Betty felt Jughead's body go slack. She tried holding him up, but she couldn't support his weight so she eased him to the floor, his back against the bars of FP's cell.
"He's dead. He's dead. He's dead," Jughead mumbled. He rocked himself slightly, his head down. This was a fear Jughead had shared with her before. He was terrified his dad wouldn't survive in jail. "They killed him and I never got to tell him that I love him."
"No," Betty said firmly. "No, that's not what happened." The truth was he could be right, but Betty refused to believe it. There had to be a simple explanation.
Jughead continued to whisper to himself, and he was crying now, rocking back and forth harder. For a moment, Betty was taken off guard at what to do. Lately he'd been the one comforting her. But because of that, she knew what he needed from her. A calming, supportive presence. She kneeled in front of him, and when he didn't acknowledge her, she took his face in her hands.
"Jug," she said softly. He didn't respond. "Juggie." Her voice was more firm this time, drawing his attention to her. She brushed some of his dark hair out of his eyes, and he looked up at her. "Hey, it's going to be okay. I'm going to find out what happened. Okay?"
He nodded. "I can't lose him, Betty. I can't."
"You won't. I promise. I'll be right back." He nodded again as she kissed him on the top of his crown beanie. She moved back through the maze of tightly packed desks to where Carol sat at the receptionist area. Carol's back was turned and she was on the phone. Impatient Betty almost plucked the receiver from Carol's hands and hung up the phone, but decided against it when she realized Carol might be on an important life-threatening call. This was the Riverdale police department, after all. Even if the police force was a joke, Carol still could be dealing with something important.
Once Carol hung up the phone, Betty tapped her on the shoulder. "Where's FP?"
Carol turned around. "What do you mean? He's in his cell. Where else would he be?"
"He's not there. The cell is empty."
Her eyes widened. "No, it's not," Carol said. She shut her romance novel and placed it in her desk drawer. "I know he's there. He had a visitor not an hour ago. Then Keller told me not to allow anyone else to see him today." Carol spun around in her chair again and started typing on her computer. "That's impossible. No one leaves the jail cells without me knowing. I do all the discharges." A black screen with green lettering popped up. She typed in Forsythe Pendleton Jones II. The word Transferred blinked at them. "I don't get it. I'm the only one authorized to release prisoners."
"Does it say where he was transferred?" Betty asked.
"No. Pending," she replied.
"How do prisoners get transferred? By bus? Van?"
"Usually a US Marshall escorts them. But none have come in today."
"Unless. . . Unless Sheriff Keller went behind my back and moved him." Betty said.
Carol grimaced as she picked up the phone. "I'm going to make some calls."
"Okay, I'm going to check on Jughead. Let me know what you find out." Betty turned to go back to her boyfriend, but stopped. "Thank you, Carol."
A stunned Carol looked up at her. "You're welcome. I tried not to, but I like FP. I really do. Thirty years ago he broke my daughter Sheila's heart, and I held onto a grudge. But he was just a kid. So is Jughead. I'll find out where his dad is."
Betty smiled at her and turned on her heels. She found Jughead where she'd left him, his back against the bars, his head in his hands, rocking himself gently. She sat beside him and put her arm around his shoulder. His cheeks were damp with tears.
Her heart lurched. Jughead had been through so much. Why this too? "FP is fine," Betty said. "They just moved him."
"He's not dead?" he said. Fresh tears were brimming his eyes. Betty shook her head. "But where is he?"
"We're finding out."
He rested his head on her shoulder. "I have to tell him I love him," he said.
"He knows, Jug."
"But I want to tell him."
"And you will." He tilted his head up and kissed her cheek.
"Excuse me," Carol said as she came through the door to the cells. She had a file folder and a clipboard in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.
Using the cuff of his jacket, Jughead dried his cheeks as he got to his feet and took the cup of coffee Carol offered him. "What did you find out?" He was so calm, so steady. You'd never know that he had just feared that his dad was dead. That he'd just been shaking and crying.
"Keller signed off on your dad's transfer to the state prison, which doesn't make since because no judge ordered the move."
Jughead opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He turned away from them and went to the bar-covered window, leaned his palms against the windowsill, and stared out the foggy glass. When he stayed silent, Betty asked. "Can we go visit him?"
"You'd have to speak with his lawyer," Carol said. "She might be able to arrange something."
