Hi everyone! Happy Friday the 13th!
Well, the show is now officially over but here I still am, chugging away on a story I started years ago. And while I have definitely fallen in and out of the show as the plotlines continued to just get contrived, I did tune into the final 2 episodes. I admittedly did get emotional (as I still love the actors) but was wholeheartedly unsatisfied with where everything ended up.
So I still write. Even if painstakingly slowly.
The past couple of years haven't been the easiest or the friendliest, but the past two months have really not been kind and I'm just wading through some personal challenges at the moment. I'll still be here, updating sporadically every couple of months though. I so want to finish this story and every time I see the end in sight, it just keeps growing on me!
LukeSkywalker2567, thanks as always for continuing to read! The previous title, "Talking in Your Sleep," actually comes from an R.E.M. song title! It felt an appropriate tone and lyrics regarding some of how that chapter plays out. I hope you enjoy this one!
Boris Yeltsin, again, thanks as always for being a loyal reader! I hope you continue to enjoy this story.
AvidMovieFan16, thanks for continuing to read and for continuing to understand by sporadic posting schedule! I hope you continue to enjoy this story!
ButtonMashr, I'm behind on your story but working to catch up! And thanks for the kind words on this last chapter! I loved that the heat feeling like a character in the first scene worked well for you and how detailed you find it! I really try to work on pacing with what details I put in and where, so I'm so glad you commented on that! I did love Pop's line as well! He's just learned not to ask questions :D And I am with you on Veronica's observations - creative outlets definitely needed! I hope you enjoy this one!
Now on to the story!
Chapter 26: Hot Off the Presses
The bright, white of the computer screen lingered in Betty's eyes.
Where there was once only a blank and empty space, there were now lines and lines of black words, full of the personal and private, proficiently and tactfully strung together after days of back and forth with the FBI.
And now, after the multiple long meetings regarding the legalities of what they could and could not mention, conversations surrounding the minutia of semantics, and rounds of exhaustive edits, the most important thing she had possibly ever written thus far in her life sat in front of Betty.
She passed her eyes over the text for what felt like the hundredth time, her fingers furling and unfurling as they hovered above the keyboard.
"Are you ready?"
Alice was looking empathetically at her from across the dining room table, from behind her own computer screen, a similar story to Betty's for RIVW waiting to be published there.
Betty sucked in a breath and looked up, sending her a shy look. By the extent of the nerves twisting around in her stomach, she could tell she was getting cold feet and hoped her mom would send her a little bit of bravery at the moment.
Writing everything in this way had been more taxing than she had initially thought, despite her determination to do so. She had talked to Dr. Glass about it and he thought she was trying to push a bit too hard a bit too soon and had wanted to make sure she wasn't going to retraumatize herself by doing this, but Betty had assured him she was ready.
She still felt ready.
She still felt that this was the right thing to do.
But right now the right thing to do also felt immense and scary.
"This probably feels like a lot, Betty, but both of your stories have been approved and given the go-ahead by our liaison." Agent Kane walked over to the table, sensing her hesitation. "We've gone over the talking points and how to answer if anyone asks you about the story. I know it all feels a bit bureaucratic right now, but this is a good place to be."
Betty stared up at him and he gave her a self-assured nod. She turned back toward Alice who lifted a hand, a resolute expression on her face.
Betty closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and then opened them again, moving her hand back over the trackpad. Staring down at the bright screen once more, the words pulsing behind her eyes, she moved the cursor over the "Publish" button at the bottom of the screen.
And together, she and Alice both decisively clicked down.
Betty rocked back in her chair, watching the progress bar spin until it was replaced by the words 'Your work has been successfully published.'
A short gasp caught in Betty's throat and she quickly slammed her laptop shut.
She kept her hand on top of the computer and looked up, noticing the adults staring at her. "Sorry, I panicked."
Agent Kane cradled his mug of coffee, passing it between hands. "I know it's tough, but you did it. Good work, kid."
She nodded, the edge of her mouth turning up, and she swung her head toward her mother as Agent Kane walked in her direction. Alice was sending her a proud smile, and for the first time in a while, Betty felt it was sincere.
She ducked her head for a moment, a small smile of her own curling across her face, then looked back at Kane. "So, what now?"
The agent sent her a kind grin. "Now, you don't worry about anything. The FBI will take it from here."
Alice stood, tucking her laptop under her arm. "Which is good, because you need to get to school." She waved her hand out toward her daughter. "Come on, go grab your things."
Betty nodded and rose, casting one last glance at the two adults before heading up the stairs and into her room.
She grabbed her bag off of the back of her desk chair and stuffed a few of her notebooks into it. As she turned around and started to head out of the room, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stopped.
Her hair flowed down around her shoulders and over her brown and cream-colored sweater. She had been starting to wear it down more often, as it felt more freeing and less uptight. Casual, like she didn't need to try so hard or hold herself back.
But her stance was still reserved, her backpack slung over shoulders that were hunched, her face flat.
Betty pumped her shoulders and lifted her chin, making herself larger in the reflection. She let a smile grow on her face, composure emerging from the depth of the green in her eyes. She held her own stare for a moment, then moved her hands toward the bottom of her sweater, lifting the fabric away from her skin to look at the crude impression in her side.
The stitches were gone and the wound was closed, but it was rough and bumpy and still had a bit of bruising around it.
She swallowed and dropped her sweater back down around her waist and gently rubbed a hand up her right arm, over the other scar she had collected.
Some things, despite living through them, she may never find the answers to.
While others would find theirs in the stories being released today, she still had to deal with questions.
While others would only read the story, she still had to live it every day.
It was written on her, etched from the consequences of others and by the actions needed to survive.
Maybe people had already read the story - not in words but in scar tissue and tears, spoken not by a language of the tongue but of the body. She wore the story on her, with no option of being able to take it on or off.
"Are you almost ready?" She heard Alice calling to her from downstairs.
She pushed her backpack further up her shoulder, taking one last look at herself in the mirror before answering.
"Yes, I'm coming!"
And then she headed out the door.
'Hot off the presses' typically wasn't a phrase that meant much to the modern high schooler. At least, not unless you live in a small town, and not unless it involved someone or something from that small town.
And current affairs checked both of those boxes.
Jughead swung out of the Blue & Gold office into the hallway, dropping a stack of still-warm newspapers on the empty wire rack outside of the door with a thud. He turned his head up and looked around the hall toward the crowd of bustling students flowing around him, some with the paper already in their hands.
I had left early this morning so I could wait by the printer for Betty's cue, wanting the paper ready and distributed before she even got here.
And it had flown off the shelves as fast as a school paper could. The Blue & Gold had almost a non-existent budget to begin with, but this issue had exhausted all of their production funds for the semester.
This was the second time needing to refill just this rack today.
Jughead pulled another stack out from under his arm and began walking down the school corridor. A few gawks and stares were aimed his way, people turning toward him as he rounded into the student lounge. He placed the rest of the newspapers down into a rack on one of the countertops near the vending machines, straightening them out as he did.
Maybe Riverdale was finally beginning to not ignore what was right in front of it, and the small-town gossip would be good for once – believing the truth coming from one of their own instead of listening to the lies of one that set out to hurt them.
