"What!?" Jughead asked, sitting up fast, almost knocking Betty off of the bed and onto the floor.
She sat up, too, pulled on her robe, and tied it around herself. She stood up and went over to her dresser and picked up an old photo album from Alice's senior year and handed it to him. "After my mom gave birth to my secret brother, she and my dad broke up briefly, and she fell in love with Snake."
"So was your mom a Serpent?" Jughead asked. He got up, got dressed, and put his beanie back on. He sat on the window seat and rested his elbows on his knees, a stance she knew usually meant he was thinking, piecing together information into a story that made sense.
"Not exactly. Turns out my mom was from the Southside-just one of the many secrets she kept from me. Remember when we were in kindergarten and had to write a report on our mothers? She told me she was born and raised here in Riverdale, even showed me the house where she said she grew up."
"That was the first time you had to read something out loud in class," Jughead said. "Reggie Mantle laughed at you when you accidentally said your mom was the homecoming king instead of queen. He made you cry."
She smiled, recalling the memory. "And I ran into the girls' bathroom. You found me and sat with me while I cried. You told me my article was the best thing ever written. And then you punched Reggie in the mouth during recess." She had forgotten until now, but Jughead remembered. He remembered everything. "You were the first kindergartner at Riverdale Elementary to ever get suspended." She sat down next to him on the window seat.
"First and only," he said. "I told you that I've loved you my entire life."
She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. "I love you," she said.
He grinned at her before going back to the topic at hand. "So Alice and Hal were Riverdale High's retro Romeo and Juliet? Rich boy falls for a girl from the wrong side of the tracks."
Betty flipped the photo album open and showed him a few more pictures of Alice and Snake. "They didn't last long, she said. Just a little rebellion before Alice fully committed to my dad."
"So that Romeo and Juliet end up together," Jughead said.
"But my parents aren't happy. They pretend to be, but they aren't. You make me happy, Jug."
"Ditto," he said. "So what is Goldhead? What did your mom say?"
"As far as she knows, it really was a dance club where they all used to hang out, but it was beneath the Whyte Wyrm. Kinda a speak-easy of the 90s. High school kids could drink. Some did drugs. The owner looked the other way and let the kids engage in whatever debauchery they wanted. They only let Keller come because his dad was the original Sheriff Keller, and they thought if young Keller was with them that the Riverdale Police Department wouldn't bother them."
"In the basement," Jughead said. "What happened there twenty-five years ago?"
Betty shrugged. "She swears she has no idea. After she and Snake broke up, she slipped into a depression. With having to put my brother up for adoption and losing who she said was the love of her life, it was too much for her. She finished up her senior year at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy."
"So she has no idea what the secret is that got Fred shot?" he asked.
Betty shook her head. "No idea. We need to find out who else was in that picture that Eric has. Should we go talk to Fred?" Betty suggested. "I mean, he's the one who was shot, after all. Maybe he'll tell us why."
"Yeah. Let's do that. But there's something I want to show you first." He pulled out his phone and showed her a screenshot of the article he'd found in Fred's files.
She read it and then said, "So? What does an obituary about an old man have to do with anything?"
"I found it in a file labeled Goldhead," Jughead said. "I think this guy used to own the Whyte Wyrm."
"So we have a shooting, this old, dead man, a 90's dance club, and a secret shared by seven people, and we still don't know who two of those people are. We don't know much anything. It's just a few random clues. What if they don't mean anything or aren't even related?"
"That's never stopped us before. You'll figure it out."
"We will. Together."
He stood up and offered her his hand. "Let's make a trip to the hospital."
They found Fred asleep in his hospital bed, hooked up to machines regulating his vitals, his breathing rough and shallow. The hollows of his cheeks sunken in, his skin yellowish in tint. His usual stubble was a full beard now. His wheeled serving tray was pulled up to his bed, over his lap. The warming lid still covered Fred's uneaten food, and surrounding it was small folded up pieces of paper with cramped, unreadable lettering the serving tray.
