Chapter 8: Cabin Fever

Alice tapped her nails impatiently against the wooden table, a half-completed puzzle strewn in front of her. Her eyes drifted between the different pockets of people lounging around the room; a few laughed at some egregious joke while others meditated in the corner, dazed and absent expressions on their faces. Alice flicked the jigsaw piece she had been twirling between her fingers to the table. Was this really all there was to do here?

She sighed and rose from the table, a thread from her white billowy blouse catching on the sharp corner. "Dammit," she mumbled under her breath, yanking away the irksome fabric and proceeded into the hallway. The favored attire at The Farm was less than pleasant, and Alice couldn't wait until she was freely allowed to wear pantsuits and smack some people around with her heels again.

After the night Edgar had announced ascension, she and everyone else had been ordered to clear out of their old home in the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. 'Leave no trace behind as a final act of purification', he had said. She had moved on with The Farm to a new town into a recently closed school building. After all of the whispers and rumors abounding that last night in Riverdale, Edgar had ordered a strict technology ban and curfew, successfully severing all of the participants from outside lives.

Alice continued down the hall, coming upon a group of wide-eyed and energetic looking teenagers being led by an overly-enthusiastic Evelyn and Fangs. Alice plastered a painful smile on her face and waved. Evelyn returned the wave, as did a few of the kids on the tour. As soon as they rounded the corner, Alice turned her smile into a scowl. They didn't know what they were stepping into and she wasn't sure she could protect them - she already had a few teenagers left from Riverdale to still look after. She sighed. At least Betty had gotten out in time, along with Cheryl and Toni. And luckily the Keller boy had been the one chosen to stay behind on ascension night. She had thought that keeping Betty close within The Farm would allow her to keep a watchful eye on the rightfully suspicious teen, but Alice should have known Betty's gumption would have instigated something.

It had killed Alice watching her daughter believe she was abandoning her, turning into a mindless drone. And she had been so close to busting Edgar, but the sudden move had thrown a wrench into her already damaged plans. And now Edgar had begun acting strangely – well, stranger - again, disappearing at odd hours and long periods of time, carrying off food and curious supplies to who-knows-where. She figured this might be her chance to finally catch him off guard and find a way to contact the FBI.

Because, God, she had been with these freaks for too long.

Alice rounded another corner and headed towards the office area, hoping to find Edgar. She didn't have to go very far.

Speak of the devil, Alice thought to herself as she spotted Edgar walking down the hallway towards her. What she was not expecting was who was walking with him.

"Sister Alice," Edgar hummed, holding out an arm to her. "You're looking well this morning."

"Edgar," Alice beamed, gently rubbing his wrist. "Did you just get back?"

"Yes, I had a few things I needed to take care of last night." He rubbed her shoulder. "But I'm back now."

"And I see you've brought a fien – a friend – back with you," Alice corrected herself, throwing a dark glance toward the woman standing next to Edgar.

"Oh, Alice, I see you're still just as coy as ever," Penelope needled, giving Alice her infamous grin.

"What are you doing here?" Alice retorted back, crossing her arms.

"Penelope has had a rough couple of months back in Riverdale and needed a temporary place to stay," Edgar answered for her. "I've been sending her some supplies to help for the time being." Alice shot a glance toward the bundle of fabric in Edgar's hand. "And we pride ourselves on opening our doors to those in need," Edgar added, trying to appease the look of doubt on Alice's face.

Alice huffed, giving one last scornful facial jab to Penelope before softening her gaze and voice toward Edgar. "Well, if she's in need and thought of you for help, I can't blame her. Welcome." She lowered her voice even more and looked toward Edgar. "Can we talk?"

Edgar rested a reassuring hand on Alice's shoulder, "We will, but right now, I have to finish up a few onboarding things with Penelope. But we will, I promise." He motioned Penelope forward and the two walked past Alice toward Edgar's office.

Penelope threw her one last satiated smirk as Alice watched the pair disappear from view. A tight frown began to stretch across her face.

Something was very wrong.

xxx

Edgar shut the large double doors to his office, their echo ringing behind him. He deposited the hood into a drawer behind his desk, the needle wrapped inside clanging on the way down. He stretched and winced, rubbing his sore shoulder and back.

"I must admit, it's quite a feat to have muzzled Alice Cooper," Penelope quipped, settling herself into a leather chair in the corner of the room. "And both the pups, too."

"I didn't muzzle her, I healed her," Edgar replied, leaning against the large desk. Penelope raised an eyebrow then reached into a velvet bag lying next to the chair, pulling out a blood-red handkerchief.

He disregarded the snub. "Let's get back to business, shall we?

Penelope gave him a wave of her hand.

"You change out the car, we don't need a license plate being tracked, and I'll get you sufficient cash. Are your papers still holding up?"

"Swimmingly."

Edgar gave her a small nod. "Good."

