly from everyone around me. Especially the whispers of that…..Reaper. I think he still wants me dead. I feared growing up that he would come back for me, that he would finish what he started with my family. I hear the whispers of my family too, asking why I didn't save them. It hurts to hear Susie and Tommy's voices…." He pauses for a moment, his eyes misting at the memory of his siblings. His breath picks up, his teeth grind together. His finger interlace on his lap, I notice his thumbs tapping away at his knuckles. He glances down at the floor before he can pick up from where he left off. "That's why I've taken refuge in this land below. It blocks out the nasty words. The constant guilt." He goes silent again, only making noise to clear his throat. I'm trying hard to keep a neutral face, to not show any emotion. But what Joseph just admitted hits too close to home. His reason for running matches the reason I fled. It was all that guilt tormenting me and keeping me from sleeping at night, even before I bound Hal to that house. I could hear them….Darryl, the football players, Hermione. Their voices were whispers, but they came to me as screams, always with the same message.

You killed us, not him. You are to blame.

The next thing I know, my palms are stinging. I must have fazed out, because my nails have found a home in my raw flesh, causing them to break the skin. Before I have time to react, Hiram rests his hand over my own, turning it over so my palm is up in the air. He pries my nails from their fearful grip and weaves his fingers in between mine. My heart is heavy, my face is red. I need to get my act together. I can't break my cover just yet.

Hiram takes over as the role of interviewer. "What happened that night, Joseph? Are you willing to explain it to us? As best as you can remember?" Joseph brings a hand to his mouth to wipe away some dribbling saliva from his chin. He drums his fist down onto his knees and hums. He stays like this for some time. Is he deliberately avoiding the question all together? Is he thinking? What is going on in this man's mind? I'm tempted to draw the words out of his brain with a spell, tugging at them like a stubborn strand of yarn. It feels like hours just sitting there, waiting for Joseph to spit out the truth. I'm getting impatient, and rather cold, and I just want to grab our research, head back to the trailer park, and check in on Sabrina. My patience dwindles away with each second passing.

Minutes pass, and Joseph's raspy, broken voice fills the room. "It was in November. I had trouble sleeping, only because I could hear my parents arguing. Susie and Tommy shrugged it off, but I could tell something wasn't right. I had the bed closest to the window, so when I turned my head to get some shut eye…." he takes a second to breathe deeply, "I saw him. He wielded a big rifle, he zoomed down the street. It spooked me, I really thought it was the Boogeyman. So I sat there and prayed that it was just one of those obnoxious teenagers running around. It got real quiet in the house. Then he knocked on the door. Before I knew it….." He stops again, the mist in his eyes turn wet. He lifts his hands and mimics a shooting. "Bang. BANG." I jump in my seat, I squeeze Hiram's hand. A faint whisper in his voice tells me to stay calm, that it's going to be alright. I swear, it sounds like Hiram really is speaking to me.

Joseph's hands bounce on his lap. "Susie and Tommy freak out. They want to run downstairs to check on Mom and Dad. But I froze. I could hear the footsteps, booming their way towards the three of us. I panicked, I wanted to go to the closet, but I knew I couldn't get there fast enough. He was getting closer, and I was running out of options. So I hid under my bed. I stayed down there not saying a peep, holding a hand over my mouth and nose to not breathe so loud…..I couldn't even scream when I saw Susie and Tommy get gunned down. I saw the life leave their eyes. The blood…." His voice gives out. He stares blankly over our heads, caught in the painful memory. His hands go to his mouth, he doesn't want us to hear him sob. All that remorse, all those years of carrying that burden, it's broken him. It's made him ashamed for being the one to survive.

He chokes out, "I never crawled out until the police showed up. I lost track of the time. It must have been an hour after the Reaper came and gone. The cops had to drag me out from my sanctuary to get me to the station. It was only when I got into the cop car that I cried. I never called for help. Never moved an inch to go somewhere safe. I was a coward. I let Mom and Dad, and Susie and Tommy down."

"Joseph, you were a child. You didn't know better. You couldn't stop a serial killer." Hiram reasons with him. But I'm starting to pick up something about Joseph's appearance. He traded the crying for determination.

"It's not that. It's not because I left them to die. It's….it's that I…." He's eyeing an area of the wall behind us. His hands shake when he leaps off the bed. He stumbles in our direction, making me lean back in my seat, and he lifts a finger. I don't know if he's pointing at me or Hiram, but I notice the finger is higher in the air. It designates a particular area of the room. I rotate my head to the research board. My thoughts swirl. What caught his eye? What does he want to admit to us?

"Get that photo, will you?" his voice wobbles.

Hiram stands up, letting go of my hand. "What photo? Joseph, what is this all about?"

"The photo." Joseph stands his ground. "There's a photo of a group. Grab it." Hiram remains in his place, not really getting Joseph's point. I glance around the board silently, then I spot it. My eyes glow. I've seen that photo before…..but where? WHEN?

I rise up and race over to the board. I free the photo from its pintack, being careful not to damage it, and I bring it back to our little circle. Not really paying attention to who is in the photo, I hold it out to Joseph, "Is this it?" He rips it out of my hands. I watch his eyes dance from one side to another, absorbing every detail. Then, he nods. "Who are they?" I wait for his response, but he can't form the words. His lips struggle to open. His teeth stay glued together.

"The witch hunters." My heart stops. I look over at Hiram, and we share a mutual look of concern. I turn back to Joseph just as he twists the photo to face us. My mouth hangs. Right in the center of that group is no one other than Rose Blossom. I take a second to register the faces around her, the part of town they're celebrating their glory. No wonder the photo looks familiar. It's the same photograph JB pointed out from her research.

"They came to speak with me after I was brought to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy." he admits to us. I stand dumbfounded - wasn't the Sisters of Quiet Mercy an insane asylum a few towns over? I never knew it also operated as an orphanage, or maybe I really am starting to lose my memory. I redirect my focus back to Joseph. "They had tracked the Reaper for all his killings, claiming that I was the only survivor of his murders. They probably thought I caught a glimpse of him." He lowers the photo so we can no longer view it. He stands there not saying a word for a solid minute. Now I have to wonder - did he catch a glimpse of Hal? Maybe….but how could he have seen Hal from under that bed? Unless he looked upward….

I never get what I want to say out of my mouth, but luckily, he answers my silent question. "I mean, I did. It wasn't much of a man, but….yeah, I saw the Reaper. At least somewhat of his face."

Hiram lets his jaw drop, matching my own. His teeth chatter. "You saw his face?" Joseph silently nods.

"Please, don't ask me what it looked like. I've let my memory get so warped over the years. All people wanted to do was ask me questions about his face. What distinct features to watch out for. How he walked. The color of his eyes."

My heart skips a beat. The eye color…..that could determine everything.

"One night," Joseph goes on without missing a moment, "this group came to me. They told me they couldn't trust the police to catch the Reaper. That they could be the only ones to bring the town to justice. So they sat me down and quizzed me. It went on for what felt like hours, I lost track of time. My brain fried from all those questions coming at me." And I…." He stutters for a second, then he clamps his mouth shut. His glances up at the curve ceiling, gritting his teeth. He's hiding a crucial detail. If Zelda or Hilda were in my place, they'd have the truth-telling spell rolling off their tongues. The other Church members would be torturing him for answers as we currently speak. Joseph's lucky he's got Hiram and me as a lending ear. He just needs to trust us. We're on his side. We're not Rose Blossom. Or Hal for that matter.

Joseph returns his eyes back to our level, looking more gloomy than when we first laid eyes on him. After a brief period of silence, he owns up, "I had enough, so I just told them what came first into my head. The eyes. Shape of the Reaper's face. Height….from what I was able to see. It seemed to satisfy them, and they went away. I thought it was over, I thought people would leave me alone…." The tears pick up, his weeping echoes through the room. "They caught a man and buried him alive in Pickens Park. A random man, based on my description alone. It was all over the news. I never knew his name. I never met him. And they still killed him….just because I panicked. I put an innocent man to death. I killed him. I killed him…." The story ends, and Joseph sobs. The photo falls out of his hands, the group led by Rose brightly smiling up at us. I bend down to pick it up, feeling my own eyes water. How could they do this? How could Rose Blossom willingly lead such a horrible crime? They didn't even bother to find proper suspects. They never tried to find other options. They got desperate and stupid. All because Rose wanted to make Riverdale her family's way. That's probably why Hal went after the Blossoms.

I hear Joseph collapse onto the bed, but I'm still glaring at this photo. Something's off about it, and I can't tell what. Someone in this photo is giving me a bad vibe, and it's not Rose. It makes my head heavy. It makes the tattoo on my thigh ache. Did Hal go after anyone else in this group?

"You should go." Joseph exaggerates, catching me off guard. He looks down at the photo and points at it. "Take it with you. I don't want to see their faces again. I don't want to be reminded of what happened."

Hiram rolls his eyes. "This is madness." He steps out to Joseph, holding out his hand. "Just come back with us. We can protect you. You shouldn't have to rot in here, regretting every little thing you did wrong." I'm stunned. I don't think I've seen Hiram act so selfless around another person besides me. He's doing it for a stranger. A survivor. Joseph shoves the hand away, becoming more swallowed by the extreme guilt. "Joseph," Hiram sounds more stern, as if he were scolding Veronica, "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

Joseph looks up at me. His gaze softens, very childlike, and the crying stops. He wipes away a tear with the cuff of his sleeve. The corners of his mouth inch upward. He speaks to me, "You're a kind lady. The world needs more people like you." I….I don't know how to respond. I haven't really done anything except heal his ankle. I gave him that injury. Why does he see me as kind?

He glances back and forth between the two of us. "Don't worry about me. I made my bed. You two still got your lives ahead. Now, go. Don't let the Reaper get you on the way out." Then, without another word, he turns his head to the pillow, moving so he can rest his head. I watch his body collapse into the tiny bed. He curls up like a young child. It's like he's forgotten Hiram and I are here. I worry that Hiram may have put a sleep spell on him, but it doesn't look like it. I don't sense any use of external magic. This is Joseph's coping technique. He shuts down and gets quiet. He shuts out the world around him. He lets the demons in his head consume his thoughts. And he won't let anyone pull him out. It's heartbreaking.

"Alice…." Hiram touches my arm, sending a shock through my veins. I see the worrisome glance in his eyes. He's just as confused and as saddened as me. I fear that the longer we stay here, the more we'll get consumed by the tragedy of Joseph's life. And the less time we have to really analyze what Howard found on Hal.

I force myself to breathe, fighting back tears. I mutter to Hiram, "We should go." It's not like I don't want to help Joseph. I do. He lost his whole family. He condemned an innocent man. He had to escape conspiracy theorists, reporters, and ghosts. And I thought my issues were bad.