Jughead eased into the seat next Fred's bed, and took the man's hand in his. Betty stood back and watched them-Jughead and his stand-in father, the man who had loved and protected him when his real family had written him off. Jughead didn't let people in easily, but when he did, it was for life. If Fred didn't pull through, and if with FP locked up in a federal prison, Jughead stood to lose both his fathers, the only family he had left. She squeezed his shoulder, kissed him on his temple. He'd always have her.
"I love you," she whispered.
He rested his hand on hers, his fingers tightening around hers. "I love you, Betts." His head tilted as he kissed her.
He loved her. Everything was good between them. Then why was it still there, looming over her like a thick black cloud, blocking out the light, weighing her down. Her emotions went slack, her vision tunneled. She grabbed ahold of the back of his chair. How long would it be before he stopped loving her? Until he no longer wanted her as a part of his family? How long until he saw her for the fucked up girl she really was. Jughead Jones had enough to deal with in his life. Why would he want to deal with the mess that was Betty Cooper? She had been such an idiot. Why did she leave herself so vulnerable? Why was she like this? She was worthless, stupid, unable to control her own mind.
She glanced at the sink next to Fred's bed, to the drawers and cabinets, and wondered if there was a hidden scalpel, maybe Fred's shaving kit. She didn't deserve Jughead. She did deserve anything. Her fingers curled into her palm, sinking into her flesh. The biting pain was grounding, euphoric. She squeezed harder, felt her skin sliced, break open, and she signed.
"Betts? Betty?"
Her eyes focused and Jughead was standing right in front of her, hands on her shoulders, leaning his head down. His eyes were the blue of a summer sky after a storm. He was her anchor, a reason to step back into the light. Wanting to hide the shame of her self-harm, Betty shoved her hands into the pocket of her coat. But Jughead knew. He knew her. He pulled her hands out and uncurled her fingers.
"Betty. . ." he said gently, his mouth turned down. "What's wrong?" He kissed the fresh wounds on her palms.
She didn't want to tell him. There was nothing wrong, not really, just her own irrational fears plaguing her. She could trust him. He wouldn't judge her. She could tell him anything. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the hospital room door swung open.
But it wasn't a nurse who interrupted them. "Visiting hours are over," said a man dressed in a silvery blue suit that looked like it cost more than her mother's station wagon. He was probably in his mid-forties, tanned skin, black hair slicked back from his face, and dark brown eyes that were unlined with wrinkles. She'd seen those eyes before.
In protective mode, he stepped in front of Betty. She still held onto his hand, but everything was steady now."Who are you?" Jughead asked, squinting at the man.
"Hiram Lodge," Betty said. She'd seen his framed pictures in Veronica's bedroom.
"I thought you were in jail," Jughead said.
Hiram flashed his straight, pearly whites at them. "Out for good behavior," he replied. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down in the chair Jughead had just vacated. "Maybe I should send my lawyer your father's way. Pro Bono, of course. I know the Joneses haven't been as financially blessed as the Lodges have."
Jughead's body stiffened, and he took a step forward, so Betty clutched his hand, keeping him next to her, keeping him from a fight he should not get involved in right now.
"Does Veronica know your home?" Betty asked. This time, she stepped in front of Jughead, shielding him.
"Oh, yes," Hiram chuckled. "Meet her jock, red-headed boyfriend, too. I got to know him a little too well, if you know what I mean. Betty, you must tell your best friend to lock her bedroom door when she has a male friend over. You know, like you do with FP's kid." He cocked his head towards Jughead. "Some things are best kept a secret, like your white trash boyfriend here."
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Betty asked. She reached behind herself and held Jughead back. What was wrong with people in this town? If Riverdale was full of snobs who judged a teenager boy on who his parents were and how much money they had, she would happily move to the Southside with him and never look back.
"I'm Hiram Lodge. I own this town and I think it's time to take out the trash."
Betty didn't remember making the move, but she was suddenly attacking Hiram, her hands wrapped around his throat, her fingers pressing in, his tendons popping. She had pushed him against the wall next to Fred's bed. Her ears rang, almost drowning out Jughead yelling her name, clawing at her, trying to get her to let go of Hiram. His dark brown eyes were wide, bugging out of his head, bloodshot and red.