"I will entrust you to whatever other little escapades you have planned. The look on that brat's face last night was enough for me. I want to see how the others flounder."

Edgar cocked his head, a more serious tone creeping its way into his voice. "While I concur that I'd rather be left alone on my end of things, do remember that we have to be strategic. Both of us being in Riverdale at the same time was risky. Do not try to push it." He knew Penelope had a flare for the dramatic and he'd be damned if that was what brought his plan to a premature end.

Penelope threw him a look of manufactured pain. "Oh Edgar, the cops in that town can't follow a lead if it was dangled on a stick in front of them. And with Betty Cooper off the chessboard, those other kids don't stand a chance putting together this little puzzle."

Edgar exhaled and moved behind the desk, lowering himself into a large, black leather chair. While he was a bit nervous at Penelope's unpredictable nature, he also couldn't help but smile at the satisfaction of turning Betty into the mystery. He knew she was twisting under that notion.

Edgar sat with his elbows propped up on his lap, fingers pressed into each other, and eyed Penelope as she pulled a silver gun out of the bag at her feet.

He stared at the gun as Penelope began to polish it with her handkerchief. "May I ask… how was it? Did you finally experience closure?" Edgar probed, his charismatic blue eyes digging into her.

"At first it was just a necessity. But-," she lowered her gaze, "after seeing him in that state, after finally understanding what those final moments were like for him, I found something cathartic," she said, voice dripping as she continued polishing the pistol. "Maybe that advice you're giving about facing your ghosts isn't so batty after all."

Edgar felt a smile spread across his face.

"Oh, and here, before you go-," he tossed Penelope a small black flip phone. "Despite my misgivings about modern technology, this may be each of our only warnings if something starts to go sour. If anyone starts sniffing around-,"

"-right between the eyes," Penelope hissed, a slice of reflected silver glinting in her dark eyes.

The motorcycle whirred to a gentle halt as Jughead pulled up to the towering shell of what had formerly been the base of operations for The Farm and the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. He shivered in the late October chill, bounding up the front stairs of the building. Months of neglect had left the area derelict and dirty, and remnants of police signage littered the overgrown front lawn. A grimy, marbled cherub rested on a stone pedestal above the entranceway, its frozen gaze lingering on Jughead as he passed underneath its obsolete watch post.

He swung open the main door and spotted Charles waiting for him.

"Jughead, so glad you made it. Thank you so much for being willing to help out. Got your badge?"

He flashed the FBI lanyard and replied, "No problem. What are detective half-brothers for?" He attempted a playful grin but feared it came out too artificial. He had to be careful with his words and expressions; Charles couldn't know that he was searching for different answers than what he had been invited for. "Hope you don't mind that I brought this with me," he said, lifting his camera in one hand.

Charles smiled back. "No, not at all." He started walking down the empty hall, his steps creating a hollow echo with each footfall. "Come on, I'll show you what we have so far."

The two rounded the corner and Jughead caught his breath. Tables were set up all around the main foyer, on which sat a plethora of computers, TV monitors, and equipment Jughead didn't even recognize. A dozen or so agents were scattered around the room, some bending over the monitors, others walking around with papers and binders shoved under their arms. Charles weaved through the maze of tables and Jughead followed, gawking at all the surveillance equipment he passed. Charles leaned towards Jughead, his voice a whisper, "We thought it best to set up shop right in the middle of where The Farm had their headquarters. Keeps us close to the investigation and keeps us away from the public eye." Jughead nodded, the excitement and awe of the new world around him momentarily melting away his serious composure.

They were approaching the middle of the room, toward a tall man with slicked-back hair. He had one hand in his pocket while the other held a phone to his ear. Everything about him screamed no-nonsense to Jughead.

As Charles and Jughead approached the tall man, he looked down and gave an agitated rumble. "Yeah, yeah. That sounds good. Send the results over right away. Alright. Bye." He shoved his phone into his pocket and gave Charles a passive nod, then rested an apprehensive gaze on Jughead.

"Smith-," the no-nonsense guy said to Charles without moving his eyes away from Jughead, "I'm guessing this is the kid you were talking about?"

"Yes, this is Jughead Jones. His father is the sheriff here." Charles nodded at Jughead then turned back to the no-nonsense man. "And Jughead, this is Agent Kane."

Jughead reached an open hand out to Agent Kane. "Hello sir, is it okay if I call you Agent K? Because I'm totally fine with you calling me Agent J."

Agent Kane kept both hands planted in his pockets and shot an upturned eyebrow at Charles. Jughead dropped his hand and glanced at Charles, who was discreetly shaking his head at him.

"Don't play with me, Jones. You're here by the thinnest line of jurisdiction. Charles spoke highly of you, don't make me regret allowing a teen in the middle of this investigation," Agent Kane said gruffly. "And you will address me as Agent Kane, or sir. Nothing more, nothing less."