I don't want to look at any of this anymore, and for whatever reason, that photo is making my tattoo itch. I need to get out of this bunker. So, I turn on my heel and march back over to the ladder. I fold the photo and grip onto it with one hand as I carefully make my way back up to the land of the living.

Sharp, cold air stings my eyeballs when I emerge. My knees go into the snow when I crawl out of the hole, I have to catch my breath from the extreme movement. The photo curls and crinkles in my hand. The cold mitigates the burning of my tattoo but only to a certain degree. Is this photo hexed or something? What is causing this to happen? I hear a grunt behind me, and I whip my head to find Hiram landing in the snow, slamming the bunker door shut. He stares out into the woods blankly. Then, he sits down on top of the metal door, running his hands down his jaw. I crawl over to the bunker door and join him. I have to be careful of my tattoo when I climb up to rest on the door.

I look over at Hiram and sign. "Well, there's something you don't see everyday." That makes him laugh. I nudge him with my elbow to quiet him. I sit up straighter against the cold metal. My tattoo still stings.

Hiram leans his head towards me. "You have the photo?" I hand it to him without a word. He unfolds it and glances at it for some time. "Probably all parents of our classmates, but I can't make out anyone else besides Rose. I can see why Joseph got so intimidated by them, though. They look like they eat nails for breakfast." This time, I'm laughing. This group Rose spent her time with all appear so ferocious. They'd be the type to convert you to their ways of thinking. No wonder witches like Hiram's mother skipped out before it all went to hell. Hiram folds the photo back into quarters and shoves it into the pocket of his overcoat. "We should get back to the house. I don't think it'd be wise for us to sit out here for much longer."

I scoff. "Yeah, no shit. I'm freezing my ass off out here." I have to push myself up using the metal door as support. The leg where my tattoo resides tenses when I put pressure on my foot. I'm trying not to make this sudden uncomfortable notion known to him. Well, he does ask if I'm okay, but I just shrug it off. I nod and tell him I'm fine. I'm not really, but he doesn't need to know that right now. I don't need him, or anyone else in my circle lately, to constantly worry about me. I need to start tending to myself. I start to limp back in the direction from where we came. The house isn't that far….is it? Fox Lane has to just be on the other side of these woods. Okay, maybe I'm acting bitter because I was an idiot who didn't dress warmer. But in my defense, I didn't plan on chasing Joseph Conway into the woods. In the middle of goddamn winter.

My thigh aches the more pressure I put on it. The cold wind bites at my skin. But I keep my focus forward. I need to get back to Fox Lane, grab that shit out of the Conway's House, and dig into Hal's wrongdoings. My teeth chatter. My fingers are beginning to go numb. This sucks. I'm cold. Can I just go back to the warmth of my trailer, or even Pembrooke, to have a nice cup of hot chocolate? Maybe in front of a cozy fireplace like I'm in some cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie? Even with something, or someone….

A heavy fabric drapes over my shoulders. My back is embraced by heat. I only now pick up on Hiram standing next to me. "Here, you need it more than I do." He steps in front of me to adjust the coat on my shoulders. Wow, that's….really nice of him. He's done nice things for me, but….damn, I could hug him right now. What am I saying? What's happening? It's just a coat! Why am I….

"Thanks." I mutter, shutting my brain off for a second. I'm still learning to get used to these kind gestures. A soft grin forms on my face. I feel warmer with this coat on, and with Hiram so close to me. I balance on one foot as I roll out my other ankle. I do the same to the other side to stretch it out. Once I'm finished, I take him by the hand. We head out of the woods and back to the comfort of civilization.

I only hope this isn't the last time I see Joseph.

XXXXXXXX

SABRINA

The architecture of this place astonishes me. It reminds me so eerily of the place where Aunties go for their Church of Night meetings. Except much brighter. And the place isn't filled with devilish ghouls or whispering witches. It's only the elderly getting wheeled around by their nurses, people in white coats muttering prayers to their crosses. The whole act is still foreign to me. I still don't know why I haven't bursted into smoke and flames at the sight of all of this. Everything I grew up with living under Aunties' roof and nonchalantly singing the hymns of the Dark Lord contradicts what I see now. But I guess I'm lucky. These nurses and worshippers see the human side of me, not my witch side.

Ahead of me, Jughead and Joaquin catch each other up on their lives. "You still keeping in touch with the gang?"

"Briefly. Last I heard, Sweet Pea signed on to play basketball for some regional team when he finished college. Dead-ass, I thought he'd drop out, but Sweets stayed determined. Still waiting to see if he can move up to the NBA, but for now, he's active and happy. Fangs started dating some red-head girl and joined some weird church group. The Farm, he calls it. But….how do I say this politely? Hmmm…."

"You think he joined a cult."

"Exactly." Joaquin smirks. He turns to me, "Don't get me wrong, I care about the man. But from the way he described Evelyn….the red-head….and her group, I was getting sketched out. I mean, Kill Bill sirens were going off in my head." Jughead flushes, he chuckles into the sleeve of his flannel. I don't quite get the reference, but I trust Joaquin on his weary caution.

Jughead asks, "What about Toni?"

Joaquin slows his pace, turning back to Jughead. I'm also curious to know. Who's Toni? What happened to….him? Her? Joaquin tilts his head to one side. "You didn't hear, Jones? Toni moved back home to the Southside. She's running her granddad's shop."

"Hold on. You mean that creepy oddities shop near the Wyrm?" My head perks up. An oddity shop? I've heard stories of Aunt Ali obtaining her earlier books and tools from a hole-in-the-wall place on the Southside. Could this be the same place she referred to?

"Not just oddities, Jones." Joaquin faces me again. "Our friend has this family shop where they sell all these crystals and occult items." I grin from ear to ear. Well, it sounds like Jughead and Joaquin may have befriended a witch. Perhaps I can make time before I head back to Greendale to meet this Toni.

"Sounds cool." I comment, to Joaquin's amusement. "What? I'm into….the strange and the unusual." I tell him without giving away too many details. He seems to buy my answer, so I can relax my shoulders. The whole atmosphere of the Sisters is beginning to diminish my outlook on the matter. But this good mood will go away once I lay eyes on Rose Blossom.

We arrive outside a room, a little window beams a ray of light from inside. They have her name written on a dry-erase board. The print is smudged at the edges. No noise comes from inside this room. Is she asleep? Is she…. I'm frightened to think of the possibilities. I'm about to come face to face with a notorious witch-hunter. What would Aunties think if they found out? What controversies will this spark in correlation with my trial?

Jughead tugs at the fabric of my coat. I blink, leaving my fazed out state. I look up at him. "If you wanna stay out here…." he whispers, "I can tackle the interview alone. I don't want to force you into anything you're not comfortable with." A dread builds up in me. My teeth chatter. The hair on my arms raises. The sickness I fought off is creeping back in, I may never recover from what Salem gave me.

But I can't give up on Jughead. I have to do this. For Chuck. For Midge. For Ali.

"I'll go with you." I lift up the corners of my mouth. Like they say, fake it 'til you make it. Baby steps, Sabrina.

Joaquin goes to open the door for us. He tells us to wait for a second. I hear Jughead huff next to me. I raise a brow at him, begging for an explanation. "What are you thinking, Teenage Witch? Will we get Miss Havisham or General Kurtz?" I could laugh. Two literary characters driven mad? Seems very fitting.

I don't get a chance to reply, because Joaquin pokes his head out of the door. He waves for us to come in. Jughead gives my shoulders a gentle shake. "If you need out, let me know." Saliva clumps in my mouth, I have to swallow it down. I bob my head up and down, signaling a yes. Time to go.

One step, then another. The temperature drops as I step into the room. The lights hum above us. Metal bars holding the bed together gleam in the sunlight pouring in from the sole window. A draft breeze enters, weaving its way through my limbs. Across from the bed, in the other corner of the room, a wheelchair sits facing the window. A figure sits in that chair without a word. Gray hair is tied up in a bun. A streak of dark red stands out.

Joaquin wanders over to the figure and kneels down. "Miss Rose?" The figure doesn't respond. He looks back at us with a worried glance. He lifts a finger, he has this under control. He rises up, coming more into the figure's view. "Miss Rose? You have visitors. People who wish to speak with you."

The mannequin comes to life. A plastered, aged face twists in our direction. Her lips stay in a neutral line. Her cheekbones sit high. Her eyes….one is a different color. Almost like glass. Underneath the decaying complexion, a voice is only heard by me. One that has been waiting for this moment to come. Witch.

I gasp at the sight of this woman, at the sound that no one else could hear. I jump back, colliding into Jughead. His mouth hovers over my ear.

"The horror! The horror!" he hisses. I could slap him, even if he was only trying to be funny.

Joaquin places his hand on top of the older woman's wrist. "They're from the newspaper in Riverdale. They just have a few questions they would like to ask you."

Rose Blossom keeps her eyes straight on me. That little voice replays, the one word getting louder at each incantation. It's just the one hallucination, but it sounds like a chorus of angry mobsters demanding for my execution. She blinks in silence, once, twice. The furrowed line from her lips disappears.

"Who?" It's sweeter than I anticipated. It's innocent. I release the air I never realized I held onto. My fists unclench. Maybe she can't pick up on my witchcraft. Maybe old age is starting to get to her.

Joaquin sighs in frustration and repeats his description of us. With Jughead behind me, acting as a shield, I inch closer to the old woman. She's harmless, I have to remind myself. She wouldn't hurt a fly. Maybe she could, all those years ago, but not now. The space between us and her evaporates with each scuffle. Joaquin motions for us to sit down on the bed across from her. The bed creaks when we go down one at a time. I don't know how Rose Blossom can sleep on this thing. It's firm and stiff. I smooth down my pant legs, trying not to make direct eye contact with anyone. My gaze goes to the window. Natural light bleeds in. Whispers scratch at my brain like I'm recovering from a hex. I feel my jaw tighten. Will something horrible happen if I stay in a place so holy for too long?

"You look a bit young to work for the paper." Rose chirps. My heart flies out of my chest. I bring my attention back to those beady little eyes. Well, one normal eye and one so much like glass. I watch her fold her arms over her lap.

Jughead coughs. "Um, it's for the school paper. For Riverdale High." I nod in agreement. I would speak up, but something about Rose leaves me speechless. And not in a good way. It's like she wants to stare into my soul, to unravel my secrets, to expose me for what I am.

Rose giggles to herself. "I remember looking at those newspapers for the kids. Nice to see how much they love their town. Such pride." Her words shake when they leave her mouth. She glances down at her lap, her mismatched eye taking a while to linger down. Should we start firing questions at her? Or would it be more polite of us to let her ramble and draw it out of her like unraveling string from a ball of yarn?

