I'm slowly getting this story back on track. I'm dealing with an eye injury/allergy thing (they don't know) so I've been taking it easy on my computer. BUT we have a new chapter, and with it, some important discoveries.

Before anyone asks: I've skipped a moment, but it WILL happen. The timing's changing, that's all.

Song: Knives - The Box Tiger
Disclaimer: I have consulted all legal documents and have confirmed I don't own Riverdale. Dialogue borrowed from the show is strictly for context and no infringement is intended. I'm just having fun in this little bubble.


Seven: Knives

"I found love at the river by the sea
It's not much, but it's just enough to see
It's always changing and it's changing me...
We stop to defend what we know's not right
I can just exchange a little love for light
If it cuts like a knife..."
Knives - The Box Tiger

Some say the truth will set you free, that unburdening oneself of a secret is no different than shedding a heavy load from the shoulders. For those grunting beneath a guilty conscience, there is a freedom in revealing that which one has so desperately strived to keep unseen. The lies fall away, and with them, the energy to maintain appearances. A secret is exhausting when kept in fear.

But the truth isn't always better for those around us. Sometimes, the oblivion of a false reality is a refuge best undisturbed by fact. We all tell white lies—lies designed to protect those around us from a truth better unsaid. "I'm fine," says the friend struggling with depression. "I'm happy for you," we tell the unrequited love who has announced they're engaged to another.

The events of the last two days are a kaleidoscope of truth and lies. I turn the hollow tube, watch the shards bump and align. Blood seeps between the cracks, staining the coloured glass until all I see is red. The red hair of a murdered young man, muddied with dirt from a river bed. The fiery rage of injustice suffered by the young mother who lost their children to the Shakespearean hate of their families.

The truth, it can cut our binds, or it can cut us deeply, leaving our bodies to bleed out on the floor. I can't help but wonder if we're safer not knowing what happened to Jason Blossom. Because right now, that truth seems to me a butcher knife, its shiny blade reflecting in the moonlight. It stalks us in darkness, seeking a new set of shoulders to bury itself between, perhaps those of my very own Nancy Drew.

I dare it to try. I'll see it buried in my own chest before I ever let that happen.

Pizza in hand, Jughead knocked briskly at the door of the Andrews home. Pepperoni and sausage, Archie's favourite. He hoped it would be enough to steel his friend's nerves. Food always comforted him, but Jughead understood why thanks to an article he'd read online about food insecurity and the enduring impacts of poverty. Food meant stability, security, and in some warped sense, love. For his entire life, his best friends had tended to his hunger, refusing to let him go without. They'd offered treats and shared lunches in the guise of normal lunchroom swaps, but Jughead knew better now. They'd heard the rumble of his empty stomach in class, and did as much as children could do. Kindness, love, whatever he called it, it was something he'd never forget.

The door swung open, revealing an anxious Archie. "You alone?"

"Yeah, obviously," Jughead replied, gesturing to the empty porch around him. "Fred home?"

"He's out for dinner. Says FP invited him out for a burger." Archie raised an eyebrow. "Your doing?"

"I told you last night that I'd work it out. You gonna let me inside or what?"

Archie stepped aside, ushering Jughead into the foyer. The pizza was passed off, the scent of cheese and spicy pepperoni making Jughead salivate. Archie led the way to the kitchen, scarcely dropping the box on the counter before tugging the lid open and grabbing a slice.

"I don't know about this, Jug," Archie muttered before taking a large bite.

"We went over this last night. Kevin said you wouldn't be in trouble. You agreed to tell him tonight and get him to confirm that." Jughead's eyes widened as his frantic friend shoved half the slice into his mouth. "It's going to be okay, Arch."

"Maybe." Or, rather, Mrrbrr, what with the pizza jammed in the ginger haired teen's jaw.

"Arch—"

The two of them startled as the doorbell pealed through the house. Kevin's early. Fantastic. Couldn't keep him from a juicy secret, apparently.

"I'll get that," Jughead announced, heading for the door.

"Wait!" Archie pleaded, second slice in hand.

"No more waiting." Jughead opened the door in spite of the many cursed protests behind him, forcing a smile. "Kevin. I said eight."

The sheriff's son shrugged, flashing an easy smile. "It's seven forty-five."