He took a breath and leaned against the counter, picking up the top paper and gazing at the front page.
"Forty Days in the Wilderness: Surviving an abduction and abuse at the hands of a cult leader"
A simple title, but appealing nonetheless. It was the exposé she had never gotten to write about The Farm the previous school year, lost within the multiple messes that had infected the school and their lives at that time, and squashed by an administration that had fallen to Edgar's charm.
One that, if she had been allowed to write then, may have prevented the unfortunate series of events that necessitated this one.
Jughead's eyes softened as he skimmed the story, but he did smile looking at the name in the byline.
He had been surprised at how much abstract prose the liaison had let Betty use, making it read more as an emotive narrative than a detailed report once it went beyond the details of what the cult had been doing in town the year before. It was vague enough legally, yet comprehensive enough to combat Edgar's story and shed light on the severity of the matter. There were no mentions of being back in Riverdale though, no details about the "memory trips" as Betty was calling them, but the aspects of Edgar's actual abuse within The Farm and her experience in the cabin were there, and the raw weight of even just those cruelties were enough to drive the message home.
But, to Jughead, the most important thing about it was that alongside the depiction of the crimes, what shone through the strongest was her words of hope and encouragement; her voice as a survivor was centered far more than anything Edgar had done.
And it was brilliant and brave.
The people in the lounge around him began to stir, their chatter growing louder. Jughead lowered the newspaper, and turned around, finding the name in the byline standing in front of him.
He straightened up, shaking open the paper theatrically in front of him, and loudly cleared his throat.
"The cost of searching in the shadows is always high, but when you believe in the importance of the truths locked away in dark corners and dusty houses, you never think that one day that could mean you," he read aloud from the paper, his voice vibrating with the honor of speaking the words. "Even with that high price paid, the truth is still worth fighting for. I have to believe that the voices shouting for justice can find it, and I hope that by bringing this story into the light, those voices rise louder than the one that tried to silence them."
He lowered the paper, a smile on his face as he looked at Betty, who was returning the pleased expression, if not without slightly flushed cheeks.
"Looks like you had no problem getting it circulating," she said, sticking her hand out and lowering the newspaper even more, ignoring the murmurs and whispers happening around her.
Jughead stepped forward, dropping the paper completely and wrapping an arm around his girlfriend instead. "You did a great job with this." The two of them began to slowly walk out of the lounge and into the hallway. "How are you feeling?"
Betty dipped her head. "Pretty good. A little nervous about the reception but honestly, I'm mostly relieved."
They reached Betty's locker and she started to spin the combination lock. "I know it's not like things we've been involved in haven't made their way into the news before, but-,"
Jughead groused, accidentally interrupting her. "The rumors of how we got The Most Dangerous Game-ed last spring spreading last year because some of the basketball team saw us at the hospital afterward was not great."
Betty's face exaggeratedly soured and she snorted, popping open her locker, swapping books and folders between it and her backpack. She zipped her bag shut and placed a hand on the locker door as she paused and turned to Jughead. "Well, it's nice for it to be on our terms for once."
She shut the locker with a small thud and the two started down the hall again. "Yeah," Jughead nodded, placing his hand on her back. "And have I told you how well-written those terms are yet?"
She blushed again. "A few times."
Betty turned forward, but then suddenly slowed, her face falling.
Jughead looked down at her, then turned his head in the direction she was looking. His own bliss shrunk as he saw that sitting hunched on a bench down the hall, a newspaper in front him, was Fangs.
He looked distraught, his hand rubbing over his face as his eyes seemed glued to the front page.
Jughead shuffled in front of Betty, his hand going to her arm. "Hey-,"
"I said I was doing this for the others," her firm voice cut him off. "And that includes the others that were being abused, even if they didn't realize it." She continued staring forward. "Kevin turned around. Everyone else deserves that chance too, even if they did some of the hurting."
Jughead looked between her and Fangs, his head on a swivel. He eventually nodded, his defenses lowering. "Okay, yeah. I still feel like I owe him a right hook, but you're right."
The bell rang overhead and he stared at Betty's steadfast face before glancing back down the hall. Fangs was looking down at his phone now along with the newspaper, and then he disappeared from view, replaced by a wave of students bustling through the crowded corridor.
Muffled commands and chatter seeped out from the darkened control room and a brassy bell rang nearby, a red 'On Air' sign coming to life with a short buzz. Alice glanced through the large glass window as she passed by, giving a small wave toward the technical director before he moved the mic on his headset back to his mouth and turned toward the wall of monitors, calling "Action" for their live broadcast.
She smiled as she continued through the office, shaking her hair behind her shoulders. Her heels clicked stridently against the floor as she moved away from the television studio and toward the room full of cubicles, a few other reporters and co-workers saying "Good morning" as she passed.
As she was about to reach her desk, a shorter woman with curly hair suddenly popped out from behind one of the partitions, one hand on her hip.
"I see someone is on their high horse this morning," Rita chirped, an artificial smile on her face. "Careful that you don't fall off."
Alice bent a knee, her arms slowly crossing as her lip curled. "Rita. I thought I felt hot air blowing over here."
The producer gave a curt huff, her inflated smile wrinkling her face. She whipped out her phone, swiping open the screen as she cleared her throat. "The Writing on the Cabin Wall: how a cult took more than just the town hostage." Her eyes rose above the rims of her glasses. "I guess it's catchy. It will get us traffic for sure."
"It's not about traffic," Alice chided, feeling the heat in her face rise. She stepped away from the woman and pulled the chair out from under her desk. "It's about getting the truth out there."
Rita scoffed, her phone hanging in her hand. "Did your daughter tell you to say that? Now that she finally decided to speak up?"
"Hey!" Alice snapped. "Don't say anything about my daughter. She did the right thing."
"If the right thing was busting our budget on that shoot, then yes, she did the right thing." Rita crossed her arms.
"That was me, not her." Alice finally sat down, trying to back out of the conversation. She opened up her laptop. "You're just upset because I got a big story and you got fluff duty this week and had to report from the local Christmas tree farm."
Alice swore she heard Rita growl, and when she looked over the redhead was stamping her foot on the ground like a feuding toddler. But her parting remark was said in anything but a childish manner.
"I'll get my story. You'll see."
She stomped away and Alice stared after for a moment before turning back to her computer, the front page of the RIVW website shining back at her. She shook her head and let out a sigh.
This newsroom had more drama than the high school.
Chatter filled the air in the cafeteria around Archie as he shoveled a handful of fries into his mouth. He was sitting at one of the tables in the middle of the room, holding an open newspaper up in front of him as he ate.
Despite knowing what was in the article, and having seen Betty's face and hearing her tone of voice as she had patiently answered all (well, most) of their questions at Veronica's a few days ago, he still felt a sense of melancholy reading it this way.
Jughead had somehow seemed calmed by knowing everything and had been walking around with a proud smile on his face all week. Archie was sure it was partially a result of the relief of not being left in the dark and to his imagination any longer (though there were definitely gaps she still didn't want to talk about) but he also thought that perhaps his friend was pink-clouding a bit, and at some point the harrowing reality of what was discussed would set in.
Or maybe it already had and Jughead had found a way to smile anyway.