I look to Jughead, waiting for him to make the appropriate move. I feel like I let him down during our interview with Moose. I let my personal issues take precedence over the article. I can't go through that again. I need to be here for Jughead. And I want answers from Rose Blossom.

"I fought to make that town nice, you know." Rose begins suddenly, catching our interest. Jughead hurries to flip his notebook open to a clean page and click his pen. I rest my hands onto my knees, digging my nails into the caps. We listen as Rose tells us her story.

"My father, Barnabas, brought great fortune to that little town. He and Mister Pickens together. When I came of age, I wanted to uphold my father's vision. To make Riverdale a place of greatness. A place free of sin….of wickedness…." She pauses, keeping her eyes on me. My stomach rises and falls in sync with my heartbeat. I can feel the air being sucked out of me. Please don't see past my cover, my mind chants. Please don't see me as a witch.

Rose scowls, her face turning gloomy. "But they all changed when that….monster arrived."

Jughead pesters, "You mean….the Reaper?" Rose brings her soulless glance to him. I exchange a quick, fearful look with Joaquin. The vents above us hiss.

"That's dangerous territory, dear boy." she squawks. I realize that she sounds like an older, more cryptid version of Auntie Z. Her tone is nearly identical. My shoulder blades press together. My arms squeeze at my sides. I shouldn't let Jughead take the brunt of Rose Blossom's nosy attitude.

I break my silence. "It's what our article covers." I feel Rose's eyes on me like daggers. The boys stare at me too. I clear my throat and continue. "We're writing about the 50th anniversary. Of the Reaper killings." My voice gives out on me. I'm usually so outspoken, not afraid to speak what's on my mind. But something about Rose Blossom's presence causes my courage to fade.

But this cannot be what breaks me. I've faced worse. I have a trial looming over my head, a reputation at stake. One old woman who hunted down a serial killer should not diminish my light. My fingers curl in, my nails glide up and down my palms. I release them. I stare Rose Blossom in the eye.

"You're the only witness we could find. And, it's like you just said…. You and your family made Riverdale. So…." I pause, focusing on the rhythm of my breath. Now, I wish I brought Dad's amulet with me, which I foolishly left back at the trailer park. But this interview takes more precedence. "You're our one shot at uncovering the truth. To tell all of Riverdale the truth."

I end my little speech there. Rose remains silent in her wheelchair. Jughead and Joaquin blink at me, half in amusement, half in nervousness. My throat has the same scratch I endured on the night of my birthday. What I said still lingers in my brain, the words sit on my tongue. I won't sign it away. Did I really know what I was getting myself into? What I would drag Ali into, forcing her out of her comforting life at the bakery? Come to think of what I've faced in the past few weeks, maybe the Dark Lord intended for my Aunts to send me away to Riverdale. Maybe he wanted me to serve a punishment in the form of killing two of my classmates, entangling myself with a small town's dark history, waiting to be teared apart at the seams. Maybe this is all to prove that I can't operate on my own. That the only way I can control what's in me is by following my father's footsteps. I fear that no matter how far I run, no matter what activities I distract myself with, my family name will bound me to a path I cannot escape.

Rose Blossom must have faced the same dilemma. I can see the wheels turning behind her glossy stare. Her family name gave her a duty, and she followed a path destined for her. She led the town to what she wanted to believe was utopia, but all Riverdale became was a graveyard. A place to bury the skeletons and sins. This is the reality that Jughead, and V, and Archie, and everyone else my age has to live in. I recognize that, and I've only been in Riverdale for a short amount of time. Luck be on my side that Rose Blossom recognizes it too.

My teeth grasp onto some flesh from inside my cheeks. I can feel my tongue shrivel up. I think I ruined Jughead's chance of making a good article. What was I thinking? Why did I even bother to speak up? What am I doing here?

You're here for us, familiar voices announce within me. Voices that sound like the ones I killed. Like the ones who died before I stepped foot in Riverdale. You're here because you want to know why he killed us. Why you let him kill us. You and

"I've made hard decisions, dear girl." Rose croaks out, startling us all. The voices cut out. They were going to say another name. Someone else who was manipulated by…..wait, that's not possible. Salem couldn't have turned to some other witch before me. But those kids from when Jughead's dad, from when Ali went to school. Ali talked about some mistake, some horrible deed that caused her to leave.

Could the dead…. Could they be referring to Ali?

I want to break down all the variables and analyze them, but I can't focus on what Ali may or may not have to do with those dead kids, or how Salem plays into all of it. Rose Blossom is talking, and I need to act as another set of eyes and ears for Jughead.

She tells us, "I spoke words that resulted in criticism, I made sacrifices for my family. But what I did, what I led….I did it all for Riverdale. The group I created to search for the Riverdale Reaper was my greatest accomplishment." I'm tempted to comment on the matter, but I have to bite my tongue. The thought still lingers. What about your own children? How did you handle their deaths?

"You led witch-hunts," Jughead prompts, the words stinging a little too personally. "and that brought about a wave of fear. How exactly did that all end?"

"Well, we found the man." she shrugs like it's not a big deal. Wow, even in old age, she still wears her pride on her sleeves. I envy her unapologetic confidence. "Buried him right in front of the big oak tree in Pickens Park. And good thing we did. A poor family was murdered for no reason." Now our interests are peaking. Jughead and I glance over at one another, both of us with wide grins. Our eyes say the words we want to say to each other. The Conways.

Jughead repositions himself to face Rose, keeping his notebook steady in his lap. "Was that when the witch-hunts were taken more seriously?" She hesitates to answer, I'm worried we may have lost her. Then, she shakes her head.

"It was when it ended. A little boy gave us the information we needed." Jughead leans back, almost falling backwards onto the bed. I get dizzy myself. A boy led Rose and her gang to find the Reaper? How could we have not heard about this? Unless the town is succeeding at hiding all of its secrets….

I watch Jughead frantically scratch at his notebook. He stutters, "Wait…..wait, what boy? Did he see the man you killed?"

"Gave us quite the detailed description." she smiles. "Although…..I can't recall what made the Reaper distinct. That's my old age getting to me. Yet, I applaud how that boy was able to provide that information. Especially when he hid like a rabbit hiding during hunting season."

My mouth hangs. So the boy survived the wrath of the Riverdale Reaper….that's new. All Jughead and I found were the victims. The dead bodies. Not one survivor made the list. Yet, this little boy….somehow he miraculously lived. But who? Who lived to tell the tale? Most importantly, how would this connect back to the Conways….

The Conways. There were two Conway children. Perhaps one of them really did live and described the Reaper to Rose Blossom. Wait, they both ended up dying. So who….

"Was it a Conway?" I ask, beating Jughead to the punch. Rose interlaces her fingers together in her lap. She blinks her glassy eye at me, not muttering a word. Her silence is freaking me out.

There a third child? One who has been hidden from Riverdale's history?

"Oh, don't get into too many questions, girl." Rose chastises me. "I barely remember the boy's name. All I remember was that he was a Conway. Had the face, hair, and everything. The police found the poor thing hiding under his bed. In the room where his siblings met their unfortunate demises." She sounds giddy bringing up the subject. Like it was her that rescued the unknown Conway child. It's sickening.

Jughead scribbles down more notes. He nudges me with his elbow, wanting me to peer down at his findings. He taps down on one part with his pen. It reads, Ask about Reaper features? I look back up at him and nod. If this supposed Conway survived, he must have laid eyes on the Reaper. I gesture for him to raise the question, and he does.

Rose leans back, her head against the wooden plank of her wheelchair. She shuts her eyes. Wait, is she starting to fall asleep? Is something off? I mouth to Joaquin, What's happening, and wait for Rose to snap out of whatever is wrong. "She gets dizzy sometimes." he explains, going through his routine procedures. He checks her pulse. He cups her face to watch for signs of breath. He places two fingers on the side of her neck. He pauses, then he sighs in relief. I watch his thumb shoot up into the air. Rose is still alive. I could lose the tension in my shoulders. I should be happy. Rose is okay….but why does she look possessed?

Her eyes snap open. Her grip on her wheelchair tightens. She fixates on me. She lurches, forward, I practically jump back towards the wall. Joaquin recoils away from her. Jughead doesn't know what to make of this.

Rose speaks only to me. "You've seen him. You know what he has done." My heart goes up my throat. My eyes sting. Who is she referring to? The Reaper? Salem? My heart wants me to run, to leave the Sisters of Quiet Mercy and to never return. But my head wants answers.

I slide off the bed. Jughead hisses out my name, but I ignore him. Something has bewitched Rose, that whatever she has hidden from years of triumph and loss wants to be freed. Joaquin tells me to be careful as I kneel down in front of the old woman, like I'm the one under a spell.

"You must go home, girl." she breathes, "He will eat you alive." I'm silent to the bone with my mouth hanging. I still don't know why she would say this. Who is after me? Rose persists, "He cannot be stopped. He plagues all that he touches. Including my children."

My eyes widen, my jaw clamps shut. She remembers what happened at Thornhill. If she won't use her words, then…..

I muster up the courage and inch forward. "I'm sorry, Miss Blossom." I say, and I mean it, though my intentions stay behind my teeth. I'm sorry for what you had to endure. And for what I'm about to do.

I place my hands onto her wrists. I shut my eyes, breathe in, and conjure her memories with my craft.

The humming of the lights ceases. The roughness of Rose Blossom's skin fades from my touch. I smell fire, I feel warmth. I open my eyes, and I'm standing next to a younger Rose, sitted in a velvet loveseat across from the fireplace. She's talking to someone, berating them. I look to see….a young girl about my age sliding on an old Vixens jacket. I've seen her before. The red hair and high cheekbones glow with the fire's light.

It's not like I'm visiting a slum, Mummy, I hear the girl speak to her mother. I'm going to the school play. Someone has to talk some sense into Hermione before she falls under the spell of that Serpent girl.

You're not going anywhere without my permission, young lady! Rose's voice leaves me on edge. I'm trying to make out the environment of this moment. Was this the night of the Thornhill fire? And who is the Serpent scum girl this red-haired Vixen mentioned? Rose croaks, I should have had you and Clifford sent to boarding school, where they actually teach you discipline and manners.

Relax, Mummy. Besides, I think I found out how to give Alice Smith a taste of her own medicine. My heart stops. Aunt Ali? Wait….is Smith really her maiden name? I always knew her as just Alice or Aunt Ali. But Alice Smith sounds so foreign. For all I know, this could be someone else entirely. Part of me wishes that it's all just a major coincidence. That Ali just happens to share the same name as this….Alice Smith….

And what exactly is that, nightmare child?