"Did you ever consider we needed to clear the house before your arrival?"

Kevin's eyes widened. "Oh! No, I… But wait, Fred's truck isn't here."

"Lucky for you it isn't." Jughead pulled him inside and pointed the way to the kitchen. "Better grab some pizza while you can. It's perfect for you: meat galore."

"Between yesterday's rendezvous and your compliments, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were flirting with me, Jughead Jones." Jughead's mouth fell open, but Kevin quickly cut him off. "But I do know better. Everyone but the Oblivious Twins has clued in."

Trailing Kevin to the kitchen, Jughead grimaced. No, it's not that obvious. He's wrong. People don't know a damn thing. Except Kevin, apparently. Guess reading the body language of closeted queer jocks lends itself to spotting unrequited affection. Jughead shook away thoughts of a certain blonde in a hurry. Tonight was about helping another blonde he cared about—one who'd had her entire world ripped away from her by cruel parents and an elusive killer. He couldn't fix the former, but perhaps the latter could be found and brought to justice.

Archie leaned against the fridge, avoiding Kevin's gaze as their guest snagged a slice of pizza. Jughead jabbed him in the arm, jerking his head in Keller's direction. Physically daunting in size, his friend seemed diminished now. Guilt, perhaps, at keeping silence? Fear of being judged for his ill-advised affair?

"So," Kevin began, swallowing a careful bite of pizza, "I came here to listen, without judgement. I'm just a friend who happens to know the law tonight."

Archie grimaced. "A friend whose dad is going to be pissed at me."

Kevin shook his head. "No, not really. Look, I did some recon. I purposely put on this true crime show last night where a witness came forward ten years after a murder. A decade. And I was like, 'Whoa, wouldn't she be in trouble for hiding that for so long?' And my dad said, and I quote, 'Better late than never. Telling the truth isn't always easy.' He's not stupid, Archie. He'll understand."

Jughead placed a steadying hand on his friend's shoulder. "We'll back you up, Archie. We won't let him punish you."

Shoulders slumped, Archie reluctantly spilled his secret to Kevin: how he'd become involved with Miss Grundy; how they'd decided to spend the Fourth of July on a private picnic; how their rendezvous had been interrupted by a sound very much like a gunshot. How the gunshot had sounded very close—as in, not across the river, where Cheryl claimed she and Jason were. How Cheryl and Jason were nowhere to be seen, putting them away from the gunshot.

Kevin exhaled loudly, shaking his head. "Whoa… I mean, this is huge. It sounds like Cheryl was telling the truth. The second time, anyway. And you didn't say anything until now?"

"How could I?" Archie snapped defensively. "Miss Grundy could have lost her job. And if I'd said I was there alone? Especially after Coach Clayton bumped me to Jason's spot on the team?"

"Yeah, okay, I get it." Kevin frowned, toying with a piece of pepperoni on his plate. "So, now what? I mean, are you gonna tell my dad everything?"

"I don't know!" Archie's hand slapped against the counter. "I can't do that to Miss Grundy. I can't ruin her career. But who's going to believe I was there alone?"

Jughead paced the length of the kitchen, mulling the options. "We want Sheriff Keller to know about the gunshot. We want him to know the time it happened, but not why you were there. What we need a plausible reason for you hanging around the river in the early morning."

"Cruising for guys?" At Jughead and Archie's baffled expressions, he smirked. "Hey, it's why I'd be at the river at odd hours of the day. Obviously."

"Not gonna work for me," Archie replied. "Not that there's anything wrong with it. Just, I can't fake being gay."

"Nor would we want you to," Kevin replied lightly.

Jughead froze, an idea forming. "What about a half-truth?"

"Go on," Archie urged.

"Well, your relationship began as music tutoring," Jughead mused aloud. "What if music was the reason you were there?"

Kevin snapped his fingers. "A secret indulgence of another kind by the river! You didn't want to risk anyone hearing the songs you were writing."

Jughead nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. You went looking for a quiet place to work on a song. And then, after Jason was found, you stayed quiet because you were there alone and afraid that either you'd be a suspect, or the killer would come for you next."

For the first time in days, Archie's muscular frame relaxed. "Do you think your dad would believe it?"

