Chapter 6: Forty Days in the Wilderness

An abysmal veil of darkness had wrapped itself around Riverdale once more, the promise of hope diffusing into a fleeting fallacy. A foul beast once thought restrained had reared his ugly head, demanding a hunt. And the noble players had conceded, cooperating as pawns in the endless game the town was ensnared in. But it had turned out the beast was no more a pawn than we were, and all that we had gained from our frivolous chase was another dead body and another dead end.

Jughead, Archie, and Veronica stared absently at the gray walls of the police station, each set of eyes red and raw. Archie was hunched over, nervously twisting his fingers together. Veronica sat still, black smudges sloppily smeared around her face. Jughead twisted his beanie between his blood-streaked hands, lost in his head.

FP pulled away from his son and shakily rose to his feet. "I have to call this in. Go outside. All of you, you don't need to look at this."

Archie dragged himself outside with Veronica quickly following. Jughead remained on his knees, his eyes trained on nothing.

"Jug," FP said sternly, "Jughead, please leave."

Jughead moved his lips in an inaudible whisper.

"What?" FP gently asked, leaning down closer.

"We lost her," Jughead said unevenly. "She's gone."

FP bit his lip and lifted his son to his feet. "No, we haven't lost her. We just… we just need to regroup." He walked Jughead over to the door of the cabin. "You three don't need to hang around here, but I have to call this in. Head to the station, okay? I'll meet you there."

Jughead nodded and slowly plodded down the steps toward his friends.

Archie and Veronica turned around as Jughead came up beside them. He was shaking, his nostrils flaring as he tried to hold back tears. "Jug…" Archie whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It was a trick," he mumbled, staring into the dying light above them. "All a trick. Chic was only a red herring - distracting us from something much more sinister. And now she's gone."

"We won't stop looking, Jug. We promise." Archie thundered, placing both hands on Jughead's shoulders. Veronica nodded, blinking through teary eyes. A blood-red sun was retreating behind the trees around them, casting long twisted shadows. Jughead stared down at them and felt as though he was looking into an echo of his clouded, aching mind.

A door slammed and FP rounded the corner, jerking Jughead out of his memory. Archie pulled himself up until he was standing in front of the sheriff. Veronica straightened up, delicately dabbing at her eyes with a grimy tissue.

FP let out a deep breath, "We sent Chic's body to the coroner. Hopefully, we can get an ID on the bullet since we got no fingerprints from Betty's car or phone." Archie leaned to one side and ran a hand through his hair. "A team is still sweeping the cabin for any further evidence, but for now, that's all there is." He glanced down at Jughead's hands. "What you kids need to do is go home and clean up. Breathe and be patient. I'll let you know what forensics finds."

Archie and Veronica nodded. FP looked down at Jughead, who was still sitting, wringing his beanie in his hands. "Jughead," he called, cocking his head toward his office door.

Jughead looked up and warily stood. Archie and Veronica watched him walk away with concerned eyes. Jughead looked back. "Archie, Veronica," he swallowed, "Thank you." The two friends nodded again and walked out of the police station into the night.

"Shouldn't we stay?" Archie asked Veronica, stepping outside into the cool air. A few officers walked back and forth between cars, the small chatter of muffled radio broadcasts echoing around them.

"No. FP's right, we need to give ourselves some space and clean up." She looked down at her filthy blouse and leggings. "I mean, look at us." She brushed some loose dirt from Archie's jacket. "We can't help anybody like this."

"But, Jughead," Archie swallowed, "did you see him on the way here? His eyes were… empty. Like he'd seen a ghost."

"Archie," Veronica looked up into his deep brown eyes. "We pretty much did." She shuddered, reaching up and feeling her forehead, a chilling image of a bloodied Chic flashing behind her eyes. "We have to rest a bit, regroup. None of us know where to go now."

Archie stared up at the buzzing orange lights of the police station. "I'm worried."

"I know, Archie," she said, pulling him away from the station and toward his truck. "I know."

Jughead sighed and walked into his father's office. FP was leaning over his desk, his white knuckles gripping the edges. He looked up as Jughead closed the door behind him.

"I had a feeling something like this was going to happen again," FP said, sinking into his desk chair. "I had a bad feeling Chic wasn't working alone."