Archie tapped his thumb against the paper, sucking at his cheek. He had felt the opposite happen with him - from smiling and giggling with Betty to now feeling his own sense of dread return. Something in the way she spoke about the loneliness and isolation of the woods, the crushing quiet of the nights spent thinking about whether or not she'd ever see home again made him feel claustrophobic, like an itch just beneath his skin.
He knew that Betty was in a unique situation with having to be in the public arena with everything, and therefore had to make choices and face things on a timeline she probably wouldn't have chosen (and one that felt really unfair) but he had to commend her willingness to do so.
And not just the willingness to face it with so many eyes on her, but the willingness to face it at all.
Archie ran a hand over his chest, feeling the raised skin across the scars that sat there.
He had his own days in the wilderness he still had yet to face.
"Quite the wordsmith, huh?"
Two trays clattered down onto the table beside him, and Veronica swung her legs over the bench seat next to him, Kevin sitting down at the table across from them. She picked the water bottle up from her tray. "We have our very own Nora Ephron."
Archie scrunched his brow, shooting her a glance.
Kevin also had a confused look on his face, his half-eaten apple in his hand. "Betty hasn't written any rom-coms," he nonchalantly replied.
Veronica let out a bit of a huff, unscrewing the cap to the water bottle. "She was a journalist before she was a screenwriter."
Archie and Kevin glanced back and forth at each other.
Veronica looked between the two of them and when neither changed their expression, huffed again, folding her arms on top of the table in surrender. "She's like Lois Lane."
"Oh." Kevin nodded, swapping his apple for a sandwich.
"Then just say Lois Lane," Archie mumbled under his breath before folding up the newspaper and placing it on the table. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, it's really good. And I've seen so many people actually reading it." He turned toward Kevin, giving him a grin. "I like your interview with Josie about her tour too, Kev. It served as a good pick-me-up."
"Thank you!" Kevin beamed. "It's an exclusive."
Veronica bumped Archie's shoulder and tapped the paper. "And did you see the profile on the football season? There was a shout-out to a certain senior captain leading a historic run."
Archie smiled. Typically The Blue & Gold tried to put out two issues a semester, with one coming out in October and the other in December before the holidays. Their sports reporter had initially reached out to Archie and the team at the beginning of the year to do a preview of the season, but when Betty had gone missing they had shut down production in the hopes their editor-in-chief would return and didn't want to publish anything without her. So this had ended up as the first issue of the year and the story had turned into a reflection on the season and the seniors' time on the team instead of a preview.
He knew it would probably be something he'd keep long past his time in high school as a memento.
His eyes passed back over the paper, to the large headline on the front page and the picture below it – an enigmatic portrait of Betty with the snowy downtown behind her. He didn't know when she and Jughead had found time for a photoshoot, but it was a nice one.
She was wearing a short-sleeved shirt against the cold, the scar down her arm visible. Her eyes were piercing yet somehow soft in it, windows that said I've seen things you wouldn't imagine, but I won't try to make you, I'll just try to help you understand.
Honestly, it looked pretty badass.
But that didn't surprise him. He had always known her to be that way.
Archie's smile wavered.
Would this be Betty's memento?
Her first paper published as a senior, and it's a reminder of one of the biggest traumas of her life instead of a sentimental keepsake that she could pull out and show to her family one day.
Would any of them be able to look back on their high school days and think fondly, or would they always just be reminded of all the pain they experienced?
He let out a deep sigh.
Or perhaps that was just what being a teenager was like.
"Hey." He suddenly felt Veronica nudge him. "You okay?"
Archie looked over at her, then down, realizing he was gripping his leg. He let go, moving his hand to his plate of fries instead. "Yeah, I'm fine." He cleared his throat again and took a swig of his drink. "Just wondering how Betty's feeling right now with this public. Have you seen her today?"
Veronica shook her head. "No, not yet. But if her speed and resolve getting this done and out is any indication, she's probably prepping for her Pulitzer right now."
Archie crunched his forehead. He didn't know much about journalism, he didn't exactly retain all the things that Betty had tried to explain to him over the years, but he was pretty sure you couldn't win one of those for a high school newspaper. At most, you'd get like, a ribbon or something.
Just then, the overhead speaker crackled to life, and the three of them looked up as Mrs. Phillips' voice spoke over them.
Could Betty Cooper please come to the principal's office? Betty Cooper to the principal's office, please. Thank you.
The speaker clicked off and the friends looked around at each other.
"Well, maybe she has to prep for the principal first," Kevin remarked, lowering his sandwich.
Archie felt his chest begin to tighten, the claustrophobic feeling returning, and he looked back at the newspaper, staring down at Betty's face.
Maybe some of the eyes on her weren't as willing to understand as others.
"Pull the story? What do you mean you want to pull the story?"
Betty stood, moving away from the chair in front of the principal's desk, her face growing hot. She knew that when she had been called to the office it probably wasn't going to be for something good, but she wasn't expecting this. "No, I am not taking it down!"
Principal Haskett cleared his throat, lacing his fingers together as he rested his hands on top of the large, oak desk. "Ms. Cooper, I know that isn't what you wanted to hear today, especially after all the work you undoubtedly put into this-," he placed a hand on top of the issue of the Blue & Gold that was on his desk. "But it's only been out a few hours and we've already received numerous complaints objecting to the maturity of the content. Some people have found it quite… disturbing."
Betty gave a short huff. Yeah, imagine how it felt living through it, she thought, crossing her arms. "But it's true. And it's not even the worst of it! Besides, the administration already approved this, the FBI approved this!"
"She's right." Mrs. Culver stepped forward from where she had been hanging further back in the office, coming to stand beside Betty. "As the staff advisor to The Blue & Gold, I can sincerely say that Betty went through all the proper channels and approvals to get this article made. She did everything she was supposed to do as a journalist." She looked down at Betty, a disheartened expression on her face, then turned back to the principal. "And it's her story, Harry."
Principal Haskett looked between the two of them, then slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Culver, Ms. Cooper," he continued, a sigh probably meant for sympathy but coming out sounding rather unbothered leaving his lips. "But the administration has made a final decision."
"Come on!" Betty threw her hands in the air. "Was it actually students that complained? Or was it the PTA?"
Principal Haskett retracted his hands, his face indifferent. "I'm not at liberty to disclose that information."
Betty began to shake her head, marching in a tight circle in the small space between the desk and chairs. "This is so typical. The students, this town - they have the right to know what's actually going on! Not watered-down PR statements, not brushing things under the rug. We need to face the reality of these things, even when it's messy!"
She stopped abruptly and turned down toward the principal, her hands on the top of his desk. "I know you've only been here for a few months, but this whole school was affected by The Farm. They tried to recruit here. My classmates need to know what was going on and process it too, not pretend like it didn't happen!"
Principal Haskett looked down at her hands and then let out a heavy breath. "I may not have been in this position long, but I have been made aware of the things that have happened at this school. One of them being the threatening note that was left on your locker the last time you wrote a controversial story." He looked her in the eye. "A note written in pig's blood, might I add."
Betty scoffed, her arms folding back across her chest. "That's nothing compared to what I've experienced since. Sometimes the truth costs you. I should know."