"Without a doubt," Kevin affirmed. "Especially the fear of being the next victim. After all, nothing like this happens in Riverdale," he added with a knowing glance at Jughead.

Details were hashed out, a narrative rehearsed, and the pizza demolished before Mr. Andrews returned home, none the wiser. Goodnights exchanged, Jughead and Kevin headed out into the warm Autumn air together. Alone on the porch, both men instinctively glanced over at the Cooper house.

"Think she'll be back at school soon?"

Jughead shrugged. "I honestly don't know. Want me to break into her bedroom and ask her?"

"I think we can wait. Or I can, anyway." Kevin nudged his shoulder. "Come on, I'll give you a lift to Sunnyside."

They rode in silence, save the low hum of the radio tuned to the top 40 station. Jughead resisted the urge to mock the latest derivative pop single, well aware that Kevin lived in the opposite direction. A ride was always welcome, particularly at night, when the alternative was a stroll down a poorly lit road.

"I kinda knew about Grundy," Kevin blurted out suddenly.

Jughead turned from the window, surprised by the confession. "And you didn't think to mention this to Archie?"

"And shut him up for good? No way. My dad needs this information. I told you, the case is cold. Anything could break it open." He signalled and turned onto the road leading to the trailer park. "I didn't know for sure."

"But you suspected?" Jughead prodded.

"It was something Veronica said, last spring," Kevin explained. "Something about Grundy's resignation announcement and how she could prey on pretty things elsewhere. I forget what she said exactly, but the way she said it, and how she looked over at Archie… I wondered what the story was."

Veronica knows about Grundy and Archie, Jughead mused. Must have stung for her to find out he was shooting her down for a teacher.

Pulling over beside the Sunnyside sign, Kevin sighed deeply. "There's one other thing…"

"Hmm?"

"Whatever Veronica knows? I think she got it from Betty."


Archie skipped Friday morning's classes with Fred's blessing, finally summoning the courage to talk to Sheriff Keller. By Friday afternoon, the rumour mill was furiously sharing word that another person had heard the gunshot by the river—and that Cheryl couldn't have pulled the trigger. Jughead had no doubt, from the satisfied smile upturning her ruby lips, that the Blossom heiress was the one who'd fanned the flames.

Jughead's relief was buoyed further by an unexpected text during fourth period.

I broke my phone out of jail.

Chuckling softly, he tapped out a reply. Does this mean you'll be breaking out of Casa Cooper soon?

A minute passed. I might need some help. The warden slipped this morning. I doubt it'll happen again.

Jughead smirked as he texted back. I've said it before, but I'll say it again: Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.

The ponytail is deceptive. It's not nearly long enough, I'm afraid.

He tucked his phone deeper into his lap, lest he be caught by the man droning about Chemistry upfront. Ladder it is. Unless Mama Cooper's figured that out and fed the pieces to the fireplace.

Not yet. Another text soon followed. Is everything okay, Juggie? Chuck has sent some texts and they worry me.

How could he handle this tactfully? Somehow, he suspected calling her boyfriend a worthless shitbag wouldn't go over well, even if it was the truth. He'd managed to avoid Chuck today, thanks to some helpful intel from Archie on the jock's schedule, but the previous four days had been a series of threats and nasty comments from Clayton and his goon squad.

Nothing I can't handle, Betts.

The bell rang, startling Jughead from their conversation. Shoving his books into his bag, he waited anxiously for her reaction. With no reply by the time he reached English, he hesitated outside the classroom, typing a new message.

I'm fine. Promise. How's Polly?

A response soon followed. Polly's better and you're lying. What did he do to you?

Unable to bite his tongue, Jughead was perhaps too honest. Let's just say if he ever treats you the way he treated me, the football team will need to adjust its starting line-up.

Pocketing his phone, he reluctantly headed inside and took his seat. He'd pressed his luck, but every passing day made it harder to pretend he was okay with the toxic trash she was dating. Sooner or later, Betty would have to face the reality of her situation. Jughead only hoped she'd be strong enough to put herself first and walk away for good.

A vibration in his pocket, then another. Hesitantly, he read the messages waiting for him:

I'm sorry, Jug.

COME OVER AFTER SCHOOL. Jail break. SOS.