Jughead swallowed. His first impression of the guy had apparently been an understatement. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

"Smith," Kane grumbled as his phone began ringing again, "Do whatever it is you need to do, just keep the kid out of our hair as much as you can."

"Yes, sir," He said as Agent Kane stalked away. Charles turned on Jughead and ushered him out of the room into the hall. "What was that?"

"I'm sorry," Jughead apologized, "I automatically default to sarcasm when it comes to certain authority types, especially suits. Is he your boss?"

Charles nodded, "Not the easiest guy to be around, but he runs an effective ship. He doesn't take well to jokes."

Jughead stifled a small smirk. "And that was the tamer of two jokes. I almost asked him about Rosebud."

Charles' lips curled into a smile. "How familiar are you with this place? How many times have you been here?"

"Only a handful. Betty dragged me here a few times, but she definitely spent more time here than I did." His mind settled back on his original mission, a serious nature falling back on his face. He couldn't get carried away and let his guard down that much. He had to stay focused. He sighed, "I wish she were here."

"So do I," Charles responded, turning towards Jughead. "I really hope you guys get a breakthrough soon. I wish we were able to provide more resources for you and FP, I really do."

Jughead watched Charles' face. His eyes looked sincere. His gestures were calm and supportive.

Jughead stopped in front of a large piece of graffiti on the wall and backed up to take a picture. Click. It was a crudely tagged red compass with all four cardinal directions. Someone had written 'Northside rules, Southside sucks' respectively next to each of their corresponding letters.

Charles stared at the wall as Jughead squinted at the LCD screen, examining the picture he had just taken. "Luckily we moved in before this whole building belonged to the graffiti artists. That wouldn't have been good for our investigation." Charles smiled.

Jughead frowned. "Can we go to some of the most active areas?"

Charles nodded and pointed ahead. "Let's start in the chamber ahead, I believe you are familiar with this one." They walked up to large, wooden double doors with a stained glass cross overtop it. Jughead nodded; this is where they had found Kevin. Charles pushed open the creaky doors and the two stepped inside.

White clothes no longer lined the musty room; now small yellow evidence markers sat in their place. Jughead crouched and began snapping photos. Betty had told him that before The Farm moved in, this had been the room where the sisters kept a gargoyle statue used to manipulate the patients – and where almost the entire staff of nuns had been murdered.

"Geez, this place is still unnerving," Jughead quipped. "I don't know how anyone could have lived here." Click. He fired off a few more photos.

"What?" Charles scoffed in a teasing manner. "Throw in some floating candles, a few more medieval ornaments here and there, and Riverdale's got itself its very own Hogwarts, complete with its own strange and foretelling history!"

Jughead rolled his eyes. "Wrong town, I hear all the magic is in Greendale." He turned around and stepped out into the hallway. "Okay, so your main investigation is surrounding all the organ harvesting, correct? Can I see where you've found the evidence of that?"

Charles brushed past him down the small set of stairs and turned left down a crudely-lit hallway. Jughead followed close behind and they turned into a room with a port-hole window on its grayish-green door. A sickly yellow light bathed the room and the shocking elements within. A few abandoned medical trays were scattered across the floor and shelves. An old-fashioned green surgical table sat in the center of the room, with a large, metal door looming behind it.

He propped his camera up in one hand and slowly stepped around the room. He traced one hand over the table, his fingers brushing up against faded dark stains.

A small chill ran down Jughead's spine; Betty had described certain elements of The Farm to him, but seeing the dimly-lit, hollow echoes of what accompanied the horrors Edgar had been implementing was downright chilling.

"Disturbing, isn't it?" Charles' question echoed Jughead's thoughts. "We know that Edgar and Evelyn recruit people they deem 'emotionally vulnerable' into The Farm to more easily manipulate them into believing they can physically get rid of their pain. It makes it much easier to harvest organs if the victims are willing." He leaned up against the wall. Jughead snapped a few pictures of the surgical table and then pried open the industrial refrigerator door behind it. A large blast of cold air blew into his face.

"He must have been fairly fruitful here," Charles continued. "He never had such a large storage area in the past places we've tracked him."

"Yeah," Jughead grunted. Click. "There's, unfortunately, a lot of impressionable people here in Riverdale."

He looked at Charles, who was looking sadly around the room. He decided now would be a good time to change the subject. "So... I'm guessing my dad told you about what happened to Chic? I know you two used to be roommates."

Charles looked back at Jughead. "Yeah. It's a shame. He was a strange guy, but for a while, all we had was each other."

"Do you think he deserved his death?" Jughead narrowed his eyes, pretending to shudder at the remembrance of Chic's corpse.

"What? No. He wasn't the nicest person, but I don't think anyone deserves to be murdered." Charles gave Jughead a puzzled look. "Why, do you?"

Jughead wasn't prepared for a response. "He did some really crappy stuff to the Coopers. I thought he was going to hurt Betty on multiple occasions. But I guess no. I'm just pissed that his stint in jail was so short."