She handed Betty the clipboard and pointed to Keller's signature. "See. Sheriff Keller signed Mr. Jones out not even an hour ago. It'll take some time for FP to get processed. They won't allow visits yet, but maybe Mary Andrews can do something for you."
Betty read over the record of who been in and out to see FP over the last week. When Carol saw that Betty was studying it, she tried to take it back. "That's supposed to be for the police department only," Carol said.
Betty didn't listen and Carol didn't try to take it from her. Betty turned away from Carol and kept reading. Jughead, Fred, Mary, someone named Stanley Simpson. "Who's Stanley?"
"People call him Snake for some reason." Carol's nose was scrunched up in disgust.
Betty scanned the list again, and saw something she'd missed before. Eric Simpson was written right above Keller. "Eric was here!" Betty explained handing the clipboard to Jughead. "Right before he called you this morning. He was here talking to your dad. That has to mean something."
Jughead nodded. "And then Keller moved him. Eric must have come to see my dad, asked him if he knew where Snake was."
"And then Eric vanished, along with the leader of the Serpents."
"Eric knows about Goldhead,"Jughead said. "And he had the picture. Maybe he showed the picture to my dad."
"And Keller saw it," Betty said. "FP must have threatened that he'd tell everyone what Goldhead is. He must suspect that's why Fred was shot."
"Goldhead?" Carol asked. Betty and Jughead turned to her. "Why does everyone care about Goldhead?"
"You know what Goldhead is?" Betty questioned.
"I overheard Keller on the phone arguing with someone and Goldhead came up several times, which doesn't make since. Goldhead was a seedy dance club in the seedy Southside, but it closed twenty-five years ago."
"Goldhead was a club?" Jughead asked. "A dance club?"
"Where is it?" Betty asked. "I've never heard of it."
"I don't know where it is," Carol replied. "I would never set foot in such a place. Anyways it closed two decades ago. The reason it closed was never clear. As far as I know, it made a lot of money for the owner."
"So this big secret," Jughead said. "The one that everyone is so worried about is over a dance club from the early 90's? A dance club?"
"What secret?" Carol asked.
"Thank you for all your help, Carol," Jughead said. "We really should be going." He took Betty's hand and they sped walked out of the police station. They didn't speak to each other until they were inside FP's truck.
"There must be more to it," Betty said. "Give me your phone. I want to call Ms. Andrews so she can start working on getting us access to your dad." Jughead handed over his cell.
"And maybe you can use your magic and get her to tell us why she really thinks Fred got shot."
Betty dialed Mary, and she answered on the third ring. "Mary Andrews attorney at law."
"Ms. Andrews, it's Betty. Can Jughead and I come over? We want to talk to you about FP."
"Oh, Betty, I wish I could, but I had to make a quick trip back to Chicago." Flight 679 is now boarding. Betty heard announced from Mary's end. "That's me, dear. I have to run. I'll be back tomorrow."
"Wait! But FP is-" Betty said, but it was cut off by the dial tone. When Betty called her back, the phone went straight to voicemail. Betty left a brief message telling Mary what had happened to FP and that they needed to get into see him ASAP.
Jughead had pulled up to the Cooper's house by the time Betty gave him back his phone. Alice was waiting for them on the porch. Beside him, Betty sighed, but didn't make a move to get out of the truck.
"Can you just keep driving?" Betty asked. "I don't know what to say to her. She's going to barrage me with a thousand questions, and I don't have any answers right now. She's going to make me go back to that quack of a psychiatrist. He'll try to put me on more meds."
Jughead didn't know she'd been seeing a psychiatrist or that she'd been on medication. Neither of those things bothered him, but he'd keep a closer eye on her. Because he loved her, he didn't want her to be in any pain.
"I didn't tell your mom you cut yourself," he said. "All she knows is that you went AWOL on both of us."
"Okay," Betty said, wiping her palms on the jeans she was wearing. "It's not the first time I've done that. Living with Alice Cooper can be intense. Everyone in the family has taken a mental health day or two to get sometime off from her. She'll be mad, but I can handle that."
She reached for the door, but Jughead stopped her. "Are you supposed to be on something now?" he asked. "Something to. . ." He didn't know exactly how to put it.
"Something to keep my darkness at bay?" she asked, but was smiling. He nodded. "Yeah, along with Adderall to keep my focused in school, but . . ."