She saw Mrs. Culver send her an impressed yet forlorn look out of the corner of her eye. then she turned back to the principal. "And don't start suddenly pretending to care about protecting your students now."
"Watch yourself, young lady." Haskett dauntingly rose up from behind his desk, his face hardening. "You're upset, I see that. But that doesn't give you the right to talk back. Now, I know that after everything this may seem unfair-,"
"Unfair?" She backed away, feeling her grip on her anger slipping away, it burning its way up through her.
"Betty-," Mrs. Culver reached a hand out, sending her a look of caution.
"No!" She stopped pacing, shooting a quick glance at her teacher before stepping directly in front of Principal Haskett. "Unfair is solving a murder and the wrong person still going to jail for it. Unfair is working to stop a serial killer only to find out they're your father. Unfair is being locked in a cabin in the middle of nowhere and being forced to relive your worst memories!" She threw her arms up, drawing in a deep breath, her chest heavy. "And unfair is having everyone continue to pretend that everything and everyone is alright, and we should never mention when something goes wrong!"
Betty rubbed her temple, then grabbed her backpack off of the chair beside her, slinging it over her shoulder. "If you want this story pulled then take it up with the FBI."
With that, she marched out of the office with a resolute huff.
She swung into the hallway as the bell rang overhead, stamping down the hall until she rounded into the Blue & Gold office. She threw her bag onto the large table in the middle of the room, her hands going to her forehead as she paced across the floor, trying to get herself to calm down.
Evil wasn't the only thing that didn't like when you went against it, neutrality didn't much care for action either.
"Betty?"
She turned her head at her name, finding Mrs. Culver standing in the open doorway to the office. The English teacher stepped into the room, sympathetic dejection on her face.
Betty stopped and turned, staring down at the desk, her hands curling around the edges. "I think I strayed from the talking points."
Her hands pressed harder against the edge of the desk before she straightened up and turned around. Mrs. Culver had a concerned but amused look on her face. "Just a little bit."
She stepped closer, coming alongside the teen. "I'm sorry for how that went in there. I hope you know that not everyone in the school thinks that way. Some of us encourage our students to be challenged by and reflect on what goes on in the world."
Betty swallowed, leaning her hips against the edge of the table. She looked up at Mrs. Culver, her defenses dropping along with her face. "Do you think I overreacted?"
The teacher's mouth curled up in a kind smile. "I think you reacted like someone who has personal stakes in the matter."
"It just… it isn't fair." Betty could hear how upset she was and that awareness almost made her embarrassed. "They're so worried about reputation, they don't even realize they're just hurting us more."
"I know this is frustrating," Mrs. Culver said. "But I'll keep talking to Principal Haskett and the board. I'll petition the PTA if I need to. But Betty-," she stepped forward, standing directly in front of her. "If this does end up needing to be taken down, I don't want you to lose your drive for educating the public. Do you have your own website or blog or anything?"
She shook her head. "No, I don't." It did surprise her that she had never thought of creating one before. "But that might not be a bad idea."
Mrs. Culver gave her a large smile. "I don't want to pressure you, but I think you have a talent. Truly." Betty turned her eyes to the floor, a shy smile crossing her face. "And I can see your passion for helping others. I'm glad that what you've been through hasn't made you lose that."
Betty lifted her head, her expression still a bit deflated. "Thanks, Mrs. Culver." She straightened up, still leaning against the table. "Sometimes it doesn't feel like the adults in this town care about us, so it's nice to know someone does for a change."
A deep and gentle look spread across Mrs. Culver's face, and she took a deep breath. "I became a teacher because when I was younger, mine were so influential in my life. I want to see my students thrive." She shook her head, a frown returning. "I was devastated when you were reported missing. I didn't want to lose another student. Especially not my editor."
Betty nodded, her face feeling hot, and she looked up as the bell rang again. She felt Mrs. Culver place a hand on her shoulder. "I have to get back to my class, but Betty, keep doing what you believe is right. You're willingness to speak up is helping others."
She began to walk away but paused and turned around in the doorway. "But please, don't try to get yourself in detention." She gave one last quick smile and then disappeared into the hallway, leaving Betty alone in the Blue & Gold office.
The teen dropped her arms, wrapping them around the edge of the table again as she focused on her breathing, looking around the room. Clippings from past issues spanning all the way back to the 50s lined the walls, and yearbooks from each decade were stacked beside them. Betty stared at them, the voices and stories of dozens of Riverdale High students that had come before whispering in her ears from beyond the words written on the wall.
Many of the articles read of academic competitions and sports tournaments, of spirit weeks and fall festivals. But there were others nestled between those yellow, aging pages about the Civil Rights Movement and political scandals, opinions on the Vietnam War, and reactions to financial and housing crises.
And just as importantly, they covered local issues for the people of Riverdale. The town was small and may have been regarded as sleepy and quaint for decades, but as Betty knew all too well, that didn't mean nothing of significance ever happened here.
Students had covered town halls and police press conferences, attended marches and protests, and celebrated local businesses and the people who owned them.
There were stories of the community banding together to clean up the town after a flood or big storm came through, providing local aid and shelter. Think pieces and rally cries regarding health hazards to workers in the town in the different factories or surrounding coal mines. And even memorials to those whose lives were dedicated to improving the people and places around them.
It was still a newspaper after all.
Didn't matter what age the writers and readers were, they were going to report and report well.
The young, they were hungry. They saw what the world was like and they weren't afraid to ask why.
Why, and then what they could do about it.
The young were always overlooked and undervalued, but they were always the ones on the receiving end of the charge of "changing the world," the responsibility of cleaning up the messes of the generations that came before falling on them. Not that the world didn't need changing, but there had always been something so bleak underneath what had been regularly acknowledged as a worthy declaration.
And when someone did try to live up to that charge, more often than not they ended up being punished for it.
Betty felt her cheeks grow hot again. Her anger was flaring back up, but this time it felt different. If was focused, fueled by the beckon of those that came before her who dared to have a voice and use it.
She pushed herself off of the edge of the table and swung around it, pulling out her laptop, the echo of the written words pounding in her ears.
The connective tissue of the stories and words woven together around the room proved to her that there were still other people out there who were just as curious and hungry for change and justice as she and the storytellers whose shoulders she stood upon. There were others out there still affected by all of this.
Betty swiped open the string of text messages from Jughead on her phone, scrolling until she found the photo she was looking for – a photo of a passport missing a picture. 'Tessa Chase' it read.
It was a name still unaccounted for, a name she knew nothing about.
Except for one thing:
There was still a world out there that needed changing, and one person at a time felt like a worthy way to do it.
"Yeah, I'm pulling up now, Quinton," FP said into his phone as he parked his truck in a spot on the side of the road. "Is this the last one?"
"It should be." Agent Kane's voice floated out from the speakerphone. "Thanks for tracking all these down for us. We're buried in legal meetings for a while."
"No problem," FP responded, pulling his keys out of the ignition. "I didn't get brought on just to sit around, right?" He climbed out of his truck and stared at the buildings across the street. "I'll report back when I'm done. I'll see ya'."