Charles looked down. Jughead could tell he still held sympathy for Chic. Despite everything. But, he also might not know about everything, though he was sure Betty would have told him about what had gone down. But, after everything, maybe he was just grieving for someone who had once been his only friend.

"I'm sorry," Jughead, surprised, found himself saying, "We don't have to talk about this."

Charles looked back up and cleared his throat, "It's fine, Jughead. We all have a lot to process." Now he changed the subject, "So, what do you want to see next?"

Jughead thought about it for a moment. "It might help if I could see what you've already got?" he asked, "this place is starting to freak me out. Besides, Betty would be way more helpful with this part than I would. I'll take notes for her."

Jughead watched Charles' eyes; they remained calm and sympathetic.

Charles let out a deep breath. "Yeah. Yeah, good idea. Come on, I'll take you back to the surveillance room."

XXX

Charles leaned over the monitor, clicking through a few tabs. He had ushered Jughead to a large computer in the far corner of the room. Agent Kane had left the building and the other agents were minding their own business. Charles double-clicked on an icon at the top of the screen and a collage of photos flew across the dim blue display. "Let's compare what you just saw to what we've already documented. These pictures are mainly from when we first arrived, what was left right after The Farm took off from Riverdale."

Jughead leaned over the table to get a closer look at the collection in front of him. The pictures showed mostly what he had already seen – a ring of perfectly abandoned white clothing and rooms full of burnt-out candles and other cultish paraphernalia – but there were a few he didn't recognize from his sparse visits to the building with Betty. One looked like the inside of an empty bedroom, one some sort of rec room, and another still a room that held rows of empty shelves and scattered boxes.

Jughead's eyes drifted between the assortment of photos on the monitor when his gaze froze on a folder slightly peeking out from behind the corner of one of the pictures, sending his mind into a panic. He hovered the mouse over the folder that read, "Riverdale High Security Footage."

"Jughead, don't-," Charles attempted to interject, but Jughead was already opening the files within. A grainy video clip of the exterior of Riverdale High popped up on the screen. For a few seconds, nothing happened, then the pixelated shape of a familiar station wagon drove across the frame. Jughead's eyes widened as he felt his heart rate increase. He watched as the car drifted into a parking spot under the tree the teens had initially found it under. It stalled; so did Jughead's heart. The driver-side door swung open and a ponytail bobbed into view before stepping into the sharp shadows under the tree. Jughead felt his breath catch in his throat – it may have been noisy and black and white, but it was the first glimpse of his girlfriend he had gotten in over a week, and the sudden flood of emotions tumbling inside his head made it hard to think straight. A small, bright pixel flashed near the bottom of the car and then Betty shot out of the shadow for a split second before a grainy black shape pulled her back into the dark. Jughead's eyes frantically darted around the whole frame as he continued watching, waiting for the next flash of movement - waiting for something else to piece the story together - but nothing came.

"Jughead…" Charles whispered, placing a hand gently on Jughead's shoulder. Jughead pulled a ragged breath in through his nose, Betty's terrified face suspended in his mind. Then he rounded on Charles.

"Why do you have this?" he demanded, his voice unnaturally steady. His suspicion of Charles had begun to melt, but now it roared back to life. "I thought you said you weren't involved in her case, that you couldn't provide any resources?"

Charles had a crooked frown on his face. He let out a crestfallen sigh. "FP originally asked if I could assist him with the case. We have more advanced equipment than Riverdale PD and he sent me that video, hoping I could enhance the image quality. But there's only so much we can do with shoddy security footage."

"My dad has seen this? Why wouldn't he show me?" Jughead fumed, pushing himself away from the computer and Charles. "Why have you been hiding this?"

"Jughead, FP was just trying to protect you. You were already so freaked out-,"

"Oh yeah, shield Jughead! He can't possibly take any more hits, he might crack!" he roared. "Well, I don't appreciate everyone withholding information from me! She's my girlfriend for crying out loud."

Charles stepped forward but Jughead continued to back away. "No! No, I'm done here." He shoved through the maze of tables and plodded towards the main entrance. "And I'm taking these with me!" he shouted, lifting his camera.

Jughead didn't turn around. He couldn't look at Charles. He couldn't think. He burst through the front doors, passing quickly under the eye of the stone cherubim and wrapped his hands around the handles of his motorcycle. Feeling the pressure rising in his chest, Jughead choked out a sob, leaning against his bike. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to steady his breathing. He wrapped a leg over the motorcycle and revved the engine to life.

Veronica sat in a cozy booth in the corner of the empty speakeasy, papers scattered across the table in front of her. She thumbed down the scrawled-out list in her gold-lined ledger and crossed one of the bullet-points out. She smiled to herself and picked up her phone. "Mayor McCoy!" she gushed, pushing back her glasses that had been sliding precariously down the tip of her nose. "I'm so happy to hear that your reinstatement has been so smooth." A pause. "Yes, I do. I actually wanted to ask if I can book the town hall this coming Monday night? Mmhmm. For a rally, for Betty."