Jughead sat across from FP, anger plastered across his face. "It was all a ruse, to distract us. Chic was scared of something and I think this was why."

FP nodded. "He kept saying he didn't know where Betty was when I questioned him in the bunker. Maybe he really didn't, maybe he was just making up stories."

"Or someone was giving him stories to tell. A scapegoat so we would be kept off the real trail."

"And then they made sure he couldn't tell us who," FP mused, crumpling up a stray piece of paper on his desk and tossing it toward the trash can. It bounced off the wall and tumbled to the floor. Jughead slammed his fists into his chair, making FP flinch. "Jughead! Boy!"

"What?" He rose, fervently pacing around the room. "Betty is gone. And it's our fault! We fell for the same trick that happened with Kurtz, and now she's gone! Betty might not even be in Riverdale for all we know, it's been a whole day!" He flung his beanie to the ground and stood with his hands on his hips, fuming in silence for a few moments. Then, in a smaller voice, "It doesn't make sense! Most of the clues mentioned things that were personal to Chic, only things he – and us – would know."

"Well, maybe that's where we start? Figure out who all knows those details. Make one of those murder boards-," Jughead shot him a piercing look, "sorry, uh, one of those crime boards you like making." He walked over beside his son. "I can ask Charles if he can spare any help-,"

"No!" Jughead whipped around towards his dad. "No! This is our case! We don't need his help. Besides-," he picked his beanie up and brushed it off, placing it back on top of his hair, "-he's a suspect as far as I'm concerned."

"Jug, come on." FP put his hands on his hips, gaping at his son. "Chic legitimately didn't know he was alive."

"That could just have been another one of his acts."

"Charles is an FBI agent for goodness sake!"

"Yeah, well he wasn't at the community center opening. And he knew you'd be out late! What if he's been watching us this whole time, waiting for the perfect time to get Betty alone?" Jughead screamed. "While maybe you trust him, I still don't!"

"Jughead, just listen to yourself!" FP's voice was rising in pitch as well. "Half the town wasn't at the opening! And didn't Betty already dig around his past and clear the guy? I'd trust her judgment. Charles is our family too!"

"Yeah? Well, we aren't exactly the family of the year! Here you are moonlighting as a sheriff, Charles could be doing just the same with the FBI." Silence filled the room. FP frowned, crossing his arms and turning away from Jughead, whose face softened. "Dad, no… I didn't mean it, I'm sorry-,"

"Go home," FP said firmly. "Go home, clean yourself up, and calm down. Go be with your sister." He turned away and lowered his head. "That's all you can do right now."

Jughead swallowed and looked down, walking wordlessly out of the office. As he went to close the door, he kept it open just a hair and peered back. FP had retired to his desk chair, his head buried in his hands. Jughead frowned and quietly finished closing the door, leaning his back up against it as he did. He glanced around at the officers ambling around the dusky station. All of them appeared so focused, yet so unaware. No one looked panicked or rushed. So untouched. Jughead sucked in a feeble breath and pushed open the glass doors, walking out of the police station and into the dark night.

Meanwhile, the real monster, the shadowy cryptic, was circling the lost traveler in the woods, and we had been relegated to nothing more than senseless hunters following the wrong trail of breadcrumbs. No, all we were left to now was paranoid and sullen imaginings as to where, and to what kind of hell the girl next door was being imperiled to.

"So nice to see you again." Edgar smiled, stuffing the key ring into his pocket as he relaxed back into the rocking chair, a small silver medical kit nestled in his hand.

Betty wrapped her hands tightly around the edges of the counter, her nails digging into the underside, but quickly attempted to straighten up, not wanting to give Edgar the pleasure of seeing how scared she actually felt. She shifted her face into a scowl, her eyes digging into him instead. "Where am I? Why am I here?"

Edgar rocked steadily back and forth, his blue eyes remaining intently on her. He gave a small wave of his hand. "All in due time," he tutted and motioned to her arm. "Why don't we fix that up?"

Betty grabbed her injured arm and stepped away from Edgar, anger flaring in her eyes. "I'm not letting you get anywhere near me! You're a butcher. The last time we were in the same room you tried to kill me!"