She stole my best friend, so I'm snatching that boy of hers. The layers add up, but I can't keep up with the pace of the conversation. Rose asks who, and the daughter replies, Hal Cooper, duh! He's practically been all over her since Halloween night! And who knows how the hell-

Penelope Blossom, you watch your language! I see Rose rise from the loveseat. The younger Blossom girl, Penelope, grips the back of the chair opposite. They continue to bicker, but my head remains glued on the name thrown out. Hal Cooper….did Ali have a boyfriend? Why have I never heard of this man? Was he the reason that she….

GET OUT

The violent hiss rattles my ear drums. I bring my hands up to block out the noise. The words wriggle through my fingers, traveling through my bones and veins. It hurts. Is this of Rose's doing, or something else? Something that doesn't want me to unveil the truth.

A high-pitched shriek sends my senses haywire. It sounds like a girl. MUMMY, HELP ME!

BOOM

CRASH

I open my eyes, my hands lower. Fire escalates all around me, beams fall, wallpaper and oil paintings melt. I only realize too late that I'm in the heat of it all. Literally. Above me, the young Blossom girl makes an attempt to fly down the stairs, to find Rose. She doesn't make it far. Behind her, a tall looming figure reaches for her, the knuckles stand out in the flame's glow.

GET OUT

Penelope is yanked back. "No!" I scream. I run up the elongated staircase, but my viewpoint is stretching. Every step I take gets matched with the figure dragging Penelope by her orange locks. She's in pain, she silently prays to God. The figure opens its mouth, revealing daggers for teeth. It bites.

I open my mouth to scream but nothing comes out. This must have been similar to what Midge endured. I saw no evidence of getting eaten, but she suffered. The same as this girl. And I can't do anything to stop this monster, even if it is all just a memory. Penelope's screams get muffled by the persistent, thundering hiss.

GET OUT

"WHO ARE YOU?" I yell, hoping it will provoke the anonymous voice to reveal itself. Yet, the figure hears me. It stops attacking Penelope. It looks up at me.

Light eyes. Oval face. The same face one Moose and I saw. The same eyes that stared me down in my dream. The one wearing the black hood.

The figure rises from Penelope, her blood dribbling down its chin. The figure looks so human, it's hard to see it as something else. Something more sinister. The humanlike monster walks over Penelope. His footsteps thunder on the breaking staircase. It studies me with curiosity. How is it possible for this thing to see me? Am I acting as Rose Blossom, or is it all….

I raise my voice, curling my hands into fists. "WHO ARE YOU?"

The figure stops. It stares me down with those bright eyes. I shudder. I have to remember where else I've seen them. Why do they look like….

It smiles. It says, "Why don't you ask your Aunt Ali?"

A hand shoves at my shoulders. I'm pushed away. Everything gets blurry. My head hits the back of….the bed frame. I'm back in Rose's cell. My hands shake. I look down and notice violent burn marks on my hands. In front of me, Rose Blossom breathes heavily. Her fingers claw at the knobs of her wheelchair. She keeps staring me down, like….Him.

"Hell is empty….all the devils are here." she mutters the famous Shakespearean words. Then, her mouth begins to foam.

"JOAQUIN, WHAT THE FUCK?" Jughead screams. I feel his arms loop under my armpit, pulling my back up to my feet. I stumble into his hold. My brain vibrates. My nose is dry and stinging. I think I might throw up.

Joaquin rises up and takes a hold of my face. "Hey, kid. Look at me. You doing alright?" I say nothing, I don't I can even open my mouth. Joaquin examines my hands, gaping at the burn marks. He sends Jughead a wide-eyed look of horror. He grabs our materials from Rose's bed, carefully slinging it over Jughead's shoulder. "Get her out of here. I'll get Rose back under stable condition. Then," he looks back down at me. "We'll get your hands healed up. I promise." While fighting back the urge to puke, I nod. Joaquin skirts around us to open back up the door. He ushers for us to follow him, and we do. I would want to look back at Rose Blossom. I want to see if I hurt her with my craft. I need to know if she will be alright. She saw something that night. And I saw it too. And for whatever reason, it does not want me to know….

Why don't you ask your Aunt Ali?

My ears ring. My innards want to come out. I'm ached by words and by scorching touch that I don't pick up on the fact that we're outside. The bleakness of the snowy day snaps me awake. I scan my new environment. Some patients are wheeled around by nurses, not noticing our presence. Joaquin is no longer with us, he probably returned indoors to take care of Rose. Jughead leads me over to a shady service under a tree. He tries to sit me down at the little bench, but my legs won't budge. The cool air eases my pain, but the voice in my head won't go away.

Why did that figure break through the memory like that? And why…..why did it sound like Salem?

Why don't you ask your Aunt Ali?

My stomach twists. I fall to my knees and hurl over the bench. The pastry breakfast and coffee comes out. The back of my head throbs. Tears form at the corners of my eyes. My throat goes dry when I finish. I carefully rotate around, allowing my back to lean against the concrete. Staying in this position doesn't help, so I bring my knees up to my shoulder blades. I bow my head, letting the dark atmosphere cure me.

Jughead rubs his hand across my shoulders. "You alright, Teenage Witch?" I mumble, but he doesn't quite hear it. I lift my head up, resting my chin on my knuckles. I wince at the pain coming from my head. Jughead picks up on this. "So, uh….you wanna tell me what happened back there?"

"Other than I think I gave myself a concussion…." I lift one hand to touch the forming lump. I pick up on that my palms don't sting. I suddenly bring my hand back. I turn my palms upward. No burn marks are present. They were there….I swear they were. Oh Lucifer, am I losing my sanity?

I trace fingers down where the marks were. My skin is smooth and unharmed. My teeth chatter from the cold. My bones shake from my current mental state. Now, I'm really starting to question if I even saw the fire….

The fire. The blood. The eyes.

"I saw him, Jughead." my voice squeaks, though it feels like nothing emerged from my throat. I close my fingers around my palms, no longer focusing on the sensation. I gently twist my head up to meet his perplexed gaze. "It was the Reaper. He started the fire at Thornhill. He killed the Blossoms."

Jughead rests against the bench, unable to respond back. He readjusts the beanie on his head. "Shit. What kind of magic was that?"

"I don't know!" I whine. I bring my hand back to the lump and do my best to carefully massage it. I hate to admit it, but I made a stupid decision. What was I thinking, trying to use my craft when I haven't fully recovered from an unknown sickness?

I shake off the notion, not wanting to upset my stomach, or my head, again. "One moment, I was looking at a memory as a spectator. Next, I….I'm living out the scene. I'm experiencing the fear. I feel the heat from the fire. I…." I stop myself before I let my next sentence roll off my tongue. I feel Penelope Blossom bleeding out to death, all before her corpse turns to ashes.

"Yikes." Jughead rubs his hands together and blows into them. I see his breath float out into the winter air. "Sounds like a bad case of oneirataxia." My head goes light. Patients and nurses float through the scene in front of us. I gaze at Jughead, not sure of how to carry the conversation. He drops his shoulders. "Oneirataxia. It's the inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality-"

"I know what oneirataxia means." I tell him, my voice going deep. Now I'm worried that I insulted him. I release my knees from my grip. I use my hands to gesture when I say, "I don't think I've been shaken up like that during any spell, whether alone or with my family. It's like anything I do lately has not gone well. It hasn't been right since..." I come to a stop. Jughead doesn't know the full details behind Midge's death. The meek voice in the back of my brain finishes the sentence, Since Salem drained me.

Thinking about the feverish dream causes the throbbing on my head injury to increase. I wince again and bite my lip. I'll need to use some healing spell, or some pain medication, to get rid of this thing before Ali finds out.

Ali…. The figure told me to ask her of his identity. Of her connection to the fire at Thornhill, and to the kids in Ali and Mister Jones's class. Of that boy. The one Penelope mentioned to Rose.

"Have you heard of Hal Cooper?" I croak. Jughead raises his brow. So he's unaware of the name, just as much as me. I sigh, then, with some of my strength coming back, I push down on the wet grass to face him. "Does the name sound familiar to you?"

"Not quite sure where you're going, Sabrina." he admits, and I don't blame him. "But...the last name….Cooper….sounds like a trust fund baby of a founder of Riverdale."

"In the vision, Rose's daughter said it."

"Okay…." Jughead begins to catch up to my point. "So, you think he attended school with my dad and your aunt?" I nod, confirming his theory. Jughead reaches for his backpack and pulls out his notebook. He scratches at the pages for a small bit, then he stops. I look down to find Hal Cooper written into the margins of our interview notes. "I can look into it when we get back to town. With a last name like Cooper, and with a Blossom having knowledge of it, that could bring up some potential research. Maybe a new direction of our case." He gets giddy over the subject. It makes me glad. Yet….I still can't quite shake the tiny voice in my brain. Something begging for me to be careful at what I'm digging into.

I watch Jughead tap his pen on the notebook. "One thing I'm still lost about, Teenage Witch." He looks up at me. "What would this Hal Cooper have to do with the Riverdale Reaper?" I stare off into the distance. I don't see any sign of Joaquin in the courtyard. He must still be caring for Rose. I feel awful for what happened. But, I don't know if I hurt Rose….or if she hurt voice yelling for me to get out wanted me to leave for a reason.

Ask your Aunt Ali.

"Because…." I start to tell Jughead, unsure of how to handle this theory. It may not be a theory at all, it could be all fact. I'm afraid to admit that out loud. And I'm afraid to admit what has popped into my mind. "I think Aunt Ali knew him."

XXXXXXXX

ALICE

Knots twist in my stomach. The faces on this photo blur together. I hear Hiram and FP conversing in the background, but their words mesh and blend, it sounds more like static. My thigh still has a dull ache, my tattoo screams for me to itch at it, to relieve my thigh of the pain. My palms desire the taste of my nails. No. Don't give in. Take deep breaths. No matter how much I focus on my breathing, I can't shake off the stinging. I can't ignore this aching pain. What does that photo want from me?

A figure flops down on the couch next to me. I take my attention off the photo to find Gladys hunched over the table with a lollipop in her mouth. She takes it out to speak to me. "You want my honest opinion, witch? These folks don't come off as the peer pressuring type. Give off more of a "convert you" kind of type." She cackles at her own joke. My mood lifts, but I fail to laugh myself. She notices that. "Sorry. Too close to home?"

"Oh. No, no." I snag the photo off the table and hand it to her. "The Church of Night makes these people look like the losing dodgeball team in gym class." She shoves the lollipop back into her mouth, smirking at the photo. In the background, FP and Hiram continue to bicker over our earlier confrontation with Joseph. One of them disappears into the Jones's bedroom to get JB for help. It's a smart move. With her tech savviness, she can pull up the information we need. If anyone in this photo is still alive, besides Rose (and I would prefer not to lay another eye on that woman as long as she breathes), we need to reach out to them.