He had been chasing down all of the leads and tips they had gotten from the hotline, verifying and separating the real information from the pranks and false alarms. Not too much had panned out so far, there had been too many unreliable memories and folks that had just simply used the hotline as their own personal complaint channel, effectively wasting FP's time.
FP glanced at the bodega he was about to enter, noticing a few floors of what were probably apartments above it. Then he turned his head, staring out across the empty parking lot beside it, toward the yellow "Do Not Cross" tape still fluttering on the breeze around the desolate husk of the bar he had once regularly frequented.
At least the report he was following up on now seemed promising.
This one was in a place that meant something.
His gaze lingered a bit longer on the old building, his eyes catching the once-vibrant neon sign that now sat cold and dirty above the entrance before landing on the alcove that led to the back door. He shivered and adjusted his FBI jacket, flipping up his collar, then walked into the store.
A small chime rang out above him as he entered the empty bodega, his boots clacking against the black vinyl mat on the floor. He looked around at the small aisles lined with snacks and toiletries, and a row of coolers filled with drinks along one of the walls.
"I'll be right there," a voice called out from beyond an open door behind the counter, carrying through the small space.
FP nodded at the acknowledgment, then walked down one of the far aisles toward the corner of the room, coming to a small newspaper stand. He pulled one up toward him.
Looks like RIVW wasn't the only outlet that had run Alice's story, as here it was on the front page of The Register too. She still had an in there - the paper did used to be the Cooper's after all - and she was using that connection.
He ran his thumb along the edge of the paper. A media blitz after a blackout was a risk, but it was all calculated, so he hoped it paid off for all of them.
"Sorry for the wait," the voice rang out again, sounding closer. "What can I help you with?"
FP dropped the newspaper back into the stand and started to turn around. "Yeah, someone from our office probably called earlier to-,"
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
The man behind the counter bluntly cut him off, spreading his arms out, his hands curling on the white tabletop. "What, you come to break something? Walk off with my merchandise?"
FP paused, his hand going to his hips as he took in who was in front of him. He moved forward, breathing in slowly, feeling his stature grow a bit heavier. "Nick. I didn't know this was your store."
Mr. Logan snorted, crossing his arms as he bounced his head forcefully, his goatee pulling as he set his jaw. "You mean today, or all the times you and your buddies roughed up the place drunk off your asses?"
His stare pierced right through FP, even worse than at the community center. FP looked at him for a moment before looking back out the large windows toward the derelict bar. His eyes lingered there until they eventually wandered up to the ceiling, toward the apartments stacked above them. He could hear footsteps above him, some heavy, but some lighter, chatter and laughter accompanying them.
No wonder he hated the Serpents.
No wonder he hated him.
He couldn't even remember stumbling into this shop before, he didn't even remember it being here. But then again, most nights, if he even left the Wyrm at all, he couldn't even remember what street he was on or how to get home.
There were mornings he had woken up with packs of beer and food scattered around the trailer he hadn't remembered buying. It had made Jughead and Jellybean happy, but what was one satisfied family if he destroyed another in the process?
He swallowed, his throat raw. And since when was feeding your kids with stolen snacks a measure of satisfaction?
FP glanced back out of the windows, his eyes continuing to be drawn toward the neglected remains of the Southside around them, knowing there were others just trying to lead a life here despite the disrepair. Knowing that he and his family were trying to do the same only a few short months before.
And he knew that it was easy to feel like everything in your life was falling apart when you were surrounded by a place that was literally doing so. It wasn't always easy to make good out of a bad situation.
He was beginning to get lost in his own thoughts when he noticed that one of the windows in the corner had tape and plastic wrapping encasing it, a large crack visible underneath it. Looking closer, he could see dark residue and burns outlining the panes and a pit was balling in his stomach.
"You got hit on Riot Night, didn't you?" FP pointed toward the damage, his voice quiet. He knew there probably wasn't a lot of money to spare here and it looked like Nick had tried to fix it himself without being able to finish. He looked over, his face tempering. "Your wife… did she get hurt here?"
"Don't talk about my wife." Nick snapped immediately and forcefully.
FP raised his hands, trying to show the other man he wasn't trying to offend him. "You're right, you're right. I shouldn't have asked."
"You here to apologize or just rub salt into wounds?" Nick started walking around, looking like he was on patrol as he stayed in his defensive posture, his eyes not leaving FP.
The older man swallowed down a breath. "I don't think there's anything I can do that can properly apologize for whatever damage the Serpents-," he closed his eyes, letting out a low grumble. "What I've done. And not just to your store, but to your family." He reached for the notepad in his back pocket, clasping it in his hand. "But that's not why I'm here."
Mr. Logan stopped, not losing any of the gruffness in his voice. "You here for the Andrews kid?"
"No." FP shook his head. "I mean, I did want to talk to you about that, but for now I'm here on more pressing business." He lifted his notepad and indicated toward the emblem on the front of his jacket.
Nick's eyes flashed to it, his face momentarily giving a look of surprise before morphing back into his set resentment. "Nah." He shook his head, seeming to only just realize what FP was wearing. "No way they're letting Serpents into the FBI."
FP put his hands on his hips. "I'm paying my dues." He stepped closer, his patience beginning to wane. "Listen, we have on record that you called the hotline at the police station with information related to the recent abduction case. I'm just here to follow up on that and collect testimony."
He saw something flash in Nick's eyes, an anxiety taking hold, but then it was gone. When he spoke, it was with hesitation. "You found her though. Isn't the case closed?"
"There's still a trial coming. We're trying to tighten up all our evidence." FP flipped his notebook open and reached a hand into his chest pocket, pulling a pen out. "We have it that the owner of this bodega reported an eyewitness account of suspicious activity. Can you give me a description of what you saw the night of November 8th?
Mr. Logan moved his arms, leaning against the counter again. He began to toy with a small display of candy next to the cash register, spinning the wire rack. "You know I don't have the best memory."
He said it cantankerously, sending FP a disinterested look as he fiddled with the display. FP held back a grunt, instead opting to ask another question. "Can you please try to remember? This is important." He looked down at the notebook. "Now, did you see someone? Or a car?"
Nick's fingers moved from the rack down to the counter. "It was pretty late that night. Dark too. I think I saw a man. Tall, sandy blond hair."
FP raised his eyes, his pen pausing on the paper. "Doing what?"
"Walking."
"Walking?"
"Yep, just walking. That's all I remember."
FP smacked his notebook against his leg, an irritated snort escaping his lips. "Do you want to get charged for failing to comply with the police?"
Nick bolted upright, flipping up the hinged door on the counter, stepping in front of FP. "Look who's talking," he growled.
A bitter smell wafted toward FP now that Mr. Logan was closer, and his nose curled with recognition.
"You've been drinking." FP leaned back, breathing out a short, disappointed breath. He sucked on his cheeks, his hands going back to his hips. He glanced around Nick toward the open door behind the counter, noticing a small card table with a few bottles of beer sitting on top. He sighed, taking a step back, and turned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.
"Yeah, well look who's talking," he heard Nick repeat under his breath, like a kid getting caught in class by his teacher, the red in his eyes seeming to swell.