She scribbled a few notes in her ledger, picking up her pen and bouncing her head whenever Mayor McCoy spoke. "Of course. We'll have proper security, I've already talked to the sheriff station about that. I'm taking care of everything else, I just need you to sign off on the location." Veronica smiled. "Thank you."

She placed the phone on the papers in front of her and exhaled cheerfully. She was crossing items off her to-do list quicker than she had anticipated. Seems the town was more eager for something to rally behind than she had thought. She had already gotten FP's overwhelming approval for the event and had fortunately received sponsorship from Pop's. She had even managed to finesse an appearance from the Pussycats.

Veronica sighed and leaned back down, looking over all the paperwork strewn across the booth. She looked up at the hazy sunlight pouring in through the basement windows into the speakeasy. A few birds chirped happily outside. Veronica relished in the moment; she was taking time to herself, taking time to plan and organize something so important.

Her phone screen lit up and she turned back. A photo was staring back up at her, a photo of four smiling faces around the watering hole at the edge of Sweetwater River. She sighed and brought the phone closer to her face. "We haven't forgotten about you, B."

Archie awoke suddenly and gruffly to a loud slamming. He shot straight out of his bed, his heart pounding against his chest as hard as the door he had just heard. Vegas growled and darted out of the bedroom, Archie dazedly staggering after, his baseball bat swinging hastily at his side.

He flew down the stairs and tried to mentally prepare himself for whatever might be downstairs, especially since he hadn't had time to throw a shirt on. His frazzled mind could have sworn he had locked the door before going to bed. Archie raised his bat and rocketed himself down the last few remaining steps, coming face to face with an angry, and slightly bewildered, Jughead.

"Jug! What… how did you get in here?" Archie moaned, lowering his bat. He blinked, trying to shake the lingering sleep from his eyes.

"You've kept a key in the same place since we were five," Jughead stated, petting Vegas' head. The dog had turned much more enthusiastic after seeing who was at the door. "I texted you earlier that I was coming over."

"Oh sorry, I was still asleep."

"It's noon."

"It's Saturday," Archie yawned. His heart rate was slowing and his mind was catching up to the rest of him. He looked over at his friend and this time was able to take in his appearance; Jughead's hair was messy and windswept and his cheeks were red and blotchy. A disconcerted scowl sat on his face as though it had been plastered there all morning.

"Dude, what happened?"

"I'll get to that," Jughead said, giving Vegas one last pat before standing to his feet. "Can I stay here this weekend? I need a bit of space from my dad."

"Sure," Archie replied, giving Jughead a probing look. "Do you want some food? I can make some sandwiches."

"Yeah," Jughead grumbled indifferently. He looked over at Archie. "But first, could you put a shirt on?"

'Dad. I'm going to stay with Archie tonight. I need to think through some things. Might not see you until Monday.'

FP leaned back on the couch and reread the text Jughead had sent him. He tapped his phone against his chin. He knew that Jughead would probably end up in a bad mood after this morning; he didn't know how to stop his son from chasing his wild theory and he hadn't had time to warn Charles about it. Maybe Jughead staying away for a few days to blow off steam was a good thing for both of them – he and Jug weren't exactly in the best place after Jughead had accused him of moonlighting as a cop.

FP struggled with that thought, too. Jughead had just brought it back to the surface. He rubbed his face and curbed a frustrated grunt.

He jumped slightly as his phone buzzed. "Hey, Charles, how did it go today?"

FP paused and listened. "Jughead saw…? Damn."

Charles leaned against the wall outside the main entrance to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. "Yeah, he didn't take well to it at all. Maybe we should have told him about it in the beginning."

"No, I still think we did the right thing. His reaction proved that. I'll have to talk to him about it, smooth things over. But for now, he's staying at a friends' house. I think that's good for all of us right now."

Charles put his hand up against the wall and stared vacantly up into the gray sky. A few crows flew overhead, sending a small chorus of caws ringing through the air. "He still doesn't trust me. He's not very good at hiding it, he tried to case me today."

FP snorted, "Yeah, he's not very subtle that one. I'm sorry about that, I tried to warn you last night."

"It's okay, FP. It was pretty obvious in the way you and Jughead were interacting when he gave me his answer last night. I am a trained detective after all."

Footfalls sounded on the staircase as Jellybean appeared in the living room. "Yeah, I guess I'm not so subtle, either. Hey, I have to go. But, hey, Veronica is setting up a rally for Betty on Monday, swing by if you can and we'll catch up then."

FP shoved his phone in his pocket as Jellybean plopped down in a chair across from him. "Looks like we got the whole weekend to ourselves, JB. Jughead is staying over at Archie's."

She knit her eyebrows, concern spreading across her face. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine. He just wanted some space. Teenage boy stuff and all that."