Thinking about the group more causes my tattoo to burn, my thigh to cramp up. I wince without trying to make it obvious. Gladys shoots me a worried glance. "Did a lot of running in the snow." I lie, brushing it off.

"Really. Running in the snow is causing your tattoo trouble?" she gestures down to my leg with the lollipop, not buying my excuse. I open my mouth to fight back but stop. I watch JB wave her father away as she boots up her laptop. I lock eyes with Hiram for a moment, my emotions ranging from desperate to embarrassed. I eventually turn away, not wanting to give up my weak point. From the corner of my eye, Hot Dog waddles over to me, resting his chin on my good knee. I give his head some scratches, which helps to relieve my tension. Gladys perches her elbows onto her knees. She talks in a low voice, "What's going on? Your Spidey senses picking up something in this photograph?"

I lean back into the couch, not sure if I'm suppressing a giggle or a sarcastic comment. I've never heard of anyone refer to my witchcraft as some superpower from a comic book. Not like I ever really identified with superheroes anyway….

I pick up the photo from the coffee table. I strategize out loud to Gladys, "I think Hal got to someone in this group. Joseph told us he felt pressured to give an answer even when he knew it was wrong. Hal would have been there for that, or he at least weaseled his way into one person's mind."

"You think he was willing to allow someone to act as the town's scapegoat?" I look over to her and raise my brow. She explains, exaggerating with the lollipop in her hand, "I mean, when you did….what you did with him, weren't you two only going after people who wronged you?" I nod my head. "So….wouldn't that mean he'd want Joseph to pick someone who potentially caused him harm in the past?"

"Not really." I sheepishly admit. "Joseph never spoke of anyone hurting him. Just the Reaper. And Rose's clan. If Hal sought to get vengeance, he'd make it more obvious with his intentions. But what happened to Joseph was….so unusual. He had no reason to go after the Conways. It's like he did it only to…." I slow my speech. I'm rambling again.

"He only did it to what?" Gladys asks. I hold off on saying anything until I can string together a reasonable explanation from my memories. I don't think Hal acted on his own accord until after I told him to take a hike. With me, he operated with control, when I wanted him gone, he became a loose cannon, bloodthirsty for anything that came in his path. He's that way now, even with his new witch. Otherwise, why would he care to go after two random teenagers? Why enact revenge on me? Lately, it's like all he wants to do is…

"Create chaos." I mutter. My inner voice echoes the words that just rolled off my tongue. He wants to create chaos.

"Alice?" My quiet theory is silenced when Hiram calls for me. "We found something."

"Um, excuse you." JB sasses at him. "I did all the research. You two," she waves a finger at FP and Hiram, "just sat there and fell asleep. Well…." she slows down, tilting her head towards Hiram, "actually, wizard, you just gave Aunt Ali major heart eyes. " We all go silent. Hiram's mouth closes, and mine falls. He glances at me for a brief moment, then looks away in pure embarrassment. My shoulders rest against the cushions of the couch. I guess I need to do better about observing my surroundings. FP and Gladys stare at their daughter in a scolding manner. JB scrunches her face back, shrugging her shoulders. "What? I'm being observant."

Honestly, I could divert my attention to figure out exactly how Hiram and I should define our…..arrangement. But, we need to stay focused on the Reaper-Hunting Party. I get up from the couch, "What were you able to pull up, sweetheart?"

She rotates her laptop so it faces me. I can't read it from that far away, but it looks like a list of names. And FP clarifies that, "We got names, beyond Rose Blossom."

I begin to head to the kitchen, limping with my bad leg. I can only go a few steps before my thigh cramps. My hand goes to my thigh. I can feel it pulsing through the fabric of my dress. I press my teeth together, I squeeze my eyes shut. My fists clench. Gladys reaches for my arm. I open my eyes, they're all looking at me. She asks if I'm okay, and it's like I'm heading for my execution. My burning at the stake.

I have to step aside. I need to stay strong. "I'm fine." I lie to her, to everyone in the room. Hot Dog gallops over to the kitchen. He pauses at the table, looking up at the humans towering over him. I silently hope Hiram won't sense my masked dread. I have to lean on my good leg to relieve the pressure. I ignore FP and Hiram's stares as I limp towards JB. "So we have a list of all the names?"

"Yep! Same one I saw last week." she nods. I regret not having the girl read these names out to me sooner. They were right in front of her when she researched the tragedy of Thornhill. It may have saved us time. But that was then. And now we know better. JB brings the laptop back to her view, squinting down, "I don't recognize the last names. Like I said - jerks with lots of money. And they sound too vintage."

"We might know them, Miss Jones." Hiram defends on behalf of the adults. "We attended school with their children." He glances at me, afraid to speak on. FP looks my way as well. The three of us, like hiding some coveted, horrid secret, collectively think of one name. Penelope Blossom. Hiram sends a fatherly glance down to the young girl. "Could you please read them to us?"

JB rolls her eyes. "Really, wizard? These names are literally in bold." Her witty comeback doesn't win her any favors. She rolls her eyes at Hiram and follows through with the command Like clockwork, the girl goes down the line. "Berkshire Mason, Roger Clarence, Graham Hollis, Louis Cooper…."

I stop paying attention to the rest of the names. My brain melts. My tattoo goes through another wave of sharp-shooting pain. I hear the one name repeat like a broken record.

Louis Cooper. Louis Cooper.

Cooper.

My eyes twitch. JB gets to the last name, but I need her to go back. "Wait, Jellybean. Go back to the first set of names. The first five. What…." I stutter, not able to finish. I grit my teeth as my tattoo pulses. Air blows into my nails when I release them from my palms. My fingers stretch out. My hand shakes.

"Which one am I starting at?" JB asks for clarification. "The Hollis guy? Louis Cooper?" The name rolls off the girl's tongue with ease. My jaw tightens. My skin could burn off. I want to itch my brain. I could rip my ears out. It's not her fault in any way or shape. It's….

I inhale sharply. "Him. Lou…." I can't say the name. I equate it with his. I see his…

Face.

I hobble to the table, setting my hands down and pressing into the wood. My fingers wriggle out of control. I take the laptop from JB and slide it in my direction. My heart stops.

There. In the second row. Nine people, and one face I know. It's older, much more sophisticated. But I recognize the hair. The lines around the mouth. The color of the man's eyes. They're darker than the eyes I know, but the shape matches exactly.

My back straightens. Sweat drips down my hairline. I feel my feet going numb. Hot Dog winces next to me. He nudges my hand with his nose. But I can't focus on the comfort from the dog. He was there in that group. Hal was there…..but how? Did he take on a human form before he met me? How could I not have picked up on this before? I try to remember, did Hal ever tell stories of his prior forms? Other witches? Other people….

He possessed Hermione. He's wormed his slimy soul into the minds of the weak. Is this man….Louis Cooper….

A phone buzzes in the background. FP mumbles a curse word and shuffles out of the kitchen. Who could be calling him? I want to ask, but I'm frozen. JB rises from her seat, "Aunt Ali?" I stay perplexed at the laptop screen. The bones hidden under the flesh of my face stiffen. A new, uncomfortable sensation rises from my tattoo. Like blisters are forming. Like my tattoo is…..burning. The way it did when Hiram and I went to see Chuck Clayton's dismembered corpse.

I press down on the table so I can rotate around. My lower back rests against the rim of the table. I bite the inside of my cheeks. Why won't this pain go away? I'm not even looking at the damn photo. Yet, it's like his eyes are on me. I feel him watching me. Waiting for me to fall to another weak point so I have no other choice but to go back to him.

One way or another, he'll find his way back to you.

"Hey, you should probably sit down." Gladys tells me, pulling me out of my thoughts. I don't take the offer, I remain standing. Besides, if I sit down with this sudden pain coming from my tattoo, I fear I won't get back up.

"Let me see that photo again." Hiram marches over to JB and glances over the girl's shoulder at the laptop. I watch as he studies the photo. His face falls. His fingers curl inward. "Son of a bitch." he mutters. "He was right there under their noses."

"The hell are you talking about?" Gladys joins the two, passing by me. I can't bring myself to stand with them. I'm alone in my….I don't want to call it suffering, but it's the only appropriate choice for a descriptive word coming to my head. Gladys asks which one is Louis. Hiram points him out. Even with the back of the laptop facing me, I can see the face as bright as day. Blond hair. Light eyes. Soothing voice. Eloquent persuasion turned manipulation. Sharp teeth. Blood-stained claws.

And to think you didn't want to remember, a familiar voice taunts my eardrums. It creeps through the blood in my veins. Straight down to the handprint burned onto my flesh.

"Woah…..woah….Fred, slow down. What channel is it on?" FP vocalizes while pacing through the living room. I watch him carefully. What could Fred Andrews (if it is Fred from how I hear FP talking to the other end) be calling about? Did the police come across any discoveries on Chuck and Midge? Did Joseph emerge from his sanctuary? Did something happen to Jughead? To Sabrina?

Gladys wanders over to her husband, with Hiram following close behind, then by Hot Dog. Gladys reaches out, asking what's wrong. FP holds his hand over the phone, gesturing down to the basket on the coffee table. Hot Dog whines by his owners in confusion. "Go to the news. Fred won't explain why…." He mutters something then goes quiet. Hiram picks up a small remote control and points it at the TV. I watch it flicker to life. The screen flips to another, to the local news channel for Riverdale.

Tom is making a public announcement outside the police station, with that younger officer, Minetta, about the latest killings. They have re-opened Chuck's death case, reclassifying it as a murder. The police has decided to compile a list of suspects, people that may be linked to Chuck Clayton and Midge Klump, and even Moose Mason. Yet, what Tom and the other cops don't understand is that it wasn't a human who went after these kids. They never will, but how can a witch like me convince a town like Riverdale that…..demons exist?

The scene cuts to the young boy, he looks so vastly different from the first day I met him at Pop's. He no longer carries that arrogant attitude. He's broken. Mourning. Susceptible for another attack. He outlines his attack, how he tried to save his late girlfriend's life, only to lose her in another attack. He talks about the loss of his fellow teammate. Why would Fred want us to pay attention to….

A drawing appears on the segment. A rough sketch of a man…

Hair. Eyes. Nose. Mouth. All of it matches the face I just laid my eyes upon on JB's laptop.

It's Hal.

My ears ring. My eyes water. I can't breathe. I can't remove my sight off that face. His face. Moose saw him. Which means Chuck and Midge must have seen him before they each suffered a most wicked demise. I'm horrified, not just for myself, but for these kids. I'm scared for this town. For the people standing in this room. For JB. For Veronica. For Sabrina. And I still don't know who had the spell to release him. Who let him out? Who could allow for this bloodshed? WHO?