FP rubbed his face, feeling his own past staring him down. "Listen, I know you don't like me, and I know you've been dealt a bad hand recently, but you've got to pull it together, man. A teenager I care a lot about is counting on every piece of evidence we can get. And you've got to step it up for your own kid or he's going to step out on you."
"Don't talk about TJ!" Nick barked, puffing himself back up. "You don't get to come in here and tell me what I should do or how I should act. Not after what you've done. You can change your jacket, but that doesn't mean you changed."
Heat was spreading down FP's face, and he just stood for a moment, focusing on pulling in slow breaths. He studied the anger in Nick's body language, knowing there was more there. His shoulders were squared up not in intimidation, but as though he were blocking a tackle, shielding someone behind him. There was a hint of fear in his eyes, his ire trying to mask it.
His nostrils flared and his tone was tainted by the acrid scent. "This is still my store and I can still tell you to get out."
FP ducked his head, then he turned to look out the window, The Whyte Wyrm once again filling his vision. He sucked on his teeth, scribbling on his notepad and tearing out a page.
"When you want to talk or your memory gets jogged, call this number." He handed them the paper. "Don't worry, it doesn't connect to me."
He began walking away, marching down the aisle toward the front door. "And I can switch my shifts at the community center so you can bring TJ back to see Archie. I don't have to be around when he's there. Don't punish the kids for something that isn't their fault."
The chime over the door reverberated into the small store as FP pushed through them, trudging out onto the sidewalk and into the stinging winter air.
Sinking cold light was streaming through the long blinds of the windows behind Betty, the rays falling across her laptop screen and the books laid out around her. Dust swirled in the air in front of her face as she stared in exasperation at the numerous search results and contact information that had all led to dead ends.
There were a lot of Tessa Chase's out there, but none that matched the area she was looking for. No school records, no addresses, no pictures – this girl seemed to be a ghost.
Betty placed her pencil down on top of her notebook, running a hand over her hair. She didn't have much information to work with – just what was on the passport, and she knew that with The Farm creating counterfeit ones, the information she did have was about as reliable as a politician.
Schools in the Cornwall area had been a bust, no social media matched any of the criteria she knew, the address on the passport just pointed to a generic suburb, and the birthday didn't match any kind of hospital records or birth announcements.
Betty let out a discouraged groan, leaning back in her chair. She wasn't even entirely sure what she was looking for and what it would lead to. Was she someone who had fallen through the cracks of the FBI's investigation of those residing at The Farm? Was she a daughter, a sister, or just someone who was trying to find a community but ended up as an outlet for Edgar's abuse?
She didn't know, but she felt a sort of connection there and felt it important that she figured it out.
The final bell rang overhead, pulling Betty out of her deep contemplation. She slowly got up, shutting her computer, and began to gather up the scattered papers around her, pushing them into the front of her notebook. Jughead should be meeting her soon and hopefully, they could put their heads together and use what she had and what he and Charles had already been working with to find a breakthrough.
She could hear the shuffling of feet and eager chatter out in the hallway, the metallic clang of lockers opening reverberating in the distance. Heavier footsteps moved down the hall, their squeaks coming to a halt in front of the door.
"Hey, I haven't made much progress on the passport but we should try again tonight." Betty slid her laptop into her bag and then carefully hoisted the strap over her shoulder. "And I need to tell about the principal, he-,"
Betty froze as she looked up, holding the strap of her backpack tight against her chest. "You're not Jughead."
"Sorry, I know I'm probably the last person you want to see." Fangs timidly stepped into the office. He had his hands shoved all the way into his jean pockets, the back of his neck hunched down. He was carrying the newspaper shoved underneath his arm.
"What do you want?" Betty asked cagily, keeping her distance. She wasn't sure if she meant to sound so harsh given what she had said to Jughead earlier, but at the same time, she still hadn't forgotten who else had attacked her at The Farm that night alongside Kevin.
Fangs pulled the paper out and held it, rolling it around in his hands. Betty's eyes flashed down to it before going back up to his face. "When we moved up to Canada, I was excited, I thought we were doing new things."
He continued to move his hands around, the newspaper crinkling. "I was really confused when the FBI came, there was so much panic." He spread out his arms, the paper falling over so that Betty could see the picture of herself on the front. "Then they were questioning us about all these awful things and it didn't make any sense. But then I saw you at the field office and I knew something was really wrong."
His eyes were down, but at the paper or the floor, she couldn't tell, and his mouth gave a little twitch. "I've been reading this all day. I didn't know about any of this. I'm sorry, Betty. I just wanted to come and say I'm sorry."
Betty was trying to breathe quietly, and while doing so she felt how tight her shoulders had become. Fangs had been at The Farm far longer than most and had never questioned Edgar despite everything she had tried to show him.
But he seemed pretty shaken up right now. Maybe he just had to come to his own realization, just like Kevin.
She loosened her shoulders.
"Thank you for reading. And for telling me." She let her backpack strap fall more naturally against her side.
He nodded, still staring down, his fingers beginning to crumple the paper again. "Getting shot sucks, huh?"
Betty's eyes widened, a small grunt coming from her as she bounced on her heels. "Not pleasant."
A locker slammed somewhere behind them and then the corridor grew quiet. The crinkling was the only sound in the room for a while as the two of them didn't speak. They just stood on opposite sides of the long table, unable to move past each other.
Betty put her hands together and looked around, sucking in an uncomfortable breath. She wanted to leave, but a question suddenly came into her head. "Um," she began, leaning against the desk again. "Do you know if Polly was cleared? She hasn't come home."
Fangs finally lifted his head, but he did so to shake it sadly at Betty.
Her throat got a bit hot as she nodded at his response, but she was able to swallow it down.
"Is it weird to be at the school?" Fangs asked his own question, his hands going behind his back, a slight lean in his posture, a lilt to his voice.
Betty shrugged, shaking her head. "People have actually been pretty casual about it. I haven't been bothered much, except by administration."
Fangs scoffed, the hint of a smirk on his face. "I hear you there. But I meant, is it weird being here since it's where, you know… it happened?"
"Oh." Betty shrank back a bit, not expecting that. "Uh," she stammered, "I mean, there's been so many strange and, quite frankly disturbing things that have happened here-," she spread her hands out, "I haven't really thought about it."
Fangs gave a small nod back. His phone vibrated and he slipped his hand back into his pocket, pulling it out and looking at the screen. "Well, I'm going to head out," he said after staring at it for a moment. "I know I've overstayed my welcome." He walked toward the door. "I'm sorry again. For everything."
His eyes grew sad for a minute, but then he quickly strode out of the Blue & Gold office, the sound of his boots echoing through the empty hallway.
Betty's stare lingered there for a moment, her hand finding its way back to the strap of her bag. Then she turned her head toward the windows at the back of the room, the light still fluttering through the blinds. She snuck closer, pushing the white shades aside, and stared out across the parking lot toward the empty spot underneath the tree.
Her eyes flicked up toward the edge of the outside of the building, then back toward the spot, a frown creeping onto her face.
She backed up, dropping the blinds as she did, then turned around and bounced out of the office, the plastic strips still scraping against each other as they settled back into place against the cold window.
Archie zipped up his backpack, feeling the weight of the books in his bag settle before shutting his locker. He swung around, zigzagging around a few groups of students as he headed toward where he saw Jughead walking away.