She stopped talking when Alice came off the porch and toward them. She took off the Serpent jacket and left it on the front seat beside him. Jughead stared down at the snake on the back of it, and thought about what Betty had said about him joining the Serpents. She was right. It was a good idea. He'd do it.
"I gotta go. I'll deal with my mom. Come over in about an hour and we'll both talk to her about Goldhead and see what she knows." Betty kissed his cheek and then stepped out of the truck.
As the door shut, he expected Alice to lay into Betty, but instead, a sleep deprived Alice ran to Betty and threw her arms around her daughter, and they both held each other while they sobbed. Wanting to give them privacy, he pulled away from the curb and into the Andrews's driveway.
Hungry, he went into the kitchen, and when he flipped on the light, he jumped when he saw Archie sitting alone at the kitchen island, a bowl of cereal and milk in front of him that had turned to mush. Archie looked into nothingness and Jughead wondered just how long he'd been like this. Jughead knew he had been dealing with his own crisis of his missing girlfriend for the last twenty-four hours, but he should have at least checked on Archie.
"Hey man. What's up?" Placing a hand on Archie's shoulder, Jughead sat down next to his best friend, prepared to hear the worst. "Is your dad okay?"
"What?" Archie said, shaking his head. "Sorry. I zoned out. My dad is fine. I couldn't sleep so I came down here for some cereal, and just lost track of time."
"Worried about your dad?" Jughead asked.
Archie squinted at him like he didn't know what he was talking about, but them he nodded, and said, "Oh, yeah, of course I'm worried about him, but the doctor said he'd be okay."
"Has your mom said anything?" he asked, hoping that Mary would have told him that maybe Fred's shooting wasn't as random as they had previously thought. Archie could give him some important info if Mary had filled her son in on what had really happened.
"No, and she left for the airport a while ago. She has a court case she can't miss today, and then she'll be back."
With Mary out of the house, Jughead could do some snooping and look for clues and maybe find some intel on Goldead. He'd call Betty and have him help her, but he needed to get Archie out of the house first. Briefly he thought about telling Archie everything he and Betty had found out, but Archie had been more of a hindrance than help when searching for Jason's killer. And Jughead hated thinking this of his best friend, even to himself, but Archie was kind of clueless, a red-haired airhead. It was best he and Betty kept everything to themselves for now. He'd bring Archie in when they had more concrete answers.
"Really, dude," Jughead said, patting Archie on the back. "What's on your mind?" Jughead knew there was something else bothering his friend.
"A girl," he replied, looking out the kitchen window towards Betty's house.
For a moment, he worried that Archie was still hung up on Betty. She had told him that Archie had acted weird when they were alone after Veronica had made that over the top announcement that she and Archie were dating. He didn't doubt Betty's love for him. He wasn't worried about her, but about Archie. Jughead couldn't blame him. Betty wasn't someone you would ever get over. "Which girl?" Jughead asked, just to clarify. Archie had gone through at least five girls in the last few months.
Archie scoffed. "Veronica of course. I just don't want to screw this up."
"The only way you'll lose her is if you. . .um . . . How do I put this? Just don't-"
"Be a fuck boy?" Archie said, grimacing. At least he saw it too. Maybe Archie wasn't as clueless as he thought.
Jughead chuckled. "Well, yeah. If you like Veronica so much, don't kiss anyone else." Jughead regarded Archie. His shoulders were tense. "There's something else, isn't there?"
"I think I'm in love with Veronica." Archie's face was down turned.
"And? What's wrong with that?"
"I'm happy and I feel bad. My dad is in the hospital, recovering from getting shot. I mean, he almost died, and I can't stop smiling whenever I think about Veronica."
"No, man, it's good you have something. Someone. Betty's made all the difference "
"You love her, and she loves you," Archie said. "Man, the way she looks at you. not You're so lucky. You both are. To have found each other. I think I've always known you two would end up together. You've loved her since we were kids. She's loved you too. It's awesome dude." He clapped Jughead so hard on the back that it stung a little. "I hope Veronica and I can have something like you two have some day."
"You will. Why don't you go see her now." He glanced at the digital clock on the oven. "Her mom will be at work by now. I'm sure she has a lot going on with Fred being out. Go see her."
"You're right!" Archie declared. "I'm going to go make out with my girlfriend."