A laugh echoes in the room, now standing still. FP, Gladys, and Hiram are still glued to the TV, completely frozen. But in the corner of my eye, something moves. Someone is sitting on that couch, moving his head to look at me.

No….no, I'm hallucinating. He's not here. He couldn't have made his way into the Jones's trailer without Hiram or me picking up on the bad aura. Or the lack of one. This isn't real, Alice. Snap out of it….

"You should have killed me when you had the chance." he snickers. He points at the TV, "Maybe these little brats could still be walking the earth. All of them…..even Hermione Gomez. Penelope Blossom."

I grip onto the rim of the table for dear life. I have to stay in control. "Get out of my head, Hal."

"That's not going to stop me." he stands up, and the trailer feels so much smaller. He makes himself appear taller, more invasive. I watch his head tilt towards Hiram and the Joneses. "You know you're making a mistake by latching onto them. It'll only be a matter of time before they swallow you whole."

My heart trembles. I know he's attempting to manipulate me, but the words still sting. He calls out my reasons for running away. That if I settle down, that if I let down my guard, I'll die. But Hal made me like that. He poisoned my outlook on society.

I fire back with a weak voice, "But isn't that what you did to me? What you're doing to your new witch?" His head straightens. His lips form a neutral line. For as bright as his eyes are, the complexion of his eyes look sunken into his face. Like he's a walking skeleton, a parasite needing fresh meat.

He takes one step towards me, then another, and another. I'm unable to move, like I'm trapped in a state of sleep paralysis. I need to wake up. I need to say something. "Go back to which you came." my voice booms. He doesn't listen, he just keeps marching over to me. I wish I could fire out a spell to get rid of him, to banish his presence for good. But my brain won't search for the proper incantations. It refuses to function. The closer he comes, the more my tattoo aches. The more my legs go numb. The more helpless I am.

"Go back to your witch, Hal. You don't need me!" I yell, as if I'm pleading for my life. He's inches away from me now, even if I'm trapped in a terrible hallucination. I can smell him. Everything about him causes agony.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" I scream.

He stops, just centimeters from my face. He towers over me, glaring down with those damn eyes. His hand raises only up to my hip. It hovers by my tattoo. The skin under the handprint he left splits open. Raw flesh rubs together, it bubbles and bleeds.

I begin to tear up. "What do you want from me, Hal?" I grit through my teeth in order to hold back any form of crying. "Is your new witch not good enough for you?"

He grins. A chuckle ripples out of him. He leans close. He reeks of blood and pinewood. And for some reason….he smells of a feline.

His eyes meet my own, shining as bright as the first time I saw them. It was ignorant admiration back then. With that soothing, yet sickly voice, he hums, "It's nothing to do with being good enough, Alice. She's just…" He pauses, then he peels back his lips to give me a full smile, daggers for teeth and all.

"She isn't you."

The hand grabs where he left the handprint. It burns. I scream. My leg loses all sense of feeling. I lose my balance. I fall to the floor, sending another wave of pain to my thigh. I reach out to my tattoo. My mouth hangs. A trickle of blue, black, purple, and red substance leaks through the fabric of my dress. It stains the floor.

My Serpent tattoo is bleeding. Hal broke it.

I go to scream, but I twist my head to find JB looking at me in horror. A hand flies to my mouth. I look away from the girl, glaring at nothing. Tears roll down my cheeks. No….no, she can't see me like this. I don't want her to be scared. Not because of me.

"Alice, what the hell? Are you okay?" Gladys rushes over to me. She bends down and takes one look at my leg. It feels like lead and I can't move. I really lost my Serpent tattoo. It's destroyed. It's strange to think that I once sought to remove it. I hated it because I hated where it came from. But while I view it as a painful memory of my past, it's still my past. This tattoo is part of my history. And now it's nothing but nasty scars and spilled ink.

Gladys eyes the dark ink then glances back at my leg. It doesn't take her long to put the pieces together. "Oh, Jesus."

JB shakes when she comes over to witness my injury. Her eyes water, and I have to bite my tongue so I don't send her away with a spell. This poor girl has gone through enough, with bullying, and getting her period, and fretting a future where she joins the Serpents against her will. And now this….watching someone she's grown close to be injured.

This is why I'm scared to attach myself to anyone. This is why I've stayed away from society up until now. Everyone I…..care about gets hurt, or they have to watch me get hurt. I'd rather bear the pain by myself than drag the world into the consequences of my actions.

My hand comes off of my mouth. I stare down at my leg, holding back sobs. Jellybean Jones will not go through this. I won't drag Hiram, or FP, or Gladys into this either. I need to get up, I need to get my act together. I force my hand down to the ground and straighten my arm. I push myself up, carefully pressing down with my toes so I don't further injure my leg. I grab for the table rim to pull myself upright. The others call for me. They move into the kitchen to see what's happened. I ignore them and start to hobble into the Jones's bedroom. But I barely make it a few inches. My thigh's in too much torment. Jolts of sharpness pierce through the ink of what was my Serpent tattoo. I step out with my bad leg, bad choice. The fiery agony goes down to my knee. My leg gives out. I land back down on the ground with a thump. I let out a wail.

"Jeebs, stay back." FP drags his daughter away. He sends her to Hiram before he rushes over to me and Gladys. They each take a side and help lift me back up. I lean on my good foot to relieve my thigh.

Gladys takes the weight of me, moving away from FP. She points at JB and tells him, "You two keep an eye on her. I'll take care of this." My back is to the others, but I can hear JB sniffling. Hiram mutters something I can't make out too well. Normally I would, but my senses have been thrown off with what's happening to my thigh. I want to know what he's doing to comfort her. I'm scared to find out what JB will think of me when I emerge back out into the living room. Will she pity me? Will she turn away in disgust? Will she view me as a monster?

We shuffle into the small bathroom. Gladys flicks on the overheard light and drags me over to the toilet. She sits me down on the lid. "Hang tight, witch. We're gonna get you all cleaned up, okay? Just stay with me." She leaves my side to dig around through the boxes of supplies under the sink. I gasp and wheeze for air. I feel like my body is on fire. I glare down at my leg, at the newly stained spot of my dress. Well, I can't continue to not pay attention to this. I'm horrified to think of what waits for me under this fabric, but now, I don't have many other choices.

Just as if I'm ripping off a bandaid, I peel off the fabric from my sweaty, wounded skin.

I open my mouth to scream, but no noise erupts from my throat. I gape in horror at my thigh. From the way it looks, it's as if the Serpent tattoo has been slashed open. It's not, but where the ink sat beneath the top layer of my skin has emerged from the surface. Like someone took a knife and traced out the lines of my tattoo. The ink from SIDE drips onto the bathroom floor. Blood comes out of the tail of the snake. The veins that appeared when I first examined it weeks ago have spread throughout my thigh, going down to my kneecap. And the handprint. The one physical mark Hal left on me is glowing. Just as it did when I saw Chuck Clayton. But this time….it's bubbling, it's raw, it hurts.

I kind of wish Hiram was in the room with me right now doing Blue. I can picture my leg healing up in a matter of seconds with just one song, with his voice murmuring that lullaby. He said he hasn't recharged it around anyone besides me. He probably only uses it on me, and formerly for Veronica and himself. Would I be able to do it on myself? Could I? Come on, Alice, think. Recall the spell. The sharpness radiating from my thigh pollutes my brain activity. But I have to do this for myself. For him.

I hover a hand over the injured area, I think of a quick song that could match the mood. All I have in my head is disco music, but you know what? It'll have to do for now. I try to pull from my memory the words he mutters, the rhythm of his chanting. I admit, my Spanish is more conversational than it is fluent, and he's only performed the spell on me twice, but I'm doing the best I can. My focus falls superior to my thigh's painful and dominating presence. More tears leave my eyes. Why am I not strong enough? Why can't I fight this?

"Hey, breathe." Gladys returns with her medical supplies. She rifles through it all and eventually grabs for a damp towel. She takes one of my hands. "I'm gonna try and clean this up. It's gonna hurt like hell, but just try to stay calm. Squeeze my hand if you need to." With teary eyes, I nod. I look up at the ceiling, not wanting to give any more attention to the monstrosity on my body.

The damp towel makes contact with the raw flesh. I squirm and let out a wail. My nails dig into Gladys's hand. I squeeze my eyes shut and grind my teeth together. Well, what did I think was going to happen? She did warn me. I lower my head back down and try to breathe. The air entering my lungs is cold, it stings.

Gladys presses the towel onto the wounded area, holding it there. "This doesn't make any sense. How could this burst open? You didn't even do anything!"

The handprint etches more into my flesh. I can feel his hand hovering over that area, even though it's Gladys. I feel his hands over me. Clinging to my brain. Digging in and not letting me go.

I start to sob. Gladys eases her pressure on the towel, she runs her thumb across my hand. She asks what's wrong. Oh, what could I tell her that she wouldn't already know? I dragged her into this. I dragged the whole Jones Family down the rabbit hole with me, and now they won't get out. All because he won't go away. He won't leave me alone.

She isn't you.

"What?" Gladys's voice rings me back to reality. I realize that my throat is dry, my tongue is still vibrating from what just came out of my mouth. What he told me before my tattoo broke. I guess there's no point in hiding from it now.

My eyes produce more tears. I prepare for what I must confess. "He said that to me. About his new witch." I pause for a second to swallow the lump in my throat. The saliva brings some moisture to my dried out vocal chords. I sniffle, "For whatever reason….his new witch is not like me. That who he works with now cannot….be what he wants. Not the way I was." Speaking the fears into existence makes the meaning more significant. It sheds light on a truth I need to face. He stalked me that night at the trailer. He played tricks on me at the pep rally. And now he took away an element of my past. Was he this way with the witches before me? What have I done so strikingly different from the others? Why me?

Because I lived. Because I saw him for what he was and dodged the bullet. Because I beat him at his own game. I chose life, and now he's brought about a new age of chaos to take it out on me. And everyone I've grown close to.

Maybe he was right. I should have killed him instead of bounding him to that damn house.

That doesn't mean I still can't make things right. I can still save the Joneses from enduring Hal's deadly touch. I still can protect Hiram and Veronica from backlash against the Church for allying with me. I can still help Sabrina.

I hunch down, taking both of Gladys's hands. My arms shake, but I have to act strong. "Promise me something," I plead in a soft voice. I glance around the bathroom, out towards the bedroom, before looking back at her. "Promise me you'll get out of this trailer park. Just take FP and your kids, and go. Leave Riverdale."

"Alice…." Gladys starts trembling. She tries to ask what's wrong, but I keep on rambling.

"Or got to that house you told me about, the one next door to Fred Andrews on Elm Street. The white house with a red door. Get the money and buy that place. You all deserve it. And when Jughead and Jellybean graduate from school, travel the world with FP. Spoil one another."