'Hey," he called, catching up to him just as he was about to turn the corner. "Hey, Jug, did you hear what happened with the principal?"
Jughead shook his head, the two of them pushing open the front doors of the school and starting down the steps. "No, but whatever it was sent Mrs. Culver off, so I imagine Betty is some sort of galvanized right now as well."
Archie fiddled with the ends of his backpack straps, pulling them as he walked onto the blacktop of the parking lot. "Oh, man." He felt the cold air hit his face and looked up before glancing back at the doors. "Wait, aren't you meeting her?"
"She wasn't at her locker or in the Blue & Gold office." He shrugged, the two of them turning the corner into the second section of the parking lot. "Figured she wanted to walk home today."
Archie nodded, his eyes moving away from Jughead and in front of him instead. And when he did, he stopped, putting a hand on Jughead's shoulder. "Or she's just walking around in circles."
Jughead knit his brow and Archie pointed further down the parking lot. There was Betty, pacing methodically across the concrete, her head pointed in the direction of the top of the building, her eyes flipping between different corners of the structure.
The boys looked at each other and then strode forward. Archie knew that today must have been a whirlwind of emotions despite her brave face and hoped it hadn't set off another panic attack, as her current movement didn't look dissimilar to what he had seen at the football game. But as he got closer he noticed that instead of panicked she looked… mad.
"Betty?" Jughead asked casually but cautiously, stopping next to her. "Whatcha looking at?"
She was close to the two of them but continued to walk in her fastidious pattern. "How did he know I'd be here?"
Jughead frowned, scrunching his brow. "What?"
Betty broke her circular path, coming to a stop inside two of the white lines on the blacktop a few feet away. "I park in this spot every day." Archie glanced up and realized she was standing under the bare bones of the tree. He looked back at Betty as she pointed behind the boys toward the school. "You can see it on the security cameras from multiple angles. This was a safety net. But it wasn't caught on camera. You couldn't see a struggle, you couldn't see where we went."
Archie swung his head around, staring at the top of the school walls, then back at Jughead, the two of them sharing a similar look.
"How'd he know I would be at the school? And alone?" She threw her hands up, the aggravation clear and present on her face as her voice began to waver. "He must have been watching."
Archie could hear her anger giving way to distress. He swallowed, feeling his own distress from earlier begin to bubble back up.
The sun was right above the hill leading out toward the football field, the lack of leaves on the large tree allowing the glaring light to wash over them, their shadows stretching against the brick walls. Betty was turned, her back to them, staring out in the same direction. She threw a hand up, balancing her feet on top of each other. "There have to be more clues. There has to be something else about that night."
She started walking but Jughead rushed forward. "Hey, hey, wait." He grabbed her arms and tried to get her to spin back around toward him. "What's going on?"
Betty reluctantly stopped and stared at him. "I don't have the whole story, Jug. I don't have the whole story."
Archie's face fell, hearing the heaviness in Betty's answer. He looked over as Jughead raised his head and he was surprised at how cynical his friend looked. It was a far cry from his mood earlier. He squinted. Maybe cynical wasn't the right word, maybe worn-out was.
"Okay, okay." Jughead bobbed his head, relaxing his arms on Betty's. "How about I make a call, yeah?"
Betty stared at him with gritty eyes, then she turned toward Archie and the two of them stared over at the hill, watching the sun dip even further. He pulled his jacket closer around him, knowing they couldn't leave her out in the cold alone on this.
"Alright." Charles's breath swirled around in a white wisp as he walked the parking lot, tapping away at a large tablet balanced in his hand. "Just give me a few minutes to set this up, but I've got an idea of what we need to do."
Jughead nodded, standing beside Betty and Archie under the now-darkened sky. The FBI agent had sounded tired, and like he might be coming down with a cold, but he had thankfully agreed to Jughead's plea to help them out.
Which would hopefully help them finally get home after a day that should have been a win.
He and Betty had talked a bit more while waiting for Charles and he now knew that the principal was trying to shut the story down. It had riled her up for sure and he had expected her to be angry, but he had not anticipated that she would become so distressed again. He had been chomping at the bit to help out more and typically wouldn't hesitate to help Betty with an investigation, but for some reason, this one just felt like it was a byproduct of anxiety.
Not that they hadn't chased those before, but after all the work and energy she had put into overcoming her fears to put this story out, and knowing the pain that had already been inflicted, he was hoping she would get just one night to not think about the machinations behind her experience.
"Why do I have to be Edgar? I don't want to be Edgar."
"Arch, you don't have to do anything but walk. We're not acting anything out. You don't have to actually be him."
"Why can't Jughead do it?"
"Jughead is helping Charles."
"Fine. But it makes me feel weird."
Betty and Archie had begun to bicker on the blacktop and Jughead let out a sigh, moving away from them. He raised his head and swept his gaze up around the corners of the school toward the cameras before turning to Charles.
"Do you think this will actually go anywhere?"
Charles lifted his head away from the tablet, glancing quickly over at Betty before shrugging. "I don't know, but it's worth a shot. We honestly still don't know too much about that night."
Jughead rocked on his heels, shoving his tongue into his cheek. "I mean, we know what happened, do we need to walk it out? I mean, she just finished the story."
"What do you mean you've never heard of Nora Ephron?" He heard Betty exclaim, her arms crossed at Archie.
"That's not a name everybody knows!"
Betty and Archie's continued squabbling drifted over the parking lot toward them, and the brothers looked over briefly before continuing their own conversation.
"I don't think we're going to find anything." Jughead pushed his hands into his jacket, shivering a bit in the cold night. He glanced at Charles, who was poking back around the tablet, occasionally squinting up at pockets of the darkness surrounding the parking lot. He didn't respond, and Jughead felt that silence was deliberate. "And neither do you."
Charles' fingers stopped, hovering above the iPad, and he let out a breath. "What's one of the most important questions you can ask yourself as a writer? Or as a detective for that matter?"
Jughead scrunched his forehead. "Why?"
Charles nodded. "And once you have your why, then what?"
Jughead glanced back over at Betty and Archie, the two of them wandering around underneath the tree at the edge of the lot. He swallowed, his tension easing. "How."
The FBI agent slowly nodded again. "You've been through some bad things. You all have." He tucked the tablet under his arm. "She's doing what a lot of survivors do, and what a detective does; asking questions. She's still restless, still trying to find something. Maybe that feeling is amplified now that the story is public." He shook his head. "Even if there's nothing to find, we have to let her try."
Jughead turned his eyes down to the concrete and bobbed his head.
That he could understand.
He had felt plenty of those itches over the years, and perhaps he was feeling so pessimistic because he had never thought to explore this location further after the scavenger hunt had happened. The police had cleared it after gathering the initial evidence from Betty's belongings, after all.
A yelp sounded in front of them and Jughead darted his head back up to see Archie laid out on the ground looking a bit dazed, Betty standing over him in a defensive pose, a worried expression on her face.
"Sorry," she apologized, her worried look slowly becoming eclipsed by a look of satisfaction.
Archie stayed sprawled on the ground, staring straight up in shock. "She flipped me."