Jellybean relaxed her face but gave FP an exasperated look. "Dad, you don't have to sugarcoat everything for me. I know Jughead's upset."

FP stared at his daughter, really taking in how mature she looked. She was growing up and he had missed most of it. "You're right, I'm sorry." He glanced at the time on his phone. "Hey, I know we haven't been able to spend a lot of father-daughter time together recently with everything going on. Do you want to go to Pop's for lunch?"

Jellybean bounced up and smiled. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." FP smiled and rose from the couch, slinging an arm over his daughter's shoulder. He led her out of the house and toward his truck, casting a reflexive glance down the street. His heart sank as he saw Jughead's motorcycle parked outside the Andrews' house instead of his own. He pushed away the frown that had begun to form on his face and instead forced a smile and turned to Jellybean. "Race you to the car."

"It was just right there, on his computer?" Archie mumbled, talking between bites of a sandwich, "that's insane."

He and Jughead were sitting around the island in the kitchen, an assortment of bread, meat, and various spreads scattered all over the counter. Jughead smeared a gob of mayonnaise onto a slice of bread, making his second sandwich of the day. He had grown considerably calmer since he first arrived, Archie noticed. Food had that effect on him. Archie took a bite of his own sandwich, a dribble of mustard running down his chin and onto his shirt. Archie had put on a shirt.

"More or less, yeah." Jughead shook his head. "It was awful, Archie. I mean, I've been plagued with imaginings of how that night went, but actually watching it was… chilling. It-it was so fast… she didn't even...,"

"Jug, you don't have to tell me," Archie quietly reassured. Jughead had begun trembling and, although he wanted details, Archie knew he couldn't push. He had created his own version of that night in his head, too, and knowing there was actual footage – actual evidence – of what happened put a large pit in Archie's stomach. There was one question though he felt he could ask.

"Jug," Archie cautiously pressed, "could you see who it was?"

He watched Jughead's face darken, anger and grief resurfacing once again. "No," he stared down at the counter. "No, there was just shadow."

Archie's face dropped. Almost. They could have almost had a lead. Everything was running cold and it was frustrating just sitting and waiting. He knew Jughead wanted to investigate on his own, and he was mostly okay with that, he wasn't a detective, but he also didn't want to sit around and do nothing while Jughead was stretching himself thin. Good thing the rally was soon.

"Oh, Jughead, I forgot to tell you, Veronica and I-," he realized they hadn't told Jughead yet, but he barely got a word out before he was promptly cut off.

"And to add insult to injury," Jughead interrupted, his anger flaring back up, "My dad knew about this! The whole time! He asked Charles for help behind my back, even when he knew I didn't trust him."

Archie furrowed his brow. "You don't trust Charles? I mean, I know I don't know him very well, but your dad and Betty seem to like-,"

"I'll stop you right there, Archie. You just said you don't know him very well. That's right, we don't."

"Well, that's sort of our fault." Archie bit his lip. That might not have been the best thing to say, as Jughead scrunched up his eyebrows. "I mean, Betty invited us to meet him, but we were busy, or just didn't want to. Guess we didn't realize how important he might become."

Jughead remained silent and stared at his half-eaten sandwich. Archie looked down at his own and took a nervous nibble out of it. He waited for Jughead to respond, but the continuing silence prompted Archie to say what he had been mulling over.

"Do you think-," he faltered, but it was too late. "Do you think that maybe, you're just projecting your grief on him?"

Now, Archie had seen Jughead mad before, but the look that he was currently receiving made him question whether or not Jughead had actually just been holding back on him this entire time. Jughead was holding what had originally been a sandwich, but now the thing in his hand resembled something more like abstract art. His shoulders rose and arched as if he were tomcat fighting for his scrap of territory.

"What I mean – Veronica told me that when I'm upset I put up blinders or something," Archie added frantically, unsure of whether he should have kept silent or not. "I get really focused on one thing and then block everything else out. I think you might want an answer so badly, you're trying to force one."

Jughead's silence was beginning to scare Archie. He was just sitting across from him with a crazed look in his eyes, his rigid shoulders frozen, only moving when Jughead sucked in a hitched breath. Archie took a large gulp of juice, periodically raising his eyes above the glass to watch Jughead.

"I…" Jughead finally spoke, his voice a raspy whisper, "I can't believe you're not taking my side."

Archie dropped his cup on the counter and stared at his friend in confusion. "What side?"

"That my dad and Charles are in the wrong for keeping this information from me!"

"What?" Archie wasn't sure if he had missed something in this conversation, or if Jughead was deflecting. " Jug, no! I don't think it's right that they kept that from you, I just really don't think Charles had anything to do with Betty."

Jughead dropped his eyes. His shoulders relaxed slightly, but the ugly scowl was still drawn on his face. "Then who did, Archie?" he shouted, "Can you answer that for me?"