She sits upright on her knees. She brings her hands to my face, cupping it softly. I can see the newly formed tear stains on her cheeks. "Hey, look at me, witch. Nothing's going to happen to us, if that's what you're scared of. That prick won't lay a finger on me or FP, or the kids."

My mind races. But what if he does? What if I can't save them? It's too early, and too dark, to contemplate, but I have to play out the worst case scenarios. I've always been good at that. Another question comes to me. If something happens, and if I can't do anything, who would they turn to? The other parents FP and I went to school with? Tom Keller? The Serpents?

No….they wouldn't care. I've seen how they snicker behind the Jones's backs, calling them traitors. I've experienced the glares and trash-talking my whole life. But I got out of it. The Joneses haven't. Gladys still bears that tattoo on her wrist. JB questions whether joining will grant her immunity from bullying.

I don't want to think of that. I don't want to imagine a life where FP and Gladys's children become members of a warped gang that was intended to be a coven protecting Native American witches.

It's wrong. I can't watch it crumble from the sidelines anymore.

The tattoo may be gone, but no matter how far I've gone, no matter how I try to build a new life for myself….I'm still a Southsider. Whether Hal acknowledges it or not. Whether the Serpents ever go back to its native roots, or if they continue to form into a stereotype out of Hollywood.

I am the witch daughter of a snake. And snakes don't shed their skin so easily.

I glance back down at my leg. All of the ink has either gone to the bathroom floor or seeped into the moist towel. All that remains is an outline of where the ink once sat, all red and irritated. Memories of my teenage self embarrassed to bring it up during conversation. Of shame knowing why I had it placed there. Of when Hal sought to remove it.

I place my hand gingerly near the area. "Well, Hal….you won." I spit out. "You finally got rid of the damn thing."

Gladys raises her brow. A smile breaks out on my face. I laugh in between sobs. She starts laughing too. "No offense, witch, but you're better off without it." She lets go of my face so she can clean up the remainder of the wounded area. "Look, I know I got a sworn duty to uphold the Uktena name, but…." she sighs, "The only people I remotely give a shit about are the people who live in this trailer. And you. And…..sometimes, Lodge. Depends on my mood." Noise comes out of my throat, sounding like a giggle. It's comforting to hear my own laughter. It takes away any focus of my pain.

I watch as Gladys sets the towel down on the sink. "You want any pain meds? Herbal remedies? I can get one of them out there to grab something from your trailer." I sit on the offer for a moment, then I nod my head. She jogs out of the bathroom to wrangle a warm body, all before I can tell her "thank you". The bleak sunlight from outside seeps into the bedroom. The light above me hums. Everything stands so perfectly still. But my mind still runs at a hundred miles an hour. I think about the recent events of my life. I wonder what could have become of the past 25 years if I had just killed Hal. If I had tried to get to know Hiram better. If I never met Sabrina. Would she still be sent to Riverdale for defying a path laid out for her? No, she would still go on trial. She would still have her name in that Book, along with mine.

And I still haven't told her a single thing about it.

My thigh aches again. I wince and grit my teeth. Okay, so it flares up when I think of unhappy things. Why does that sound like it belongs in a children's book? Ha, because it probably does somewhere. Alright then, Alice. Don't focus on the pain, or any other negative elements of your life. Just like that fairy boy in the green leotard. Think happy thoughts.

Gladys returns to the little bathroom, carrying a load of my potion jars. Hot Dog trails in behind her. I almost giggle out loud when he comes towards me. I run my fingers through his hair. "We didn't know which ones would work the best, so we just grabbed all of them. Oh yeah," she gestures down to the dog, "and I guess you also needed fuzz therapy." I could laugh, it's a sweet gesture. I stop petting Hot Dog for a second so I can examine the labels as she sets them down in the sink. I spot a jar of fresh aloe vera. I can at least use that to heal the burn mark and to keep the wound from getting infected. I tell her to grab that one. She hands me the jar. Hot Dog stares at me while I begin to apply the remedy onto the area, my skin starts to cool at its presence.

"Here, start with a couple tablets of ibuprofen. It'll help reduce the swelling." Gladys hands me a cold bottle of water and drops two pills onto the palm of my hand. I hate to admit it, but right now, I'm thankful for mortal medicine. I do as she asked, and I swallow down the pills.

"Thanks." I mutter. "I mean it. You and FP have done too much for me already. I don't deserve to be your friend."

"Don't sweat it." she playfully scoffs. She rambles on as she begins to search for bandages. "I'd take you any day over the other assholes in the Serpents. Misogyny dies hard in a gang like that." She pauses to look up at me and winks. I grin at her expression. It's nice to know that someone else shares my views of how warped the Serpents have become.

Gladys begins to wrap up my thigh. Through the process, Hot Dog remains close by for me to pet him. "So, is this the first time your tattoo went all haywire?" I only now remember that I haven't disclosed to her, or FP, about my tattoo burning up around Chuck Clayton.

I shake my head. "The only other time it happened was when….." I stop, thinking about how I will spin this tale. No, I need to be honest. No more secrets, no more lies. I sigh, "When Hiram and I broke into the morgue downtown."

She pauses her work. She stares at me speechless, wide eyes and all. "You broke into the morgue?" I don't say anything, I just sit on top of this toilet and smirk. I wait for her to criticize me, to call me a reckless criminal. But instead, she exclaims in giddy, "Okay, that is awesome! I mean, you going to the morgue. Not the tattoo incident. Sorry."

I smile. "Trust me. This hurts much worse." Gladys returns to bandaging the wound. A little pulse of unease runs through me, but talking with her helps to distract me. I just need to stay in this state, just until the ibuprofen kicks in. Come on, Alice, think. What can you strike up a conversation about? What do you want to learn more about Gladys? Her wedding day with FP? Where she attended school? How she felt when she first laid eyes on her children?

Before I think any further on it, the question rolls off my tongue. "Was giving birth to Jughead and Jellybean this painful?" She slows down her work, contemplating over my question. Oh no, is she wondering how stupid I am? Of course, I know that pain shooting out of my thigh is nowhere near pushing a seven to eight pound tiny human out of you. But if I seriously am reconsidering my whole outlook on the "starting a family of my own" business….

Gladys sits back on her heels. She wipes some sweat away from her cheek. Her fingers tap on her black jeans. Then, with a nervous grin, she speaks. "It's different. It's a bitch, but….on a different playing field. More elements to it." She begins to exaggerate with one hand while she continues her mending, "Like, you got back pain, morning sickness, weird food cravings. And when you finally go into labor, this little tiny version of yourself that you made a home for inside you for months, demands for release. Both kids did it, but it was a little easier with JB."

"How so?"

"She was actually born in the hospital. We never made it in time with Jughead. That boy wanted out of me, and he wasn't gonna wait for his father to call an ambulance." she confesses all while chuckling. She leans back and points towards the wall, I'm guessing where the rest of the trailer lays out. "Gave birth to him right in that living room. No pain meds. No midwives. Just me and FP winging it." She pauses, I see her eyes get watery. She bites the inside of her cheeks. "But I knew the moment I saw his little face, and when I saw hers…..I knew it was worth it. Bringing those kids into the world was one of the best decisions of my life. And I'm lucky FP was there throughout the whole damn thing." A tear forms, running down her face. She wipes it away. "At first, I didn't want to consider settling down and forming a family when I first came out here. I didn't imagine myself with anyone of those scumbags. I was about ready to give it all up and go home.

"And then he showed up. He actually made me feel included, in ways that I don't think I ever did within the Uktena, or my own family. He cares. He's willing to try." Hearing the words come out of her mouth reminds me so much of why I care for FP. Even if we never had any romantic or sexual connection, we still accepted one another as family. He was willing to do the right thing, whether or not it would kill him.

She glances up at me, wiping away more tears. She removes her hands from my thigh. "There ya go. All patched up." I admire her work, you can barely see the wetness of my bruises and burns. The sprawled out dark veins are hidden under the fabric of this bandage. I'll have to face this body part down the road, but for now, it's nice not having to look at it.

"I owe you, Gladys. Big time." I beam.

"Oh, shush." she teases, rising up from the floor. She holds out her hand so I can take it. I wince a bit at the upward motion, but after a couple of seconds, I can stay balanced on both feet. I bump my forehead against hers. "I think you looking after JB so much is enough to repay us."

I blush. "Okay, fair enough. But seriously, I can do more…."

Gladys gives my hands a gentle squeeze. "Trust me, witch. You and Sabrina have already helped out tremendously with the kids. Jughead actually has a friend to share his passions with, and JB…..she's come out of her shell and been more vocal since you arrived. You've been a good influence for my daughter."

I fight to keep my emotions under control. Me? A good influence for JB? It really doesn't make sense. I led FP to a near death sentence. I took their daughter to an abandoned house of horrors. I dragged the Jones Family into my mess. And JB still sees me as a beacon of light? I don't see myself as a hero, or a savior. I don't want to be worshipped like a goddess. I don't want people to idolize me. But having people who genuinely care, who can relate to my struggles, who can see my flaws and accept me all the same….. that would be nice. It makes me feel a little less lonely.

I grin at Gladys. "I see a lot of myself in her. As I did with Sabrina. I just want to do right by the girl."

"You are, and it shows." she admits. To be honest, I'm thankful she got me through the past few minutes. This back and forth between us of exchanging life stories has kept my mind off my leg. Now, the swelling is reducing, and the excruciating sensation is mellowing out. If it had been Hilda or Zelda, or heaven, even Ambrose, mending my wounds, I would have come out miserable. I would have felt guilt-tripped or gaslighted. But Gladys tended to me with open arms. The whole Jones Family has coddled me and Sabrina with every ounce of love and friendship they can provide. Whoever ignited the idea that witches and mortals could never get along seriously must have never enjoyed life.

"I'm not kidding. I don't think JB's gotten that close to anyone looking after her since…." Gladys pauses mid-thought. She eases her grip on my hands, dangling one hand to her side. I don't want to intrude and read her mind, but her suddenly ending her sentence without giving the details is making me curious. Who looked after Jellybean before I showed up?

Moments pass. Then, Gladys looks straight at me.

"Toni."

She lets me go. I stand in the bathroom confused. Who is this Toni girl? How would Gladys know her? I stumble out of the bathroom, bracing the rim of the sink as I limp out to the bedroom. Hot Dog sticks by my side with every move. Gladys is pacing back and forth in front of the bed, deep in thought.

I grip the door frame. I'm getting worried, she hasn't spoken to me in a solid minute. "Gladys, who's Toni?"

"How did I not recommend her before? She could have helped…." she mutters to herself, almost like she never heard me.

I repeat, raising my voice, "Who the hell is Toni?"