Glancing up, he realized Mr. Cochrane was late—again. He snatched up his bag and left class without a second thought. Betty needed him and he would be there for her. He would never let her down again. If the school called his dad, he would remind him of his own words of caution. Betty needed me, Dad. That would be all the excuse he needed.

He made the walk in ten minutes, his chest heaving slightly from the weight of his bag and the almost-run of his gait. Quickly studying the Cooper home, he determined that both cars were mercifully absent from the driveway. Betty and Polly were alone. But for how long?

Better take the ladder, he decided. The escape route might be necessary.

Hefting the stairway into alignment with his personal heaven, he ascended carefully, mindful of noise. For all he knew, Alice Cooper had hired a babysitter for her grown daughters. As his eyes drew level with Betty's window, he was relieved to find her alone in her room, scribbling furiously in a notebook. A quick tap of the window pane and Betty's head spun in his direction.

Her palms slid the window open as she shook her head. "I said to come after school," she admonished him.

"You also said SOS," he countered, climbing inside. "Come on, Betts. Aren't you happy to see me?"

Her arms wrapped around him tightly, her vanilla scent enveloping him. "Very," she murmured against his shoulder.

He held her close, swallowing hard yet unable to rid himself of the lump in his throat. Had it only been a few weeks since he'd believed he would never again see her face, or hold her in his arms? It seemed a lifetime away here, in the sanctity of her room. He squeezed her in reassurance, the tension in her shoulders betraying a hidden anxiety.

"What's wrong?"

She pulled back slightly, her face inches from his. "I got a text from Veronica. About Archie."

"You know he met with Keller then?"

"Mmhmm. But that's not the reason I asked you to come over. I told Polly about it, and she started asking questions about Jason. She's been avoiding the details since she came home. But today, she wanted to know everything the sheriff knew." Her words tumbled out quickly. "Jason had a plan. Just like Cheryl said. And Polly knows what it was!"

Jughead rocked back on his heels. "Okay, back up. I thought your parents convinced her that he didn't want to be with her."

"They did, Juggie. Eventually. I can't believe I didn't make the connection before. My parents sent Polly away on the Fourth of July. Can you guess why?"

It took a moment, but only just: a memory of Cheryl came to mind, and with it, clarity. "Cheryl was right. Jason had a plan to leave. With Polly."

Betty nodded eagerly. "Yes! Polly told me that Jason had promised they would leave town and start a new life, free of our parents and the Blossoms. They were even engaged! Secretly, of course."

Jughead whistled low. "Holy shit. No wonder Alice and Hal flipped out. Their daughter marrying a Blossom?"

"Tell me about it. Now I finally understand why Nana Rose was telling I was smart to hide a ring. Jason got the engagement ring from Nana. It's a Blossom heirloom. Penelope would lose her mind if she knew a Cooper had it," Betty mused aloud.

"So, what was the plan?"

"Polly didn't know everything, but Jason told her to pack her bag and meet him on the Fourth of July. There was supposed to be a car hidden behind an old sign for the Blossom Maple Farm out on Route 40." Betty paused, visibly excited. "No one has EVER mentioned a car, Jug."

The reason for the jailbreak had crystallized. "You're thinking the car is still out there."

"Or some evidence of it. There could be something really helpful out there, maybe a clue to Jason's killer," Betty exclaimed. "We need to go look for it."

"What about your parents? And Polly?"

"Polly has a therapy session out of town and my mother is with her. My father is probably getting drunk somewhere, having had his fill of the Cooper Crazy," Betty spat.

"So, what you're saying is this jailbreak could have been via the front door?" Jughead joked.

"Well, yes, but I find I'm getting used to you sneaking in through my window. I'm jealous Archie's been having all the fun until now."

"I do enjoy risking my life on a rickety ladder or trellis." Gesturing to the window, he winked. "Care to live dangerously?"

Betty hesitated. "I'm not that great with heights, remember?"

"I think the entire town remembers the day Betty Cooper hopped on the Ferris wheel and discovered her fear of heights." Jughead dodged a playful slap to his arm, chuckling. "I'll take the ladder down and put it away. You can meet me downstairs."

"No, wait. This is a jailbreak. We should do this right." Biting her lip, she pointed out the window. "But you first. You can catch me if I fall."

"Betty, you don't have anything to prove to me."