"Oh look, Veronica!" Archie yelped, steering the conversation away as his girlfriend walked through the door. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. He threw her a 'Help me' look as she strode into the kitchen. Veronica eyed him with a quizzical look, then shot a quick glance to Jughead. She turned back to Archie and gave him a knowing nod.

"Answer what, Jughead?" Veronica retorted, throwing a staunch look at Jughead as she placed her ledger on the counter.

"Who took Betty. And why everyone seems to be against me all of a sudden!" Jughead sneered, wiping the silly putty sandwich inattentively off of his hands.

Veronica cast a sidelong glance at Archie. "Well, Jughead, that's actually why I'm here. I didn't realize you were going to be here, but it's a good thing you are. Now I can go over all the details with you instead of just Archie."

Archie alternated his eyes between Veronica and Jughead, internally sighing as he watched Jughead's shoulders begin to relax.

"While unfortunately I still can't answer that first question," Veronica continued, flipping open her ledger and pulling out papers, "I can tell you that people certainly aren't against you. And we aren't letting people forget about Betty. We're organizing a rally in honor of our girl Monday night."

Jughead's entire demeanor shifted and he threw Archie a bemused glance. "Really? Why didn't you tell me?"

Archie threw his hands up in defeat, "I tried." He took a sip of his juice and watched Veronica. He could have sworn she was trying to hold back a laugh. He managed to smile too - he could always count on her to diffuse a tense situation when he couldn't.

"I've lined up almost everything already, but I wanted to ask a few more favors." Veronica turned to Archie. "Archie, I know you haven't dusted off your guitar in a while, but would you be willing to come out of retirement and play at the rally?"

Archie smiled and looked at Jughead. "Of course." Jughead stared back, the corner of his mouth upturning slightly at his answer.

"Excellent! I trust you to come up with something poignant and perfect for the evening." Now she turned to Jughead. "And Jughead, I know that you have a lot going on, but I was hoping you would be able to say a few words if you are up for it, inspire some action on Betty's behalf?"

Jughead studied Veronica's sympathetic face then flipped his eyes around the room. Archie and Veronica shared one more unspoken thought; Archie hoped Jughead wasn't too distraught to say yes. He had been worried about that, especially after seeing just how distressed Jughead really was at everything.

Jughead looked between the two of them and nodded. "Yeah, of course, I'll speak. Count me in."

Archie let out a deep exhale as Veronica jotted down a few notes. She smiled and Archie could feel himself doing the same. Finally, it looked like they were going to get somewhere and instill a bit of hope back into the situation.

"Thank you, guys," Jughead breathed. "This is a really good idea." He reached into the nearest bag of bread and pulled out two slices. "Just promise me one thing, okay?"

Archie and Veronica nodded.

"Please, can we not keep secrets from each other? If we know something, we need to share it."

Archie glanced at Veronica out of the corner of his eye. She was returning the look, the flash of a twinkle at the edge of her eye. "Of course."

We dedicated the rest of that weekend to planning out the rally, united in our loyalty and growing hope. A break from my family seemed to be doing good, and my friends had succeeded in offering me a welcome distraction. The atmosphere in Archie's bedroom was bright as we planned out our words and lyrics for our lost friend, finally giving us a glimpse of the persistent hope that was trying to break through the surrounding gloom like a lighthouse on a cliff. And we wished and yearned that wherever she was, Betty was feeling that hope, too.

As we started the day that would point the town's attention back on Betty Cooper, we longingly believed that somehow our lighthouse would cut through the darkness, its beam finding its way through the fog and to Betty, offering her a welcoming and guiding hand pointed towards home.

Betty paced back and forth in the small bedroom, the floorboards creaking lightly under her steps. She shivered and tucked her hands under her arms. The days and nights were becoming colder as they headed later into October, and Betty's jacket and jeans, even when coupled with a blanket, were no match for the autumn drafts finding their way into the room.

She yawned and rubbed her eyes, staring longingly at the unkempt bed. The morning had finally come after another restless night and she wanted nothing more than to just lay down and try to sleep through the day. Maybe the nightmares wouldn't come in the daylight.

No. Betty groaned, pulling her mind away from the tantalizing thought. She was tired, but she had to stay alert and not waste any more time if she wanted to get out of Edgar's funhouse. She yawned again, then shook her head forcefully. "Betty Cooper, come on, you've bested all-nighter sprints writing Blue & gold articles and studying for the SATs, you can do this."

She ran a hand up and down her arm; her wound had finally healed over and now she was left with a long, white scar snaking from her elbow to her wrist. She moved her hand to her temple and groaned. On top of everything else, she could feel herself growing weaker. Food only came every other day, and even then it was only one meals worth. The mixture of sleep deprivation and hunger was creating physical weakness as well as mental fog, both of which were things she did not need, both of which were things she knew Edgar had planned on happening, weakening her into submission in his crazy plan. It was textbook conditioning, but, nonetheless, Betty could feel its effects taking hold. Yet she remained bound and determined to beat it, to break out and find her own way home if she had to.