Gladys brings her wandering gaze to me. She hurries over to me, placing one hand on my shoulder. She looks out of breath for no reason. "You remember that story I told you about? The man who founded what turned into the Serpents?" It's been a while since Gladys admitted her ties to the Serpents. I stare down at the Ouroboros tattoo on her wrist.

The Uktena….who came to Riverdale to start another faction? What was that man's name? How does this Toni person connect to the….

My brain feeds the answer to my mouth. "Thomas Topaz." Gladys nods in confirmation. Finally, I connect the dots. "Toni's his daughter?"

"Grand-daughter." she corrects me. "There was this group of younger Serpents she hung out with a few years ago, Jughead practically glued himself to them. She looked after Jellybean in her spare time. Now, she runs a shop in the middle of the Southside. Family heirloom." Gladys releases me and begins to head out of the bedroom. She rambles, "God, I'm an idiot! I should have had you two meet sooner. But she can help…."

"Wait, Gladys," I interrupt, "I still don't understand! Why Toni? What can this girl do?"

"You still want to learn about this Louis Cooper guy?" The name still looms over me like a bad omen. I can feel Hal waiting to imprint another burn mark on me. I force myself to breathe. No….he's not here. You're safe. You can do this. I swallow a lump of saliva and nod. Gladys perks up. "That's where Toni would come in."

Before I can get more information, Gladys flees the bedroom. I remain by the doorway of the bathroom for another lingering moment, then I hobble closer to the bed. Hot Dog hurries past me and leaps onto the bed. He settles himself down as I use the mattress for support. I need a second to calm my leg back down. I need time to process what I just heard. There's another member of the Uktena on the Southside. So, what would that make Toni? Another witch? A seer? Have I even seen this girl around? I've passed too many faces in this town, too many I want to block out of my memory. But now, I need to recall them. I need to…..

An image comes to my head. The pink-haired girl. She watched me leave this morning. I think I spotted her at Midge Klump's funeral. Wait….could that be Toni? Why now has she come out of the shadows? What is suddenly bringing her path to cross mine? Unless she…..unless she's seen him….

"Alice?" I glance up from my fazed out state towards the bedroom entryway. Hot Dog perches up a bit at the new presence. Hiram hesitates for a second before he rushes over to me. He's on edge, I can sense it the closer he gets to me, but I think he's somewhat relieved to see me up and walking about. And I'm relieved to see him here. I take baby steps into him as we collide into each other's embrace. My nose taps the edge of his shoulder blade. His fingers weave their way into my hair. I keep my eyes shut when I tap my forehead against his. Cool skin lowers my body temperature. Fingertips dance down my jawline. All I see in the dark of my eyelids is blue.

I hear him struggle with his sentence. "Is your leg….do you need me to….." He doesn't finish. I don't need him to. I know. Do I need Blue? Maybe? Common sense says, I can live. I can go on with my day. I can try and perform Blue on my own. But a new voice, one echoing from my heart, replies, Do it, Hiram. I want you to heal me. I want your witchcraft to cure my wounds. I want your soothing voice to be the only voice haunting me. I want you to take my pain away. I want you to make my past disappear. I want to go numb, and to only feel you.

I flutter my eyes open, mostly in shock of what emotions just rose out of me. What my heart seems to interpret of him. When did I start thinking like this? How long has my heart been waiting all these years to make itself heard?

"I'm okay for now." I end up telling him, silencing my heart. I move my hands up to grab onto his face. "But I appreciate the offer. As always." His expression lightens. His lips curl upward. Our foreheads come more together. I rest my hands on his shoulders, I feel his blood pulse. It's quiet. It's easy. Nothing else matters.

"Here's the address to her shop…." I look away from Hiram in time to find Gladys storming back into the room, wielding a business card in her hand. She stops mid sentence, frozen with a wide-eye glance. Her eyes dart back and forth between the two of us. Her lips remain shut in a straight line. I watch as her mouth breaks open, her jaw bobbing up and down all tightly. She closes her eyes, using the card to point at us. "Did…..I just interrupt something?"

"NO." Hiram and I both announce at the same time. Realizing our actions, we exchange a quick glance, then we both turn to Gladys. She's blinking fiercely at me. I turn back to Hiram. I lift a finger, signaling for him to wait. I hobble in Gladys's direction, reaching for the business card. I run my fingers along the smooth cardstock when I glance down at the name.

I've been in this shop. I bought my first set of books on witchcraft from here, as well as my first tarot card pack and a small pouch of crystals. It all came out of this shop. All the times I went in, every purchase I made…..it went to the Topaz Family. It's connected to the Uktena. And I never knew.

"Is the shop still open?"

"Closes around 5, I think." she says while crossing her arms. I bring the card to Hiram. I ask him to check the time. It's still light out, but we need to be cautious. We already lost most of our morning with Joseph. We spent the past hour or two researching with the Joneses. And who knows how long it took for Gladys to mend my injury. By the look of the sky, I'd say it's about 4 or 4:30. Is it already that late? And….shouldn't Sabrina be coming back home by now? FP said something about her and Jughead going to the library earlier. I swear, they've been sneaking off just as much as I have with Hiram and the Joneses. What purpose does she have to go around town for? Unless she's hiding something from me….

Hiram taps my shoulder. "We have time, but we should move now before it's too late." Blood pulses through my ears. My heart weighs down my chest. Should I have found Toni sooner? Should I have approached her this morning? What will we say to one another? The sky is turning a darker grey. The light of the bedroom is dimming. Hiram and I really need to get a move on.

I ignore my thigh's plea for mercy, and I nod at him. "Alright. Let's go get our girl."

XXXXXXXX

TONI

The spirits better be right. Normally, I close the shop a few minutes before 5, just so I can set everything back in order, perform my closing spells, and run through the accounting figures. But the spirits told me to stay open. They tell me someone is coming at 4:49. It's beyond my time. I usually shut down around 4:30, but not tonight. Someone is coming.

I run through the numbers in the little office behind the counter. I impatiently glance back and forth through my work and at the clock. 4:46. I dreamt of that man again last night. My last connection to the other world still left me on edge. I saw the Reaper. I saw who he has manipulated and who is trying to run from him. I saw the woman screaming for answers. The blonde color of her hair isn't as glistening or as fresh from how she appeared in my ritual. But she's the one the spirits want me to stay open for.

4:47. I saw a girl too. She's hanging around with Jughead now. I'm glad he's got friends again. My crew took him in when no one else wanted to play with him. His parents are good people too. His mother is like me, bound to an oath that is dying. She doesn't want anything to do with the Serpents, neither does her husband. I don't blame them. I want out too. But it's not easy for people like me. I don't have the privilege to run away and start over. Sweet Pea, Fangs, and Joaquin could. But not me. They're my friends, but they'll never know what it's like to live in my world.

4:48. My skin itches. My heart pounds. Any second, she'll be here. Just like the spirits said. I run through the scenarios in my head. What will she ask of me? What if I refuse? What will happen if the Reaper continues to run loose? Regardless, I'm willing to help, only if I don't get trapped and find myself in a Mammy role. I shouldn't have to do this solely for her. Or for anyone. I should do it for myself.

The more I think about it, the Reaper does play a role in my history. I may be the only chance she has to stop him. Or it could be the reverse. I don't know. Sometimes I hate the spirits for not giving me a full answer. What would Granddad think if he heard me cursing out the spirits? He'd probably tell me to play nicer. To not get so judgemental. Well, sorry Granddad. But I've done what you said and it hasn't worked out for me. I'm done playing up to others. If I'm doing this, I'm doing it for me. For the legacy you left behind with me.

4:49.

My heart stops. Everything goes silent. I set my pen down. Okay, spirits, it's time. Where's our lady? I release my breath through my teeth. I run my fingers down my hair to comb it out. I let my pink mane rest on my shoulders. Any second now.

The front door chimes. My head lifts. This is it. I get up from my seat and begin to make my way out. I stop at the doorway, out of view from the shop. I have to calm my heart down. What if this doesn't go well? What if the spirits led me wrong? I bless my Granddad from the grave. Outside my office, footsteps wandering through my shop. Another set of footsteps enters, heavier than the first. "Hello?" one vocalizes. Her. I breathe in, breathe out.

"Antoinette Topaz?" the other says, a male. I freeze. He said my given name. No one has called me Antoinette in years. How would he….

Okay, I guess there's no use hiding. I take one more breath, then I leave the comforting solitude of my office.

The blonde from my visions, the one from the trailer parks, meets my gaze. Next to her, a rich man with dark hair glares softly. I don't say this out loud, but they look like a married couple. But she's here. She's about to do what the spirits predicted.

"You're speaking to her." I salute to them, flicking two of my fingers down from my eyebrow. Relieved, the blonde steps away from her dark-haired significant other (is it wise for me to assume they're together?). She comes closer to the counter. I place my hands down, solidifying the barrier between us. She doesn't look manipulative, but I should keep my guard up. She's been around the Reaper. Who knows what influence he held over her.

"I hope we're not bugging you at a bad time…" she starts.

I hold a hand up. "You're all good. The spirits told me you were here to see me anyway." Her cautious expression is traded in for an amazed one. The dark-haired man shoots her a worried glance. I send my eyes over to him. I still don't know how he had the audacity to use my given name.

"The spirits?" he says. I nod. I use a finger to draw a circle up in the air. His face goes flat, like he's been defeated in some Socratic debate battle. I could laugh, but I need to stay focused. I return to the blonde.

"You obviously came to me for something important. Beyond what I'm selling on those shelves. You need my magic." The blonde goes to speak, but her mouth gapes open and shut. Eventually, she gives up and closes her mouth. It's not my intention to intimidate her. I do want her to trust me. But more than anything, I need to trust her.

"Gladys said you could…" I feel my eyeballs snap open. She knows Gladys Jones? Okay, why am I acting surprised? Her boy is running around with that girl. I've walked by Pop's and seen them working together. But Gladys must have told her about me. About my lineage to the Uktena. About what I can do.

I rest my elbows down on the countertop, my fingertips drumming the surface. "This involves the Reaper, I'm assuming?" I ask with my head tilted to the side. They both look at one another, shocked that I brought up the name. But that's why they came to me, right? She nods at him to confirm that yes, I did mean the Riverdale Reaper. I appreciate this woman's confidence.

The man leaves his place to stand closer to her. "More along the lines of….someone he may have hurt."

Ahh, I get it now. I push off of my elbows, standing up straighter. I come up with a mental list of rituals I could perform, tools and herbs I would need, how dangerously wrong it could go if one of us messed up. But I'm jumping to conclusions here. Before I settle into any sort of detail, I need the specifics.

I rest my hands on my hips, my confidence growing. I look them both in the eye, "Alright. Who am I getting into contact with?"

XXXXXXXX

End of Chapter Two