Edgar smiled and folded his hands together. "That is all true," he garbled, tilting his head in what Betty thought was supposed to be some feeble attempt at a look of remorse. "But I'm a changed man. I did things in such a primitive way before, but I've found an even deeper purpose now." He spoke in a slow rhythm, his tongue sliding over choice words, a slight lull in his tone. "Now, please, Betty, we don't want that to get infected." He rattled the medical kit again. "It's just fresh bandages."

Betty's mind raced. He was right about the infection, but the last time Edgar had been involved with something medical, Betty had been strapped to a surgical table against her will. Her brain did something of a mental flinch at the memory. Changed man, my ass.

"I'll do it myself," she barked, reaching forward for the kit.

Edgar pulled it away and leaned back in his chair. "Still so untrusting."

"You're a charlatan!" Betty's eyes flashed. The gash on her arm throbbed and she squeezed her hand tighter around it. A few beads of sweat dripped down her forehead and she suddenly felt a bit woozy. She could still feel the waning effects of whatever drug Edgar had used to knock her out too, and her stomach rocked. "Does… does my mom know I'm here?" she found herself asking in a small voice, biting her lip.

Edgar rose from the rocking chair and stood over her. He shook his head once. "No, and I'm going to keep it that way. In fact, nobody knows you're here. I made sure of it." His blue eyes twinkled down at Betty, a dark grin on his face.

"Where is here?" Betty reiterated her earlier question as she slowly began slinking around Edgar toward the couch.

Edgar raised his arms and began pacing in a slow, small circle. "This, Betty," he hummed a bit too eagerly, "this is your chrysalis. Your... in between. The place that decides who you become."

She unconsciously tensed her shoulders. She did not like the sound of that.

Night had fully fallen outside and dark shadows stretched across the room. Edgar rose slowly, pulling a matchbook from his pocket. Betty's eyes followed his movements as he grabbed two candlesticks from above the fridge and delicately lit each one, setting them on the kitchen counter. The orange flames cast sharp shadows across Edgar's face, his blue eyes becoming replaced by empty black holes. He turned those dark eyes towards Betty's arm, which she had pressed up against her side. "That doesn't look too good. Please, let me help you."

"Never," Betty spat.

His eyes slowly shifted back and forth, observing as he gently sat back down in the rocking chair. He crossed one leg over the other and gestured for Betty to sit. She remained where she stood, hovering over the couch. Edgar cocked his head and continued staring. Betty felt another small wave of dizziness hit her and she took a deep breath, losing hold on her show of strength, and gradually lowered herself onto the couch, coming eye level with Edgar.

"Did you know that in just about every belief system or mythos, there are principal tales of their heroes and saviors finding themselves at a crossroads, faced with temptations and trials? Many found themselves lost and alone, wandering into the entrancing depths of the inscrutable wild." Edgar folded his hands, resting his elbows on his lap. "And there they would truly figure out who they were, taking arrow after ruthless arrow, truly breathing in and out the scorching air of suffering." Betty glowered at him with one upturned eyebrow. "But it was all for a purpose – to make the life-altering choice of whether to give in and drown in their own mind, to be overtaken by madness - or to fight through, rising up from a hallowed battleground to be reborn."

A gust of wind swirled outside, sending the wood walls shaking and groaning. Betty clenched her fists as both of her arms stiffened upright, an unpleasant tingle running down her spine.

"The most prominent of these stories follows the Son of Man as he walks into the wilderness to pray while the devil follows, continuously whispering temptations in his ear, trying to make him flinch and doubt his own power." He flashed a fiendish grin at Betty, his eyes twinkling.

"But he never gave in; He stayed in that barren wilderness for forty days, with only the noise of a demon and his own thoughts to keep him company."

He blinked and uncrossed his legs to lean forward, his black hole eyes never breaking contact. "Do you understand me so far, Betty?"

She nodded, a heavy pit growing in her stomach. "I think so." A chill bristled on her neck as a tree branch scraped its coarse fingers against the windowpane behind her.

He nodded, grinning. "Now, after sitting with you through your sessions, I think the devil's been following you, Betty, and so I brought you here-," he raised his arms, their tall shadows towering over the room against the flicker of the candles, their orange flames twisting in some sort of spectral dance, "-to your own wilderness, so you can finally face him." Edgar leaned back in his chair, "Just you, your demons, and your own mind."