And she felt as though she had to. Betty glanced at the tally marks she had dug into the wall - today marked day ten. She guessed that Edgar and Penelope had been very concise in covering their tracks, as no one had come yet. That thought knocked around her skull for a while as frustration rose in her chest, but she let it out with a sigh of resignation. She couldn't blame them; if she didn't even know where she was, then how would anyone back home? She sank onto the bed and held her head in her hands.

Back home. She knew she wasn't in Riverdale; the whole day and night of the Thornhill visit it had been raining – except for when they were actually at Thornhill. There had only been a clear and boundless sky above then. That revelation was the final nudge Betty had needed to finally attempt some sort of escape plan.

A cold wind whipped outside the cabin, whistling through the walls. Betty shivered and leaned back on the bed, its' springs giving off a mousy squeak under her weight. She stopped and cocked her head. She leaned again, the mattress springs again squeaking in response.

The beginnings of a smile formed at the edge of her mouth as she turned and kneeled next to the bed, ripping off the layers of sheets to reveal the old mattress. Swiping the wood pick from the nightstand, Betty began stabbing and tearing at the side of the mattress. It was old, but it was still tough and she only managed to cut through a few threads before she realized the pick wasn't sharp enough to cut the full way through.

Betty rose to her feet, excitement replacing the frustration that had resided in her chest only moments ago. She scrambled out of the bedroom and scanned the front area, her eyes searching for anything that would be sharp enough to cut through the thick fabric. Out of the corner of her eye, Betty spotted one of the plates stacked in the kitchen sink. She walked over and picked it up, running a finger along the curved edge of the stained dish. Sucking in a deep breath, she raised the plate above her head and, in one swift movement, brought it down hard on the kitchen counter. With a shrill crash, the plate shattered against the countertop, hurtling ragged pieces of ceramic across the small kitchenette.

Betty had stumbled backward after bringing the plate down; the small act had caused small black dots to hang in her vision. She drew in a labored breath and stooped down, pushing the scattered shards into one, big pile. When she had collected as much of the mess as she could, she scooped up the pile and marched over to the couch, pushing against it with her hip. The black dots resurged as she pushed down on the edge of one of the floorboards with her heel, flipping it up. She knelt down and dropped the plate fragments into the secret cubby, keeping one long, sharp piece in her grasp. Betty pulled the matchbook from the hole and quickly slid the floorboard back over top.

She sat back down next to the bed and dug the shard into the side of the mattress, tearing through frayed thread after thread. After a few minutes of labored stabbing and slicing, a rip opened up, a few handfuls of fluffy bedding spilling out of it.

"Ha!" Betty cheered, jabbing a hand into the rip, causing it to tear wider. She dug out a few more handfuls of stuffing until she was staring at what she had hoped to find – small metal springs. She pulled at one of the springs until it twisted forward away from the others. She wiped a bit of sweat from her forehead and pulled one of the matches out of the matchbook. Striking the flame to life, Betty gently stuck it under the metal wire she was holding, making sure to keep it away from the surrounding bed stuffing. "Please don't light the bed on fire, please don't light the bed on fire…" she chanted to herself, slightly wincing at the fiery spark inches away from her fingertips.

She watched as the thin wire began to bubble, and as soon as she felt it weaken under her grip, she pulled, ripping a section of the wire out of the spring. "Yes!" she shouted, "Yes!" A wide smile spread across Betty's lips as she held the match under the wire until the thin metal became malleable enough to bend. She shook out the lit match and took the wire between her thumb and index finger, pressing them together until the wire bent into a crude 'V' shape.

Betty sat on the floor and grinned at her improvisation, allowing herself to drink in the most happiness she had felt since arriving at that wretched cabin.

It was no bobby pin, but it would do.

Author's Notes: Two chapters at once, what?

This chapter and the next were originally one monster chapter, but it needed some space, so I rearranged some things and made it two separate chapters instead. But whew! This one almost killed me. I got stuck in the first draft and had to step away for a few days to break my block. And it worked! Because this chapter and the next might be my favorite so far. Maybe, I don't know, I'm biased.

But, thank you, thank you so much to everyone following the story and leaving reviews! I am very thankful. And I realized that I made it 8 chapters without some shout outs!

So thank you to Boris Yeltsin and ButtonMashr for being faithful readers and reviewers. I appreciate the feedback and reviews more than you know.

Ellie, thank you so much for all the kind comments, I'm so glad you find the writing so captivating because sometimes I just don't know if it's working, or if I'm the only one it's making sense too.

To Kitten9322, AmandineRS8,, Margoe, and all you guests, thank you so much for popping in and leaving some kind words! I hope you are all still enjoying.

As always, thank you for reading and leave a review if you feel so inspired! They have really been pushing me to try to make this as good and as concise a story as possible. I've been spending a lot of time on it.