"I know. I'm proving it to myself."

Irrationally, they descended the ladder: Jughead first, nimbly and quickly; Betty cautiously, with Jughead holding it steady. He studied her feet and hands, monitoring her for signs of fear or danger, but her escape from her prison was as smooth as his own. As her feet touched the lawn, she exhaled loudly and giggled.

"I did it!"

"You're Betty Cooper. You can do anything."

Her cheeks flushed and her head bowed. "I wouldn't go that far."

"Then I'll go there for you."

Time halted as they studied each other: him in his beanie and favourite 'S" shirt; her in a sunny, yellow sweater and her signature ponytail. For a moment, he considered confessing his years-long affection for her, perhaps punctuating it with a kiss, but only a moment. Because then, he remembered Polly's painful losses, and knew that no matter how he felt, or how mesmerizing Betty was when she sleuthed, he'd made a promise to help find answers for her sister.

You've waited five years. What's another day?

"I know a shortcut to the farm," he blurted out, hurriedly returning the ladder to the shed. "Follow me."


The name of the single lane highway—Route 40—lent an officiality to the worn stretch of pavement, but in reality, it was nothing more than a circuit that kept industrial traffic out of Riverdale proper. Many in town called it the Maple Highway, because that was all that ever traversed the winding loop: maple syrup, and remnants of trees culled to keep the Blossoms prosperous.

Jughead remembered these facts as he and Betty trekked through a neighbourhood bordering the Southside into a wooded area flanked by train tracks and an auto mechanic. He told himself it was for his book, that it would flesh out whatever happened next with a contrasting quaintness. In reality, he was avoiding a whirlwind of thoughts about his investigative partner.

What had Kevin meant last night when he said Veronica had gotten information about Grundy from Betty? Had she known about Archie being hot for teacher? Worse, had that knowledge driven her into the arms of a manipulative macho creep? And speaking of Clayton, what had he texted Betty that had given her reason to be concerned about Jughead?

So many questions, none that he dared speak aloud.

Betty's soft voice pulled him from his frantic thoughts. "Is it much farther?"

"Um, not too far. About five minutes or so 'til we hit Route 40. We should be pretty close to the Blossom property when we do."

"Good. It's already getting dark, and my keychain flashlight isn't the best."

The sky had quickly turned overcast as they headed out in some strange pathetic fallacy deal that he couldn't have conjured up in his book. The ripples of black throughout the silvered swath of clouds overhead hinted at a downpour.

Jughead drew his Sherpa coat closer as a chill rolled down his spine. "Hopefully, the weather holds until we're back in town."

"If nothing else, I'm sure that beanie could use a wash," Betty joked quietly. "You still wear it everywhere."

"I'm wearing it until the day I die." He pushed up on a low-hanging branch, holding it away from Betty so she could pass through the brush. "It's comfortable."

"Or comforting," she countered, passing so close to him that their lips almost touched. "Maybe someday, you'll tell me why."

Jughead swallowed hard. "Yeah. I… It's just silly, that's all."

Betty reached back for the branch he was holding, urging him with her hand to follow her. "If it matters to you, it's not silly, Jug."

While he wasn't sure he'd ever be willing to speak of the complex relationship he had with his beanie, he knew if there was one person he'd trust to hear it, it would be Betty. With an awkward smile of gratitude, he moved on just ahead of her, studying the shadowed path.

"We should veer left here. Closer to the farm."

Betty nodded, following without hesitation. She trusted him. Betty had always been trusting, ever the one to offer the benefit of the doubt. She was born wanting to see the best in everyone. It was why she'd offered her friendship to him. She and Archie had that in common as kids. While his parents' separation had left Archie wary, Betty had never wavered.

Archie… The longer he sat with Kevin's revelation, the more it consumed him. If Archie's actions had led to Clayton snaring Betty in his psychological traps…

"Did you have any idea about Archie's secret?" Jughead asked quickly, intentionally vague.

Betty startled slightly, toying with the zipper on her jacket. "His secret?"

"I thought you said Cheryl texted you. Or was it Veronica? I forget."

Veronica's name was a gentle prod, a hint of something more than a hidden knowledge of the events at Sweetwater River. He hated toying with her mind this way, but if she had kept the secret this long, there was a reason.