"Oh my god," Betty said, her hands dropping at her side as she realized what she'd done. Jughead grabbed her around the waist and hauled her out of the room as a nurse rushed in. Jughead dropped her to her feet, but kept her upright by holding on to both of her elbows.
"Betty! Betty!" Jughead repeated until she looked at him. "Are you okay?" She nodded, and he guided her down the corridor, to the back stairway, and out of the hospital exit. Her hands shook as she fastened her seat belt while Jughead cranked over the truck's engine.
"Where are we going?" Betty asked.
"I don't know. Away from here."
"I choked him," Betty said, looking down at her balled up fists. Her fingernails were digging into her skin again, cutting into the fresh wounds. "I . . . I don't know how. . . He was saying horrible things to you, Jughead. I couldn't let him hurt you."
"It's okay," he said. He reached across the seat and placed his hand over her fist. "It's okay. You just need some time to calm down, a place where we can be alone for a little while."
As they drove, Betty concentrated on the clock radio in the dashboard, watching the green analog numbers, the seconds clicking past. It wasn't even seven in the morning and already she was so exhausted. Why had she reacted that way to what Hiram had said? Yes, Mr. Lodge was rude and out of line, but that didn't make what she had done okay. Shit, what if he pressed charges? What if he called her mom and told her what she'd done? She was crazy. Just like her mother, just like her sister, just like every other person in her family. Betty Cooper was the queen of the crazies. Betty sighed in relief when Jughead passed her neighborhood and went over the railroad tracks to the Southside. He parked the truck in front of the trailer and helped her out.
"I'm so tired, Juggie," she said as they walked in the door. Hot Dog came up to greet her. He licked her hand, and then she rubbed his head.
"Go lay down," Jughead said. "I'll make some breakfast." He kissed her forehead and scooted her off down the hall. Hot Dog followed him into the kitchen.
He didn't ask her why she'd done what she did. Or if she was nuts. As always, he was kind and gave her space when she needed it. She laid down on the bed, pulled the thin covers up over her face, and closed her eyes. But sleep didn't come. Instead flashes of Hiram Lodge, gasping for air jolted her awake. It was no use. She couldn't quiet her mind enough to allow her to rest.
Jughead was in the kitchen, but he wasn't standing in front of the stove frying bacon. Instead he sat at the kitchen table, looking over small folded up pieces of paper. The ones that had been sitting on the tray next to Fred's uneaten dinner in the hospital room.
"When did you take those?" she asked. Jughead jolted when he heard her voice, but relaxed when he looked up at saw her leaning against the doorjamb.
"Right before Hiram came in," he said. "I told you about it, but you didn't register that I was talking. You were staring off into nothingness."
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry that your girlfriend is crazy."
He turned his face up to her and he took her hands in his. "No, Betty, you're not crazy." She opened her mouth to argue, but he wouldn't let her. "You're not."
"I just choked my best friend's dad. I throw birthday parties that no one wants. I gouged my fingernails into my palms so hard that I have scars. I cut myself last night. And there are times that I'm so weighed down by it, by the darkness or whatever you want to call it, that I can't move, can't speak, can't breathe."
"We're all crazy," he said, smiling, trying to lighten the mood. It was what he'd said to her the first time he kissed her. Back then, he didn't realize just how serious she was about worrying over her sanity. When he could tell she wanted to keep this conversation serious, his demeanor changed. He palmed her cheek, his eyes wide and loving. "Elizabeth Cooper, you are not crazy. I love you just the way you are. There is nothing wrong with you."
"But there is," she replied. As much as Jughead wanted to looked past her mental illness, to only see the good, she knew she couldn't. There was danger in ignoring the signs she knew were there. "I think my mom is right. I need to be back on my medication."
"Then start taking it again. There's nothing wrong with it."
"I can't get control of this on my own and it makes me feel weak. I don't like the stigma attached. I know I hate the word perfect, but that's still how I want most of the world to see me. I don't want people to know."
"But no one will know. And medication doesn't make you weak. If you had a broken arm, and your doctor said you needed to wear a cast to repair the bone, you wouldn't say nah, it'll heal up on its own. You can't will a broken limb to set itself. Getting help isn't weakness, but a strength."