"You do that," Jughead said.
As Archie pulled on his sweatshirt, Jughead cleared away the overflowing bowl of cereal. After Archie left, Jughead locked the front door and went upstairs. On the way, he texted Betty that he was going to look around the Andrews's house for clues. There wasn't much of interest in Fred's room, at least if you didn't count the picture of Mary in the nightstand drawer and the pair of leather pants hanging in the closet. Neither of those things connected him to Goldhead or to the Serpents. The pants, maybe? But Jughead doubted it. It was probably a part of a forgotten Halloween costume. He couldn't see straight laced Fred Andrews involved with a biker gang.
At least Fred's home office yielded much more pertinent information. In the back of the filing cabinet, Jughead found a thin folder with the label Goldhead on it. His hand shook as he opened the file. He thought he'd find maybe the deed to the dance club Goldhead, but instead he found an obituary on a yellowing newspaper clipping from the Riverdale Register. Even though it didn't mean anything to him, Jughead read it.
January 15, 1992, Michael James, Riverdale commercial property owner and Chamber of Commerce representative, was burned alive in his cabin in the secluded Eversgreen Forest, near Sweetwater River. It is not clear how the fire started yet, but it has been ruled as an accident. Mr. James was 87 as of last Sunday, and at one time owned all property located on either side of Main Street in the Southside. He has no surviving relatives.
Jughead flipped over the article, hoping to actually find something useful, but all that was on the other side was a twenty-five year old ad for Tide detergent. What did this old guy have to do the Goldhead? Maybe at one time he owned the Whyte Wyrm since he owned property in the Southside? What the hell even was Goldhead? Carol could have been wrong. Maybe the Whyte Wyrm never was named anything else. But there was something he could do that might aid in their search. Using Fred's office computer, he entered the guy's name into the public records search.
Michael James owned several pieces of property in Southside, Riverdale, and a plot of land out by Sweetwater. Nothing unusual, nothing that screamed controversy. He saved a screenshot of the public records and took a picture of the obituary to show Betty later. Maybe she could put it all together. He put the file back, and left Fred's bedroom.
After realizing it'd been more than a day since he'd showered and shaved, he spent some time getting cleaned up. He combed his wet hair, but left his cap off as he checked his phone, but Betty hadn't responded to his last text. She was probably still in the thick of it with Alice and hadn't had a chance. He'd give her a few more minutes before he checked on her. For now, he'd take the time to look for information on Goldhead, and he thought he'd check the garage. Fred purchased this house not too long after all of them had graduated high school, not that long after whatever Goldhead was happened. When he came into the garage, he was taken back to the last time he was here with FP, when his dad was still drunk, but had just started to turn his life around.
What if he never saw FP again? Jughead sat down on the couch and buried his head in his hands. He had the thought to look around the garage for clues, but got distracted when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and read a text from Alice.
I need to take Polly to the doctor. She's having some small contractions. I don't want to worry Betty, so I didn't tell her where we went. She's taking a bath. Can you please come sit with her while we're gone?
Of course the answer was yes. After he replied to Alice, he walked next door. Without knocking, he went inside the Cooper's house. He called out to Betty, and when she didn't answer, he raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. As he pushed open the bathroom door, he thought of the Betty he'd found last night, alone, freezing, lost, bloody. But the steam-filled bathroom was empty.
"Betty!" he yelled.
He came into the hallway and ran right into her. She was dressed only in a soft terry cloth robe, her hair wet, her feet bare. She held her cell phone in her hand, earbuds in her ears.
"Juggie!" she examined. "Why are you in my bathroom? Why are you yelling?"
With both his hands resting on her shoulders, he stood in front of her, looking down at her, trying to control his breathing, to reign in his fears. When he'd rushed into the bathroom and ripped open the shower curtain, he was so afraid that he'd find her submerged in a shallow tub, her wrists slit, the tepid water tinged a pale red.
He gathered her in his arms and held her against his chest, kissed the top of her head. "I love you," he said, his voice catching.
"Juggie, what's wrong?" she asked.
He didn't respond. He never stopped kissing her as he hoisted her up and carried her to her bedroom. He didn't dwell on what he thought he might find in the bathroom when she didn't answer him. At that moment, all he knew was that she was okay, they were alive, and they loved each other. Sure things were shitty as they had always been for him, but he had her, and she made all the difference.