Betty recovered quickly, but her brief pause was telling. "Oh! Veronica texted me, although Cheryl did send some vague message about being right. So, Archie was at the river? Why didn't he say anything sooner?"

"I guess he felt that no one would believe he was working on music," Jughead replied casually. "Even that was a secret, until recently."

Betty grimaced. "Is that what he said?"

She knows. Kevin was right. No sense dancing around it. Honesty was the foundation of their friendship.

"So, I take it you know about Grundy?"

Betty chuckled darkly. "You've only been back a few weeks. Did you sleuth it out or did he actually admit it?"

"Something he said clued me in. Didn't take much to pry it loose." He paused on the darkened path, hands thrust inside his pockets for warmth. "He was lonely and she was there. I had just moved to Toledo."

Betty's eyes widened. "And I was in L.A."

Jughead nodded. "He's a mess over it. He cares about her, even if he knows it was wrong."

Betty tugged absently on her ponytail, toying with the loose waves. "Juggie, can I tell you something and have it stay between us?"

"About Grundy?" She nodded quickly and Jughead matched her. "Yeah, of course."

The words spilled from her lips in quick succession: how she'd gone looking for Archie for Chemistry notes, having missed class for a Vixens-helmed community blood drive; how she'd been told he was in the music room; how she'd headed there, only to notice that the way Miss Grundy behaved around Archie was not appropriate for a student-teacher lesson. How she'd followed her home, seen other teenage boys visiting her house over the next week. How she'd seen Archie come by for a private lesson, curtains drawn.

"I was angry at her," Betty continued. "Angry that she would take advantage of them. Because Archie didn't seem to know about the others. And that meant she was letting him believe it was more than it was. I mean, it's statutory rape, Jug."

"No arguments here. Grundy was way out of line."

"Chuck started wondering where I was going. I'd been watching her for three days, taking pictures, trying to decide what to do. Because as wrong as she was, it would have meant destroying Archie's life, too. I didn't want to see him hurt that way." Betty leaned back against a nearby tree. "I decided I would show Veronica, because she could tell Chuck she was with me. I know you only met her recently, but you can imagine how she reacted."

Jughead grimaced. "Veronica wanted to confront her."

"She wanted to call the cops, throw the book at her. Full dark, no stars, was how she put it. She was as disgusted as I was. But I knew that I didn't have enough proof of it, which meant Archie would be exposed. I dug deeper, trying to find a way to leave him out of it. Turns out Miss Grundy isn't even Miss Grundy."

Jughead's brow furrowed. "She's not—Wait, it was an alias?"

"The real Geraldine Grundy died in 2010. Our Grundy was actually Jennifer Gibson, according to the ID I found in her car." At Jughead's surprised look, Betty threw her hands in the air. "Yes, I broke into her car! Not my finest hour, but Veronica and I wanted proof that she was dating her students."

He drew a deep breath and pushed away his shock. "Gibson takes on a dead woman's name and teaches at Riverdale High to, what, get access to boys?"

"She didn't admit it, but that's my theory."

The pieces were falling into place now. "You confronted her."

Betty hugged herself tightly. "Veronica and I went to her place. We told her we had photos of her affairs and knew her real name. That my mother would publish an article in the paper if she didn't leave town by the end of the week and cut things off with her students. She… resigned the next day."

Jughead wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him immediately. "You wanted to protect Archie."

"I did… and maybe I should have just told him I knew. But by then, we were barely talking."

"He probably wouldn't have listened. He's stubborn."

Betty laughed softly. "He really is. Hot-headed ginger when he wants to be."

Jughead squeezed her gently, tucking her head beneath his chin. "I won't tell him what you told me. And I'm glad she's gone. But you should tell Archie what happened. Maybe not now, but someday. Alright?"

"I'll think about it."

"Good enough for me. You ready to find this car?"

Betty pulled away slowly, straightening her coat and sweater. "Yeah. Let's go find it."

They trudged through the darkness, soon reaching Route 40's dimly lit expanse. Jughead forced himself to push aside Betty's revelations and focused anew on his internalized map of the area. The Blossom property was just ahead to his left, but where was the sign Polly mentioned? Was it further back, in that next exit, two miles sort of way? Or was it a sign at the entrance proper? Polly's details were vague at best.