"And you," Betty chided, leaning forward into the ghostly candlelight, "the devil."

He grinned and got up from the chair, "Betty, I have no intention of harming you," Edgar lulled, "I want you to… flourish. For your truest self to awaken." He wrapped his hands around the back of the rocking chair. "But, what you and I both know, is that the path to emergence is long and grueling. We have to walk through darkness in order to bask in the light. We have to find ourselves in the desert ready to die." He walked forward and knelt in front of Betty, who scrunched her eyes shut. "We need to be ripped open in order to see our truest self. And-," Betty could feel him move closer so she inched backward, shaking her head, "-whether that true self becomes a stronger, wiser person, or a dark and twisted shadow, that person," his voice a scathing whisper, "becomes our destiny."

Betty could feel her entire body begin to tremble as her head lolled, her brain feeling sleepy. No. Snap out of it, Betty. She pressed back into the rigid couch, opening her frenzied eyes. "You're crazy," she declared, the edge of her mouth twisting.

"No, Betty, I'm a prophet. I help lead people through the mystifying ether of this life, leading them away from the cold cave where they entertain themselves with shadow puppets they create, not realizing there is a greater reality above them. We slink happily into the shadows, content with only echoes of our true self." His blue eyes glinted strangely, a hint of madness forming in his troubling smile. The rocking chair groaned slowly behind him, matching rhythm with the ghoulish wind shaking the cabin.

Betty stiffened as Edgar bent forward, putting his mouth close to her ear and speaking in a piercing whisper. "You tried to expose me. Now it's my turn to expose you. To yourself. And whichever persona you become - that's on you. I'm simply the guide, leading you to your fate."

Betty pushed him away, resolve flowing from the churning waters of her eyes, "My demons don't scare me, I know who I am. I've been facing my shadow self for the past two years. You can't use fancy philosophy to trick me into believing otherwise. I know the allegory of the cave just as well as you. Yes, we are meant to find more to this life, but not in the psychotic way you portray it." She swallowed, leaning forward. "And you, Mr. Evernever-," she rose, facing the foul man in front of her, "-you don't scare me, either. "

Edgar stared at her, placing his hands behind his back. "Forty days and forty nights, Betty. Walk in the wilderness and wrestle. Give in to those places beyond your understanding and imagination."

Betty frowned, shaking her head. "My charge still stands - Jughead and his dad, they'll come for me before you can finish your twisted plan. My friends will come for me. You won't get away with anything."

A crooked grin reappeared on his face as he dug out the keys from his pocket. Grabbing one of the dripping candles, he headed toward the door. "I'll leave you alone for the night, see how you feel in the morning. Everything here is for you. A bed, running water – I want you to have some comforts during your stay." He flashed her one last smile and walked out the door, a few pops ringing out as he fastened the locks.

Betty stared after him, quivering, and listened as his footfalls faded away. The creep is just trying to freak you out. You've seen his tactics before. Don't let him scare you. She lowered herself back onto the couch, bunching her fists and digging them into the cushions.

The wind moaned outside the cabin as Betty sat, thinking. The pain in her arm had subsided, but her head was now aching and she could feel sweat continue to bead on her forehead. She stared at the remaining candle as the light flickered, twirling across her vision. Shake him out. Assess the situation. Take care of yourself.

She trudged into the bathroom and flipped the light switch. "I have electricity, that's something," she murmured to herself, steadying her breathing. Betty stuck her arm under the sink faucet and turned one of the knobs. "And water," she sighed as the cold water rushed over her raw and bloody arm.

She stayed there for a few minutes, splashing water over her face and cupping some in her hands, bringing it to her mouth. The cool water soothed her dry throat. Walking out of the bathroom she scanned the bedroom that lay in front of her. There were two more windows, both sporting the same bars as the one in the front room. The bed had been made up and a folded blanket sat on the far end. The rest of the room was dreadfully bare - only drab brown wood paneling, a small nightstand, and a dusty dresser.