"My mom and Polly are home," Betty said as Jughead kicked the door closed and locked it.
"I saw them leave." He set her down and undid the tie of her robe. His hands slid past the opening in the fabric, his palms skimming over the softness of her hips, to the roundness of her ass. Impatient now, he tugged her closer, tighter. One of her legs hitched up, her knee around his waist. A moan buzzed through her throat as he kissed her neck. The fear of finding her in the bathroom dead was leaving him. She was here with him, her skin warm and full of color, of life.
Just thinking of that lively body, he wanted to touch his fill of her so he set her down, her feet sinking into the carpet. He widened the gap in her robe, but did not remove it. The peaks of her breasts were still concealed by the fabric, but her nipples were beaded up, visible and arousing. His hand moved between the valley of her breasts, down the center of her ribs, and disappeared into the downy softness of her sex. His fingers swirled around her core. She was warm and wet and pliable. She rocked back and forth, grinding herself against the top of his palm. He continued to stroke her as his lips and tongue brushed against her neck, caressed her breast, touched and kissed any part of her that he could. Feeling her getting close, he increased the friction, kept up the rhythm she liked. Betty tilted her head up for a kiss, but her lips never made contact with his because she was too busy whimpering and moaning and chanting his name. She rested her head against his chest and he held her up by the waist because her legs didn't look so steady.
After she composed herself, she looked up at him and smiled. "I think you asked me for something in the police station parking lot that I couldn't deliver at the time. I can deliver now," she said, grinning at him. Biting her lip, Betty dropped to her knees and unbuckled his belt. Her tongue rounded the tip of him, lavishing it, as her fingers encircled his shaft, shifting up and down. How did her pretty like mouth know how to do such bad things? How did her slender hands become so skilled at making him crazy? She stopped what she was doing for a second, and when he opened his eyes to see why, she smiled up and him, and then drew him into her wet mouth, deep. The head of him hit the back of her throat, but that didn't stop her.
He had to be inside her. Right then. Right now. Just to feel how alive she was. How alive she made him feel. He hauled her up by her elbows. Bringing Betty with him, he fell back, landing on the windowseat. Her knees bracketed his hips as she rose up and down on him, her untied robe floating behind her like a soft, pink cape. For balance on the narrow window seat, she placed her palms on the glass behind him on either side of his head, giving him an unobstructed view of her breasts. He held onto her hips, guiding her. Her inner walls tightened around him, milking him. As she came again, he decided that he would happily die here, deep inside of the girl he loved. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she collapsed into him, laying her head on his shoulder.
After giving himself time to recover, he stood and brought her with him to the bed, where they peeled back the quilt and snuggled up together among the lacy, rose colored pillows.
"I hope Archie didn't look out his bedroom window and see us," Betty said, hiding her face in his arm, giggling.
He glanced over to the window. "I guess we have the neighbors quite a show. But Archie's not there. He's at Veronica's house."
She looked up at him, her green eyes searching for something in him, but he wasn't sure. "You seemed so worried earlier when you met me in the hall. Why?" Betty asked.
He brushed her damp hair away from her forehead and kissed it. "I know you said that you're okay now, and I believe you, but when you didn't answer. . . I thought. . . I can't forget finding you at the drivein, how lost you looked, how pale and hollowed out, and honestly it scared me. But only because I love you so much. I don't want to see you in pain."
"I'm fine. Really. Please don't worry about me."
"I'll always worry about you. That's my job as your boyfriend."
"I love you, Jughead Jones."
"I love you, Betty Cooper," he replied.
Her phone, which now sat on her nightstand buzzed. She yourself it over and lit up the screen. "I thought it might be my mom, but it's just an email notification," she said.
"How did things go with her, by the way?"
"Okay, but she says I have to stay taking my meds again."
"How do you feel about that?"
She shrugged a naked shoulder. She still had the robe on, but hadn't tied it. Her breasts were present, perky and pink. He wanted her again. Right that second, and wondered how long it would be until his body would oblige him again.
"Maybe she's right," Betty said. But then she selected her unread texts from him. "You were searching the Andrews's house?"
"Yeah. Didn't find much. Honestly I don't really know what we're looking for."
"I do," she said. "You distracted me early." She ran her hand over his chest, down to his sex,
which had already started to harden again. "I talked to my mom. I know what Goldhead is.