"Which way should we try?"

"I'm… Not sure. It depends on how far the sign is from the property."

"It has to be closer," Betty insisted. "Think about it: it's been over a year since his body turned up. People have been searching for any sign of where he was in those missing days for that long. The one place no one would dare invade would be Blossom property."

"This way, then."

They walked along the rural highway, facing oncoming traffic like the good, careful daughter Alice and Hal Cooper raised. Jughead struggled to focus on the scenery, seeking the entrance for the Blossom farm, but his mind—and eyes—kept drifting to the woman beside him. Her trusty keychain flashlight was sweeping side to side, reminding him of the swishing of windshield wipers. His emotions, too, drifted in similar fashion: from worry to awe, and back again. A triple chirp of her text message alert from her pocket rolled his stomach; Betty ignoring the messages ushered in a wave of relief to soothe it.

"Over there, across the highway!" Betty shouted, waving her light. "Doesn't that look like a driveway?"

It definitely did. Seizing her hand, Jughead checked both directions and ran across the desolate lanes of road. She followed without hesitation, matching his pace and almost pulling ahead. Her eagerness to find the truth, particularly for her sister, had consumed her. It was there in the steely focus of her green eyes.

It was a short walk up the driveway before they saw it, haloed by a single light overhead: Blossom Maple Farms. His heart began to race as Betty excitedly pointed a little further ahead: tucked within the trees was a very distinct car shape, sheltered by a dirty tarp.

"Polly was right," she whispered happily. "Come on, Juggie!"

He moved quickly towards the vehicle, tugging up the front corner and finding the front bumper. No licence plate. Not interesting. Circling to the back of the car with Betty close behind, he threw up the tarp and popped the trunk. What he found inside left him reeling.

Tucked beneath a woolen blanket lay a packed suitcase, Jason's varsity jacket, and a few boxes of snack foods—clearly supplies for a quick getaway. But it was the plastic packages peeking from beneath the blanket to his left that would change everything.

"What are those?" Betty asked nervously, swinging the light in that direction.

Please let me be wrong, he prayed, tugging a package loose. But he wasn't wrong. While the Serpents had never dealt drugs in Riverdale, they certainly partook. That he knew, from watching the guys at the Whyte Wyrm as a kid. This was a brick of… fuck, is that heroin?

"Drugs. Betty….?"

"Wait, Jughead, put it down. This is evidence. This is all evidence!"

He complied quickly, suddenly panicking. He'd just put his fingerprints on narcotics. What the hell was he thinking? Overhead, the sky cracked, and the rain that had been building over the last hour began to fall.

"Crap! This whole car's a crime scene!" he cursed as droplets pelted his beanie.

Maybe it was the journalist in him; perhaps it was self-preservation. His phone was out and before he could process it, he was documenting the contents of the vehicle in careful fashion. He moved in a steady grid, making sure each photo overlapped another. Nothing would be omitted.

Betty patted his arm nervously. "Okay, we need to get Sheriff Keller. And he needs to talk to Polly."

"One more," he insisted, stepping back for a more complete view of the trunk. "Alright. We'll call him from the driveway, so we can flag him down from there."

The two teenagers hurried along the gravel driveway, stones scattering like the shattered dreams of a dead teenager in a river. Overhead, the rain continued to plummet to the earth. It struck Jughead that a more poetic soul would wonder at the heavens crying for the escape Polly and Jason never made. Thing was, he knew the truth: there was no heaven or hell beyond. The forces of good and evil waged their war among the living, neither adverse to claiming a casualty.

Betty cursed her phone as they huddled near a tree. "No signal!" she shouted angrily.

Jughead checked his phone, groaning at the screen. "Nothing. Storm must be screwing up what little signal reaches the edges of town."

"Damn it!" She wrapped her arms around her chest, rivulets of icy water caressing her pale cheeks. "Why didn't we bring a car?"

"We didn't exactly have a plan," Jughead reminded her. "Come on! If we cut back through the woods to the east, we can call from Pop's."

Her arm looped through his as they hurried across the highway, as eager for warmth as they were for truth. Unbeknownst to either of them, a figure stood in the shadows, watching them recede into the distance.

Darkness would rule just fine in the flesh, in the form of a spark. Fire, meet gasoline.