She was breathing water. Thick and heavy salted air weighed down her lungs in a wet sensation, soaking her senses and drowning out noise. She felt heavy, weighed down like her body would sink right through the floor. Her eyelids blinked rapidly, begging for the release of the spell of drugs that were swirling her in a haze of confusion and pain, but no relief came. She swallowed, her mouth stale and tongue thick, trying to rid the copper taste of blood. With every ounce of energy she had left, Betty pushed open her eyes and blinked into focus her surroundings, absorbing the dark space with faint light and vast openness.
She pushed herself sitting off the cool, concrete ground, mentally scanning over the injuries her body had sustained while she had been out. A sharp throb echoed against her right temple and she rose her fingers to it, gasping in pain as they came into contact with a soft, wet wound, still weeping. Guiding her fingers further down her face, she could feel the dried blood that had caked to her skin and tried to think back to how she had sustained the injury. Her memory was blank.
Betty tried to push herself standing, bracing her weight against the hard floor beneath her. She was too weak and collapsed back into a small, frail pile against the damp floor. Closing her eyes to steady the spinning room, Betty took deep breaths to calm herself, fighting off the rising panic and terror that was consuming her. As she opened her eyes again, a deluge of water poured over her from above, soaking her instantly and careening over her face faster than she could wash it away. The iciness of it made her breathless. Sputtering against the ceaseless stream, she opened her mouth to gasp air into her lungs but all she tasted was water. Her mind, desperate for breath, could only conjure one thought.
Drowning.
There was a stillness in the air, heavy and languid like smoke, hanging above their heads. They tried to ignore its heavy presence, the oppressive silence and bated breaths, but it was an invisible cleaver, ready to drop in an instant.
So he paced, his feet weaving worn circles into the carpet beneath him, round and round in dizzying circles until he couldn't tell up from down, left from right. It felt good to be busy, to be moving, to have anything to do other than sitting in silence and waiting.
The sheriff had left an hour ago with a hysterical Alice on his heels, Hal stoic at her side, the Black Hood's note sealed in a plastic bag and tucked into a subtle manila envelope, a starkly fitting tribute to the threatening note it held.
Jughead held his breath, hoping that the lack of air to his brain would trigger something, anything that could lead him to Betty. All he felt instead was fear.
"Maybe we should go to Pop's?" Veronica asked, her tone weary.
"To do what, Ronnie? Have milkshakes and talk about our day?" Archie snapped, his tone dripping with mockery.
She stood, towering over his position on the couch as he looked shamefully up at her through his eyelashes. "No, Archie." Her tone was sharp, hands planted on either of her hips. "To re-group. To get out of this house and think. To find Betty!"
Archie turned his eyes down from her, ashamed of his outburst but didn't apologize.
"Maybe she's right," Jughead said from his spot by the fireplace, staring into the depths of the empty and cold hearth. "We haven't thought of anything new since the sheriff left. I can't do nothing. We can walk to Pop's, look for any clues on our way there and at least make a plan. I can't…." His voice cracked, the remainder of his sentence hanging in the air like Betty's fate.
"I know, Jug," Archie reasoned, rising from the couch and walking to him. "Okay. Let's go to Pop's and we can make a game plan. Anything is better than sitting here doing nothing."
Veronica sidled up to him, snaking her arm through his and giving it a gentle squeeze of encouragement. "Lucky for us our B is tough," she reassured, nodding to herself. "She won't let anyone hurt her."
They walked briskly, bundled against the cold and bunched tightly together in fear, shoulders bumping against one another's. Eyes peeled for anything out of place. The walk was quiet, each running over their darkest fears inside their minds and trying to quell them with comforting thoughts to no success.
Pop's was a stark contrast. Brightly lit and full of warm and familiar sounds and smells, it provided a false sense of comfort and security, like a flashlight full of batteries that were about to die. They slid into the booth, Veronica pressed against Archie's side and Jughead left staring at the empty space beside him.
"Where should we start?" Jughead asked, twisting his fingers together on top of the formica tabletop.
"The letters and calls," Veronica answered instantly. "Betty never told Archie and I that the Black Hood was contacting her. You'll have to fill us in on those details."
Jughead shook his head, pressing his fingers against his closed eyes until all he saw was stars. "She only told me the other day," he conceded. "A week after it happened."
"Why?" Archie asked, his eyebrows knotting together.
"Betty was afraid."
"Of the Black Hood?" Veronica pressed.
Jughead shook his head. "No. Well yes," he backtracked. Raising his eyes to meet Archie's he said, "She was afraid you would blame her for your dad getting shot."
Archie recoiled, horrified that Betty would ever think that he would blame her for something like that. "Why…" he began, but stopped short as Pop approached their table.
"There you kids are," he said with a familiar smile. "I have something for you." From the depths of his apron he removed it, a thick, plain envelope scrawled across the front in black ink. "This was dropped off for you kids here a few hours ago. Told me to give it to you."
"Who told you to give this to us, Pop?" Archie asked, pulling the envelope away from his hands, desperately wanting to open it immediately but wanting privacy first.
"Never seen him before," Pop replied, habitually drying his hands on the cloth draped over arm. "Just came in and asked me to deliver this and left again."
"Thanks, Pops," Jughead said dismissively without looking up. He had eyes for only the envelope.
Pop's sauntered off towards the kitchen with a nod and a smile.
Archie slipped his finger into the loose opening at the mouth of the envelope and pulled, sliding his finger the length of the opening and tipping it upside down. A plain piece of white paper slipped out onto the table in front of them. The familiar black scrawl was staring back at them, its cryptic message installing dread inside them all.
'Only one of you can save her.'