Everything he said made sense, but she still didn't like the idea of medication. While it helped regulate her moods, sometimes it made her feel nothing at all. But wasn't numbness better than overwhelming sadness, better than choking Hiram Lodge or trying to drown Riverdale's football captain in a hot tub? She nodded in agreement with him. "I'll refill my prescription." She opened the drug store app on her phone and did just that. The pills would be ready in about half an hour.
She looked back to Jughead and the papers he was studying. She turned one over in her hand, trying to make out the chicken scratch. "What does it mean?"
He shrugged. "Dunno. I needed you to help make sense of it."
She sat down next to him and spread all the pieces out on the table. Nothing stood out. She shuffled the papers, moving them around in a different order. Nothing. She tried again and stared down at them for a few minutes while Jughead went to the stove and started pulling out frying pans. As he bumped around in the kitchen, the papers started to make sense. Each paper had one word written on it, but only one letter on each was really legible. She rearranged the pieces once more, and finally the letters formed a word.
"S-W-E-E-T-W-A-T-E-R. Sweetwater," she said.
"Sweetwater River?" Jughead asked. He turned down the burner and came over to look over her shoulder.
"Only one letter on each paper stands out. It spells Sweetwater."
"You're so smart, Betts." But then he pointed to the five extra papers she hadn't added in. "What about those?" he asked. He placed all the pieces beneath the others and they both stood back. "Cabin! Those spell cabin."
Betty touched each lettered piece of paper. "So Fred wanted us to know something about a cabin in Sweetwater?" she asked. "What about it?"
Jughead snapped his fingers, pulled out his phone, and then he showed her a picture of the article he'd told her about. "This obituary I found in Fred's files said that Michael James died in a cabin on Sweetwater River. And he owned properties on the Southside." Jughead went over to the hook where his messenger bag hung and took out his laptop. He brought up the public records search page online and looked up Michael James. He had several properties listed. "Look! He owns a piece of unincorporated land on Sweetwater. That has to be the cabin."
Betty read the list, too. "And that's the address for the Whyte Wyrm. All properties were in his name until 1992. Then they were sold to Hector Lodge at Lodge Industries. That has to be Veronica's grandfather."
"Hiram was right. The Lodges do own this whole damn town. They've spent generations buying up land. I'm sure they saw that Michael James didn't have any living relatives at the time of his death and bought the Whyte Wyrm on the cheap."
"Do the Lodges still own the Whyte Wyrm?" Betty asked.
With a few strokes on his keyboard, Jughead had the answer. "No. Public record says that some comowns it now. FAL, LLC."
Betty took that info in, but it didn't mean anything to her. "So maybe Goldhead, aka the Whyte Wyrm, has nothing to do with anything. Maybe Goldhead is just code for something else. We don't really know anything."
"There has to be a connection. What does this old guy, the Whyte Wyrm, and seven pesky teenagers have in common?" Jughead asked.
"I have no idea," Betty replied. Her brain was so foggy from exhaustion that she was having trouble thinking. "We need to get in touch with your dad."
"Or go to the cabin where Michael James was killed."
"But it burned down," Betty said.
"Doesn't mean there isn't anything there for us to find."
"I guess you're right." She caught the smell of something charing on the stovetop. "Your pancakes are burning."
"Oh, shit!" he said, getting up and going over to the stove. He scraped the blackened pancake into the trash. "I guess we know who the real cook is in this family."
He turned back to the bowl of pancake mix and stirred it. He hadn't even realized he'd called her family, and maybe that meant more than if he'd said it intentionally. She knew they were way too young, but she couldn't see her future without him. One day after college, they'd have their own kitchen to make breakfast in. Their own house, children, a life together that would never be separated. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his shoulder. But then she caught sight of the lumpy disaster that was the pancake mix. She took the bowl and whisk out of his hands.
"Let me help you," she said and went to work. Within a few minutes, she had fluffy pancakes stacked on a plate for him, and she joined him at the table.