Jughead smirked and walked forward. He looked over at Betty, stunned as well. "What has your physical therapist been teaching you?"
Betty relaxed and straightened herself up. "Actually, Charles is the one that showed me that."
All three friends looked over at the FBI agent, who stared back at them nonchalantly and shrugged. "I know what you guys have been through. Self-defense seemed like a good idea."
Archie groaned as he pulled himself up. "Yeah, great idea." He shot a mild glare at Betty as he brushed himself off, though Jughead saw him sneak her fist bump too. "I officially call not being Edgar."
"No one has to be Edgar," Charles assured, stepping in the middle of the teens. "We're not recreating everything." He held up the tablet in his hands. "Now, I've seen the original security footage from that night so I know which directions we don't need to hit. And I now have access to the cameras currently. See, wave!"
He flipped the screen toward the teens and looked back toward the small, white cameras that hung in the corners of the walls, waving playfully toward the one pointed at them. Jughead leaned in to look at the screen, as did Betty and Archie, and grinned when he saw their figures huddled in the frame. Archie joined in the waving.
"So," Charles continued, turning back, "we just have to walk different paths to see which routes stay in the shadows and away from the cameras, and which don't. Each of you can go a different way starting under the tree while I monitor, and I'll yell out when I can see you on the cameras. Got it?"
They all nodded and Betty immediately moved toward her parking spot. "Well, I'll start where I was." She spun back toward the boys. "I was turned looking up at the school when he came up behind me, so I'll walk straight past the trees toward the fields."
Charles nodded and Jughead exchanged a glance with Archie before the two of them positioned themselves equidistant on either side of Betty. Archie was to her right, his path taking him toward the exit of the parking lot by the front of the school while Jughead was to the left, his path taking him toward the docking bay at the edge of the other side of the lot.
The three of them waited for Charles' signal, and then they were off.
Jughead began his slow walk toward the back of the school, taking in his surroundings as he went. He took this place for granted considering he was here just about every day for a majority of the year. It wasn't like he was admiring the old school building's architecture regularly, he was usually trying to get away from it as soon as possible after the final bell.
After years of misuse and probable underfunding, the exterior was scratched up and mossy, the faded red bricks visible even under the moonlight. Something he was only noticing now though, and perhaps after the years they've had should have noticed earlier, were how many side doors and shadowed nooks and crannies there were around the building, especially as he ventured further and further away from the main parking lot.
"Archie, you're visible!" He heard Charles call out, and he swung his head back momentarily to see the redhead jog back to join the FBI agent. He couldn't see Betty from here, but he could see the parking spot.
He turned his head forward and noticed he was passing by the docking bay that sat behind the cafeteria. The keypad beside it was old and he could see which number keys were worn down the most, which certainly didn't seem like a great thing to have out in the open in this town.
His eyes moved up and, at about the same time he noticed another small camera pointed at him, he heard Charles's shout.
"Jughead, I can see you!"
He groaned and spun around, starting on his way back toward Charles and Archie.
That meant that Betty's route was the only viable option.
"Can you see her?" Jughead asked as he rounded on the guys, peering over Charles's shoulder at the screen. The agent shook his head and the three of them squinted at the current live camera feed, seeing nothing but shadow.
The screen vibrated and Jughead noticed a sudden shudder run through Charles, and he gripped the tablet with two hands, his eyes closing. "You okay?"
Charles swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, just getting cold." Jughead narrowed his eyes but said nothing more.
He wouldn't have had time to anyway, as Betty's voice rang out into the night.
"Guys! I think I found something."
The three of them quickly looked at each other, and then began jogging across the parking lot. The lawn continued on for a few yards past the tree, but they could see a sharp downward slope ahead of them.
It would certainly account for how someone could just disappear out of the camera frame without being seen; there's no way it was still in range of the lens, which was angled downward toward the parking lot. They headed down the hill and found Betty standing at the bottom in front of an old maintenance shed.
Jughead came up next to her and saw a determined yet agitated look on her face. He looked between her and the shed, his skepticism getting the better of him. "Betts," he began, trying to remember what Charles had said earlier. "I don't think a shed that's falling apart is that incriminating."
Betty huffed and he could tell she was getting a bit irritated. "Maybe not, but look."
She pointed at the door, and Jughead scanned it before he finally saw what she was talking about. Holding the door shut was a shiny, silver, and what looked to be a brand-new padlock.
Jughead breathed in sharply and turned his head toward Charles, who surprisingly had a curious look on his face. His eyes were roving over the shed, and Jughead could tell he was trying to take in every detail before turning toward the dirt beneath their feet.
"Reclusive area, service road for easy access in and out," he listed, kicking at the gravel path. "No sightlines for the cameras or any people unless they were on the football field." He turned his head back up and around at the teens. "Archie, do you know if any sports teams use this shed?"
The redhead, who had been wandering beyond the shed and was staring out toward the field, turned around and shook his head. "No, at least not the football team. We store everything near the locker rooms or the sheds right next to the field. This is too far away."
Charles nodded and tucked the tablet underneath his arm, his mouth scrunching up. Jughead's face fell, the realization setting in that the agent was probably right, the scene setting in his head.
"It's probable that this could very well be the spot he got in and out that night." Charles walked closer to the shed as Archie rejoined the group. "Good instincts, Betty."
She quietly nodded, the rugged determination still firmly on her face. Jughead rubbed her back, starting to feel a bit disappointed in himself for doubting her. He could just see the edge of Charles's SUV parked up in the lot, right next to Betty's normal spot. This location wasn't visible from up there, but from down below? She would have looked like a sitting duck.
He shuddered, growing more creeped out the longer he thought about it.
"Well," Betty said, slipping out from beneath his hand. "What are we waiting for? Let's see if there's anything in there."
"Ah, ah, ah!" Charles jumped between her and the shed, holding out a hand. "Have you touched anything already?"
Betty knit her brow. "No."
"Okay, good. We'll keep it that way." Charles had relaxed a bit but was still sending the teens a serious glare. "While your instincts got us here, they also have to stop here. This is my jurisdiction now and we're doing it by the books. I'll get a warrant and come back in the morning."
"Charles, come on!" Betty began to protest, gesturing an arm toward the lock. "We're already here." She deflated slightly but still bounced on her heels, her voice growing lower and more fraught. "I lost a whole day here. I… I want to know what happened."
He bobbed his head and took a step forward, frowning. "I know. I know." He laid a comforting hand on Betty's shoulder. "But with everything circulating right now, I just want to make sure we have the best chances in court if there's evidence in there."
Jughead could see the beseeching look he was sending Betty. She continued frowning at him for a few moments before easing up and sighing. "Okay. But you will let me know as soon as you can if you find anything, right?"
Charles nodded encouragingly. "Of course." He glanced at the lock, Jughead looking in that direction too, then passed his gaze over the group. "Now, how about we all get out of the cold. Dinner on me?"
Anddd another chapter done!
Thanks for reading and, as always, I love getting reviews and having people let me know they are still reading! And I especially love hearing what people liked about the chapter and what stood out to them!
I hope you are all having a wonderful fall season (if it is fall where you are!) and that life isn't too hectic in your personal spheres. I know the world itself is very heavy right now, so take care of yourselves!