She walked back into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Nothing. Her stomach gurgled in response and Betty put one hand over it. She turned around and walked back into the bedroom, plopping down on the springy bed. Okay, Betty, think. He just wants to freak you out, make you panic and think you're not safe without him. She looked around the empty room, You're going to get out of here. Just stick it out a little longer, see what you can get out of him. There's always a clue if you know where to look. She winced and put a hand to her head. It was still heavy. "He sure knows how to twist words…" she muttered. She knew of the stories he had spoken of, and yes, they were about finding yourself and your power, but they were about not giving into the darkness. "I will not let him bully me again."

The wind continued to howl outside. Betty looked over at the bed she sat on, her eyes joining in with the heaviness the rest of her head felt. "Sleep," she said to herself. "Real sleep wouldn't hurt," she muttered as she fell back against the pillow. She closed her eyes, drawing in a few trembling breaths until the darkness swallowed her once more.

Jughead stared vacantly at the open street in front of the white house on Elm Street. A few skid marks and dark spots were still left on the street, scars from the days' earlier events. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes, his face red and raw.

How had that only been earlier today? It felt like it had happened years ago.

He stared over at the Andrews' house, quiet darkness staring back at him through the windows. He frowned and turned away. Jughead trudged into the house, slamming the red door behind him.

"Jughead!" JB called from the living room, "What happened?"

Jughead ignored his sister, climbing the stairs to his room, his steps hollow and faint. He walked blindly into the bathroom and turned on the faucet, letting the water run down the drain as he stared at the dried blood on his hands.

Chic's blood.

He held his hands out in front of him, palms raised, red searing into his mind. His hands began to shake and he plunged them into the stream and scrubbed fervently. He coughed, a sob rising in his throat. He coughed again, and this time sank to the floor, the faucet still running. He leaned against the wall and wept, hot tears flowing down his face.

Archie and Veronica sat in the front of Archie's parked truck outside of the Pembrooke, staring aimlessly out of the windshield in front of them.

"Well," Veronica piped up, "I guess this is goodnight, Archie." She fumbled with the door handle, cracking open the door.

"Wait," Archie said, turning toward her. He let out a small breath. "With everything going on… I don't think you should stay home alone tonight."

Veronica looked Archie up and down, a warm sensation flooding through her. "I-I don't want to be alone tonight. You don't want to be alone tonight, either, do you?"

Archie shook his head. "And I don't want to go back home. Too much has happened there today." He grimaced, a fresh stream of tears falling down his face.

"You can stay here," Veronica purred, "That way neither of us will be alone." She stepped out of the truck and walked around to the other side, letting Archie slip out of the driver's seat. She grabbed him by the hand and steered him gently into the empty lobby of the Pembrooke.

"Ahck!" Betty awoke, grasping at her arm.

A fiery jolt had shot up her arm, rousing her out of already uneasy slumber. Edgar's black eyes and heinous smile had been playing in her mind, his perverse words echoing through her skull.

She squinted through the dark at her arm. It pulsed at her touch. Betty staggered off of the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. She grappled with the sink and thrust her arm under the steady stream of cool water. She leaned her head on the rim of the sink, listening to the continual cascade of water in the darkness. After the pain had subsided, she reached up and flicked the light on, looking around. Right, she remembered, creepy cabin.

Betty stared at her reflection in the mirror, grimacing at what stared back. Her forehead was beaded in sweat and her hair hung limply around her shoulders. The exposed veins in her eyes mixed disjointedly with the green, making her look like a crazed animal.

She hung her head, squeezing her eyes shut. Images of her friends flashed in her mind now - of them wild and panicked, running around trying to figure out what had happened. She saw Archie roaming the streets, asking anybody he came across if they'd seen his friend, and Veronica, dressed in an immaculate outfit standing right beside him, making calls only she knew how to make. And then there was Jughead, rugged determination in his eyes as he raced through the woods in a confident charge.

Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes as panic overtook her. Would they know? Would they even suspect Edgar? How had he bypassed the FBI manhunt in Riverdale?