Knife and fork in hand, he grinned at her. "Sorry to sound antiquated and a little masochistic, but damn, woman, you can cook!" He took a bite and sighed. "I would have loved you even if you couldn't, but I'm happy you can." He ate the entire dish without taking a break, and then leaned back in his chair. She stood up and took his plate, but he stopped her. "I'll do the dishes," he said.
"Shall we go look around a creepy, deserted forest for the remains of a dead man?" Betty asked.
"I couldn't think of a better way to spend a Saturday," he said. "Or maybe I could." He tugged gently on her hand until she landed on his lap. He nuzzled against her neck, kissed her thin skin and then drew it between his teeth. "You taste good." He worked his hand in between their bodies, up the skirt she was wearing. His fingers slipped up her thigh and ducked underneath the elastic of her panties. "You know what else tastes good." He stood up and set her on the table, knocking off her plate of unfinished pancakes onto the floor. He spread her thighs apart, but before he reached his knees, her phone rang. They both froze.
"It could be my mom," she said. "She probably is wondering why I'm not home. I didn't tell her where I was going." She picked up her phone, but it wasn't her mother. "It's the pharmacy."
Even though Jughead knew what the call was about, she stepped into the hallway to listen to the recording tell her that her prescription was filled and ready. She leaned against the wall. She knew that taking the medication again was in her best interest, but it felt like a failure, a loss of control.
Jughead came into the hallway with her, his jacket was on and he handed her the Serpent leather one. "We'll stop at the pharmacy on the way to Sweetwater River," Jughead said. He put the leather jacket around her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "It'll be okay, Betts."
A sob hitched in her throat. She curled herself into him as his arms went around her. He kissed her hair as he whispered words of reassurance to her, and after a moment, she felt balanced, and steady. She nodded against his chest and then took his hand and lead him outside to the truck.
On the way through town, the morning sky began to blacken, dark clouds rolling in from the east. Jughead pulled into the drug store and went in with Betty. Once they were back in the truck, she unscrewed the pill bottle and washed a pill down with the bottle of water she'd purchased. As they drove to the outskirts of Riverdale, Betty closed her eyes and tried to figure out if she felt any different. But she didn't. Maybe the medicine wouldn't work anymore, the dose wrong.
But everything around Betty went hazy as they drove toward Sweetwater River. Her emotions dulled, her limbs felt like they were packed with sand. Don't do this, Betty. You're fine. You are stronger than this. She repeated the words over and over again in her head, but nothing changed. Her feelings didn't return. She was numb.
The sky rumbled with thunder, lightning crackled, sending electric ribbons through the sky. The clouds cracked open and released the rain they'd been holding as the truck jostled and jolted drove down a tree-line path toward the property address they'd found for where the cabin once was. The windshield wipers struggled to clear the rainwater from the glass. The sky had darkened so much that Jughead had to turn on the headlights to guide them. After about three miles, the trail opened up into a clearing. Address numbers were nailed to one of the trees.
"3856 Deertail Rd," Jughead said, reading the address. "This is it." He hung a right and proceeded down a narrow driveway. The headlights flashed across a cabin. The structure hadn't been well maintained. Shingles were falling off the roof, the wooden logs had splintered, but the cabin was in-tact. Jughead huffed out a breath. "It's not burned down at all."
Betty wanted to reply, to say something, but the words did not come. The darkness had closed her throat. She stared at the forgotten cabin. When Betty didn't move, Jughead came around to her side, unbuckled her, and with his hand on hers, she came out of the truck. The downpour fell on them as they rushed through the front yard, the raindrops coming down with such force that they stung her skin when they hit. And it felt good, a sharp reminder that she could feel something.
The stairs that lead up to the cabin were missing, so Jughead jumped onto the porch and pulled her up with him. Weeds had grown through the slats of the wooden porch, and a porch swing dangled from one chain. The front door wasn't locked, but swung open when Jughead pushed on it. By some miracle, the electricity still worked. Inside the cabin consisted of a main room and was both a living room and a kitchen. Nothing had been touched in years, the cabin frozen in time, somewhere in the 80's. Everything was a little dusty, but nothing was out of place. Jughead pulled off a sheet from the couch, dust clouding through the air for a moment. He fluffed the pillows and then set Betty down there. He must have sensed that his girlfriend was out of it. He kissed her forehead and went about searching the cabin. As lightning flashed, Betty stared at the stuffed deer head on the wall. Its fur was a golden brown, but its eyes were black, unseeing, dead. Is that how she looked to Jughead right now?