Betty looked back up into the mirror. Her face now matched the veins in her eyes and the skin on her arm. She took in deep breaths, counting as she breathed in and out. "One," she breathed in and out, "Two," in and out, "Three." As she reached ten, she pulled a towel off the wall and washed her face, rubbing away the last of the dirt and grime hanging on her. Betty stepped back into the bedroom and rummaged through the dresser, finding a thin pillowcase in one of the drawers. She tugged at the stitches until it ripped, then she gingerly wrapped it around the gash on her arm and tied tight, pulling one end of the knot with her teeth.

She strode back into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. This time, Betty Cooper stared boldly back out at her, determination blazing in her bright green eyes.

"Jughead?" JB's small voice echoed around the dim bathroom as she appeared in the doorway, staring crestfallen at her brother sprawled on the floor. She sank down next to him, leaning up against the tiled wall and crossed her legs on the bathroom floor. "Jug, what happened after you left?"

He placed his hands in his lap, sniffling. "It's bad, JB. We don't know where Betty is and we just wasted a whole day chasing a ghost. And I got in a fight with dad." He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "And now I don't know what to do."

Jellybean frowned, "I'm sorry." She tugged her sleeves over her hands and shuffled them in her lap. "I know everyone's probably been telling you all day that everything will be okay, but it will be."

Jughead looked over at his sister, letting her optimistic smile fill his vision, "You're too young to be entrenched in all this madness. I hope you stay that way."

"Hey!" she teased, hitting his shoulder lightly, "I lived in a junkyard with mom. And now I've taken out two sleazeballs with a slingshot. I can handle anything."

Jughead managed a small smile, his face glistening with shed tears. "Yeah, a real Annie Oakley." He mimicked her, holding out his arms as if holding an imaginary slingshot. He stuck his tongue out and fired, miming getting hit in the head with a rock. Jellybean laughed; so did Jughead. "How do you do it?" he asked, "How have you kept so much positivity and strength through everything?"

"Well," JB said, resting her head on Jughead's shoulder, "for starters, I've got a strong big brother to look up to." She turned her head, smiling up at him.

Jughead's mouth twitched, a trembling smile crossing his lips. He patted a hand on Jellybean's knee and placed his arm around her shoulder, drawing her in for a hug. "Do you, now? Tell me more."

The dim murmur of flowing water rebounded through that little bathroom, as brother and sister sat talking into the night, the encroaching demons withdrawing into the shadows, if only for a little while.

Maybe the story we were writing wasn't a heroic journey of strength and triumph as we had originally thought, but instead a cautionary tale - one of those twisted fairy tales warning children not to venture out into the forest and talk to strangers. Getting too close to, too deep, into the enchanting mysteries and curiosities of the woods only got you gobbled up by some allegorical monster. No one was safe - if not from the gnashing teeth - then from the inevitable despair that becomes instilled in one who has been living in fear for too long.

Flecks of golden sunlight danced across the pale, wooden wall. A few spots of light speckled over Betty's face. She slowly blinked awake, turning over on the rigid blue couch. She had gotten only a handful of hours of restless sleep, eventually giving up and lounging in the main room, waiting patiently for the inevitable arrival. A metal clinking turned her attention to the white front door, signaling that she hadn't woken a moment too soon.

"Good morning, Betty." Edgar strolled inside, locking the door behind him. "How did you sleep?"

"Just fine," she replied, feigning a smile. Bite me.

"Good." He beamed back, eyes squinted. He glanced at the makeshift bandage on her arm. "Oh, that won't do." He held up the silver medical kit. "Are you ready for my help now?"

"Yes," she said, "Yes, I think I am." Betty sat up and held out her arm gingerly. He grinned and sat down on the rocking chair, pulling it closer to her. He unwrapped the soiled sheet and opened the kit, spraying disinfectant over a rag. Betty winced as he pressed the cloth a little too hard on the wound, but she quickly relaxed her face, staring up at Edgar's indecipherable blue eyes. He flashed a small smile back. If she wanted to survive, she knew she would have to play along with his disturbing game. But only for a little while.

Yes, only for a little while.

Author's Notes: Well that Edgar's just a really screwed up dude. But sometimes screwed up dudes are real fun – and alarming – to write. And don't worry, Betty's not going down easily; our girl's a fighter.

What'd you think? What does Edgar still have planned? What are all our other favorite Riverdale teens going to do?

As always, please review and let me know what you think and what you are enjoying! I love getting feedback.