"I can't feel anything, Juggie." Her voice was just a whisper, but he heard her.
He turned from the bookshelf he had been going through and sat next to her. "What do you mean? Is numbness a side-effect of you medication?" He squeezed her hand. "Can you feel that?" he asked.
"That's not what I meant," she said.
She rose up and swung her leg over him, her knees resting on either side of his hips. Her lips moved against his neck as she pushed his jacket off his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt. Bending herself down, she kissed his stomach, the middle of his chest as she pushed his shirt up and over his head. She tossed it behind the back of the couch.
Jughead's hands moved to the back of her neck and kissed her throat. She could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against her inner thigh. That's what she needed from him right now. He clawed at her shirt, struggling with the buttons until she impatiently brushed his fumbling fingers aside and removed the shirt herself. She unhooked her bra and threw it in the same direction as she'd thrown his shirt and jacket. He sat back and just looked at her for a moment, drinking her in. With both hands he reached out and cupped her breasts, squeezing and molding them. He leaned down and took one pink nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. His other hand snaked between them, his fingers slipping into the front of her panties, finding her wet and wanting, ready for him, alive with need. His fingertips circled her bud of nerve endings, sending a jolt of passion through her, making her hips buck forward.
He surprised her when he lifted her up and plopped her to sit down on the couch. He spread her knees apart as he knelt in front of her. He pushed her skirt all the way up to her hips. His hand brushed up her thighs as he reached up and pulled her panties down until he removed them. He kissed his way up, from her calf to her inner thigh. But then he waited, stayed where he was, his mouth against the softness of her leg. She felt the rush of his breath, the slight tickle of his hair, but his lips did not touch her. Not yet. The anticipation made her impatient, alert, bustling with need. Alive.
He smiled against her inner thigh, grabbed onto her hips, and tilted her forward. His tongue was tentative at first, but not because he was shy, but because he was teasing her, building everything up inside her. His lips drew in the bud of flesh, causing her to rise up off the couch cushions a little, wanting to be closer, wanting more. His tongue darted, stocked her up and down, around in beautiful circles that made her cry out. She combed her fingers through his hair, keeping him fix against her.
And then every fiber of her being buzzed to life. She felt more than she thought she was capable of feeling as she quivered. As she lay on the couch replete, she heard Jughead stand and readjust his clothing, and then he was inside her, filling her up.
He thrusted into her. "Can you feel that?" he asked. She shuddered and nodded her head. He slipped out and drove himself into her again, harder this time. "Can you feel that?" he repeated.
"Yes," she replied. "Yes."
This was what she needed. This. Him. She felt everything now. Every inch of her was buzzing with love, with life. Her inner walls clenched around him as he pumped faster. The release was blinding, bright, light bursting into her soul.
He lay there, his weight resting on top of her, but this was a weigh she did not mind. It was comfort, steady, a firm body and love against her, keeping her grounded. After a little while, he rose off of her. Even though the rain outside was freezing, her clothes were damp with perspiration, twisted around her body.
Jughead kissed her and the rolled off the couch and onto his feet. She watched him as he stretched his lean body. God, she was so lucky to call him hers. Jughead pulled on his shirt, but stopped when he was halfway finished with the buttons. He leaned in to look at something on the dusty bookshelf. He picked up a 3x5 framed photo, studied it for a moment, and then handed it off to Betty.
Seven teenagers were posed together, some looking at the camera, some at each other, all smiling. This was the first time Betty had seen it, but she knew this had to be the picture Eric had found. They were all there, standing in front of a gold lettered sign that said Goldhead, the five people they knew about-Fred, Mary, Snake, FP Jones, Sheriff Keller-and the two they didn't.
To get a better look, Betty grabbed the frame from Jughead. She recognized the two people on the ride side of the photo. "That's Hermione and Hiram Lodge!" Betty exclaimed. "And they both are wearing Southside Serpent jackets."